The Yard

by Alex Grecian

  “Have you been to my shop?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you find the boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he all right? He was under that counter for quite some time. Longer than I intended.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Good.”

  There was another long silence.

  “Who am I talking to out there?” Cinderhouse said. “Is that Inspector Day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you alone?”

  Day shook his head at Hammersmith. He put a finger to his lips.

  “I’m alone,” Day said.

  “Good. It should be the two of us at the end. Cat and mouse. But which is the cat and which is the mouse?”

  “I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

  “Which of us,” Cinderhouse said, “I mean, which of us will come out of this. We won’t both live through this day, you know.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If I let you live, you’ll keep the boy from me. I can’t let that happen.”

  “You plan to kill me, then?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “But I have you trapped.”

  “True.”

  “So perhaps you should lay the gun down and come out where we can talk, face-to-face.”

  “That won’t do, Detective.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you. The only way I’ll get to keep the boy is if you die here.”

  “Have you killed before?”

  “No.”

  “What about Inspector Little?”

  “Who?”

  “Or Constable Pringle?”

  Day saw Hammersmith shudder and he shook his head again. He didn’t want Hammersmith’s emotions to get the better of him. Day still hoped that the situation might end without further deaths.

  “It’s sad about Pringle,” Cinderhouse said. “I rather liked him. He was an excellent customer.”

  “Then why kill him?”

  “I didn’t. He was going to take the boy and so he had to go away.”

  “Go away?”

  “Yes. He disappeared. A shame, really. I had a new pair of trousers ready for him.”

  “He didn’t go away, Mr Cinderhouse. You murdered him.”

  “Certainly not. I did have to discipline him, of course. He was out of line. I only did what I needed to do to keep him from talking about the boy. He would have told everyone.”

  “So he disappeared?”

  “I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Who else has disappeared, Mr Cinderhouse?”

  “Oh, now … now, I don’t want to…”

  Cinderhouse stopped talking and Day could hear a choking sound deep inside the carriage house. He wished he had a lamp, anything that might allow him to see farther than four feet into the building.

  Quietly, he slipped his boots off and edged around the back of the carriage house. The building had no windows. The only way in or out was through the big door. When he got to the other side, he drew Hammersmith close and whispered in his ear. He handed Hammersmith his gun. The constable nodded and hurried, quickly and quietly, back around the way that Day had come. He appeared momentarily on the other side where Day had been. They’d switched places.

  Day got down on his stomach in the short brown grass and crept forward until the top of his head was even with the edge of the doorway. A few feet away, Hammersmith cleared his throat.

  “Mr Cinderhouse, are you all right?” Hammersmith said.

  The choking noise inside the carriage house tapered off. Cinderhouse sniffed.

  “Detective?” Cinderhouse said.

  “It’s me,” Hammersmith said.

  Day winced. Hammersmith’s voice was huskier and more nasal than his own. Day didn’t have a broken nose. Fortunately, the tailor didn’t notice. The big empty horse stalls and vaulted ceiling served to flatten and amplify every sound.

  “You don’t know what it is,” Cinderhouse said, “to have people disappear. People you care about.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Hammersmith said. “I’ve known people who have disappeared.”

  “Who?”

  “My friend Pringle, for one.”

  “That’s not the same. Mr Pringle was a grown man. They disappear all the time. But the children … That’s not fair, is it? My boys keep disappearing.”

  “Your boys?”

  “All the boys. Starting with my very first boy. His mother, too. Both gone. One day, just gone.”

  “And that justifies all you’ve done?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I might. At least a little.”

  Day was uncomfortable, his neck bent up so he could see and his elbows digging into the dirt. There was a small rock under his left elbow, but he was afraid to move it, afraid of the sound it might make. He kept perfectly still. Hammersmith was doing a better job than Day had thought he would. If he kept Cinderhouse talking, there might be no need for more violence.

  “No,” Cinderhouse said. “You can’t understand.”

  Another shot. The carriage house held on to the sound of it and shook it, vibrated it. It seemed to Day that the earth under him trembled with the noise of the gun. He instinctively put his head down. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hammersmith drop to one knee and fire through the door. Day crawled forward and rolled through the doorway. He was almost instantly in the dark. He lay still inside the doorway, back against the wall, the light streaming past him and fading into nothingness.

  “Did I get you?” Cinderhouse said.

  “No,” Hammersmith said.

  “I got this gun from the guard at the workhouse. I have no idea how many bullets it contains.”

  “I don’t imagine you’ve got many left.”

  “Then perhaps I should rush forward before shooting at you next time.”

  “If you do, I’ll shoot you.”

  “That might not be so bad.”

  “I’d rather not do it.”

  Either Hammersmith was playing the part of Inspector Day to a fault or he was considerably less violent than Day thought he was.

  “You said you understood,” Cinderhouse said. “Just a moment ago, before I shot, you said that people had disappeared on you. Have you lost a child, too?”

  Hammersmith didn’t respond. Day waited in the dark so long that he had almost given up and decided to make his move when he finally heard Hammersmith’s voice again, echoing faintly through the length of the carriage house and back again.

  “No, not a boy,” he said. “My father has disappeared.”

  “Your father?”

  “Yes,” Hammersmith said.

  “How sad. Were you a good son?”

  “I hope so.”

  “That’s all a father asks.”

  There was another shot, but Day couldn’t tell whether Hammersmith had fired or Cinderhouse. While the shot still echoed, he moved forward in the pitch black. Another gunshot, horizontal lightning that left spots on his vision, and then a third shot, the noise covering the sound of his steps on the brittle old straw underfoot. There was no way for him to tell where the shots were coming from. Inside the carriage house, the racket was staggering. Blind and deaf, he stumbled ahead.

  Something brushed against his leg, and impulsively he threw himself sideways. Somebody grunted and pushed back against him, and Day was suddenly wrestling with the tailor, still unable to see what he was doing.

  “Hammersmith,” he said, “I’ve got him. Come quickly.”

  He felt the guard’s gun in his ribs and heard a click. The gun was empty. Day lashed out and his knuckles hit bone. Cinderhouse yelped. The tailor abruptly jerked away from Day and Cinderhouse began screaming. Day reached out, but the screaming tailor was moving rapidly away, and knocked off balance, Day fell back against the wall.

  In the patch of sunlight at the door, Hammersmith hove into view, his injured arm hanging useless, his other arm ext
ended into the darkness. A moment later, he hauled Cinderhouse into the light, Hammersmith’s fingers jammed deep in the tailor’s nose. Day got his feet under him and hurried to the door. He grabbed Cinderhouse’s arms and twisted them behind his back. Hammersmith let loose his grip on Cinderhouse’s nose, which had already turned a deep purple color.

  Hammersmith frowned at his fingers and wiped them on his already filthy trousers.

  “His nose?” Day said.

  “I was trying to get him by the hair,” Hammersmith said. “I forgot the bastard was bald.”

  102

  Get behind me,” Blacker said.

  He stepped in front of Penelope Shaw. She grabbed his shoulders, frightened, and despite the seriousness of their situation he felt an electric thrill run through his body.

  “Put the pistol down,” he said.

  The short woman laughed at him.

  “You give me your pistol, mister,” she said.

  “I know you won’t shoot me. You didn’t shoot any of the others, did you?”

  “What do you know about the others?” This was the tall one talking, the one with the scar. She looked worried.

  “Did you get them to sit still and let you shave them because you had the pistol? Or did you make them shave themselves?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Don’t matter how he knows it, Liza,” the tall one said. “He won’t know it much longer.”

  “I won’t let you shave me. And I won’t shave myself. I know that if I do, you’ll cut my throat. So you have no bargaining power here.”

  “Then I’ll shoot you now.”

  “Well, I suppose you do have that one bit of bargaining power,” he said.

  He pointed at the arched entryway behind the two women. “Get back to the kitchen, Bradley.”

  The tall woman laughed again. “You ain’t gonna fool me so easy,” she said.

  “Leave him alone,” Bradley said.

  Surprised, the short woman—the other one had called her Liza—turned around. The tall one glanced at her friend for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Blacker to make his move. He leapt forward, and as he did, he felt his pistol come free from his belt. He landed on the tall woman, knocking her on her back against the floor. Liza attacked him, beating Blacker on the back with her fists. He ignored her and grabbed the tall woman’s arm, shoving it up and away as she fired the pistol. The bullet smacked into the wall by the staircase, and Blacker felt his stomach lurch as he looked for Bradley, afraid that he’d been hit.

  A plain, dark-haired woman ran from the room beyond the arch and gathered Bradley in her arms. The boy seemed frightened but unharmed. Blacker heard Penelope’s voice coming from somewhere behind him.

  “You! Stop hitting my friend.”

  Blacker turned to see her holding his own pistol. She had it aimed at Liza.

  The short prostitute backed away from Blacker and stood pouting against the wall. Blacker picked up the tall woman’s pistol. He stood up and moved away from her, keeping the weapon casually aimed in the direction of the two killers.

  “Elizabeth,” Penelope said, “please take Bradley to the kitchen and get him something warm to drink. When you have a moment, send someone round to fetch the police. Ask them to bring a carriage.”

  “My colleague is asleep in the wagon outside,” Blacker said. “Let’s wake him.”

  “Beg pardon, but there’s no wagon outside, sir,” Elizabeth said.

  “He’s gone?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Well, fancy that. He’s an odd duck, Hammersmith is. I suppose you’d better send a runner after the police after all, then.”

  Elizabeth mumbled something that Blacker couldn’t hear and took Bradley by the hand, leading him out of sight.

  The tall prostitute stood up and brushed herself off. She moved over next to Liza against the wall and sneered at Blacker.

  “Bet you liked that, eh? Up on top of me like you was?”

  “Not especially,” Blacker said.

  “You woulda had your way wiff me if she didn’t interrupt us. I saw you wanted to.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Blacker said. “And you might be wise to keep quiet for the time being.”

  “Or what? You’ll hit me? Smack me a good one? Show me who’s in charge?”

  “I don’t hit women.”

  “I, on the other hand, have no problem hitting women,” Penelope said. “Nor do I have a problem shooting them, so keep quiet until the police arrive with a wagon.”

  “You won’t shoot me,” the tall one said.

  “I believe she would,” Blacker said. “She’s remarkably unpredictable.”

  “I will take that as a compliment,” Penelope said.

  “It was meant as one. Might I have my pistol back before the other police get here?”

  “Of course.”

  She turned the gun around and handed it to him, and he put it back in his belt where it belonged. He kept the women’s gun aimed at them.

  “We may have a bit of a wait ahead of us,” Blacker said. “Wagons are in ridiculously short supply at the Yard.”

  “Then are you sure you won’t have a spot of tea?” Penelope said.

  “Thank you. Actually, tea sounds lovely.”

  He winked at her and she smiled back.

  103

  The grounds of the tailor’s house reminded Day of the train station two days before. Dozens of police milled about, digging up flower beds and prying off cellar doors. There was a chance that Cinderhouse had taken other boys and that their remains were still somewhere nearby.

  The tailor himself sat at the curb in a padlocked wagon with a guard of Sergeant Kett and three constables. Nobody was taking any chance that he might get away from them. Hammersmith had broken the tailor’s nose, and the police were in no particular hurry to have it set for him. Sir Edward, who had arrived moments ago, reprimanded two constables who had spent a few happy minutes pushing Cinderhouse about in the dirt.

  But he didn’t relieve them of duty.

  Sir Edward approached Day and Hammersmith where they sat on a low stone wall at the side of the carriage house.

  “Well done, you two.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Mr Day, if there was any confusion about whether you were up to the job, I believe you’ve proven yourself beyond a doubt.”

  “Sir.”

  “And Mr Hammersmith. You surprise me.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “You didn’t kill him.”

  “No, sir.”

  Sir Edward smiled. “Come see me once you’ve had that arm looked at, Hammersmith.”

  Hammersmith nodded and Sir Edward walked away, already barking orders at his men.

  “Let’s take a wagon and get you to hospital,” Day said.

  “Not yet,” Hammersmith said. “Something I have to do first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s a scared little boy has to be returned home.”

  Day grinned. “Ah,” he said. “That duty would be a pleasure after all this. May I accompany you?”

  “I wish you would.”

  They stood and made their way to the street, where at least a dozen police carriages were nosed in against the curb. For once, there was no shortage of vehicles.

  104

  Fiona found some things for him to wear. His clothes were filthy.”

  “Thank you for watching after him,” Hammersmith said.

  “Not at all,” Kingsley said. “He’s a delightful boy. As brave and helpful as my own children.”

  “We’ll take him back to his family now. I imagine he’ll sleep for a week after all he’s been through.”

  “I’d like to ride along, if you don’t mind,” Kingsley said. “We can take my carriage. It’s a bit nicer than the police issue.”

  “There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

  “To be honest with you, these past few days have broadened my horizon
s some. I find that I rather enjoy getting out of the lab.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to come.”

  “Fiona,” Kingsley said. “Look after things here, will you?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  The girl smiled at Hammersmith and he smiled back. He was suddenly aware of his broken nose, bloody arm, and soiled clothes. He was bothered and had no idea why.

  He tipped his hat and hurried after Dr Kingsley, Inspector Day, and the little lost boy, Fenn.

  105

  Hammersmith knocked on the door and stepped back. He put his hand over the wound in his arm, covering as much of the bloodstain as he could manage.

  He looked down at Fenn, standing next to him on the stoop. The boy had been cleaned up some, but he looked almost as bedraggled as Hammersmith did. The shirt Fenn was wearing, one of Kingsley’s, was much too large for him, he had no shoes, and his hair was matted to his head. He raised his eyes from the door and smiled at Hammersmith.

  “Thank you,” Fenn said.

  Hammersmith smiled back and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He remembered his father’s hand on his own shoulder, so many years ago. Was this how his father had felt, some mixture of melancholy and gladness and nearly overwhelming pride?

  After a long moment, the door opened. A woman stood there, all in black. She had been crying. Her face was red and her hair was mussed, and she didn’t seem to care.

  Hammersmith stepped to one side and Day pushed Fenn forward so that the woman could see him. The boy didn’t wait for a reaction from his mother. He ran to her and launched himself into her arms.

  The woman’s eyes closed and her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She went to her knees, the boy clutched tight to her, fresh tears streaked down her face.

  “Mattie?” A man’s voice echoed down the hall behind her. She didn’t react to it, just rocked back and forth, holding her son. “Mattie?”

  A short man with his shirttail untucked from his trousers came up the hall behind her. When he saw Fenn, he ran forward and embraced both his wife and his boy at once.

  Hammersmith stepped off the porch and looked at Day, who shrugged and smiled. Nobody in the tiny family took any notice of the two policemen and the doctor at their door. They were locked in a silent reunion and no outsiders were necessary.