The House on Vesper Sands

by Paraic O?Donnell

  ‘To Lord Strythe, sir? To his master?’

  ‘Or someone acting for him. To a man, at any rate, who was in the way of making things happen promptly. To a man who did not care a great deal for what Esther Tull might have confided to her sister, as long as her sister could confide it to no one else, and who was anxious, perhaps, to know what might have been concealed in their home. We cannot say yet whether His Lordship answers that description, but we have grounds enough for wishing to speak with him. Since no trace can be found of him here in town – and I have had reliable people looking, you may be sure – I believe we will try his house in Kent.’

  Gideon fell silent for a time, gazing out at the darkened streets as he gave thought to all the inspector had said. He had not taken his bearings for some time, and he felt a jolt of alarm when he caught sight of the Monument, rising stern and singular among the slow veils of snow. Straining to look ahead, he glimpsed the lamps of London Bridge and felt a mournful throb of remembrance. These were the very streets they had walked, he and Miss Tatton, only the summer before. Just around the corner – not two minutes away, if he were to get out and walk – was the church of St Magnus-the-Martyr, where he had first seen her.

  ‘No,’ he said, somewhat startled by the abrupt resolve in his own voice. ‘We cannot leave yet.’

  Cutter regarded him with frank amazement. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but we cannot leave London yet, not without looking for Miss Tatton. Or if you insist on continuing, you must do so without me. I will leap from the cab if I must.’

  ‘You will what? I have shown a good deal of patience, Bliss, but this goes beyond all. Have you not a teaspoonful of wits? Have you no notion at all of your good fortune in being taken in as you have?’

  ‘I am in your debt, sir, and I mean to repay your confidence, but surely you see that I am bound in honour? Miss Tatton has no one else in the world. I cannot simply turn my back on her.’

  ‘You cannot turn your back on me either, you maundering little weasel, and if you do I will kick your arse. We are in the middle of an investigation. I will not be distracted from it.’

  ‘But finding Miss Tatton is not a distraction from the investigation. On the contrary, it is essential to it. Lord Strythe is mixed up in something, sir – something he fears will come to light now that Miss Tull’s death has brought his household under scrutiny – and someone, it appears, is willing to go to great lengths to keep his secrets safe. Miss Tatton is in danger, sir. My uncle knew it, and he protected her for as long as he could, but he never learned who his adversaries were. That was left to Miss Tull to reveal, and though she gave her life to do so, it came too late to help him.’

  Cutter shook his head in dissatisfaction. ‘It is speculation, Bliss. There is a flash of style about it, I will grant you that, but it is speculation all the same. There is not a shred of evidence to support it.’

  Gideon turned the book over in his lap. Dusting it with his sleeve, he passed it solemnly to the inspector. ‘I believe there is, sir.’

  ‘What is this now?’

  ‘It is the Book of Common Prayer, sir, which I found by Miss Tull’s bed, along with her Bible. I took it into evidence, and made a note to that effect. I hope I did not do wrong.’

  ‘That depends, Bliss, on what you found in it.’

  Gideon cleared his throat. ‘I have marked a page, sir, in the Order for Evening Prayer. You will find that a line has been underscored, and an annotation made in the margin.’

  The inspector put a broad fingertip to the page. He considered it for a moment in grave silence, then looked away in thought. ‘The same words,’ he said at length. ‘The words from that prayer of yours.’

  ‘From the Magnificat, yes. And the words in the margin, sir – you see their significance?’

  ‘“For H.N. – Because I cannot write.”’

  ‘For Herbert Neuilly, sir. My uncle’s name was—’

  ‘I know what his name was, you chattering streak of gannet’s shite. What does it mean?’

  ‘Why, it bears out what he told me in his letter – that he feared his post was being opened, and if he believed that to be the case, he would surely have warned the allies he mentioned. It means, sir, that because Miss Tull could not write to him, she resolved to leave her final testimony by some other means. You said yourself, sir, that the man who broke into her home likely wished to know what Miss Tull might have concealed there. We do not know what else he may have found, but it seems he did not trouble himself to examine this book. For that much we may be thankful, I think.’

  ‘Neuilly knew her, then, this Esther Tull? She was the seamstress he spoke of?’

  ‘I am convinced of it, sir.’

  ‘But how? How would he have come to know such a woman?’

  ‘I cannot say with certainty, but it is not so difficult to imagine. Suppose that she had come to suspect the nature of her employer’s activities; that foul acts were being committed against young women, and that she herself had been made a party to them, if only in a small way. She was a pious woman, plainly. She might have confided in a clergyman – the priest of her own parish, let us say – who might in turn have directed her to my uncle. My uncle told me little of his work, but it was well known to others, it seems. She hinted at her predicament – that much we know from his letter – but was too much in fear to reveal all she knew. And perhaps it was not only that; perhaps she was resolved already to act as she did – to end matters as she did. In any case, she gave him to understand that she would find a way. And she did, it seems. She found a way.’

  Cutter tapped at the page for a moment longer, then slapped the book closed. ‘Blast it!’ he said, tossing the volume back to Gideon. ‘Blast it to hell.’

  Gideon shifted in his seat.

  ‘It will not do if we ever come to stand before a judge, but it is more than we can overlook. What a cursed nuisance you are.’ He drew in a breath that might have filled a weather balloon, emitting it again with effortful evenness. ‘Very well, damn it. We will go and inquire after your match girl, though I ought to be clapped into a strait-suit for allowing it.’

  ‘Inspector, I cannot begin to—’

  ‘Oh, you can begin right enough. It is leaving off that seems to tax you. In any case, you may stow away your sermon for now. We will inquire after your match girl, Bliss. We will begin at the church, in case there is any trace to be found of her there, and we will spend the night at it if we must. If there is any word to be had of her, for good or ill, we will find it out, on that you may depend. But come the morning, we must be on the first train to Kent. Do you hear me? No matter what we have learned of your little crossing-sweeper, you will be required to conduct yourself at last like an officer of the Metropolitan Police. From now on, you will do your duty like any other sergeant or you will be hauled up for insubordination. Do you hear me, Bliss? Do I have your solemn undertaking?’

  Gideon sat up and straightened his lapels. ‘You do, sir. My most solemn undertaking.’

  ‘Very good.’ The inspector studied him for a moment longer, then thrust his head once more from the window. ‘Driver, turn around and go back over the bridge, will you? We are obliged to make a detour.’

  XIV

  The driver set them down in Wardour-street and was given an hour to take his supper before returning. Inspector Cutter had engaged him for the remainder of the night, since their inquiries might lead them to a good many other places, but he had struck the bargain in a spirit of considerable rancour.

  ‘A shilling and sixpence for the night,’ Cutter said, as they stepped down. ‘For that price I might have the company of one of Mother Goulding’s girls instead, if I went in for such things. And Mother Goulding’s girls are a cut above, let me tell you. They are forever reciting sonnets or playing at the harp. I will get my money’s worth from him, by God, whether he is needed or not. I will drag him up and down the Caledonian-road, where it is all cobbles still, until the teeth are rattled from his
head.’

  The inspector continued in this vein for a time, and Gideon allowed his attention to wander. They had come to a long stretch of ironwork palings, and behind them the ground rose in a steep bank to a crest jagged with broken stone. At first Gideon could make nothing of this scene. The street lamps were feeble, and the shapes of things were altered by the soft pervasion of snow. It was only when they turned in at the gate and began climbing the steps that he saw above them the looming bulk of the church tower.

  ‘What is the matter, Bliss?’ said Cutter, noting his distracted gaze. ‘You are not having a vision, I trust?’

  ‘Forgive me, sir. I did not know the church at first, having entered it by another way, but of course it stands to reason. I passed along an alley that led from Shaftesbury-avenue, and came into it from behind, as it were.’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’ Cutter strode ahead, holding up a carriage lamp he had taken from the cabman. ‘That seems to be the custom among churchmen. We will come at it by the usual way, though at this hour it will be locked up in any case. We will have to call at the rectory and rouse them from their beds. What was his name, by the way?’

  ‘Pardon me, sir – whose name?’

  ‘The sexton who flung you out, you halfwit. Did you think we came here to ring the bells?’

  ‘He did not give it, sir. He was of a surly disposition, as I believe I mentioned.’

  Cutter grunted, and Gideon looked about him with unease. At any time this place might have had a melancholy appearance, but the snow made it seem otherworldly. It had grown insistent now, swooning from the darkness above the bell tower and deepening in patient surges among the broken monuments. He had not considered it before, the way the solid world was made strange by snow, the quiet secrecy it brought to ordinary things.

  The church itself was indeed shut up and silent, but beyond it they came to a low annex where a door stood open. A man stood by it, bearing a light of his own. He came forward when he saw them approaching and planted himself in their path.

  ‘What business, there?’ he called out. ‘Parish ain’t open to callers.’

  ‘Cutter of Scotland Yard,’ bellowed the inspector in reply. ‘State your own business, or I will crack your skull for you and have my sergeant search that boneyard behind us for a hole to put you in.’

  The man swung his lantern aside and squinted into the darkness. ‘Fuck me if it ain’t,’ he said. ‘Begging your pardon, Inspector Cutter, sir. Constable Canning, sir, here from Little Vine-street with Inspector Warnock. Which it was the inspector posted me here, sir, even though it’s a night to take the skin off your bollocks – saving your presence, sir – and gave me orders to let nobody in.’

  ‘Warnock, is it?’ said Cutter, coming even with Canning and taking up an easy stance. The constable shifted a little way to the side, casting an uncertain glance at the doorway behind him. ‘What is Jack Warnock doing in a church at this hour? He is no great carol singer, to my recollection.’

  Canning gave him a keen look. ‘You ain’t been told, sir?’

  ‘Told what, Canning? Out with it now, and do not try my patience. I have had a whole day of fellows talking in riddles, and I am sick to the gills of it.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Only I thought you was here about the sexton, is what it was. The Yard is known to get across the odd case of ours – which, no disrespect, sir, not being my place.’

  ‘The sexton?’ There was a marked asperity in the inspector’s tone. ‘What does Warnock want with the sexton? I am not a man to make a nuisance of myself among the Divisions, but if he has queered the ground before I speak to him, I will not be accountable for what may follow.’

  ‘Speak to him, sir?’ Here Canning glanced at Gideon, as if seeking some assurance that he had not misheard.

  ‘Good Christ,’ said Cutter. ‘Speak to him, yes. Speak to him. Is there any man left alive in London who can conduct ten minutes’ business in plain English?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Canning. ‘And begging your pardon, sir, only there must have been a mix-up. Maybe it’s a different sexton as you was wanting, sir, but this one ain’t going to be no use to you. He was found by the rector this morning with his head bashed in. Sir? Hold up, sir, or I’ll catch hell. Inspector Warnock gave the order most particular, sir.’

  Cutter was striding towards the door and did not look back. ‘This way, Bliss,’ he called. ‘We need only follow the smell of smoke. Warnock is partial to his cigars.’

  Gideon followed the inspector inside, where he paused before a door at the end of a musty passageway. ‘You may leave your notebook in your pocket tonight,’ Cutter said in a low voice. ‘Observe all you can, but make no show of doing so, do you hear? And do not put your oar in on any account, no matter what you hear me say. If this bit of business has anything to do with our case – and I say if, mark you – we must give this ignorant mongrel no sign of it. Do you hear me?’

  The room they entered was in a disordered state, but it had the appearance of a vestry. In the midst of it stood a stout chest on which the body of a man had been stretched out. A surplice had been draped over his face, but Gideon had only to glance at him to see that he had suffered a death of singular violence. His limbs lay askew, and a gash in his clothing revealed the flesh of his belly. It was bloated and richly bruised, and what survived of his shirtfront was sodden with blood. A sour fug of spirits hung in the air.

  Inspector Warnock, identifiable by his cigar, was taking his ease on a dilapidated pew. He squinted at them through a lazing ripple of smoke, but appeared otherwise unconcerned. A younger officer, propped against the opposite wall and gnawing at a heel of bread, regarded them with dull curiosity.

  Cutter set down his carriage lamp and clapped his hands together for warmth. ‘There you are, Warnock,’ he said. ‘Looking fit and well, I see. You are a stern cove, I must say, to put a fellow out on post on such a night. Half his face is black with frostbite already, and we must hope it was uglier still than what he is left with. Our friend here was given a fine send-off, I see.’

  ‘What’s got you down here on my heels, Cutter?’ Warnock said. He leaned briefly aside to expel a shred of tobacco, but made no move to rise. ‘We got matters in hand. Me and Sergeant Colley done our spadework here, and now we’re just waiting on the surgeon. We had to call for him or the rector would have made a song and dance about it. Ain’t nothing fancy about this one, if that’s what you’re thinking. Some character come in for whatever was in the poor box, I reckon, and this punter here got in the way. Pissed drunk, it looks like. It’s plain as day, this one. Ain’t getting nobody’s name in the paper.’

  ‘You may rest easy, Warnock. I am not coming trampling on your pansies. Take care there, Bliss, the floor to that side is a mire of blood. No, our paths have crossed in innocence, you see. This sexton of yours – what was his name, by the by?’

  ‘Merton,’ said Sergeant Colley curtly.

  ‘Merton,’ Cutter repeated. ‘I am obliged to you, Sergeant. Yes, this Merton was to assist me in a small matter, and I had come here to speak to him. I chose my moment badly, it appears. That is all there is to it, and we will be out from under your feet presently. You will not object if we warm ourselves for ten minutes, though? It is a sharp night out.’

  Warnock ground out his cigar against the seat of the pew, pocketing the stunted remainder. He stood, thrusting up his blunt chin as he straightened his tie. ‘What’s this small matter, then?’

  Cutter made a sauntering circuit of the room, keeping his distance from the body. He rested his bulk against a sill, knocking absently at the panelling with his boot heel. ‘A bit of paperwork,’ he said, consulting his watch as if in idleness. ‘I wanted to look over the register of births, to test a claim that a fellow has made in an investigation of fraud. The rector directed me to his sexton. What have we there now, on the floor beneath the victim’s head?’

  ‘Load of gin bottles.’ Warnock made his reply without looking. ‘Our boy here, he’d had a few, like I said,
so the bottles was handy. Used them to bash his head in, it looks like. Broke a couple, and all, so watch out for the glass. This rector, then. He tells you to talk to his sexton, but he don’t give you a name?’

  ‘Three, if I am not mistaken,’ said Cutter, surveying the floor. ‘Three broken, that is. And nine remaining. I am not a drinking man myself, but a fellow with that much gin on board would surely never have stirred again, never mind given anyone trouble, and yet he was orderly about lining up his empties. Do you see that, Bliss? There is a tidy bit of work for you – I am trying to instil a bit of neatness in this fellow. You need only look at him to see why. In any case, the rector gave me no name, Warnock, for I took him aside just as he was about to officiate at a wedding and he could spare me only a moment.’

  Warnock adjusted his waistband as he considered this, then delivered himself of an emphatic belch. Sergeant Colley, having disposed of his bread, made a mournful examination of his knuckles. Cutter crouched for a moment and took up a corner of the victim’s coat, lifting it briefly to his nose.

  ‘Your murderer was not one for half measures, it seems. Half measures, what? And they say I am without a sense of humour. He had – here is another one for you – he had no shortage of bottle. But he must have been thorough enough, all joking aside, if you covered this poor creature’s face while you set about your supper.’

  Colley looked up, a sourness in his slack features. ‘Common decency is all it is. Don’t bother me none. I seen as bad as anyone.’

  ‘Good man, Colley,’ Cutter said. ‘A sergeant should have a good thick hide on him. I only wish this whelp behind me was more like you.’

  It was said only to produce an effect, but Gideon felt his colour rise and could not keep from the blinking that he was prone to. He looked down at his shoes.

  ‘Will we give him a look?’ Cutter continued, resting a hand for a moment on Colley’s forearm. ‘Will we see if we can stiffen his spine for him?’