Scotland Hard (Book 2 in the Tom & Laura Series)

by John Booth

  Saunders left the MM3 building in Whitehall and hailed a cab.

  “Berwick Street,” he ordered curtly as he climbed into the hansom cab. The driver flicked his whip and his horse set off a fast trot towards Soho.

  There had been a market in Berwick Street since the Romans invaded Britain. It had always been a place riding on the edge of respectability. There was a warren of side streets running off it in all directions. A gentleman couldn’t walk for long between its market stalls or down any of the alleys before a prostitute would offer him her services, often flashing her assets at him if the opportunity presented.

  There was a joke going around The Rosicrucian Club that one of the Brotherhood had tried to stop a girl pestering him in Berwick Street by telling her that he only had a thre’penny bit to his name. She replied that he was not to worry about it because she could give him tuppence change.

  The Crown Tavern was in a side street just off the market. It was in this tavern that Saunders had interviewed and selected the two young people who would look like Young and Carter without their heads. It was also the tavern where the killers of that particular pair drank. They were men who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty for the right price. Men who knew that talking to the constabulary would kill them quicker than the gallows, and much more painfully.

  The tavern looked Tudor in construction though the original had burnt to the ground in the Great Fire. The owner of the time had the tavern rebuilt in its original style with broad oak beams painted black and large square panels between them filled with whitewashed wattle and daub. The builders had increased the floor space by stretching its walls out above the street on its first floor.

  This overhang gave the street girls and the hawkers somewhere to stand when it was raining. Right at that moment, it was raining ice cold drops of water. Saunders knew it would be falling as snow out in the country.

  He found his way blocked by a well-endowed young girl. She might have been as old as fourteen. She opened her shawl to reveal breasts mottled with bruises.

  “Can I offer you some warmth, your lordship?” she asked hopefully. “Bury your head in my bosoms and you’ll soon forget the cold. I expect that ‘tache of yours could tickle my melons.”

  “He’s almost short enough to tickle your fancy,” an older woman near her shouted before making a rude gesture.

  Her fellow streetwalkers and the hawkers cowering from the cold rain, laughed at her wit.

  Saunders spoke through clenched teeth. “Get out of my way.”

  The girl stood her ground; she was almost as tall as him. Then she felt something prick into her some way below her belly button. She looked down to see a thin bladed knife in Saunders’ hand.

  “No offence meant, my lord,” she said backing away with her hands raised. She felt drips of blood fall from where his blade had cut her.

  “None taken,” Saunders said politely and touched his hat to her.

  She stepped towards the other girl.

  “He cut me,” she said in shock. One of the male hawkers pulled a knife and stepped towards Saunders, but the girl pulled him back.

  “He’d kill you soon as look at you. I know the type. Leave him be.”

  The girls and the hawkers stood in a huddle and hurled abuse.

  Saunders ignored them and walked into the tavern without a backwards glance.

  The tavern was crammed with people and stank with noxious fumes from tobacco smoked and tobacco spat. Sawdust underfoot made the floorboards a little less treacherous, though the floor was wet from spilled beer and dripping boots.

  It was a dark and gloomy place, the only light coming from the odd oil lamp hung from the black painted beams. The lamps swayed on their hooks as people jostled against them. Saunders was short enough to walk under them without noticing they were there.

  He pushed his way to the bar through the throng. Being short had some advantages in making a way through the crowd. When he arrived at the bar, the tavern keeper reached under the bar for the good bottle of brandy he kept in readiness for whenever Saunders called. There were some customers it paid to show respect to; if you wanted to live to see your next birthday, that is.

  “This’ll warm your cockles, Mr. Saunders, sir,” the tavern keeper said as he poured a generous helping of brandy into a glass and put it down in front of Saunders.

  “Thank you, Eddie. I need something strong after being out in the weather this morning. I fear it’s going to be a bitterly cold night.”

  “They often are this time of year, sir,” Eddie replied. “Would you be looking for anything in particular this morning, sir?”

  “Have you seen Mick and Joe anywhere?”

  Eddie moved closer and scanned the faces of the people close enough to hear. Satisfied that none of them were copper’s narks he spoke in a low voice.

  “Mick’s laying low. The constabulary are after him over a break-in at a jewelers over in Spittlefield last night.”

  “Did he do it?”

  Eddie laughed. “I hopes so, what with the money he owes me.”

  “And Joe?”

  “Joe’s around here somewhere. I saw him half an hour ago. He’s probably found a game of crib to keep him occupied. He’s a fierce crib player and no mistake.”

  Saunders turned, trying to see Joe in the crowd, but all he could see was the chest of a large man trying to get to the bar.

  “I’ll see if I can find him,” Saunders told Eddie, who nodded.

  “If you need any help; I’ll be available after midnight,” Eddie shouted as Saunders struggled back through the crowd towards the alcoves at the far end of the room. A game of cribbage required a certain amount of elbow room and that couldn’t be found at any of the tables in the other parts of the tavern.

  He found Joe sitting at the end of the room in the snuggest alcove. The burly man sat with his back to the room and a set of dominoes in his hand. He was playing penny-knock with three men and there a fair pile of copper coins had been gathered in the centre of the bench.

  Gambling was illegal, but nobody paid much attention to the law of the land in such matters. If a constable were to walk into the bar, all the money would vanish from sight long before he could have made his way over.

  Saunders looked at the dominoes on the table and in Joe’s hand and counted spots. It was clear Joe controlled one end of the domino line with the last five. This did not guarantee he would win, but it did make it extremely likely. He found an unoccupied chair and sat down beside Joe, who doffed his cap when he saw the audience he had attracted. Another two plays around the table and Joe scooped the money into his cap.

  He turned away from the other players who were grumbling into their pints.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, guv’nor,” he grunted at Saunders. “Is there a job for me?”

  “You and Mick.”

  Joe shook his head.

  “Mick’s gotta lay low, now’s not a good time for ‘im.”

  “I heard about the jewelers. The job will be out of town. It could take a few days or even weeks. Normal pay rates apply.”

  “Extra for any we ‘as to dispose of?” Joe asked, licking his lips in sudden anticipation of a kill.

  Saunders nodded.

  “Three, you will get the bounty money shared between you.”

  “Any perks?”

  “Two of the targets are young women. I don’t care what you do with them before you cut their throats,” Saunders said without a flicker of emotion reaching his eyes.

  “I’d best go and get Mick then,” Joe said, and he stood up eagerly.

  “I’ll hire a coach and pair from our good landlord,” Saunders told him, making no move to get up. “Bring Mick to the stables around the back. He should be safe enough from the constabulary once he’s in the coach. I can deal with them if they try and stop us.”

  Joe gave Saunders a poor imitation of an army salute and pushed his way out of the tavern.

  Saunders smiled. Now he had the muscle it wa
s only necessary to find the targets.

  21. Edinburgh

  Tom was shaken to wakefulness. It was dark outside and he had no idea what time it was.

  “Wake up, laddie buck,” Bruce said impatiently and shook him harder.

  Tom struggled to open his eyes and discovered that Laura and Alice were already awake and putting on their coats.

  “Where are we?” he asked sleepily.

  “The Laird is moving his household over to his rooms at the Waverley,” Bruce informed him. “It’s only a wee way, over on the other side of Princes Street from the station. He’s taking all his staff so you must come too.”

  “I think we’re in Edinburgh,” Alice said excitedly. “There’s loads of snow on the ground and it’s still snowing.”

  “I never much cared for snow,” Laura said with a disgusted sniff. “But the carriage has cooled down since we stopped so I. for one. shall be glad of a warm room and a comfortable bed.”

  Bruce made no attempt to tie their hands. If they did try and escape, who would believe English youngsters over a Scottish Laird in his own country? Tom did not even consider the possibility as they hurried across the platform and through the ticket barriers. The ticket collector bowed to them before they set off across a wide cobbled road to a grand five-storey hotel on the other side.

  A stone block above the main entrance had the word Temperance carved into it in large impressive letters.

  Alice read the word out loud, putting the syllables together as she spoke.

  “Tem..per…rance, doen’t that mean we ain’t allowed to lose our rag inside?”

  “You’re no supposed to drink,” Bruce said irritably as he bustled them towards the doors. “There’s them that thinks a drink’s bad for a man.”

  “Not even water?” Alice asked, which made Tom and Laura smile.

  “It refers to the drinking of alcohol,” Laura explained. “The Scottish male is prone to take such drinking to excess, and some in his country offer him rewards for abstinence, as well as places where they can go that are certain to be free of drunks.”

  “His Lairdship drinks, I bet,” Alice suggested.

  “I think these rules only apply to the common man,” Laura continued. “Lords are allowed to carry on as they will.”

  “It’s eccentric when the rich and powerful do it, and disgusting when ordinary folk do,” Tom explained to a bemused Alice.

  “Me dad would go spare if ‘e couldn’t get boozed up on a Sat’day night,” Alice remarked. “It ain’t natural for a man not to drink.”

  Bruce interrupted their conversation with a stern warning as they entered the foyer.

  “Now you be quite. The Laird’s talking to Mr. Cranston over there and he’s the manager of the hotel. He won’t be happy if you interrupt him,”

  He directed them away from reception and towards a grand marble staircase. “We’ll be staying on the first floor where the Laird has his aine private rooms.”

  “A man would have to be very rich to keep a set of hotel rooms for his personal use,” Laura remarked.

  “Aye lassie, the Laird’s a very rich and powerful man indeed.”

  They were hustled up two flights of stairs and down a corridor into a large stateroom.

  “You’ll have to share, I’m afraid,” Bruce said as he pushed them into a small room with a double bed and a small sofa. It had it’s own bathroom, which delighted Laura as soon as she saw it.

  Bruce withdrew from the room and they heard him lock the door behind him.

  “Bags the sofa,” Alice said as soon as they heard Bruce walk away. “I know what adults get up to and I’ll keep me back turned and me eyes to me-self.”

  Tom’s face blushed bright crimson at Alice’s attitude and knowledge of such things while Laura smiled delightedly.

  “I expect that Tom’s far too tired for that,” Laura told Alice with a straight face. “So we can assign Tom to the sofa if you’d rather sleep on the bed with me.”

  “It’ll be too soft,” Alice explained. “I had to sleep on the floor when they took me to Bertie’s, ‘cause I felt the mattress on the bed they gave us was going to up-an’-smother me, that I did. That sofa looks good and hard and it’ll do me fine. You should feed Tom red meat if ‘e ain’t up to being a man.”

  This comment was too much for Tom who tried to grab the girl. Alice giggled and slipped behind Laura for protection. Laura blocked Tom’s path.

  “She was offering me sound advice, Thomas,” Laura said with a broad grin on her face. “And what is it they say in the north? If the cap fits, wear it.”

  Tom stopped trying to pass Laura and his face hardened.

  “I could show you,” he told Laura in a half-threatening manner. She put her hands to his face and stroked his cheeks.

  “I think that I might enjoy that,” she said thoughtfully.

  She took her hands away and turned to Alice.

  “But first there is the small matter of a good bath and you could certainly do with one, Alice Short.”

  “What, in the water, with me clothes off?” Alice asked in horror.

  Laura nodded with a knowing smirk on her face.

  “Quite so, and I shall be with you to make sure you do it right. Then when you are dry, I shall take my own bath. Tom can wait out here and go to sleep. You were quite right about him, he does need feeding up.”

  Tom watched the girls head for the bathroom with his jaw limp and his mouth open. He doubted that he would ever understand women. Even the comprehension of a young girls mind was turning out to be quite beyond him.

  “End of the line,” a guard shouted as the train carrying Cam and her friends arrived in Waverly Station, Edinburgh. It was only minutes after Tom and Laura left the station.

  “This is Edinburgh in Scotland. Imagine me bein’ in a different country.” Tricky said excitedly. It had all been too tiring for Ebb who had fallen fast asleep, but Tricky seemed indefatigable. Daisy had fallen asleep after they gave up trying to make sense of Alice’s message.

  Whatever she had meant to say, the meaning escaped them all. Tricky became increasingly irritated as Arnold and Cam insisted he repeat the message endlessly. With each repetition, it had grown further away from Alice’s words.

  Arnold shook Daisy awake as Cam opened the carriage door.

  “Excuse me, porter?” Cam asked the nearest man in the livery of the railway company.

  “Aye lassie, what can I be doing for ye?” he asked in an accent so strong that Cam could barely understand him.

  “Can you tell me where the nearest hotel is?”

  The man’s accent was so thick it sounded like another language to Cam.

  “Have ye no eyes in yer heed? The Waverley’s yonder.”

  “Err, thank you,” Cam said and looked at the others. “Did any of you understand that?”

  “Had you looked where he was pointing you might have seen the hotel across the road,” Arnold pointed out sarcastically. Cam had taken possession of all their money again and he was feeling peeved about it.

  “It looks expensive,” Daisy said worriedly between yawns.

  “We can’t stay out on the street,” Cam pointed out. “That white stuff on the ground is snow you know.”

  “Well, in that case, what are we worrying about?” Arnold said resignedly. “It’s likely the money will run out long before we find Tom and Laura, however frugal we are.”

  “It’s settled then,” Cam said decisively. “We go over to that hotel and book into the cheapest rooms. Someone wake up Ebb, will you?”

  Cam had to have words with the hotel doorman to get Tricky and Ebb into the foyer. Their coats, obviously too large for them and their street clothes gave them away as children far too poor to be staying at such a prestigious hotel.

  By the time Cam reached the reception desk, she had concocted an appropriate story.

  “We would like rooms for the night. My husband Arnold and I along with his sister Daisy are taking two orphan boys to their aun
t. Unfortunately, we were delayed by an accident on the London to Edinburgh line and can no longer make our connection.”

  The man on the desk nodded in understanding.

  “Aye, I heard about the accident from the Laird. Does your husband lack a tongue? We aren’t used to wee lassie’s taking control of a man’s business in Scotland.”

  “My husband is more than capable, but then, so am I,” Cam snapped back. “Is this an example of the warm Scottish hospitality I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Keep your dander on, lassie. I was only asking,” the man said, not unkindly. “Can I take it that ye won’t be wanting the bridal suite?”

  “A modest room will do just fine,” Cam admitted.

  “Aye, well, it will have to be two rooms as we don’t allow more than three to a room. Would you be wanting a bath with the room, or will you make do with the one’s at the end of the corridor?”

  “The end of the corridor will be fine.”

  “That’ll be two shillings for the night, payable in advance,” the man said. Cam was relieved at the low cost, much lower than prices in London’s hotels, and she handed over the money almost happily.

  Arnold stepped forward and signed the register for them. He was given a sympathetic look by the receptionist, who had classified Cam as an English harridan. The man made a point of handing over the keys to the rooms to Arnold.

  “You never saw them?” Saunders railed at Bertram Smee who ignored his outburst and poured himself another drink.

  “Neither sight nor sound, I can tell you. If your child spies had ever set foot in these grounds I would have known about it,” Smee replied.

  He proffered a glass of whisky to Saunders who took it from him irritably.

  “The sale went well?”

  “The sale went spectacularly well. Who would have thought the Hungarians would pay so much for a slip of a girl? We had some trouble before the sale as the girl proved highly resourceful and nearly escaped us. I’ve never been an animal before.”

  “She’s a Class A, what did you expect?” Saunders grumbled.

  “We lost the young magicians, Ebenezer Sweeting and David Hart. Their bodies are probably lying in a ditch somewhere. It was freezing last night and the locals haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. Not that anyone around here much cares, children are found dead all the time.”