The Shadow in the North

by Philip Pullman

  "Where to, guvnor?" he asked Frederick. "Smithfield?"

  Smithfield was the main meat market for London. Frederick laughed painfully.

  "Streatham Police Station," he said. "Care of Inspector Conway."

  He took out a card, scribbled, "Mrs Nellie Budd: Account rendered" on it, and pinned it to Sackville's coat before shutting the door.

  Jim watched, satisfied, as the cab drove away.

  "If that bastard wants to use his nose again," he said, "he'll have to dig it out of his face with a spoon."

  "You paid the landlady for the frolic?" Frederick asked Mackinnon. "Get a bag packed. You're coming to stay in Burton Street for the weekend - and no arguing. Oh - and bring my watch."

  Chapter Nineteen

  SIEGE

  It was half-past three when they got back to Burton Street. Sally called a doctor to see to Jim's cut cheek, made Frederick sit down and drink some brandy, arranged a camp bed for Mackinnon in Jim's bedroom, went to the shop to tell Isabel that Mackinnon was there; and watched as Isabel turned pale, and nodded, and bent over her work again without a word.

  The doctor's attentions didn't improve Jim's temper. As soon as the wound had been dressed he slammed out to the new studio to exchange insults with the painters, whom he remembered from their previous visits. Mackinnon sat palely in the kitchen while Frederick rummaged in the biscuit-barrel.

  "Did they hurt you?" Frederick said.

  "A few bruises, thank you. Nothing grand."

  "You did well to grab his wrist like that. He'd have done for Jim otherwise. . ."

  The back door opened, and Jim came in no less disgruntled than when he'd gone out. He helped himself to a biscuit and sprawled on the sofa.

  "Different lot of painters," he said. "All they want to do is get on with the job. They got no conversation at all. Remember the last lot, when we had the shop done? They sent Herbert out one day for the loan of a left-handed screwdriver. Then when he couldn't find one they said sorry, what they really wanted was a pound of small holes. They gave him tuppence to go round to Murphy's and buy 'em. Poor little bugger. What are we going to do now, then?"

  "Shut the shop," said Sally, coming in. "I've told Mr Blaine and the others to go home early. We'll lock up and have some tea - that's what we'll do now. I thought Jim would finish the biscuits, so I've bought some muffins. I hope you like muffins, MrMackinnon. Have those painters gone yet?"

  Much later that evening (Isabel having gone straight to her room without seeing Mackinnon, Jim having gone to bed sore and tired, Webster and Mackinnon having simply gone to bed), Frederick and Sally found themselves alone in the kitchen.

  She was curled up in a corner of the old sofa; he was lying back in the armchair on the other side of the fire, with his feet on the coal-scuttle. The oil-lamp on the table shed a warm glow on the checkered table cloth, on the cards Mackinnon had been amusing them with, on the golden whisky in the decanter, and on Sally's blonde hair. Frederick leant down and put his glass on the floor beside the chair.

  "You know, he actually joined in?" he said. "Mackinnon, I mean; he grabbed for the knife Harris was about to stick in Jim. Now what are the options, Lockhart? First of all, I think we should get this wedding business in the papers."

  "You're right," she said. "We'll go to the Pall Mall Gazette in the morning. After that . . . well, I'll ask Mr Temple's advice about the patents. I think we've almost got Bellmann, but I'm not sure he's completely hooked yet. The Russian patents being missing - that's circumstantial; not quite incriminating, I think. We need to know--"

  "We need to know how far up his influence goes. The police who raided your office - were they real police? If they were, he's got a lot of pull. Which means that we've got to go extra carefully. It's a question of timing."

  "Waiting for the right moment. . . Who were those people Lord Wytham was seeing at the Foreign Office? If we can find out the department they're responsible for, we'll have a better idea of what to do next."

  "That's easy enough. They're a gossipy lot over there. I'll go and hang about in Whitehall on Monday, see what I can pick up. . ."

  "You know," she said after a few moments, "I still don't know how I'm going to get my client's money back. Unless there's a reward. . . Actually, now I think of it, there is. For information about the loss of the Ingrid Linde. The one thing we haven't explored. . ."

  She leant forward and poked the fire. Ash fell through the grate, and a little volley of sparks crackled upwards.

  "Fred?" she said.

  "Mmm?"

  "I want to say sorry. For the other night. It was hateful of me and I've felt miserable ever since. Because I love it so much when we work together. And we are a good team. If you still want to -"

  She broke off then, finding it hard to continue. Frederick sat up, reached across, and turned her face to his.

  And then the doorbell rang in the empty shop.

  He swore and sat back.

  "Now who the devil can that be?" he said.

  They looked at each other, and then at the clock. It was half-past ten.

  "I'll go and see," he said, standing up. "I won't be long."

  "Be careful, Fred," she said.

  He made his way through the darkened shop and unlocked the front door. There, blinking mildly in the drizzle, stood a slight figure in a bowler hat and top-coat.

  "Mr Garland, I believe?" he said.

  It was the man from the box in the music-hall - Bellmann's secretary. Taken by the man's nerve, Frederick laughed.

  "Good evening," he said. "Mr Windlesham, isn't it? You'd better come in."

  He stood aside, and took his coat and hat.

  "Sally," he said as they entered the kitchen, "I think you know this gentleman. . ."

  She blinked with surprise, and sat up.

  "Forgive me for calling at this late hour," said the little man. "We met before, Miss Lockhart, under unfortunate circumstances. I was hoping that you - and Mr Garland - might do me the honour of listening to a proposition I would like to put before you."

  Sally looked at Frederick, and then back at Windlesham. Her eyes were wide.

  "I might add that I am speaking entirely for myself," he went on. "Mr Bellmann doesn't know I'm here."

  The two men were still standing. In the silence that followed the last remark, Frederick pulled out a chair at the table and offered the place to Windlesham. They sat down, and Sally left the sofa to join them. She turned up the light and tidied the playing-cards out of the way.

  "I fully understand your hesitation," said Windlesham. "May I explain why I've come?"

  "Please do," said Frederick. "But let's be clear about this. You're not working for Bellmann?"

  "Technically, I am still in his employment. But I think it would now be to the greatest advantage of the greatest number of people if I changed my allegiance, so to speak. I cannot approve of Mr Bellmann's North Star venture. Try as I will, I cannot do it, Miss Lockhart. To my mind the Hopkinson Self-Regulator is a monstrous thing, and should not be let loose upon the world. I've come to you because I've watched your activities with increasing admiration - yours and Mr Garland's - and I've come to place what I know at your disposal." He took off his glasses, which had steamed up in the warm room. "I am assuming you've found out about the Hopkinson Self-Regulator? I've no proof that you have, but I'd be surprised if. . ."

  "The Steam Gun," said Frederick. "Yes, we know about that. And about Hopkinson."

  "Or Nordenfels, h'mmm?" Mr Windlesham replaced his glasses, beaming gently.

  "What do you want in return?" Sally said. She was still numb with surprise at his appearance - and not in the least inclined to trust him.

  "Simply - how shall I put it - protective corroboration," he replied. "When Mr Bellmann's enterprise collapses, as it will before long, I want someone to vouch for the fact that I have been, as it were, spying on him and not working for him. I had hoped you would supply that assurance."

  "Why not go to the police no
w?" said Frederick.

  "The time's not ripe just yet. Mr Bellmann's influence reaches high up the police - yes, and the judiciary - and any attempt at this stage would misfire. Believe me, I am certain of that. We should find ourselves embroiled in suits for libel and slander, and we would lose, and it would only serve to warn the wrong-doers. No, the time to go to the police is not now, but when the organization is about to collapse."

  "Why should it collapse?" said Frederick.

  "It's over-extended," said Mr Windlesham. "I can let you have the details of loans, share-issues, dividends, and so on; the gist of it is that all of the money is sunk in the Self-Regulator, and they're not being produced fast enough. There are unforeseen shortages of materials, difficulties with testing - it's an extraordinarily complicated machine, you know. Again, I can let you have the details. Mr Bellmann has, I estimate, three weeks before catastrophe. Things could occur to put it off - if he could acquire a supply of graphite, for instance, it would help him; but the end is not far off."

  "Who's the customer?" said Sally. "Who's buying these Steam Guns or Self-Regulators?"

  "Russia. The Czar is increasingly concerned about the growth of anarchist movements among his people. And with their expansion into Siberia - you've heard of the proposed railway? - you can understand how useful the weapon would be. But North Star is actively seeking other customers. The Prussians are interested. The Mexicans have sent an observer up to the firing range. It's at a point of balance, you see, Mr Garland, a critical time. If we can tilt it the right way. . ."

  "Tell us about the Ingrid Linde," said Sally.

  "Ah! The missing ship. That - er - belongs to a phase of Mr Bellmann's career which took place before I joined him. But I believe that the passenger list contained the name of a man who had witnessed Mr Bellmann's quarrel with Arne Nordenfels. The collapse of the Anglo-Baltic line, of course, meant that Mr Bellmann's shipping activities could expand without hindrance."

  "I'd like some written evidence of his involvement," Sally said.

  "That would be difficult. I shall make a search - I shall have to be extremely discreet, but I shall do my best."

  "You mention influence," said Frederick. "How far does it reach into the Government? Or into the Civil Service?"

  "Oh, quite some way. Mr Bellmann's money has already helped in the matter of the various export licences and regulations connected with the export of arms. Your inquiries, if I may say so, have been remarkably astute. They would soon have embarrassed some very highly placed people."

  "Well, who?" said Frederick. "You've told us nothing we didn't know already. Names, Mr Windlesham, names."

  "Sir James Nash, the Inspector-General of Artillery at the War Office. Sir William Halloway-Clark, Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office. The Ambassador to Russia. There are several others less highly placed."

  "Has this been discussed in Cabinet?" Sally asked. "Is it Government policy to allow this gun to be made and sold?"

  "Oh, no. Most certainly not. The officials I mention are acting quite improperly. There would be the most appalling scandal if it came out."

  "Lord Wytham," said Frederick. "What's he up to?"

  "Ah!" Mr Windlesham twinkled. "The father of the bride! A romantic little episode, the Scottish adventure, don't you think? And have you had any more success than our agents in the search for that elusive young man?"

  "Since you ask, yes," said Frederick. "We've got him safe. He's in London, being looked after by a good friend of mine. He won't get away - and you won't find him. What's Lord Wytham going to do?"

  "Yes," said Mr Windlesham sadly, "it's difficult for him. He was given a directorship on the strength of his many connections in Government. There he might have been useful, but the - er - Scottish affair will come out soon; Mr Bellmann is aware that it can hardly remain quiet for much longer. It's one of the embarrassments which are hanging over him. More embarrassing for Lord Wytham, of course. Perhaps fatally so."

  "I wonder what you mean by that," said Frederick. "No, don't bother to explain. Were you responsible for hiring Sackville and Harris, by the way? And the man who attacked Miss Lockhart last night?"

  "As to that," said Mr Windlesham earnestly, "I must plead guilty. I did it with repugnance, believe me, with shame and regret, and ever since it happened, I have been consumed with remorse and anxiety. I have never felt such relief as when this morning I heard that you were alive. And as for Mrs Budd - I have arranged for her hospital bills to be paid in full. A private matter, with my own money - naturally it is not something I could charge to the firm's account without giving rise to suspicion."

  "Why attack her anyway?" said Frederick.

  "As a warning to Miss Lockhart," said Mr Windlesham simply. "Had we been more aware of Miss Lockhart's qualities, we would have taken a different line. I argued against it from the start; violence of any sort is anathema to me. But Mr Bellmann overruled me."

  Frederick looked at Sally. Her face was expressionless.

  "Well, this has been most interesting, Mr Windlesham," he said. "Thank you for coming. There's a cab-rank at the end of the street."

  "Er - my proposal? You understand, I took a risk in coming here. . ."

  "Yes," said Sally. "I suppose you did. We shall have to think about it. Where can we reach you?"

  He took a card from his waistcoat pocket.

  "This is an office where I can be contacted. I'm not always there, but a letter to that address will reach me in twenty-four hours. . . Miss Lockhart, Mr Garland, may I press for an indication? However slight? I am beginning, you see, to be afraid. . ."

  His face was flushed, his spectacles gleaming.

  Frederick said, "Quite so. Well, if it comes to action, you skip over this way and at least you won't have one of our bullets in you. In the meantime, you'd better stay where you are, don't you think?"

  "Oh, thank you, Mr Garland. Thank you, Miss Lockhart. I have a positive terror of any kind of violence. Mr Bellmann is an intemperate man - easily roused - violent passions. . ."

  "Quite. Here's your coat and hat," said Frederick, helping him through the darkened shop. "We'll write to you, I've no doubt. Goodnight. Goodnight."

  He locked the door and went back to the kitchen.

  "What d'you make of that, then?" he said.

  "I don't believe a word of it," she said.

  "Good. Nor do I. Positive terror of violence? He's the coolest customer I ever saw. He'd arrange a murder with no more fuss than ordering a fish dinner."

  "That's right, Fred! I remember now - when he called on me and Chaka growled at him he didn't turn a hair. He's lying - he must be. What's he up to?"

  "I don't know. Buying time? But it shows we're on the right track, doesn't it?"

  He sat down opposite her and moved the lamp so he could see her. Her dark eyes looked at him gravely.

  "Yes," she said. "Fred, when he came -"

  "I was just going to tell you something. Something to the effect that whatever I said the other day about not liking you and about putting an end to what we do together - whatever I said, it was moonshine. I couldn't give you up, Sally. We belong together, and we will till we die, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

  Then she smiled - such a clear, helpless, happy smile that he felt his heart leap.

  "Sally," he began - but she stopped him.

  "Don't say a word," she said.

  And she stood up, her eyes bright. She leant down and blew out the lamp, and they stood for a moment in the dim glow from the fire. Then she made a little involuntary movement towards him, and within a second they were clinging tightly together, pressing their faces clumsily towards each other in the darkness.

  "Sally -" he said.

  "Sssh!" she whispered. "I don't want you to speak. I've got a reason."

  So he kissed her instead, on the eyes, the cheeks, the throat, the fierce mouth, and again he tried to speak. She clamped her hand over his lips.

  "Don't speak!" she said, warmly into his
ear. "If you say another word I'll - I won't - oh, Fred, Fred. . ."

  She pulled at his hand, commanding, nervous, urgent. She opened the stairs door, and within a minute they were in her bedroom. The fire in there had burnt low, but there was a glow still in the embers, and the room was warm. He nudged the door shut and kissed her again, and they clung like children, trembling, and pressed their mouths together as if they were drinking each other.

  "Now," she said, "not a word, not a word. . ."

  Mr Windlesham didn't go to the cab-rank at the end of the street. There was a carriage waiting for him around the corner, but when he'd got in, it didn't move off at once; the driver waited while Mr Windlesham lit a lamp and wrote a page or two of notes in a little book. And even then they didn't move. After another minute or so, a man in workman's clothes came out of the alley behind Burton Street and tapped at the window. The horse, catching some odd scent from the man's clothes - paint? Turpentine? - tossed its head in the shafts.

  Mr Windlesham lowered the window and looked out.

  "All clear, guvnor," said the man quietly.

  Mr Windlesham fished in his pocket and handed him a sovereign.

  "Good," he said. "Thank you very much. Goodnight to you."

  The man touched his cap and made off. The driver released the brake and flicked his whip, and the carriage moved away towards the west.

  A little later Frederick looked down at Sally. Her eyes were sleepy now, but very bright, and her mouth was soft.

  "Sally," he said, "will you marry me?"

  "Of course," she said.

  "'Of course,' she says. . . Just like that! And after all this time. . ."

  "Oh, Fred, I do love you. It's taken so long. I'm so sorry about it. . . I thought I wouldn't be able to do my work if I was married. Or if I admitted I loved you. I know it's silly, now. . . But since last night, since Chaka was killed, I've seen that my work's part of me, I'm not part of it. And I've seen how much I need you. D'you know where I realized that? It was in the Patent Library. . ."

  He laughed. She bit his nose.

  "Don't laugh," she said. "It's true. There's no one like you, no one in the world. . . Oh, I'm different now, Fred. I'm not good at thinking about things like this and getting them right, not yet, but I'll try. And I will be good at it, I promise."

  The embers settled in the grate with an ashy whisper.