by Emily Organ
I felt pleased to have James sitting beside me. I told myself it was the chill in the air that encouraged me to lean in a little closer to keep warm, so that our shoulders were touching slightly. He didn’t object, nor did he edge away from me. The lights in the street were spinning slightly.
“Why are you helping me home? You don’t need to help me home.”
“I want to make sure you get back to your lodgings safely.”
“But you don’t have to. Why are you?”
“Because I want you to be safe.”
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t ensure that you return home safely, I shall be worried about you.”
“You’d be worried about me? Why?”
“Penny, you sound like my little niece asking why all the time.”
“Why?” I began giggling again.
“That’s enough. Get some sleep! You almost fell asleep at the dinner table just now.”
“I can’t sleep, I’m not comfortable.”
“Here, you can rest against my shoulder.”
I happily leant up against James and closed my eyes. I could smell the wool of his coat mingling with his pleasant eau de cologne.
I thought again of James and the future Mrs Blakely standing together at the altar.
“You must be looking forward to being married,” I said.
“It will certainly be a new chapter.”
“It’s a shame.”
“Penny, don’t.”
I sat up. “Don’t what? It’s a shame. That’s all I said.”
His face was cloaked in shadow, but I could tell that he was looking out at the street ahead.
“Am I not allowed to say it’s a shame?”
“I thought you wanted to sleep.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Penny, you’re tipsy. We can’t talk sensibly when you’re tipsy.”
“So you’re not going to speak to me, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s a shame you’re getting married. There, I said it. I said it sensibly, too.”
I watched him as he turned to look at me.
“Oh, Penny, you’re insufferable. Do you know that?”
We passed a gas lamp, and for a brief moment I saw his face. His eyes were open wide and fixed on mine.
I felt a strong instinct to kiss him and acted on it without further thought. My lips were against his only for a moment. His mouth was warm and the slight stubble on his chin rubbed against my face and sent a tingle down my spine.
He pulled away.
“Penny, it wouldn’t be right.”
The night air suddenly felt cold on my face again, and I quickly turned away.
“You’re drunk and I’m engaged to be married,” he added.
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please forget that I did it. I’ll ask the cab to stop and walk the rest of the way.”
“I said I would accompany you home.”
“I expect you wish you’d never offered to do so now.”
“No, I don’t.”
James sighed and I pushed myself into the far side of the carriage and hugged my bag. My whole body felt tense with shame and regret. What if James now thought of me as a woman with loose morals? Perhaps he thought me disgraceful for drinking too much sherry and requiring an escort home? I silently urged the horse to walk faster and bring the calamitous journey to an end.
Chapter 23
“Are you feelin’ a’right today, Miss Green? Yer lookin’ peaky.”
Martha was busy scrubbing a shirt collar on her washboard, the suds foaming up around her red knuckles.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just tired.”
I didn’t want to admit that I was suffering from the effects of the sherry the night before. My stomach kept turning, but the smell of the soap was refreshing.
The snow and ice had melted away and a smoky fog was curling itself around the rooftops. A small pot of flowers had been placed in the corner where Jack had been found and Susan was sharing the toast I had given her among her children by the privies. I wondered whether she would eat any of it herself and then my thoughts turned to Sarah Fisher. I wondered if she was managing to stay off the streets at night.
“Poor Mr Larcombe, God rest ’is soul,” said Martha. “No one wants ter be out on the streets now ’less they can ’elp it. Problem is, people ’ave ter get out and get a bitta money, don’t they? No one can stay indoors the ’ole time. It’s worryin’ me. Who knows but I could be next!”
“Of course you won’t be, Martha.”
“’Ow d’yer know that? I might be! The killer ain’t choosy. He’s done two men, a boy and a woman. There ain’t no particular type what ’e’s goin’ for. It could be me as much as the next person.”
“Why don’t you go and stay with Winston?”
“Nah, I’m stayin’ ’ere. I were born in St Giles, and that’s where I stays. I ain’t lettin’ some murderer frighten me off. And there’s a lotta people ’ere what can’t get away. They’re stuck ’ere, so I’m stayin’ wiv ’em.”
“Winston appears to have some theories about who the killer might be.”
Martha laughed. “Oh, ’e would! ’E’s got an opinion on hev’rythin’. ’E’s been writin’ letters about it all, and ’e were in the newspaper, weren’t he? Weren’t yours, were it?”
“It was The Holborn Gazette.”
“That’s the one. I always knew he were a clever ’un. Reckons ’e can solve it all afore the police can, he does. Proberly ain’t too difficult. The coppers ain’t doin’ much, are they?”
“It’s a difficult case for them, Martha, but Scotland Yard is involved now and I’m sure they’ll soon catch the man.”
Talk of the Yard brought James to mind. My toes curled as I thought about the journey we had shared in the cab. Hopefully, I would be able to avoid him until I felt fully recovered from the embarrassment. I cleared my throat and tried to occupy my thoughts with work.
“Martha, can you tell me where I might find Ed Keller?”
I wanted to obtain an interview which Mr Sherman would appreciate.
Martha stopped scrubbing and gave me a sharp look.
“The Earl o’ York? Yer don’t wanna be talkin’ to ’im. ’E’d give you a punch on the nose by way of an ’ow-de-do.”
“I need to interview him for the Morning Express.”
“You won’t get nothin’ from ’im. And there’s no tellin’ what ’e’d do to a pretty young girl such as yerself.”
I smiled at the vague compliment. “I’m not a girl, Martha. I’m almost thirty-five.”
She stopped scrubbing again and looked me over. “Thir’y-five? Yer don’t look a day over twenny-eight.”
She resumed her scrubbing.
“That’s very kind of you. Didn’t you say he lived in King’s Head Yard?”
“I don’t remember sayin’ that.”
“You told me Jack lived there with Ed Keller and some of the other boys.”
“Don’t remember.”
“Please, Martha, I’m certain you told me he lived in King’s Head Yard. Is that far from here?”
She shook her head and glared at me. “Miss Green, yer don’t give up, do yer?”
“I’m a news reporter.”
She pointed a soapy finger at me and her jowls quivered with anger.
“Yer don’t wanna be goin’ nowhere near King’s ’Ead Yard or the Earl o’ York or none of them street-arabs! We don’t want anuvver murder on our ’ands, do we?”
“You think they would murder me?”
“King’s ’Ead Yard ain’t no place for a lady!”
“I want to interview Ed Keller. Perhaps he might like to be interviewed.”
“Nah, not ’im.”
“I’ve spoken to some quite unpleasant people in my time, Martha.”
“None as bad as ’im, I can tell yer.”
“You’d be surprised at how many people li
ke him enjoy speaking to the press. They seem pleased to have their say.”
“Not ’im.”
“But he does live in King’s Head Yard?”
“I ain’t sayin’.”
“You’ve already confirmed it, Martha. Thank you. I’ll find the place and I will be careful. I’ve done this sort of thing before.”
I said goodbye and turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called out from behind me. “If yer gonna be brainless, then don’t do it on yer own.”
I turned to face her again. “Martha, I don’t expect you to come with me.”
“There’s no chance o’ that! You think I’m goin’ anywhere near King’s ’Ead Yard? Yer need a man wiv yer.”
She dried her hands on her apron and I prepared myself to argue in the event that she suggested I take her son. Fortunately, she had someone else in mind.
“Let’s ask one o’ the missionaries.”
“It’s not a sensible idea, Miss Green. I would urge you to reconsider,” said David Meares, his freckled face crumpled with concern.
“Yer won’t change ’er mind, I’ve already tried me best,” said Martha. “Yer’ve got ter go wiv ’er, else she’s goin’ by ’erself and that ain’t safe.”
The simple altar at the far end of the chapel was ablaze with candles. Martha and I stood by the doorway with Mr Meares and Mr Hawkins in the flickering gloom.
“I shall accompany you, Miss Green,” said Hugo Hawkins, his close-set eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Ed Keller and I usually see eye-to-eye.”
“Not always,” said David.
“I said usually. Sometimes he comes up here to pray with us.”
“What do you want to speak to him about, Miss Green?” asked David.
“I’m interested to find out what such a prominent gang leader thinks about the murders. Perhaps he has something to do with them.”
“That’s a matter for the police.”
“I realise that, but it would still be of interest to find out whether he knows anything. And I should like to ask him about Jack Burton. I still think about Jack a good deal.”
“We all does,” added Martha.
“Well, I can’t guarantee that Keller will give you a warm welcome,” said Hugo, “but we can try. Can you run fast in your skirts, Miss Green?”
“Not very fast.”
“I didn’t think so, but we will take care and God will watch over us. Please don’t antagonise Keller with any tricky questions.”
“I’ll come too!” said David cheerfully.
“Really? I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you both. I know that you’re busy.”
“There’s safety in numbers,”
“There yer go, Penny. Two strappin’ men ter look after yer.”
“Thank you. I’m very grateful to you all for your help.”
“I must say that it’s rather reckless of the editor of your newspaper to ask a young woman to venture into such a dangerous part of London,” said Hugo.
“It wasn’t his idea,” I replied. “It was mine.”
The two missionaries exchanged a glance and Martha sighed.
Chapter 24
“Did you know Mr Larcombe well?” I asked the missionaries as we walked towards King’s Head Yard.
The fog was thickening and creeping down into the narrow streets, and it had a disorientating effect. I thought I was familiar with St Giles by now, but the weather had changed that. I felt grateful for the missionaries’ company.
“We knew him, but not very well,” replied David.
“He was once a good man,” said Hugo, “but there was some trouble with the wife and it led him to drink.”
“Had he not always been a drinker?”
“Well yes, but it made him drink more. He had deteriorated noticeably over the past year,” David continued.
“But he still managed to look after his shop?” I asked.
“It seems so, although he wasn’t averse to consorting with people of a dubious nature.”
“Do you think he might have been murdered by a criminal associate?”
“It’s possible. I wouldn’t discount it,” said Hugo.
“I’m quite convinced that a fellow criminal murdered him,” said David. “He was a drunkard and had argued with many people. He may have owed money or someone may have owed him money. You know how it is with these people.”
I was startled by the sound of raised voices close by and discerned the figures of two men in the fog ahead of us, one much taller than the other.
“She asked me for help!” said a well-spoken man’s voice.
His companion began to reply but fell quiet as he noticed us approach.
As we drew closer, I saw that the taller man was Reuben O’Donoghue. The other man was about fifty years of age with an orangey-grey moustache and a top hat.
“Is everything all right, gentlemen?” asked Hugo.
“Of course, Mr Hawkins. Mr Meares. Miss Green.” Reuben doffed his hat and gave me a smile.
“I’ve said all I need to,” said the short man. “Good day, gentlemen. Madam.”
He gave a slight bow and scurried away, leaving Reuben to shrug nonchalantly and saunter on past us.
“I wonder what was going on there,” said David.
“Mr ’Awkins! Mr Meares!”
The limping figure of a woman loomed out of the fog ahead of us. There was no bonnet or hat on her head, but she wore many layers of grimy clothing and had a woollen shawl clasped around her shoulders.
“Can I trouble yer for a sixpence?”
She pushed her matted hair out of her sunken eyes and held out a dirty hand.
“I needs a bed fer tonight. I slept in a doorway in Broker’s Alley last night and woke with wermin crawlin’ all over me. And the cold... I’ve ’ad enough o’ the cold. I was stayin’ down Parker’s, but the deppity says I’m trouble. ’E’s kicked me out and me sister’s kicked me out ’n’ all. I ain’t got no money fer a bed.”
“Have we seen you at Chapel recently, Maggie?” asked Hugo.
She scratched the back of her neck. “Well, it ain’t been easy recently. Most o’ the times I bin tryin’ ter find money to get a bed fer the night. But I promise I’ll come ter chapel tomorrer. I’ll be there tomorrer.”
“Don’t forget that we serve soup each day in the winter.”
“Yeah, I’ll come and get a soup tomorrer. That’s what I’ll do.”
She tentatively held her hand out again.
“But I need a bed fer tonight, I won’t be able ter stand that cold again. It’ll be the death o’ me.”
There was a long pause before I opened my handbag, rummaged about for my purse and gave Maggie a shilling.
“Oh lor! Bless yer, ma’am. Bless yer.” She curtsied.
“Please make sure you find somewhere safe to sleep tonight,” I said, thinking of the attack on poor Sarah Fisher.
“I will! I will! Thank you. God bless yer.”
Maggie limped away and the missionaries both turned to face me.
“You realise that she’ll spend that coin on gin down at The Three Feathers?” said Hugo.
“She would be foolish to do that.”
“These people are foolish!” said David. “That’s why we don’t allow them to become accustomed to money. She’ll need more coins tomorrow and more the day after that.”
“Your shilling could have done far more good in the hands of the mission,” added Hugo. “With such a donation, we could provide food and prayer for these people and steer them away from the dangers of alcohol.”
“She needed a bed for the night,” I retorted. “No one should be wandering the streets after dark with a killer on the loose. I gave her enough money for gin and a bed.”
“We always encourage temperance,” said Hugo.
“Probably a good idea,” I said, mindful of the ill-effects of my indulgence the previous evening.
I took another shilling from my purse and gave it to Hugo Hawkins.
“Does that seem fair now?” I asked sharply.
“Thank you.”
“Are we almost at King’s Head Yard?”
“Almost,” Hugo replied stiffly.
We turned into a foul-smelling walkway and emerged into a murky courtyard. I heard scampering footsteps around us as we came to a stop.
“Who’s there?” called a boy’s voice.
“Mr Hawkins and Mr Meares,” replied Hugo.
The buildings around us formed grey silhouettes in the fog. I heard the slam of a door or shutter, and then another voice rang out from behind us.
“Waddya want?”
“We’ve come to see the Earl of York,” said Hugo.
“Why?”
“I wish to interview him for a newspaper,” I called out.
“Is that a woman?” asked a boy’s voice.
“No women allowed!” shouted another.
There were more running footsteps and then further slamming of doors.
“This isn’t promising,” said David quietly. “Usually we’d have been invited in by now.”
“Hello?” Hugo called out. “Mr Hawkins here! What’s keeping you?”
Everything fell silent and I saw a flickering light in the fog, but when I looked directly at the flame it disappeared. I sensed there were people hiding in the gloom around us, watching us. My heartbeat began to pound in my ears.
“Hello?” said Hugo again, in a quieter tone this time.
Another door slammed.
“Show the woman in!” came a voice. “Jus’ the woman, no one else!”
I stepped forward, unsure as to where I was going. The missionaries walked with me and I saw a dark doorway up ahead of us. A boy stepped out with a tallow candle in his hand.
“We said just the woman!” His face was twisted into an expression befitting someone far beyond his years.
“We should accompany her,” said David.
“No yer don’t.”
“Then you mustn’t harm her!” he ordered.
The boy grinned. “I won’t do nuffink to ’er, mister.”
“Please be careful, Miss Green,” said Hugo.
Nervously, I followed the boy through the dark doorway.