by BK Duncan
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Should I?’
He smirked and she longed for him to swallow the matchstick whole.
‘Reckon I’ve seen you around but you ain’t availed yourself of my services before. Know that for a fact. Need a good memory for faces in this game. Got the notion to shop around a little? A wise decision if I may say so. Pure stuff I’ve got. Straight off the boat.’
He held open his jacket to reveal an inner pocket stuffed to the brim. The suit’s cheap lining was streaked with white powder.
‘My name is May Keaps and I’m the Poplar Coroner’s Officer.’
‘Well, well, ain’t I the honoured one? I heard you was indulging.’
‘Really? Who from exactly?’
‘Oh, here and there. Sadie, I think might’ve mentioned it in passing. Quite a mine of information is our Sadie.’
May wondered if the girl existed at all or if her name was a sort of code word. If so, by Liza giving it to her and her repeating it to the man in the kimono, she might’ve unwittingly announced herself at the opium party. Come to think of it, the she-man had spirited himself away for quite a time during the evening; had he been the one who had told the Tong her house was available for entry? The growing conviction she’d been played for a fool drowned out the tiny voice of caution in her head, and sharpened her intention to take the upper hand.
‘Do you work for the Bow Kum Tong?’
‘Now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?’
‘I want you to deliver a message. Tell them I know about their interest in Anchor Wharf. And while you’re at it you can add that they murdered Miles for nothing as the coroner will be impounding Elliott Shipping until someone is indicted and arrested.’
That course of action hadn’t occurred to her before and she’d only said it now to show she wasn’t going to be intimidated off the case, but it wasn’t such a bad idea. It was well within Braxton Clarke’s powers to do such a thing and it might just force the Tong’s hand into taking one risk too many. Except perhaps she’d got there first by allowing her fury over the mangled Norton to rule her head; issuing a threat to the Tong wasn’t the response of an unemotional and rational servant of the Crown but she hadn’t survived this long in the dog-eat-dog world of the docks, let alone the mud and blood of France, by being the sort to roll over and accept a kick in the guts just because those delivering it were bigger and stronger than she was. Besides, she had the law to call on to back her up. She’d head for the office where she’d put in a telephone call to the coroner. As well as recommending he issue that warrant for seizure, she’d ask him to arrange police protection: if they tried to silence her with another warning then it’d be within the confines of a trap. She stalked off savouring the satisfaction that, although the dope-runner hadn’t stopped smiling, he had bitten the matchstick in half.
May was taking a shortcut down one of the alleyways off the Causeway when she heard footsteps racing up behind her. She turned just as the man drew level. She recognised the hat and suit. A glint. A flash. The dope-runner didn’t break stride as she felt a sting in the side of her neck. She’d been slashed. She sank to the ground, her whole body trembling, her hand pressed over the wound. The warm stickiness of blood seeped between her fingers; not enough for him to have cut an artery, but enough. She began to pant, unable to keep any air in her lungs. Her eyes rapidly lost focus, the bricks of the wall opposite merging together into a pulsating black mass. Would she faint? If she moved, how far would she get before loss of blood made her too weak to continue? The memory of Miles Elliott’s body lying undiscovered in an alley made her waste what little energy she had in whimpering out convulsive sobs.
She couldn’t stay here. Heaving herself up on shaky legs, she took a step forward. Then another, the hand not clasped to her neck flailing for the support of the wall. She made contact with the cold, damp, bricks but leaned too hard into them and lost her balance. Her feet stuttered as she pitched forward, her arms a cushion against smashing her head on the roadway. The ring of confident heels from the far end of the alley. He had come back to finish her off. The bubble of a scream rose in her throat. It squeezed past her lips, no louder than a kitten’s mew. Her worst fear was coming true: that of being a woman too terrified to defend herself. She had nothing. No weapon. No courage. No life force. The alleyway turned into a deep dark river, the waters closing over her head until she wasn’t sure if she was even breathing anymore. The current buoyed her up - no, it was hands under her armpits. But he wasn’t rescuing her from drowning. She had to try to swim away. Her feet kicked weakly against the muddy bottom. The silt swallowed her ankles. The tide had turned.
Chapter Forty
‘Miss Keaps... May... Open your eyes... Thank God... Thank God...’
The words reached her from the other side of an ocean. The hardness at her back and the pressure on her shoulders told her she was being propped up against the wall. The sharp bite of her sliced neck was the only other thing she could feel. He hadn’t added another. She reached up to renew the pressure of her fingers against it. His grip relaxed a little and she slithered down into a ball at his feet. She was aware of the shininess of his shoes before her stomach cramped and she twisted her head sideways to spew the bitterness of her earlier coffee onto the un-named slime coating the stone sets. Tears and blood soaked into the collar of her blouse. It was her best one. No amount of scrubbing with bleach would ever get it white again. Why was she worrying about that now? Because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate: that he was going to take slow, painful, revenge on her for singling him out to the Tong - ending in a grisly demonstration of proof he wasn’t a nark.
Her lips were moving, but no sound coming out. She wanted to plead for her life. Then, when her throat was finally loose enough to let some words past, she began retching again. The wound was opening - she could feel the prickle of air on raw flesh. She had to stop vomiting. There was nothing left to bring up. Except she knew it was really the fear her body was trying to expel. And that wasn’t going to go away. Not when a man with a razor in his hand was standing over her. Not ever. She was aware of the gloom growing in density as he moved to block out the light from the end of the alley. Would he listen if she begged him to spare Alice? Did murderers ever respect their victim’s dying wish? Had Miles uttered one? If so, had it come from the depths of an opium dream - or nightmare? He was bending over her now. She could smell mint and tobacco on his breath. And a spicy warmth clinging to his clothes. His hand was on her forehead trying to inch it back. His touch, gentle. She’d lost her hat. That silly green moth-eaten hat.
‘May... can you hear me?... It’s Horatio Barley-Freeman...’
Alice’s hero. Now her knight in shining armour.
‘...I saw a man running out of the alley and knew he must’ve been up to something... but I never imagined... never thought it could be this... Here, sit up a little if you can.’
A glowing patch of white appeared.
‘Use my handkerchief... No, not for your face, your neck. Cover the wound until I can get you more comfortable and take a look at it.’
It seemed to take forever but at last she was upright, her back once more against the wall, her legs straight out in front of her. She felt a ridiculous urge to pull her skirt hem over her knees. Her mouth was dry and tasted of sick. She chewed on her bottom lip to generate enough spit to talk.
‘What... what are you doing here? Did they tell you where to find me? Are they watching the Gaiety as well?’
‘You’re not making much sense but then an attack like that is bound to have shaken you up. Did he take anything?’
May looked around for her satchel. The only thing she couldn’t bear to lose was her notebook; it contained all her thoughts and summations on the Miles Elliott case. Except it was almost a relief to believe that had been what he was after. Could he have sna
tched it off her shoulder? It had happened so fast she couldn’t remember exactly what he’d done. But he’d cut her. She knew that much. Barley-Freeman got up off his haunches and walked down the alleyway a little.
‘Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.’
Her voice was distressingly like that of a petrified child.
‘I’m only going this far... Here, I’ve found it. Your bag. Was there any money in it?’
‘What I’d saved for Tom.’
Horatio returned and set the satchel on the ground beside her before crouching where May wouldn’t have to move her head to see him.
‘It’s lucky I came along when I did. I wish I could’ve been a few minutes earlier though and then I might’ve been able to intervene.’
‘It’d only have postponed things; except I wasn’t expecting it quite yet. I thought... I thought it’d be someone else... Why are you here?’
‘My father’s business. Barley-Freeman Cough Linctus; you know, the sponsors of the show. I was checking the warehouse inventory. We used Elliott Shipping but now it’s ceased operating we have to find another carrier but don’t know who to contract until we can quantify what spices we have left in store.’
That explained the comforting smell of cinnamon and cloves; she’d thought for a moment she’d conjured it up from long-lost memories of sickrooms. ‘Do you work for him? How do you find the time to fit in all the rehearsals?’
May welcomed her brain’s ability to think of facile questions when the one burning to be answered was: did he intend for me to live?
‘He wants me as a full partner but that’s my idea of hell to be honest. If this enterprise of mine’s a hit, then I’ll be making a career on the boards. Come on, let me take a look at what he did to you.’
He held her hair aside with one hand, and peeled her fingers from her neck with the other. His touch was warm. She shivered.
‘Can you tilt your head? Just a little to catch the light.’
He removed the protective handkerchief.
‘It’s stopped bleeding. Doesn’t look too deep, but I’m no expert. The hospital’s not far from here, isn’t it? I think we need a doctor’s opinion. Sit quietly and I’ll go and fetch a taxicab.’
‘No.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t leave me.’
He placed his hand on hers. ‘I have to. I won’t be long, promise.’
‘You won’t find one in Pennyfields. Help me up and we’ll walk over to West India Dock Road.’
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to move right now. What with the shock and everything.’
May felt a surge of anger. He was trying to help - she knew that - but she didn’t want to be treated like a helpless little girl. Even if she did feel like one.
‘I’ll go on my own then.’
Her defiance was undermined by wobbly legs and she had to lean on his shoulders in order to stand.
‘He certainly didn’t damage your spirit, did he? Okay, if you insist. But we’ll take it at a snail’s pace.’
He hadn’t been joking, and she couldn’t have managed anything faster anyway. A violent trembling had seized her. It rattled her teeth and sounded in her head like a train on the London and Blackwall Railway going over the roof of Tom’s garage. If she hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t turned when she did. Would he have got a clear swipe at her throat? The nightmare she’d had of her father after Sally had come to supper now seemed like a premonition. Heel to toe... heel to toe... Keep walking. A little more of her strength returned as they stepped into the light at the end of the alley. May was absurdly conscious of her tear-stained face as they turned the corner and passed two women gossiping outside the pawn shop. Who cared what she looked like? She remembered how she’d arranged Clarice Gem’s hair so she’d look neat and tidy in death. But she wasn’t on a mortuary slab. Not now. And not in the near future. Think of something - anything - to stop dwelling on what might’ve happened. To feel that life still existed even if she didn’t quite fit the part herself.
‘How’s Alice shaping up? We’re trying a little experiment in her independence and I haven’t seen a lot of her recently. Although I did drop by the theatre on Saturday and she was very full of herself.’
‘Ah... I’m afraid I may have just put the kibosh on that. I confess that at the rehearsal yesterday I raised my voice a tad to her. Or, to be more accurate, an impartial observer would probably say bellowed.’
‘I doubt it’ll do her any lasting harm.’
‘On refection, I might have gone a little far; it was in front of everyone and she left the stage in high dudgeon.’
‘That’s Alice all over, I’m afraid; she can dish it out but can’t take it. I love my sister very much but I think it’s about time someone cut her illusions of being the greatest talent to ever grace the boards down to size. Will you think me heartless if, on behalf of us all, I thank you in advance?’
‘It’s very good of you to take it that way.’
‘Look, I’m really almost myself again now, and I doubt there’s anything they can do with this,’ she reached up and pressed her fingertips at the base of her neck, ‘at Poplar General except stick some iodine on it and I can do that perfectly well myself. I’d much prefer to go home.’
‘If you’re sure you know best.’
‘I do. Let’s just say I’ve some experience in these matters.’
‘Then how about we swing by the theatre first? Vi will have started the rehearsal but I’ll square it with her to spare Alice. Is she working the box office tonight?’
‘When I saw her on Saturday she said she’d fixed the week off.’
‘Perfect. She can travel back with you, then tuck you up in bed and feed you soup or whatever. I really do think you shouldn’t be on your own after what’s just happened.’
***
They found a taxicab for hire on West India Dock Road just at the moment when May didn’t think she could walk another step. All the strength had drained from her muscles and it was as much as she could do to slump back in the seat, inspecting the handkerchief from time to time for signs that the wound had reopened. The sharpness of the razor had done her favours: the skin was holding together. Barley-Freeman had started smoking a small cigar. It reminded her of Christmas.
‘Thank you, Horatio.’
‘Think nothing of it. Anyone would’ve done the same.’
He smiled out a smoke ring. No wonder Alice had a crush on him. May tried to say something more but couldn’t find the words.
The rest of the journey passed in a haze of shattered images. She wanted to sleep but knew enough about shock from her work in the field hospital to realise that she had to keep conscious for a little while yet - at least until she was sure she wasn’t going to be taken unawares by another bout of vomiting. They arrived outside the Gaiety and Barley-Freeman patted May on the hand, told the taxi-driver to wait, and hopped out.
It could only have been ten minutes before he returned.
‘Alice hasn’t turned up for rehearsal. The poor kid must be feeling terrible to give it a miss. Me and my big mouth, eh? I’ll tell you what, let me prove to you I’m really not such a beast by playing the role of ministering angel in her place.’
The thought of Horatio Barley-Freeman stepping over the threshold into her gloomy hall made May hot with embarrassment. It was enough to rally her.
‘It’s a very kind offer, but I’m fine now, honestly. And please don’t feel badly about Alice; this isn’t the first - and it won’t be the last - time she’s gone off in a huff expecting everyone to come running after her with apologies. She’ll be in bed faking a headache, I suspect. But Mrs Gibson’s not as green as she’s cabbage looking and will soon have her up and about again. I guarantee she’ll be back in the theatre tomorrow acting as if nothing has happened. And don’t worry about me, eith
er. I promise I’ll call on Mrs Naylor in the basement if I need anything.’
‘You’re not just saying that, are you?’
‘No, I’m not, where I come from neighbours are always there to help each other out.’
‘If you’re sure you no longer need me, then I really should be getting in or I’ll have Vi joining Alice in cursing me behind my back. Goodbye, Miss Keaps, and do take good care of yourself, won’t you?’
His thoughtful formality after her exposing herself so thoroughly was oddly moving. May reached out of the taxicab window and allowed herself a soft stroke of his sleeve before he turned and walked away.
Chapter Forty-One
The atmosphere rolling off the stage was thick with anxiety. It was as if a collective realisation had suddenly dawned that there was no stopping Wednesday’s arrival and, with it, the Barley-Freeman Cough Linctus Talent Show. The performers were locked in their own little worlds as they ran through their routines - all except the comedy duo who had indulged in a spectacular row and weren’t speaking to each other. Vi was attempting to bring some order to the proceedings when Horatio re-entered the auditorium, flung his coat at the first row of tip-ups, and called her to the footlights.
‘What did you mean just now when you said Alice hasn’t turned up?’
‘Exactly that.’
‘She does know there’s a rehearsal, doesn’t she?’
‘I suspect it’s something she’s acutely aware of. Surely you can’t be surprised she’d want to avoid further humiliation after what happened yesterday?’
‘The silly girl: I was irritated with her, that’s all. Heat of the moment stuff, just as easily forgotten.’
‘I don’t imagine it felt like that to her.’
‘She’ll come back to be part of our merry band when she’s got over the sulks. Won’t she?’
‘I doubt it, not after betraying herself as such a rank amateur.’
‘Then what the hell are we going to do now?’