We both looked glumly at each other.
‘My only clue was this report of a boy being rowed ashore at Gravesend. Could it be my Pierre? That is why I have come here.’
We walked on, in an easterly direction towards the fort, in silence. One part of me felt an awkwardness at the silence yet another part rather liked the peaceful joy of walking beside a beautiful lady along the riverside in the glorious summer weather. We were now on the section of promenade overlooked by the fort. She broke the silence.
‘Tell me something of yourself William, I have not even asked if you are married with children?’
‘No, I am still a bachelor – I make a living out of journalism and hunting down missing people. I fought in Crimea – where I met Charles Gordon. Beyond that there is not much to tell.’
She seemed to find this of interest and smiled. I decided to probe a little, as for the first time since we met she seemed relaxed.
‘And what of yourself Marie, your background?’
She tensed, the softness in her face momentarily hardened.
‘I think it is as well we keep things on a business footing Mr Reeves. I do not have time for small talk.’ At that she quickened her pace and I quickly realised where I stood in our relationship.
‘Pardon me, madame, for being forward. Could we then talk some more about the arrangement entered into to get Pierre out of Paris and into England?’
She looked even more vexed by this question.
‘William, I have told you everything I know. When Pierre left Rouen, the Emperor and half his court were already in prison in Prussia. I travelled by train to Cassel to join him. We were then stuck there all winter, from September through to this March. That is why I speak good English. As I had little to do, I studied it every day. Not that you have commented on it.’
I could see she was not going to let me off the hook this time.
She continued in her cool, offhand tone, ‘Now if you would excuse me, I would prefer to walk back to the Clarendon on my own.’ I inwardly flinched at this but tried to keep the calm atmosphere going.
‘Of course, mademoiselle, I understand. Shall we meet again tomorrow?’
‘Of course, same time, and I expect some progress by then.’ At this she opened her parasol to protect her face from the warm sun and walked off in the direction of the hotel alone.
Eight
The Mud Larkers
I stood for a moment, a little unsure as to how to proceed. My thoughts were soon disturbed by a voice on the fort parapet behind me. It was Gordon, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun.
‘Stay there a moment Reeves, I’d like a word with you.’ Gordon quickly made haste down the grassy bank of the fort then across the short stretch of cobbles to where I was standing. ‘So, Reeves, I see your charm has not yet worked on the mademoiselle? I would be careful there if I were you.’ I must have looked suitably chastened.
‘I am just trying to get some sort of angle on this. She is telling me so much, but I think not everything. It is all very frustrating.’ Gordon looked almost fatherly at this point. ‘You have to keep going.’ He smiled at me and took in the view. ‘Look, let us go down by the boats and see if the mud larks are working today.’
We strode out along the pathway back towards the town pier. Finally, I realised what he was referring to. Alongside the pier I could see some grubby-looking boys on the foreshore, poking about in the dirty Thames water. ‘I think we are in luck Reeves. One of the boys who was in my school, an orphan, is over there. Let us see if we can get his attention.’
Gordon shouted to the boy. ‘Fred, come over here.’ The boy looked over, and seeing it was Gordon, clambered up the bank from the foreshore to where we were standing. Gordon obviously knew the boy.
‘Now Fred, this gentleman here is William Reeves, a friend of mine, who has a few questions for you.’ The boy looked underfed and sullen but swarthy – probably due to spending so much time outside; he also smelt badly of the river.
‘What’s in it for me, sir?’ he said begrudgingly. Gordon was not happy at this. ‘I think Fred you should be grateful for the help I have given you in the past. Getting you a warm bed in winter and food for your belly. Nevertheless, I’ll give you a florin for any information you can give us.’
The boy thought for a moment then said, ‘Half a crown would be better.’ Gordon sighed. ‘Very well. Go ahead Reeves.’ I looked squarely at the boy.
‘Now Fred, I appreciate the questions I’m going to ask are sensitive but if you could help it might save another boy’s life. Alright?’ Fred grunted. ‘Very well, now the rumour is that by the foreshore, behind the King’s Arms, there is a spot where sailors and customers of the pub have been known to touch boys, is that true?’
Gordon was clearly uncomfortable, but Fred did not bat an eyelid.
‘They’se do more than touching, sir, I’ve seen all sorts going on. I was told there was easy money to be made so I went there, and a man paid me a shilling to feel me privates. I thought that was alright but when I went back the next time, they wanted a lot more – so I told them dirty bastards where to go.’
Gordon looked displeased. There was an awkward silence, which Fred finally filled.
‘I’m sorry sir for allowing it to happen, I know God will be displeased by the way I was, but I weren’t as bad as some of the boys. I couldn’t repeat what was done to them.’ Gordon was now apoplectic with anger.
‘I don’t know if I want to hear any more of this ungodly talk.’
I felt his embarrassment but needed this information so pressed the lad further. ‘Now Fred, these nasty men; were they all customers of the King’s Arms?’
‘I think so sir. Thing is there’s an alleyway that goes from the backroom of the pub down to the water’s edge – so they can slip out, pretend they are going to the latrines and instead go around the back to where the boys are waiting.’
Gordon was still red-faced. ‘This is so disgusting,’ he said through clenched teeth.
I ignored him and continued. ‘Do you know if one of these men was a Captain Lynch from the Spirit of Rochester?’
The boy thought but not for long. ‘I have no idea sir who the men are, some are sailors, some quite respectable-looking, but I don’t know no names.’
I thought this was an honest answer so decided enough was enough for now.
‘Thanks Fred, you have been most useful. One more question though, if this is going on, and you must know it’s illegal, why aren’t the Gravesend constabulary getting involved?’
Fred shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know sir, though nobody can see round the back of the pub from the street – part of the alleyway gets blocked at high tide, so people think you can’t get through. You can’t see what’s going on from the river either because of the building overhanging the alley.’
I got another shilling out of my pocket. ‘Thanks for being so honest with us.’
Gordon had clearly been discomforted but had remained composed.
‘Yes, thank you Fred, you can get back to your work now.’
The boy smiled. ‘No way, I’m going to treat myself to some fish and chips now I’ve got me shillings.’ At that he scampered off in the direction of the town.
I stood there in silence with Gordon, who was clearly still upset by the discussion. He spoke first.
‘So, what was the point of that? I do not want to hear about such disgusting activity. I’ve a good mind to go into the King’s Arms with a bucket of spirits and burn the place down.’
I could feel his pain.
‘I am sorry for having to do that but to solve this case I may need to put the frighteners on Lynch. If he felt that he was being investigated for lewd behaviour with children, then he might crack.’
Gordon had now calmed down.
‘I know what you’re trying to do Reeves
, but the boy clearly has no idea who the perpetrators were. I do not think we have even got enough to get the constabulary involved yet. You can be sure that the pub will have a look-out system and if a man in uniform approaches they will have the rear alleyway cleared of people in seconds.’ I nodded, he continued.
‘This whole business makes me sick. I am constantly depressed by the ungodly behaviour of these people: they are the devil’s work. But I know we have work to do to bring light into this darkness.’
We both stood in silence for a while. I could see two Thames barges with their blood-red sails stretched against the breeze moving downstream in the sunshine. So much beauty amongst this ugliness. Gordon finally turned to me.
‘Reeves, let us give this more thought. I have work to do.’ He turned away, then as a passing shot said, ‘By the way, have you had any response to your posters? I’ve seen them all around town.’
‘No, nothing at all yet.’
He sighed then made his way back to the fort. I went my own way, along the promenade in the opposite direction.
I walked for a long while along the river, thinking things through. I knew I owed it to Marie and Gordon to crack this case, but no strong leads had presented themselves yet. I finally made my way back to the Eagle, much depressed by what I had heard.
Nine
Lynch
Back in my room I still had no sense of rest or relief, so I placed my chair by the window from where I could see one of my posters, displayed on a tree in West Street, not far from the King’s Arms. I sat there for an exceedingly long time. I noted that though many people looked at the picture of the lost boy, they were mostly older, respectable citizens of the town, people unlikely to have had any involvement in Pierre’s disappearance. Finally, though, a more interesting character stopped, and read the poster diligently. On reading it he looked around furtively, then read it again before walking off. At last – here was a man who might have seen this boy before! What was also pleasing was that the man was dark-skinned, probably a lascar seaman from east Africa. If so, perhaps he might have been on the Spirit when the boy was on board? My thoughts raced away. Do I run down and grab him? Plead with him to get the truth? Or play it slowly? Just forcing him to tell me all would probably go nowhere; he could simply deny all knowledge. So, I decided to take my time. Finally, after much rumination I went down to the bar of the Eagle to see if I could prise some information from the innkeeper, Samuel.
Luckily, the bar was not too crowded tonight, so after ordering my usual whiskey and water, I was able to converse with Sam. I knew from experience that to glean information from him, you had to play to his prejudices and never ask a straight question.
My opener was, ‘I was looking out of my window just before I came down, Sam. I saw a lascar in the street, off one of the boats. Don’t understand why we are employing foreigners when good British men have no work.’
He rose to the bait immediately.
‘Well, that is the state this country is in – it would rather give work to foreigners than our own people. Truth is, the lascars are cheap, pay them pennies and they are happy. It is the boat captains that are the worst offenders. I expect the lascar was off the Spirit of Rochester, their captain, Lynch, is a right tight arse – but don’t go repeating that in company.’
‘Is the Spirit of Rochester in Gravesend then?’
He looked at me and smiled knowingly. ‘Of course it is, you can see it from our window here.’
I leapt up from my bar stool and in a few paces was staring out of the window. There it was, bold as brass. I returned to the bar to quickly finish my whiskey and probe Sam further. ‘How long has it been in port?’
‘Not long, came up early evening on the tide. I expect by now the crew and Lynch are in the King’s Arms. They never come in here, which is a blessing, believe me.’
I made ready to quickly leave. Sam looked quizzically at me. ‘You’re not thinking of going to the King’s Arms, are you? You want to be careful there. Lynch can be a tricky customer.’
I smiled at Sam. ‘I can be pretty tricky myself.’
I walked out into West Street and quickly made the 100 yards to the door of the King’s Arms. I had no real plan of action but needed to take this chance of seeing Lynch in person. The pub was obviously older and rougher than the Eagle. There was sawdust on the floor and many men, obviously seamen, were getting drunk very quickly. I did not let this deter me and went straight over to the barman and ordered a whiskey. The barman was a tough-looking fellow with a heavily lined face and purple nose, caused no doubt by too many years of heavy drinking. He looked at me without great emotion but cautiously. ‘You’re not a regular in here are you sir? I will not be serving gentlemen tonight as I have got a boat in. You best be on your way.’
I looked back at him slightly surprised by this turn of events.
‘I assumed my money was as good as any seaman, but in any case, I have not come here for your whiskey. I’ve come to see Captain John Lynch of the Spirit of Rochester.’ I paused to await his response, perhaps I am imagining it, but the inn seemed suddenly quieter. The barman looked unhappy at this suggestion.
‘I don’t think Mr Lynch is taking visitors. Now be on your way.’ I looked back at him and held my ground – I also noted the stairs further into the inn, which presumably led to a room upstairs. I could hear noise from above, from somewhere near the top of the staircase, so I quickly set off across the sawdust floor and taking two steps at a time, walked up those stairs to the next floor. At the top, there was a lobby, leading off this was an unguarded door. I opened it. I was immediately assailed by the noise and smells of many seamen drinking together. Before me I could see what I assume were the senior crew of the Spirit sitting alongside a long table that stretched most of the length of the room. In the centre of it was a tough, grey-haired man, in full sea captain’s uniform, with a face that looked as if it has been carved out of granite. Even his grey hair was not the grey of old age, more the grey of wrought ironwork. He stared at me and spat out the words, ‘Who are you? This is a private function, get out.’
I could see his henchmen making ready to see me off in good style, so I got my piece in first.
‘Captain John Lynch I assume.’
He stared back impassively, this was his kingdom and he was the undisputed king. I continued, ‘I’d like to ask you about the disappearance of a French national, Pierre Le Beau, who I believe you brought from Rouen as a stowaway, last September?’
No sooner had the word left my mouth than two heavies had grabbed my arms and prepared to chuck me out. Lynch looked on with disdain and stated loudly,
‘I don’t know anything about that. Never heard of this Pierre, never seen him, I have already had the Excise people going on about this. I do not know who you are, but you’re not welcome. Now sling your hook, or I’ll give you a beating you won’t forget.’
I had nothing more to say, I knew this had been a futile gesture but wanted to see this Lynch, face to face.
‘Alright, I’m going, get your hands off me.’ They loosened their grip and I departed down the stairs with eyes following my every move. I then headed out towards the main pub door to the street. I was just about to exit when I saw the lascar I had seen looking at the poster, sitting quietly in the corner. I made a mental note of this.
Outside the inn it was a glorious warm evening and the sunlight was dazzling after the darkness of the pub’s interior. On this beautiful night, local couples were walking down the street, arm in arm, promenading and enjoying the weather, completely oblivious to what was happening inside and worse, at the back of that inn. I thought of the earlier conversations with Gordon and the boy Fred. It seemed incredible that just a few yards from the civility of the street, in this relatively prosperous riverside town, such behaviour could go unchallenged. However, I could also see how the constabulary would struggle to police the goings-on at th
e back, as the pub was part of a terrace and the riverside alley could not be seen from the street.
I walked back to the Eagle a little frustrated by my lack of progress but pleased that I had finally met in person the devil himself. Also, the lascar was a possible lead; his facial expression when looking at the poster convinced me that my gut instinct was correct. He had seen the boy on board the boat – he knew that something was wrong. It was a small lead, but better than nothing.
I slept a little more soundly that night, I knew that somehow, some way, I could crack this problem and find the boy.
Ten
The Brewery Boys
I woke early with the sound of the dray horses’ hoofs clattering down the cobbled street. The drayman always started off early. They were impeccably dressed for working men, with dark green uniforms finished off with black bowler hats. Their presence reminded me I had yet to interview John Bennett, the shipping company agent. That would be my first task today. After dressing and breakfast, I walked the few yards down to the brewery yard and looked in. All around were dray horses and carts laden with beer kegs. At the back of the yard was what looked like a cooper’s workshop, where damaged wooden kegs could be made and repaired. Running alongside the yard were a set of iron stairs leading onto a gantry at first floor level, and along this were what looked like offices. Nobody stopped me, so I simply walked up the staircase, my feet clanking on the metalwork at my feet. Then along the gantry. Still no one asked my business. I must presumably look respectable. The offices all seemed to be connected to the brewery in some way, apart from the last one I came to. Though small, it would be the only office with a window looking out onto the Thames. On its door in small print were the words ‘John Bennett – Shipping agent’. I knocked on the door.
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