“I can’t believe you stayed in that room,” Daniel said in mild surprise. “You can pick locks faster than anyone I know. Why people bother with locks when they see you coming, I don’t know.”
“I stayed because he had food,” Mr. Fielding answered. “At least, I did at first. He also had a lot of money, and I relieved my torment by scheming ways to take it from him. Persuading him to send me to Balliol was a step. Being granted a living was another step. Getting myself elected to the Foundling Hospital board with all those aristos is yet another. One day, I plan to be in a position to ruin him. I will pound his reputation into the ground, and dance on it.”
“I see,” I repeated. I did, a number of things. “Now that members of the board might be procurers . . .”
“Never in my wildest dreams did I think they would be.” Mr. Fielding scrubbed at his close-cropped beard. “Bloody hypocritical blackguards. I will pull them down as well. To think I toadied to them, when they are just as foul as my benefactor. It shows, Daniel, that you can trust no one. No one. I’ve always said so.”
Daniel, I perceived, was not ready to disagree with him.
“I understand why you wish to ruin your so-called benefactor and these swindling, procuring governors,” I said. “I agree that you should. But you cannot lower yourself to their level. Embrace hard work, Mr. Fielding. That is what lifts one above the others. Hard work at your profession, being the best you can at what you do. Then you can hold your head up, and no one can take that satisfaction from you.”
Mr. Fielding stared at me a moment before he let out an incredulous laugh. “You are an amazing lady, Mrs. Holloway.” He shook his head, still laughing. “I suppose you sleep very well of nights.”
“I do, as a matter of fact.” I gave him a quelling frown. “Now, Daniel, you must tell me where we are going. You cannot mean to face Luke on your own.”
“Never fear,” Daniel said with firmness. “I have a few constables awaiting my orders, as well as McGregor anticipating my every report. I simply needed a direction.” He pointed at me. “You will remain in the coach.”
“I know what he looks like,” I argued. “But do not worry. I will hang back and let you and the constables wrestle Luke to the ground. I would like to see that man have his comeuppance.”
* * *
* * *
Lewis had no wish to take his carriage into the rookeries around Seven Dials, so we descended at Dudley Street and went on foot. The road the bullies had herded me down was in fact Great White Lion Street, the same road the children directed us to. A few narrow lanes opened from this street, none of which I wanted to enter.
It was afternoon, but shadows were thick here, and always would be, no matter how fair the day. With lowering February skies, it was dark in the rookery, even at this early hour. A noisome stench hovered, reminding me that this had been a place of decay and disease. I supposed things had improved since the time of the Great Plague, but today I could not believe it.
Daniel began to ask those on the street the way to the lodgings of Luke Mahoney. The layabouts stared at Mr. Fielding in his collar and me in my coat and hat, probably concluding we were missionaries. Daniel didn’t fit this image, but they were reluctant to speak with any of us. Some, in fact, told us threateningly to clear off.
“This way,” I said, taking the lead.
Daniel protested, but I won the battle by simply charging ahead. I made for the tavern where I’d hidden myself, reasoning that perhaps the barmaid or someone else there might know Luke’s direction.
As we entered the circle that was Seven Dials itself, I saw, in the thinning crowd, the large head and shoulders of the brute called Luke.
“There.” I seized Daniel’s arm and pointed.
Before Daniel could start for him, a rumble sounded behind me, a growl of fury that seemed to shake the very stones I stood on. The noise came from Mr. Fielding, who shoved past us and ran at full speed toward the towering Luke.
Luke turned his head, saw Mr. Fielding coming. A look of alarm spread across his face, and he bolted.
“Damnation!” Daniel leapt after him. “Kat—back to the coach,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Luke shot out the other side of the circle, heading south. That way led to wider roads, and to the railway station at Charing Cross, which lay near the end of St. Martin’s Lane.
I dashed after Daniel, against his orders, but I had never been one for obedience. I had no confidence that I could fight Luke myself, but I might be able to summon help or prevent him from escaping.
Luke ducked into a side street as he ran, likely knowing every bolt-hole in the area. Mr. Fielding was hard on his heels, but Daniel did not follow. Instead, Daniel turned down a lane parallel to the one Luke had taken, in an attempt to cut him off.
I followed Mr. Fielding. I made that choice because I feared Mr. Fielding would kill Luke before we could wring any useful information out of him. Luke might have nothing to do with Nurse Betts, but he did know a great deal about procuring children and could possibly lead us to the lost foundlings.
We ended up in Long Acre, which was heavy with traffic. Bow Street lay to the east of us—with any luck, we’d chase Luke straight to the Bow Street nick, but I doubted he’d let that happen.
Luke knew the area well, diving into side streets and tiny passageways that were cramped and filthy. Unfortunately for him, Mr. Fielding and Daniel, children of the dark side of London, knew it too. I had grown up in streets farther to east, but I did know Covent Garden like the back of my hand, and Luke was racing directly toward the square and the market.
I picked up my skirts, feet flying as I ran after the two men and into the market proper. I supposed Luke meant to lose us in the confusion, but I knew the quickest ways through the stalls.
Vendors cursed as Luke pounded by, pursued hard by Mr. Fielding. Daniel boiled out of an alley behind a hotel that backed onto the market, nearly into Luke’s path. The man checked himself and changed direction, but I sprinted through gaps in the stalls, landing directly in front of Luke as he barreled through.
“Stop!” I shouted, my hands up.
I do not know why I thought Luke would obey. He could easily slam me aside, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him.
In the next moment, Daniel felled him with a running tackle. Mr. Fielding burst from the stalls where he’d fallen behind as Daniel and Luke began to fight.
I’d seen Daniel in combat before, but then he’d pretended to falter and lose, in order to preserve a disguise. This time, he fought in earnest, his fists flying, boots kicking, not missing a trick. No rules or gentlemanly behavior for Daniel—he fought to win.
Mr. Fielding snatched up a loose board and stepped toward the tumbling mass of Daniel and Luke, ready to strike. The men moved too fast, however, and Mr. Fielding might hit Daniel instead.
And that is just what Mr. Fielding did. The board came down, slashing Daniel across the back of the head. Daniel fell as I cried out, losing his grip on Luke. Daniel landed on his back, and Luke took advantage and sprang away.
“He’s mine, damn you.” Mr. Fielding glared at Daniel and dashed after Luke, tossing away the board as he went.
“You bloody fool!” Daniel roared, but Mr. Fielding was gone.
I helped Daniel to his feet. He pressed his hand to the back of his head, and his fingers came away red. The vendors who’d witnessed the fight surged forward to assist, but Daniel waved them off.
“I’m fine.” He took a few steps, but I clung to him.
“Sit down. He’s hurt you.”
Daniel gently dislodged my grasp. “He’s maddened. We need to stop him.”
I agreed, but a blow to the head could be perilous. Daniel, however, started away, his steps even. I went right after him.
Together we pursued Mr. Fielding and Luke down Southampton Street. If they reached th
e Strand at the end, Luke might be lost in the crush of traffic, and again, could reach railway stations that would put him far out of reach.
Daniel smiled as we entered Southampton Street, cracking the sweat and soot on his face. He brought a police whistle out of his pocket and blew it.
More whistles sounded in response, the bobbies of Covent Garden answering Daniel’s summons. Constables surged down Southampton Street, and more ran in from the Strand at the other end. They surrounded Luke just as Mr. Fielding caught him.
Mr. Fielding’s cry of rage rang through the dimming afternoon. He raised his fist and smashed it into Luke’s face, and raised it again.
This time, I saw the glimmer of a knife. I shouted, but Daniel was beside his brother, deftly twisting the weapon from Mr. Fielding’s hand.
By the time I reached them, Mr. Fielding was cursing and struggling. Daniel jerked Mr. Fielding’s arm behind him and took him down to the ground, holding his brother fast.
“Not yet,” I heard Daniel say to him. “We need to hear the man’s story first. You’ll have your vengeance, my old friend, I promise you that.”
Mr. Fielding jerked from Daniel’s hold. But instead of regaining his feet to go after the subdued Luke, who was now being placed in handcuffs, he sank into a crouch, put his hands over his face, and began to sob.
* * *
* * *
Luke was a sorry specimen as he sat in the interrogation room inside Scotland Yard. The constables who’d caught him had wanted to drag him to Bow Street, to lock him away to await the magistrate, but Daniel convinced them to load him into a police van and drive him down the Strand and around to Great Scotland Yard.
Inspector McGregor, who took over as soon as we arrived, was not pleased to see me. He scowled hard from his height and barely allowed me a greeting.
But he knew I’d never be persuaded to leave, so he let me peer through a grilled window into the room where Luke awaited, as I’d done another time he’d questioned a villain.
Luke had his hands cuffed before him, chained to the table. The bluster had gone out of him—he gazed across the table at Inspector McGregor, Daniel, and especially Mr. Fielding with great fear.
I was not certain Mr. Fielding should have been allowed in the room. He ought to be with me, watching through the window, as I couldn’t be sure he didn’t have more knives on his person.
But Mr. Fielding admittedly had calmed a great deal since Covent Garden, and now his countenance was blank, hiding his raw emotion. His seemingly cool demeanor along with his collar had induced Inspector McGregor to let him take part.
“We’ve got you dead to rights on procuring,” Inspector McGregor said to Luke in his crisp way. He touched a small stack of papers he’d placed on the table. “And charges of assault going back several years. No one’s forgotten their beatings by you. You’re also here on suspicion of the murder of Miss Nell Betts.”
Luke looked confused. “Don’t know ’er.”
Mr. Fielding moved, but Daniel threw him a cautioning look. “You wouldn’t have known her name,” Daniel said to Luke. “She found the bawdy house where you took the children, didn’t she? You saw her snooping and decided to get rid of her.”
“You mean the biddy what was with you today? Yeah, I chased her off. She’d no business down there.”
“Not her.” McGregor’s growl cut in. “A few weeks ago. She was a nurse from the Foundling Hospital.”
Luke’s brows furrowed then his expression cleared. “You mean the nun? I run her off too. She was knocking at the door, yelling at the ladies inside. It’s my job to run people off.”
“Where did she go?” Daniel asked. “Did you follow her?”
“You a copper?” Luke looked Daniel up and down. “Ain’t fair, is it, when you lot make coppers look like one of us.”
“I agree,” Daniel said, his voice steady. “Did you chase her?”
Luke reddened. “Had to. She weren’t going to leave off. Kept screeching she was going to the police. I had to get her out.”
“So you followed her to make sure she didn’t come back,” Daniel said. “Where did she go?”
“East End.”
“A large area,” Daniel persisted. “You followed her all the way there?”
“Yeah. She walked. Didn’t take no hansom or omnibus. She didn’t have no coin, I guess, being a nun.”
Mr. Fielding finally opened his mouth. “She was not a nun. A nurse.” His voice was hard. “At the Foundling Hospital.”
The repetition of who she was did not seem to shake Luke. “I thought she were a nun and would stir up trouble with the Peelers and the reformers. I followed her to Whitechapel. It’s a bad place, is Whitechapel. I didn’t like to be there.”
For a man from St. Giles to describe another part of London as a “bad place” was saying something.
“Where exactly did she go?” Daniel prompted.
Luke shuffled his feet under the table, his eyes taking on animallike fear. The odor emanating from him was not pleasant.
“As I say, it’s a bad place. Looked to me like she didn’t know it well. Started wandering, like she were searching for a turning. She ends up at a church, the one right in Whitechapel High Street, making like she’d go in. Then she changes her mind and marches toward the theatre some ways on. She turns behind that, but I didn’t follow. That took her into the territory of Naismith.”
I jumped at the name. Naismith was the man whom Daniel blamed for the death of Mr. Carter—he believed Naismith had ordered Mr. Carter and all his cohorts murdered.
Both Daniel and Mr. Fielding went very still, the air crackling with their silence.
Inspector McGregor, always efficient, carried on. “Why do you call it that?”
Luke stared at the inspector as though he were daft. “Everyone knows. Naismith is a hard, hard man, and no one goes to Bethnal Green if they ain’t one of his. I turned around and hightailed it home.”
“Leaving the young lady there,” Inspector McGregor said in a stern voice. “Though you knew it to be very dangerous for her.”
“I thought she were a nun. Their lot is always going into slums, trying to save bloody sinners. Ain’t ya?” He switched his glare to Mr. Fielding.
Then he faltered. I could not see Mr. Fielding’s eyes from where I stood, but whatever was in them made Luke shrink back.
“And this is why you claim you did not assault Nurse Betts?” McGregor went on remorselessly. “Leaving her with wounds that proved to be mortal?”
Luke’s face lost color. “I tell ya, I never touched ’er. Ya can’t pin this on me.”
“Possibly not. Not if you have witnesses.”
His eyes widened. “What witness is going to be running about Naismith’s lands? If she went there, looking to bleat about bawdy houses, she probably met his bullies. I didn’t want to meet them, not by meself. So I went.”
“Very well.” Inspector McGregor made a note on the papers before him. “If that is your statement regarding Nurse Betts, I will have it written up, and you will sign it.”
Luke slumped in relief, but the inspector straightened his sheets and cleared his throat.
“That leaves the charges of assault, one on Mrs. Holloway, if she wishes to prosecute, and the others on . . .” Inspector McGregor consulted his papers. “Oh, numerous men and women. And the procuring of children for prostitution purposes.”
“Only doing what I were told,” Luke protested. “’Sides, the lads and lasses weren’t doing nothing in Ma Aster’s house they weren’t doing on the streets already. She likes ’em with experience. She gives ’em a bed and meals. Damned sight better than they’d have in the back lanes.”
I expected Mr. Fielding to launch himself at Luke, but he remained still. Daniel too was deathly silent.
“That leaves the question of the children from the Foundli
ng Hospital,” McGregor continued. “Where are they, Mahoney?”
Luke again looked bewildered. “I don’t know, do I? Never seen any foundlings. I told ya, I only took kiddies from the street what were already on the game. No stealing from foundling homes. What do you take me for?”
A strange world, I thought, when a procurer and a ruffian for hire could hold himself lofty because he only kidnapped children who were already ruined.
Inspector McGregor tapped his papers to the table to straighten them and rose.
“Luke Mahoney, I am charging you with assault, procuring, and helping run a bawdy house. Constables will be along to escort you to your new accommodations. Ma Aster is already enjoying hers. I imagine a few weeks on the treadmill at Coldbath Fields will take a bit of the pride out of you.”
Luke’s defiance was gone. The man who’d terrified me on the street slumped in his chair, resigned.
I still expected Mr. Fielding to attack Luke now that the interrogation was over, but he rose without doing anything rash and followed Inspector McGregor and Daniel out.
McGregor was chuffed, I could see. He’d brought in a villain who’d long eluded capture, and he was happy. Daniel and Mr. Fielding, however, were both quiet with anger.
“What now, Inspector?” Mr. Fielding asked as soon as the door to the interview room was closed. “Will you put together constables to flush out the thugs in Bethnal Green? Or give up? Mr. Naismith is a powerful and frightening man.”
He spoke with great cynicism, and Inspector McGregor sent him an irritated look. “We have plenty of men at Bethnal Green already, some remarkably talented. They’ll keep searching until they find whoever killed the poor woman. You have my word on it.”
Mr. Fielding remained unconvinced. He said nothing more, however, only led the way out and downstairs, his stride so rapid Daniel and I barely kept up with him.
Murder in the East End Page 22