by Alex Reeve
It struck me as an odd question, and a little uncomfortable. The truth was I’d never heard of her until that day, yet she was clearly hoping Maria had chattered on to me about their great friendship.
‘We didn’t really talk about other people very much.’
More specifically, I thought, she didn’t talk about other people very much. I talked about them all the time.
Mr Bentinck appeared at Miss Gainsford’s elbow. She introduced us and he shook my hand in an uninterested manner, leaning in close to speak to her in what he seemed to think was a quiet voice.
‘I’m leaving now. Let them have a few more drinks and then settle up, will you? I don’t want this going on all afternoon, especially in the circumstances.’
‘Of course, James,’ she said. ‘They have to work tonight.’
I could see his growler carriage through the window. It was black and sleek, with shiny brass lamps.
As soon as he’d gone, she turned back to me. ‘It’s been such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stanhope. I wish it had been under better circumstances. Poor Maria, she really was an angel, wasn’t she?’
I watched her go, which was a pleasure in more than one way. Audrey sidled over with two glasses and handed one to me.
‘Well I never,’ she said. ‘Miss Gainsford don’t talk to just anyone, you know. We didn’t expect her here, let alone Mr Bentinck. Quite an honour for Maria, him coming.’
‘Is it?’
‘Oh yes. He’s an important man. Related to the Cavendish Bentincks, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly, irritated by my sceptical tone.
I thought it unlikely. George Cavendish Bentinck was a Member of Parliament and his family had wealth going back generations. James Bentinck didn’t seem like the blossom of such a tree. Even its most distant twigs surely didn’t reach as far as a West Country boy running a London brothel.
‘And Miss Gainsford is his bookkeeper?’
‘Mr Bentinck makes all the money and she counts it for him.’
‘A lot of money?’
‘He’s got a house in Belgravia and a cottage in the country. Cookham, by the river. Beautiful it is. He has an art collection and –’
‘And how about Miss Gainsford?’
Audrey shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Never been to her place, only his.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’
‘You’re shocked.’ She smiled and cocked her head to one side. It was amazing how innocent she could appear. She could’ve been one of my mother’s maids. ‘Nancy Gainsford’s worked for him for years. The two of ’em used to do everything in them days, I heard, until they got Hugo as well, to sort out any trouble. He was a boxer when I was a little girl, you know, and well known around these parts. He had posters.’
‘Would Hugo sort out one of the girls too, if needs be?’
‘Oh no, he dotes on us when he’s not with his bees.’ Her chin was quivering. She was doing everything she could not to cry. ‘I don’t s’pose they’ll ever find out what happened. Nobody cares about us, especially the police. And the worst of it is, I keep thinking, if I hadn’t agreed to swap with her, she might still be alive.’
‘Swap with her?’
‘She wanted that Thursday off, and said she’d do my next two Tuesdays.’ She gave a sad little shrug. ‘Never will now though, will she?’
‘Do you know why she wanted to swap?’
‘No, she didn’t confide in me, not like that. We weren’t close or nothing.’ She took a gulp of her ale, and I realised she was a little drunk. ‘It’s just … two deaths in a few days. Makes you think about things, that’s all.’
‘Two deaths? Who was the other one?’
‘Jack Flowers, one of Mr Bentinck’s men.’
It took me a moment to remember how I knew the name. ‘The man who drowned? But that was an accident.’
‘So they say, but I don’t know. Two of ’em in such a short time.’
I couldn’t make sense of it. The death of Jack Flowers had been so commonplace. It was part of my ordinary life, working at the hospital and going home, living from one Wednesday evening to the next. How could he possibly be connected to Maria? And yet, it was, undeniably, an odd coincidence.
‘I didn’t know he worked for Mr Bentinck.’
‘Oh yes. Nasty piece of work too, was Jack. If he hadn’t been dead already he’s the first one I’d have thought did for Maria.’ She finished the rest of her drink in one large swig, slamming her empty glass down on the bar. ‘But I’ll tell you this: if I ever find out who did kill her, I’ll rip off his balls and stuff ’em down his throat.’
8
On Monday morning, I went back to work, though I would much rather have stayed in bed.
Everything was normal. At the staff entrance, the doorman greeted me with a nod and went back to his puzzle. The hospital looked the same and smelled the same, but still felt unreal to me, as if someone had rebuilt the whole thing for my benefit.
I found Mr Hurst in his office. He looked up briefly from his desk, and went back to reading The Lancet, pointing at the chair to indicate I should sit. He kept me waiting several more minutes before putting down his journal and removing his spectacles.
‘Well?’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said, sitting up straight. ‘I knew the girl who died and I was very shocked to see her. I was sick and needed time to recover and then there was a funeral. I wasn’t myself. I promise it will never happen again.’
I’d honed this little speech in my room before dawn. I’d experimented with a longer version too, explaining how we’d loved each other and even including an exhortation to his charitable nature, before remembering that no such thing existed. He only cared about things he could dissect.
‘Reliability!’ he bellowed abruptly, making me jump. ‘Reliability above all things! That’s what I ask. The dead don’t take days off.’ It struck me that arguably the dead took the rest of time off, but he wasn’t in the mood to be nit-picked. ‘What is a man if he can’t keep his word, if he can’t be relied upon? He’s no better than a savage.’
‘Sir, I’m sorry I let you down. I promise –’
‘You’ve been a fine secretary: polite, hard-working, good handwriting and stitching. You’ve learned a lot. And you’ve been punctual, or so I thought. But I’ve no place for people who faint about and take a week off without so much as a by-your-leave. It’s not good enough, do you hear?’
‘I do.’
He sighed, and put his spectacles on. I could feel him relenting, just a little. He went back to his journal, turning over two pages in quick succession, unread, and then looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, as though it was its fault. He took his spectacles off again and wiped his forehead.
‘What happened, Stanhope? The police were here, one of those detective fellows, asking me about you. And that dead girl. Do you know what she was?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Damn it all! Can you tell me she was a relative, a neighbour, a childhood friend?’
‘No.’
‘Damn and blast!’ He put his spectacles back on with the air of a judge putting on the black cap. ‘You leave me no choice, none at all. I spoke with the bursar and will be taking on a new secretary. He said we should let you go completely, but I argued on your behalf. Lord knows why.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘If you wish to be further employed at this hospital you should report to the chappie in charge of the porters. What’s his name?’
‘Greatorex.’
‘That’s him. Report to him this morning and he’ll assign your duties. For what it’s worth, Stanhope, I’m sorry to see you go.’
If I was honest, despite the demotion and commensurate reduction in salary, it was a relief not to be working for Mr Hurst any longer. I didn’t think I could watch another body being cut up after Maria, and I welcomed the routine of being a porter again. There was an irresistible detachmen
t to it. No one took any notice of the porters.
Lloyd Greatorex was a fastidious fellow, twice my age and as much a fixture in the hospital as the walls and windows. I sometimes had the impression he could be in more than one place at once. I would notice him in the men’s ward, checking the splints and bandages, and the next minute he would be coming towards me along the corridor, and the next showing some junior porter how to manoeuvre a trolley down a step. Everyone took him for granted, but if he ever left the place it would collapse around our ears and no one would have a clue why.
We’d shared a glass or two in our time, in the Lamb and Flag. I had the feeling he’d been grooming me as his protégé at one point, and had been disappointed when I became a secretary. Even so, I knew he was secretly proud that one of his own had scaled such heights. I still had his card wishing me good luck.
His office was in the basement, more remote than even the examination room. It was packed floor to ceiling with files and books, in part to keep out the malodorous fumes from the patients’ baths next door. He looked up from the schedule that he kept with him every minute of every day, strips of paper filled with names and shifts, separated by sheets of pink blotter.
‘Stanhope,’ he said. ‘The prodigal prince returns.’
‘Couldn’t stay away.’
‘Not what I heard. I heard you stayed away too long, and that’s why you’re back with us riff-raff.’
‘I’m grateful for your concern.’
I hadn’t meant it to sound sarcastic. I really was grateful; he had probably been given the choice about whether to take me back. But somehow we’d always spoken to each other this way, a mixture of apparent distrust and grudging esteem. It was hard to break the habit.
‘Fallen from heaven?’ he said. ‘Must be quite a bump. I suppose you think you’ll be getting the best shift, do you?’
‘I hadn’t given it any thought.’
‘Well, Torbin’s retired now and Watson’s taken his place.’
‘So I get Watson’s old position in the men’s ward?’
‘No, Roper’s been sent there.’
‘You mean I’m in the stores?’ It wasn’t so bad as long as you kept a close count of what the other porters took out, and they already hated me anyway.
‘Not so lucky. Young Perch has taken over there. He can carry more than Roper ever did, and he farts a good deal less and all.’
‘Poor old Roper. Too much suet.’
Greatorex nodded grimly. ‘The exercise’ll do him good, and his gas is better spread around the place than building up in the stores, especially in the winter when the fire’s lit.’
‘So there are no positions at all?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
He made a play of examining his schedule, his lips moving a little. It pleased him to make me wait. I noticed his hair was thinner and more salt than pepper these days, and his finger was shaking. But he still had to hand the same foul concoction he claimed kept him regular – a cold, thin soup of mushed vegetables in water that made the room smell comfortingly of compost. When he smiled I could see the dregs of it on his teeth.
‘Nights is all I’ve got. Not the wards either, the Other Departments.’
The Other Departments shift was the worst one; administration, mail room, reception, records, kitchens, corridors, offices and toilets. It was upstairs and downstairs, stretched throughout the hospital with no simple route or regulation, and wherever you were, you could be sure you should’ve been somewhere else. Most people, when they first became a porter, dreaded the diseases, excrement and stink of bile, but you soon got used to those. It was the walking that really got to you.
‘All right.’
‘You’ll find things have changed, mind. The rear stairs are down only now and it’s eight rounds instead of seven. New layout in the stores, but young Perch can show you. He’ll have some overalls for you too.’ He paused, stroking his chin. ‘This is your last chance, you know. Any difficulties and you’ll be out. Nothing I can do.’
‘I know.’
‘We’re covered tonight so you can start tomorrow. Be here at six. Welcome back.’
I reached home at lunchtime. I still didn’t have a replacement key, so I went in through the front door, nodding to Constance, who was minding the shop, rushing through too quickly for her to delay me with some obscure remedy she’d found.
Soon I would have to be awake every night. I lay on my bed and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come, so I read Barnaby Rudge until dinner, and then left the house for chess club. I usually only went on a Thursday, but made an exception as I knew I wouldn’t be able to go again for some time. I was surprised to find Jacob there.
In the end I surrendered to his wheedling and told him about the funeral, the speeches, and the peculiar midwife, Madame Moreau, and what she’d said to me at the graveside. He was as helpful as ever.
‘Bah! Who knows? Who cares?’
He took my knight and lined him up alongside my bishop, rook and three pawns, turning him to face me accusingly.
‘Do you think I should tell the police about her?’
‘Them?’
He wasn’t an admirer of the profession after two boys had broken into his shop and stolen a gold bracelet. He’d come downstairs with a hammer, and would have split their heads, so he said, if he hadn’t made the mistake of roaring first and alerting them. The police did little with his description of two quick-footed urchins with demons’ faces, so he was left frustrated and out of pocket, and had blamed them ever since.
He puffed on his cigar and grimaced at me. ‘The police just ask damn-fool questions. As if I’m too old to lock up my own shop.’
On the other side of the room a little cheer went up as a close game was resolved, and the two players shook hands. Jacob looked over his shoulder at them and rolled his eyes. ‘Such good losers, you English. So much easier to be polite in defeat than victory.’ He watched me take one of his pawns, stroking his beard. ‘Who do you think killed Maria?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Think! If you had to say, then who?’
He moved his bishop and I almost took it, before realising I would be leaving my queen exposed to his rook, which was sneaking up on the left side of the board. I was uncomfortable and quite unable to concentrate. I moved my queen to a safe place and he moved his bishop immediately, threatening both my remaining bishop and the squares around my king.
‘Wouldn’t you like another drink?’ I said.
He snorted. ‘No more alcohol! You’ve grown arrogant, my friend. You resent me my one win in, what is it, weeks? Months? What’s wrong with you?’
‘You’re distracting me. I don’t know who killed her. One of her customers maybe.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t you want to know?’
‘Yes, but …’
I couldn’t tell him about Maria’s little shams: her name and her mother. I’d already reached the conclusion they weren’t lies. Not exactly. She had simply composed the world as she wanted it to be to survive the life she led. It almost made me love her more. Jacob wouldn’t understand, and it would confirm all his prejudices about her, about the two of us. But I knew he wouldn’t let it go until I said something. He was intolerable that way.
‘Perhaps Mr Bentinck? He seemed less than trustworthy.’
Jacob relit his cigar and pointed it at me through a billow of smoke. ‘James Bentinck. Do you know about him?’ I shook my head, suddenly aware I’d placed my other knight in danger. He grunted and took it. ‘The rumour is he used to have a respectable position, and a wife. She died, and not long afterwards he opened his first place. Back in the sixties. Not the one you know, much smaller, out east. Stepney. Poor area. Too many Jews.’ He sniggered at his own joke, his beard waggling. ‘He’d been in the civil service or something like that. He came into a bit of money and that woman, what’s her name, the pretty one?’
‘Nancy Gainsford?’
‘Yes, her. She does stick i
n the mind, does she not? She had the expertise. There were other places around, long-standing, and they didn’t like this upstart stealing their customers. It’s a rough trade, but he learned it fast. A natural. There were a few battles, and people got hurt. Burnings, beatings and stabbings. Even a drowning. Bad times. Bad for business. So Bentinck negotiated a truce, and after a few years they found they were all working for him. Or gone. So there you have it; that’s the kind of man he is.’
‘Madame Moreau certainly seemed wary of him.’
‘Sensible woman.’
‘I wonder how she even knew Maria.’
He shrugged, spilling ash on to his sleeve. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. An occupational hazard. Why do you care? Unless you think it was yours, in which case you’re even more deluded than I thought. Your move.’
‘If she was pregnant, then someone must be the father.’
‘Brilliant. You’ve grasped that much at least.’
‘Thank you, Jacob, I’m finding your sarcasm invaluable.’ I moved my bishop to the only square it could go to. ‘What I mean is, that could be why she was killed.’
‘My friend, you loved her, and you think she was pure, but still, she was a whore. Don’t look like that, it’s a fact. Why would any man care if she was pregnant?’
‘I don’t know. But someone killed her for something.’
I took one of his pawns and he took mine. ‘An eye for an eye,’ he said. ‘And a pawn for a pawn. You’re running out of pieces.’
‘I shouldn’t have come. I can’t concentrate. There’s so much I don’t understand.’
‘Bah!’ He pointed my pawn at me. ‘These girls, they’re so sweet, so cooperative, telling you how handsome you are and what a wonderful gentleman. You want to be their hero because you know no better. But it’s all fake. They lead a different life from you, and you know nothing about them. Pray you never do.’