by J C Briggs
It was time to call a halt. Sam would have some men look about tomorrow if Theo were still missing. Rogers and Feak went back to Bow Street, Zeb and Occy back to the shop, promising that if they heard anything they would let Sam know. Dickens and Jones would take Scrap back to Crown Street and then walk home. Dickens noticed Scrap gazing hungrily at the pieman. He nudged Sam.
‘A pie apiece, I think,’ said Sam, handing threepence to Scrap who darted to the pie stand.
‘One thing,’ said Dickens, ‘Mrs Brine – she described Theo as on the edge of the group of toffs. Not belonging – it fits my impression of his loneliness. I wonder, you know, if he has reached the end of something. Could he have –?’
‘Killed himself? God forbid. I hope not – I hope it would not mean that he is our killer.’
‘Tomorrow, I will take Kip to Mrs Morson. At least we’ll have done some good for one lost boy.’
‘And I’ll go to the Du Cane house to question Mattie Webb about that shawl and Theo Outfin.’
Scrap came back with the pies on which they blew to cool them down. Impatient, Scrap almost burnt his lip. Dickens lost his appetite suddenly. Scrap obliged him by eating a second.
‘Waste not, want not, me ma used ter say.’
‘Me ma,’ thought Dickens. It was the only time Scrap had ever mentioned her. There was a pa somewhere but Scrap rarely went home. It was easy to think that Scrap had just materialised in the world, fully formed as the boy he was with all his smartness and good humour. Who was she, this woman whose precept Scrap remembered? The few words conjured for Dickens a sensible, thrifty woman, strict with her offspring, but something in Scrap’s voice suggested that he remembered her fondly. Dead, he supposed. Pity – her son was a credit to her.
They left him at Mr Brim’s shop and walked back up Crown Street, across Oxford Street, then up to Norfolk Street where Sam lived. Dickens walked on to Devonshire Terrace. The rain had stopped but the sky was still heavy with cloud. No stars tonight. No moon. How right Thomas Hood was about November: no warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease. Just the dripping of rain on the bushes in the garden, and a pain in his side, the old disorder that had begun in childhood and flared up at times of exhaustion and overwork. But the lights were on upstairs in the drawing room and there would be a fire, dappling the room, and Catherine and her sister Georgy sewing in the golden lamplight. Home.
18
BRIDIE O’MALLEY’S TALE
‘Mrs O’Malley, sir, says she wants to see you – got information – for your ears only.’ Rogers grinned at the superintendent’s raised eyebrows. ‘Won’t take no for an answer an’ I didn’t fancy tryin’ to get rid of ’er – not in front of the lads, anyways. She’s a bit too big fer me to ’andle.’
Bridie O’Malley was an old friend of Sam’s. They had grown up together, as it were, having met when the superintendent was just a lad like Feak, and Bridie was a pretty, slender Irish girl whose mother had kept a respectable house where Sam had lodged. They had both risen in the world and Bridie now kept the lodging house – girls only, though men did visit – and Sam became a superintendent of the police. Bridie had more than a soft spot for the superintendent which was why he grinned back at Rogers. She would stay outside all day, immoveable as a mountain, until she got into Sam’s office. And it was only nine o’clock. He had too much to do to be distracted by the knowledge of Bridie anchored in the corridor like a battleship. Battleaxe Bridie. He smiled. He would have to see what she wanted.
Bridie, when sober, was as good-hearted a woman as you could meet. When drunk, she could land a punch which would fell a man. Last time he had seen her at the station she had been brought in after she had almost done for a customer who had beaten up one of her girls. He had not pressed charges, preferring that his wife and family were left in the dark about his nocturnal visits to the purlieus of St Giles’s.
In she came, enormous yet handsome, hair still improbably black, eyes sparkling green and dressed to kill with peacock feathers in her hat and a red dress – a bit garish for Sam’s taste, but you had to admire her. She would go down fighting.
He stood, made her a bow – she loved his manners and it was not often you met a man as tall as he was, who could look down on you – well just.
‘Bridie, as always, a pleasure to see you. Lovely hat, if I may say so.’
‘You’re looking grand yourself, Sam.’
Rogers sneaked a grin behind the broad back where the red satin strained. He did not need to make himself scarce. She only had eyes for the superintendent.
‘Take a seat, Bridie, and tell me about this information you have.’
‘Heard you lost a young man – they say you were searchin’ last night round St Giles’s near the burnt-out house. Sure, it was terrible it was – Mrs Moon an’ that kiddie – funny little thing – not for this world, I thought, like a fairy –’
Just what Dickens had said. Bridie had poetry in her soul, too.
‘This young man – name of Theo is it?’
Sam could not hide his astonishment. How on earth did she know? Bridie was gratified – it was good to surprise a man sometimes. Kept him on his toes – not but what she knew the superintendent was a happily married man. Lucky for some, she thought; whoever Mrs Jones was, she’d been blessed, to be sure. She’d been married herself once, and what a mistake that had been. Light-fingered Michael Rory O’Malley whose eyes of twinkling green had lured her away from common sense – she should have known. Michael, missing these twenty years. Dead, she supposed. Well, she had stopped hoping long ago.
‘It is – do you know where he is?’
‘I do – at my house – found him outside – been attacked – bleedin’ from the head. In a shockin’ state, Mr Jones – I sent for Mrs Feak, the nurse, you know her. Well, he’s bandaged up now, but, she don’t know – needs a doctor. When I heard you were lookin’ I came straight here.’
‘Was he coming to your house – to see one of the girls?’
‘Yes, and no – in a way. It’s a bit of a tale, Sam.’
At that moment Dickens came in to find out if there were any news. He was on his way to Mrs Moon’s kind neighbour who was looking after Kip.
‘Mrs O’Malley has found Theo Outfin – badly injured. Attacked, apparently. She was about to tell me what he was doing outside her house. This is Mr Dickens, Bridie.’
Dickens remembered Bridie who had offered Sam her company for the evening when they had come out of Bow Street station once. She was wearing yellow satin then, magnificently loud, revealing huge white shoulders. He remembered her mountainous progress through the jeering crowd. She could storm a town single-handed with a hearth broom, and carry it, he thought as he took off his hat with a flourish and bowed.
‘An honour, Mrs O’Malley, your servant.’
Another gent, thought Bridie – a grand lookin’ boy though not as well set up as Sam. Bit of a swell with his fancy waistcoat and brass buttons. And great eyes, to be sure, looking at her admiringly. She acknowledged him with a shake of her peacock feathers. Then her eyes widened.
‘Mr Dickens, Sam? You mean, Mr Charles Dickens?’ Sam nodded. ‘Mr Dickens, the honour is mine. Well, I’ll be blowed – I tell you, Mr Dickens, me and the girls we read all your numbers. Very fond of Sam Weller, I am – ’tis a shame there wasn’t a young man about like that when I was in the market for a husband. Smart as paint, he is.’
‘And on his behalf, Mrs O’Malley,’ said Dickens in the manner of that smart young man, ‘I’m wery grateful. An’, I’m sure I hopes there’s no harm in a young man takin’ notice of a young ’ooman as is undeniably good-looking and well-conducted.’ He bowed again.
‘Get away with you, Mr Dickens – young indeed.’ But she was pleased.
‘Now, tell the tale, Bridie, before Mr Dickens declares his undying love – we ought to go as soon as we can.’
‘One of my lodgers, Katie Fitzgerald – just a lodger, Sam – not, you know – she’s a respectable girl �
�� no family, but I knew them – he was a clerk in a bank but left nothing when he died. The mother followed soon after so Katie works as a seamstress in the theatre. Well, she met Theo Outfin. He came to visit her often. Look, Sam, I think you’ll have to see for yourself. You’ll understand when you do.’
The theatre, thought Dickens – a connection to the mask? They had not followed up that possibility. But Theo Outfin was involved with a young woman. And not Mattie Webb. Surely that was his trouble rather than murder. And yet he had been attacked. Had he been suspected by someone who knew the disfigured boy? Well, they would find out something soon enough. He saw that Sam was already in motion, detailing Rogers to find Oliver Wilde – he should try the apartment in Piccadilly. If not at home, Oliver would be at the Outfins, and if so, Rogers was to try to be discreet – to ask for Mr Wilde. They had to hope that the servant would fetch him without alerting the family. It would be better for the family if Oliver could get to know the story first.
Dickens and Jones walked with Bridie to her lodging house off Compton Street. It stood in a quiet court and there was an air of respectability about it. You might have thought it would be the residence of clerks, perhaps from the law courts or counting houses. The curtains were clean and the paintwork fresh. Bridie took them in and up the two flights of stairs where Katie Fitzgerald’s room lay at the end of a corridor. Bridie knocked and the door was opened by Mrs Feak, the Sybil of Star Street. She recognised Sam and stood aside to let him in.
Theo Outfin lay on the narrow bed, his head bound with a bandage. His breathing was laboured. It was obvious that he was very ill. Seated at the side of the bed was a young, dark-haired girl who must be Katie Fitzgerald. She looked at them with fearful eyes. Looking at her, they understood what Bridie had meant. Katie Fitzgerald was pregnant, her belly swollen on a thin, girlish frame.
‘’E needs a doctor, Mr Jones. I can’t do anything else for ’im – nasty ’ead wound, it is – a brick, I should think,’ said Mrs Feak.
Bridie put in, ‘She’s right, Sam – I saw it last night – blood everywhere and I saw the brick. No money on him. Thief must have taken it.’
Katie Fitzgerald did not speak; her eyes were fixed on the figure on the bed, but there was no response when she touched him gently on the hand. Dickens looked at the pale face, the eyelids closed. He thought he understood the despair in Theo’s face and the loneliness. What was he to do, a young man, well-connected with a father who had high hopes for his only son? And he had got himself into a mess from which there was no way of extricating himself. No wonder he had not confided in his sister or Oliver. He would have been terribly afraid and there was this girl who obviously loved him. She moved her left hand and he saw the ring there. He had married her and did not know what to do next. Not gambling but a wife to support. Well, he would be his own man when he was twenty-one and inherited his grandmother’s money. But he could not be the murderer, surely. That would make no sense at all. Apart from sending for a doctor, what to do next? The truth, he thought. Mr and Mrs Outfin would have to know the truth and they must decide what to do.
Sam sent Mrs Feak for the doctor – she would know whom to call, and Theo must be taken to hospital; that was clear enough.
‘Miss Fitzgerald.’ He had seen the ring, too. ‘You two are married?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know that Theo must be taken to hospital, and that his family must be told? You understand?’
She nodded. She looked weary and frightened. It was all too much. Dickens hoped that the Outfins would accept what was not to be mended. If Theo died, which he might, then they must, surely, take responsibility for this girl and her child. He thought of Mrs Outfin’s good-natured face and Sophy’s innocent one. They would not turn her away. Of Mr Outfin, he was not certain, but Mrs Outfin might be persuasive enough. They waited, listening to the sound of Theo Outfin’s breathing. Katie Fitzgerald’s eyes were fixed on him. At last, Mrs Feak returned with the doctor and Dickens and Jones went downstairs at the sound of an urgent knocking at the door which Dickens opened to find Rogers, Oliver Wilde and Mrs Outfin.
‘Mrs Outfin insisted, Mr Dickens – I couldn’t –’ Oliver was flustered.
‘Mr Dickens, I beg you, tell me, what has happened to Theo? How came he here?’ Mrs Outfin came in, her face flushed with alarm. Dickens noted that Sam, discreet fellow, had vanished into the parlour with Bridie. Rogers had gone back to Bow Street.
‘He was attacked here, robbed – the doctor is with him now.’
‘What was he doing here? At this house? I must go up.’
What to tell her? She needed to be prepared for the sight of Katie Fitzgerald and the wedding ring. He could not just let it happen – the sight of Theo would be enough to distress her.
The doctor came down. He looked anxious. Mrs Outfin collected herself to speak to him, ‘Doctor, I am the young man’s mother. What are we to do?’
‘He needs hospital care. I am going to arrange that now. There must be no delay – his condition is grave.’
‘No, Doctor, he must be taken home – I will have a surgeon come to treat him there – Oliver, you must go home, inform Mr Outfin – a carriage must be brought and two of the servants. Tell Mr Outfin that Theo is badly hurt and that he must arrange for a surgeon to be at the house as soon as possible. Doctor, are you able to accompany Theo to our house?’
‘I am – but, young man – you must hurry, please.’
Oliver left immediately and the doctor went back upstairs to his patient. Mrs Outfin made to follow. It had to be now. Dickens was impressed by her decisiveness.
‘Mrs Outfin, before you go to see him, I must tell you –’
‘What? What is the matter?’ She saw his grave face.
‘There is a young woman with Theo. She is his wife.’
‘How can – I cannot believe it – he would not –’ Then she stopped and he saw how she thought of the strangeness of her son during the last months, his distance from them, his seeming to have such cares, and her thought that he might be in bad company – and understanding dawned. ‘So that is what was wrong. I thought – well, I do not know what his father will say – you are sure they are married?’
‘The young woman says so – I have no reason to disbelieve her. What would a lie achieve?’
‘What kind of a young woman is she? Living here? She cannot be –’
‘Of your class? No, she is not, but she is a respectable girl. There is more, I am afraid.’
Mrs Outfin paled. This was bad enough. Surely Theo could not have been guilty of something other than this foolishness? She hardly dared think, remembering her husband’s anger and fear of what his son might be involved in.
‘Tell me.’
‘The girl, Theo’s wife –’ he had to remind her – ‘is expecting a child.’
Mrs Outfin put out her hand to grasp the bannister rail. She looked as if she had been struck. He waited for her to recover.
‘O, God. What am I to tell his father? He will be –’
‘I think you should go up to see Theo, Mrs Outfin. Get him home. His wife will be safe here until you can return to talk to her and find out more. She is very frightened and alone at the moment – she is afraid of what might happen to him, and, I imagine, very afraid of the future, and of Theo’s family. She must know what you might think of such a marriage.’
He saw her think of the girl upstairs and he saw that she was, essentially, a woman of feeling who would be able to understand the plight of such a woman. He thought that she would accept what had happened, knowing that there was nothing to be done but to take practical steps to look after her son, his wife – and the child – however that might be accomplished.
‘You are right, Mr Dickens. They are our responsibility. My husband will have to see that. I shall make sure he does.’ She went upstairs.
Sam came out of Bridie’s parlour. ‘Sorry to leave you to it but I thought it might be better for her not to see me here – it might have co
mplicated matters.’
‘You were right. You heard, though.’
‘I did – and I thought you did excellently. What you said about that poor girl was just the right thing to make her think. Bridie will take care of Katie until Mrs Outfin comes back. As she said, it is their responsibility and I think they will deal with it. Let us hope that Theo recovers. I can hardly believe he is our man after all this.’
‘Nor I, thank goodness – the Outfins have enough to deal with as it is without our discovering that he is a murderer.’
Another knock at the door. Oliver Wilde came in with two of Mr Outfin’s menservants.
‘We need a stretcher, a board or something to carry him down,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll ask Bridie. If one of you would come.’ He went into the parlour and a few moments later, he and the servant appeared, carrying an old wooden door which would serve as a stretcher. The two men went upstairs with Oliver.
A few minutes later the doctor came down with Mrs Outfin and Oliver, then the two young men who carried Theo Outfin. They manoeuvred the board as carefully as they could. Dickens noticed that a pillow had been provided for his head and a blanket covered him. He had not woken up though he still breathed. At the top of the stairs Katie Fitzgerald stood in her dark gown, one hand on her swelling belly, and the other, with the glint of gold on it, held to her mouth. Her eyes seemed huge in her white face. Was she to lose him?
19
MATTIE WEBB’S SHAWL
Dickens and Jones watched the carriage turn the corner. Theo Outfin was safe, for the time being anyway. They could do no more for him nor for the frightened girl upstairs except to leave her with Bridie.