“I can help you carry things to your house if you like,” Fred said.
“Don’t you have translations to do?” Charles asked.
“Sometime today,” Fred said carelessly. “They’ll keep, Charles. If we don’t handle these crates now, our rooms are going to smell like an old woman.”
Kate frowned at him. “Open a window if you are so concerned about the smell.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t it bother you that these things were in the same room as a dead body for days and days?”
“Death is a part of life, Fred. If you aren’t used to that now, you soon will be,” Kate said.
Charles swallowed his last bite of egg and pushed back from the table. “Here is the clothing. I’m sure Miss Jaggers took all the best of everything, but there is still some good cloth.”
Kate went to her knees in front of the trunk that Charles had unlocked for her. She poked around at the dresses. Mary knelt next to her.
“There’s quite a bit here that looks to be only about fifteen years old,” Mary said.
“She must have refurbished her wardrobe then,” Kate agreed. “This is very pretty.” She pulled out a cream dress polka-dotted with gold. Gold trim decorated the neckline and the hem of the skirt.
“It isn’t so different from today’s styles,” Mary said.
Charles could hear the smile in her voice.
“This one is more matronly,” Kate said as she unwrapped a bit of paper and displayed a navy dress with a white diamond pattern. “All it really needs are new sleeves.”
“Did you get a good price, Charles?” Mary asked, tucking stray locks of brown hair back into her braid.
“Very, if there are actually dresses you can wear.” He leaned over to examine the cream and gold dress. “I wonder why Miss Jaggers didn’t take this one.”
“She wouldn’t want anything old,” Kate said. “Not that sort of girl. You remember how well dressed she was at the inquest, and not at all friendly.” She picked up another wrapped bundle. Something fell out and pinged against the floorboards. She handed the bundle to Mary and picked up the object.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
Kate had what looked like a spinning top in her palm. She held it up to him.
He examined it. “Silver. Pointed tip and a spinning rod, but made of expensive metal and very ornate.”
“I’ve seen one of these,” Kate told him. “It’s a Hebrew toy. I think it’s called a dreidel in their language.”
“A Hebrew toy?” Charles repeated. “How strange.”
Mary had unwrapped the bundle, and she pulled out a silver chain. “Look. The clasp is broken. Do you think she wore that spinning top like a charm?”
Kate threaded the chain through the top of the dreidel. “It does have an loop for exactly that. Was Miss Haverstock Jewish?”
“I never saw any sign of it, but we didn’t know her for long.” Charles considered. “This area makes sense as a Jewish quarter, with the burying ground nearby. Breese Gadfly is Jewish.”
Mary shook out the rest of the bundle, which turned out to be an old evening cloak. Another small item dropped. Charles caught it on the rebound.
“It’s a ring,” he reported, staring at the simple gold band in his palm.
Kate leaned over him. “A wedding ring?”
They stared at each other.
“Why would she have left such objects in a cloak?” Mary asked. She poked through the fabric. “Look. The pocket has a hole.”
Kate went back to the trunk and pawed through the rest of the belongings, but they’d already seen the best of it. “Old stays, old shoes. A tarnished dressing-table set. It could be taken to be resilvered.”
“Is there a family Bible?” Charles asked.
“Not in this trunk,” Kate reported. “We need to find her parish, if she had one.”
“I agree.” Charles sighed when he heard the church bells. “I should leave for London. Have a look through the crates, will you, and we’ll discuss the matter tonight.”
* * *
Charles called for Kate on the way home. They walked past the Jewish burial ground gate, which was locked, like usual.
“I had never really thought about this place before,” Kate confessed, staring up at the high walls. “Finding that dreidel really made me wonder. I don’t think I’d ever had a conversation with a Jewish person before.”
“That’s because you’ve never known want. If you’d had to deal in secondhand clothes, you’d have met them.”
“She had her tea things, a deck of playing cards, a chipped vase.” Kate paused. “Of course, anything finer than her everyday things, if such items existed, would have left the rooms with Miss Jaggers.”
“I suppose we have an incomplete record,” Charles admitted.
“Fred will be at home, right?” Kate asked.
“Of course, dear, and we’ll have Julie downstairs. I want to check on her.”
“Did William say much about Little Ollie today?”
Charles’s stomach ached anew at the memory of the night before. His exhaustion had kept the remembered horror at bay. “He was going to check on him on the way home, so we should have news soon.”
When they reached Selwood Terrace, Charles sent Kate upstairs to find Julie, then unlocked his own door. “Botheration,” he muttered when he saw that Fred was, in fact, not at home. He hated to be made a liar.
As soon as he had the fire laid and the kettle full of water, Kate and Julie clattered down the steps.
“I spent the afternoon with Ollie,” Julie announced, walking in ahead of Kate. The young matron wore a dark, serviceable dress with no frills.
“Is he healing?” Charles asked.
“He is still taking a fair amount of laudanum,” she said. “The doctor said he’s been frantic otherwise and could wound himself.”
Charles appreciated Dr. Manette’s wisdom. “What about the other children? Do they know?”
“William had to attend a meeting this evening, so he’ll be in London late. He said he’d go fetch them after and take them to Dr. Manette’s house.”
“That will be quite an adventure,” Kate said. “They’ve likely never been in a hackney or been outside of London.”
“I expect you are right,” Julie agreed. “Maybe that will help them imagine life away from the Thames. I had so many experiences when I was younger. It helped me be less afraid of change.”
Charles heard a knock on the door. “Must be Mr. Gadfly from next door.”
“I’ll put the tea in the pot,” Kate said as he went to the door.
Instead of Breese Gadfly, Reggie Nickerson, Mr. Ferazzi’s man, stood in the doorway. He took off his cap and frowned at Charles. “Need a word with you, Dickens,” he rasped in a grim tone.
Chapter 12
Charles attempted to step into the tiny front hall outside of his parlor to keep whatever unpleasant business the man had out of earshot of the ladies, but somehow, he found himself pushed back into the room, with Mr. Nickerson looming in his entryway and the door closed behind him.
He heard Kate squeak and the rustling of skirts as Mr. Nickerson came forward. Charles put out his hands to stop Kate and Julie from coming too close.
“Now see ’ere,” Mr. Nickerson said belligerently. Taller than Charles, he could look down his hooked nose at him. “It won’t do, Mr. Dickens. It just won’t do.”
“What is this about?” Charles demanded, unwilling to give the man any authority.
“You, sir,” said the rent collector, poking Charles in the chest, “are behind on rent and will be evicted in a week.”
“Balderdash,” Charles exclaimed as the girls gasped. “I paid on Friday. My rent isn’t due now.”
“You’ve only been paying half your rent, and Mr. Ferazzi, well, sir, ’e won’t stand for it any longer.”
Charles’s stomach seemed to catch in his throat. He forced himself to speak through complete outrage. “That is entirely untrue. I’l
l show you.” He glanced around the cluttered room, panicking when he realized that in this mess, he had no idea where his paperwork was. Had he left it at Furnival’s Inn? No, it had to be in his writing desk, and that was here. He took one arm of each girl and pulled them into his bedroom.
“Charles,” Kate started.
He shook his head. “It’s a misunderstanding, Kate. You know me better than that.” He took his writing desk from the nightstand, where it had unaccountably ended up. Flipping through the papers, he could find no sign of rental agreements.
He dumped his papers across the bed and spread them out. Nothing. Trying to be methodical, even as his heart raced, he turned over each sheet as he read it and gathered the rejected papers in a pile. Not that one, or that one, either. Julie picked up the pile and glanced through it, too.
The door opened behind him. It was Nickerson, his gaze scornful. He held up a paper as Julie stared over his shoulder. “This wot yer lookin’ for, Mr. Dickens?”
Charles stood from his crouch over the bed and ripped the page out of Mr. Nickerson’s hand. It was his rental agreement, all right, but with an amount double what he had agreed to pay. “Where did this come from? The amount is wrong. Look, you can see where it is scribbled over.” Where was his copy? Had it been stolen out of his box? He needed to search the rest of his rooms, and the ones in Holborn, as well. Normally, he was fastidious about matters of business. This didn’t make sense.
He needed another opinion. Where was William? Or he could go to Breese and see what he paid in rent. “Julie, is this what you pay?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her hands. “William handles the rent.”
Mr. Nickerson chuckled nastily. “You may think what you will, but you have no proof of the truth being otherwise. I’ll need the rest of your rent now, or we’ll plan for the removers.”
“Did you break in here? Steal my paperwork?” Charles demanded.
The rent collector bristled. Kate and Julie jumped back.
“Temper, temper,” Mr. Nickerson said, waving his finger. “It’s ’ard to be a young man trying to impress ’is lady. I unnerstand, Mr. Dickens. But you’ll pay everything you owe come Friday, or be tossed out on yer ear, like anyone else.” He laughed and walked out, then shut the door gently behind him.
Charles whirled around, his face contorted with anger and embarrassment. “He is lying,” he thundered. “He stole my paperwork and wrote over the original. I’d never pay only half of my rent.”
Julie put her hand on his arm, while Kate hung back, her hand over her mouth.
“Mr. Nickerson is a bad man,” Julie murmured. “Rent collectors always are. I believe you, Charles. I don’t know what William paid, but we’d better make sure our rental agreement wasn’t stolen, as well.”
“I’ll bet he’s the neighborhood thief,” Charles raged. “He’d better not try to steal anything else from me.”
“Why didn’t you just give him the money?” Kate asked. “Then you would have been done with it until you sorted it out.”
Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I already gave the rest of my ready cash to Mr. Nickerson. For Miss Haverstock’s things. I don’t have any more until I’m paid on Friday.” He put his hands through his hair. “Mr. Nickerson knew it, too. That was part of the negotiation. I told him I didn’t have any more money, and he gave me his price.”
Kate drew herself up. “We’ll sell Miss Haverstock’s things to the dealers. And get your money back. The dresses are better than you thought, Charles. You’ll get more than you paid.”
“I’m not giving Reggie Nickerson one more shilling,” Charles insisted. “I paid my rent, and I won’t be his victim. I’m not going to be treated like the Gordons.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t have any more money, Charles,” Kate said. “How can we be married at Christmas if you are constantly running out of money?”
Charles gritted his teeth. Why was she saying such unsupportive things in front of Julie Aga? “I gave money to the Gordons, remember? And then paid for Miss Haverstock’s things. Those were unusual circumstances. I have payments coming for some of my sketches soon. You know I haven’t been saving. I’ve been buying new furniture and kitchen things as I have the money. That was our plan, Kate.”
She shook her head, her jaw taut. “I’m not going to live the pawnshop life, Charles. I deserve better. I will leave so you can try to find your rental agreement.” She grabbed her shawl off the sofa and went to the door. “Julie?”
“Do you want me to take the dresses?” Julie asked.
“They already belong to Kate,” Charles growled. “I gave them to her.”
“Oh, well, I’ll leave them for now, then,” Julie said.
Kate gave Charles an agonized glance, then went out the door.
“If she won’t support you through hardship, what kind of a wife will she be?” Julie asked, staring at the door after it closed. “I’d never treat William that way.”
“She’s a different sort of girl than you.” Charles let out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. His heart was still pounding. “You can’t expect a gently bred girl who has never known want not to be shocked in a situation like this. She hasn’t dealt with the criminal class before.”
“She shouldn’t have left,” Julie said stoutly. “I didn’t.”
“I know, Julie.” Charles lifted his hands. “We’ve had our differences, but you’ve a true heart.”
She nodded and screwed up her cheek. “Why don’t you come upstairs? I’ll make you dinner. It will be hours before William is home, and I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Thank you, but it will need to be quick. I’m going to tear these rooms apart and look for my rental agreement. If it’s not here, I’m going back to London to look for it tonight. What choice do I have? Mr. Nickerson and Mr. Ferazzi are attempting to get their revenge on me for helping the Gordons, and this just makes me more certain that Nickerson himself is an accomplished thief.”
“Do you think the agreement was stolen?”
“Yes. My windows were open, and no one was here. Anyone could have come in.” He shook his head. “I just wanted the smell from poor Miss Haverstock’s corpse gone, and now this.”
* * *
Charles drank too much in the Agas’ rooms and didn’t relish the idea of stumbling his way into London, unable to defend himself from cutpurses. Instead, he went downstairs and had a chat with Breese, along with two rum and waters. His rent hadn’t been raised. Eventually, William returned to Selwood Terrace.
Charles ventured into the small hall. “How is Ollie? Where are the other mudlarks?”
William squinted at him. “You’re mumbling, Charles.”
Charles pushed curls out of his eyes, except they weren’t there. It was only his vision not focusing. “Did Ferazzi raise your rent?”
“No.” William narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Ollie is healing but is very sad. He wouldn’t speak to the other children.”
Charles swayed. He grabbed the doorjamb of Breese’s door for support.
The songwriter peered over Charles’s shoulder and smiled at William. “Come in,” he invited. “We were just drinking, err, talking.”
“No, thank you. I assume my wife is upstairs.”
Charles belched. “She fed me cold pie and a bottle of wine.”
William nodded. “What is wrong, Charles?”
“Reggie Nickerson came to my door, in front of Julie and Kate. Said I was paying only half my rent. Threatened to boot me in a week. Hum-hum-humiliating,” he finished, feeling a hot flush in his cheeks.
William stared at him. “You can prove he’s lying, can’t you?”
“He can’t find his rental agreement,” Breese explained. “I found mine, and it’s a bit more than what Charles thought his rent was, but I have better light in my chambers.”
William rubbed his index fingers down the sides of his nose. “I’ll find mine tomorrow. But it’s not like
you, Charles, to be untidy.”
“St-stolen,” Charles pronounced. “When my windows were open.”
“Ah. Anything is possible around here.” William nodded. “Perhaps we should all beg Lady Lugoson for rooms for the rest of the summer.”
Charles didn’t think Kate would like that. Lady Lugoson was very beautiful, and a widow. “I will not be forced out of here,” he said very slowly.
“Get some sleep,” William advised. “No more drinking tonight.”
Charles stumbled into the hall, then turned and bowed grandly to Breese. “Good evening, Mr. Gadfly.”
The other man pulled at the seams of his trousers and curtsied. “Good evening, Mr. Dickens.”
Charles giggled at the hilarity. William grimaced at the songwriter and put his arm around Charles’s shoulders.
“Tomorrow is another day, son. You’ll prove the truth to Kate. Don’t worry.”
When Charles pulled out his key, it fell on the floor. William picked it up and inserted it into the lock, but the door opened from the pressure alone.
William frowned and fussed with the door. “The bolt isn’t engaging. It would have been easy for someone to walk in.”
“Not very safe, with a murderer l-loose,” Charles said. “But I can’t get Nickerson to have it fixed, not now.”
William pulled off his cap. “Maybe that’s the point.” He poked Charles in the shoulder. “Go to bed. Start fresh tomorrow. Dawn is only about four hours away.”
* * *
Charles woke some hours later, spluttering under a stream of water on his face. He blinked and waved his arms, then struggled to a sitting position. “What?”
“You’re going to be late,” Fred said, putting down a glass. “And you stink.”
Charles rubbed his eyes, which were gritty with sleep. “Water,” he moaned.
Fred handed a glass to him. He poured the contents down his parched throat. Then he pushed back the covers. It was too much. He let his head drop into his hands.
“Hair of the dog?” his brother suggested.
“No, too much to do today. I have parliamentary meetings. I need to find the rental agreement if I can, and I need to speak to Miss Jaggers about her foster mother.” A face-splitting yawn took over. His eyes closed.
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