The innocents, p.22
The Innocents, page 22
Blood thumped in Albert’s ears and his focus narrowed to Blount, watching him to see what the man was about to do next. He saw Blount’s hands form into fists. Good. The man was tall and broad, but his arms and fists didn’t look the strongest: certainly not as strong as Albert’s. Blount relied too much on his henchmen to do his fighting for him, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Blount took two steps backwards, and for a moment Albert thought he was going to walk away. He reached down, brushing some dust off his trousers and, just a moment too quickly for Albert to realise what was happening, he had pulled up his trouser cuff and removed a knife strapped to his leg. He leered at Albert, the knife glinting in his hand. Albert shifted his attention to the knife. Knowing what he did of Blount, he guessed the man wouldn’t be content with merely wounding him.
Albert’s fear must have been evident on his face because Blount laughed, then swopped the knife from hand to hand a few times, as if relishing this moment. He made a few faint lunges at Albert, easy enough to sidestep, but Albert knew he was being toyed with. Soon enough Blount would tire of this game, and one swift move could see the blade inserted between Albert’s ribs.
Dimly, Albert was aware of passers-by, other shoppers. Some walked by without seeming to notice Blount’s knife. Others registered it and hurried on, heads down. Why was no one calling for help?
He tried to kick the blade out of Blount’s hand, but Blount simply shifted out of his reach. If he turned and ran, he had no guarantee Blount wouldn’t outpace him. And he’d rather have the knife in front of him, where he could see it, than behind him, ready at any moment to plunge into his back. His options were limited. Astonishingly, he realised he still had the wrapped meat in his hand. He threw the parcel hard at Blount’s head. The man moved to avoid it and, just at the moment when he was slightly off balance, Albert rushed at him, slamming a ringing blow to the side of his head. Blount doubled over, but he held the knife firm. Albert grabbed the arm holding the knife and shook it, trying to loosen Blount’s grip, but to no effect. Blount elbowed him in the ribs, and Albert stumbled backwards. He was winded, but he ignored the pain and forced himself to straighten up; he couldn’t leave himself exposed to Blount’s attack.
He heard voices that seemed to be coming from some distance away, but he couldn’t fathom what was being said. A shout? A whistle? He couldn’t be sure.
The two men faced each other, each of them crouched forward, legs apart. Whatever Albert was going to do, it had to be swift and overwhelming. Blount was stronger than he looked, and Albert knew he’d be lucky to escape with his life.
With his eyes locked on Blount’s he was only dimly aware of a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. The young woman emerged from the newsagent’s and rushed towards Blount, calling his name. She grabbed his arm and looked as if she was trying to pull him away from the fight. Never taking his eyes off Albert, Blount swore at her and swept his arm in a wide arc to fling her off. But something about his movement unbalanced him. He took a step backwards to reposition himself, but he was right at the edge of the kerb and he fell into the road.
He didn’t stand a chance. The cab driver tried his best to rein in his horse, but he was too close to save Blount. The horse reared up, his eyes wide with fear, his ears pinned back close to his head. And then an awful sound, a scream of pain and horror that could have come from either Blount or the horse, Albert couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it came from both. Then the grinding of the cab wheels and the sharp splinter of wood. What was left of Blount was barely recognisable, his skull caved in on one side.
Instinctively, Albert sprang forward to help, but somebody held him back. A police officer, his face vaguely familiar to Albert. ‘No, sir. Stay back. You can’t do nothing now. And the nag’s still spooked. There’s no knowing what he’ll do.’
Albert nodded. There was nothing to be done. He looked behind him and then up and down the length of the street. The girl had vanished into the shadows as if she’d never been there.
Albert had just finished giving his statement when John arrived back at the station. He took one glance at Albert, then led him into an interview room and sent a young constable to make some sweet tea. While Albert sipped the drink, John read through his statement.
‘A fight, you say?’
Albert nodded. The effort of moving his head was almost more than he could bear.
‘You sure about that? My PC says he saw Blount in an argument with some tail and you were just standing nearby. Didn’t say nothing about a fight.’
‘I think I know when I’ve been in a fight, John.’
‘And I think you’ve had a terrible shock, Albert. Seeing a fella run over by a hansom cab would tip anyone up. Make them remember things that perhaps weren’t what happened after all.’
Albert stared at him, saying nothing.
‘Accidents like these, they happen every day,’ John said. ‘We just write it off and get on with catching the villains. If there was a fight going on beforehand, there’d be a lot more paperwork, a lot more explaining to do. My men are very busy at the moment. And Blount’s men – if they ain’t already scattered to the four winds – they might want to have words with someone seen fighting their boss just before he died. Now,’ John said, screwing Albert’s statement into a ball and lobbing it into a wastepaper bin, ‘you finish that tea and we’ll write your statement together. I think you’ll find it’s a lot simpler than you’re remembering.’
‘The man is dead, John.’
‘That he is, but not by your hand. Like you said, he tripped and fell into the road. And this is Jeremiah Blount we’re talking about. To my way of thinking, you deserve a bleedin’ medal. Now, let’s get this written and get you home.’
TWENTY-NINE
Minnie was tidying her room when she heard the door slam. She found Frances in the living room, distressed, out of breath, standing by the window looking out at the busy street below.
‘What’s wrong?’ Minnie said.
Frances jumped at Minnie’s voice, as if she’d thought she was alone. ‘What did you say to Jack?’ she said, a hint of accusation creeping into her voice.
‘What about?’
‘When you spoke to him. Told him to stop treating me like a china doll. What exactly did you say?’
‘Pretty much that. We chatted about you. I said you were able to take care of yourself.’
‘And how did he take it?’
‘He seemed fine.’ Minnie paused, replaying the scene in her head. ‘Maybe a little too fine. As if what I said was of no consequence. Why? What’s happened?’
Frances slumped into an armchair. ‘I’ve just seen him at the Palace. He’s accused me of all sorts. He reckons you and I have been having what he called “cosy little chats”. That I’ve been telling you stuff about him. Stuff he didn’t want no one else to know.’
‘Like what?’
Frances shrugged. ‘I dunno. He weren’t too clear on the details. He was just acting really strange. Angry, in a way I’ve never seen him before. He scared me, Min.’ She rubbed her wrists.
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘He didn’t mean to. He just grabbed hold of me when he was trying to get his point across.’ She held out her wrists. The bruises were already starting to form.
‘Well, that’s Jack’s days at the Palace numbered,’ Minnie said.
Frances lifted her head, a look of panic crossing her face. ‘Don’t do nothing, Min. He’ll know I told you and—’
‘And what? If he comes near you again, I’ll call the police on him.’
‘Don’t do that, Min. He’s no trouble, really. And he’s had a lot to deal with—’ She broke off.
‘Like what?’
Frances gave her a hard look. ‘Swear you won’t tell no one? I promised him I’d never tell, but if you know, I reckon you’ll think about him a bit more kindly.’
‘I ain’t making any promises, Frances. Not without knowing what you’re gonna say.’
Frances sighed, but it was obvious she’d already decided to tell Minnie. ‘We were both at the Trafalgar that day. Both lived through something awful, but it was worse for Jack.’
‘How so?’
‘He lost someone that day. His twin sister.’
Minnie thought for a moment, reliving the conversation at the Palace after Lennie Thomas’s poisoning, when Jack had revealed he’d been at the Trafalgar. ‘He’s never mentioned a sister to me. Never mind a twin.’
‘He wouldn’t. He don’t want no one knowing about it. I don’t reckon he’s ever got over it. The problem is, he reckons I look like her. His dead sister. Reckons she’d have been the spit of me if she’d lived. That’s why he thinks we’re somehow bound together, but why he ain’t interested in me as a sweetheart. We both lived through the same thing, both somehow ended up working for the Palace and got to know each other. And I look just like her, he says.’
Minnie dropped into the other armchair. ‘That’s a bit bleedin’ creepy if you ask me. Sounds like you’ve had a lucky escape.’
Frances shivered. Minnie leapt up and wrapped a blanket round her shoulders.
‘You should have told me earlier,’ Minnie said. ‘I’ve thought for ages you knew more than you were letting on.’
‘It weren’t my story to tell. Trouble is, he’s getting – well, strange. Intense. If you get him sacked, he’s gonna know it’s got something to do with me.’
‘I can get Kippy to make up some excuse. Jack’s only ever been a casual worker. Kippy can just say the money’s dried up – which ain’t too far from the truth – and there’s no more work. I can’t have him staying on at the Palace, Frances. Not if he makes you feel like this.’
Frances squeezed her hand by way of thanks.
‘C’mon,’ Minnie said, crossing over to the stove and checking there was water in the kettle. ‘Let’s have a cuppa. Unless you’d prefer something stronger?’
‘There’s a bit of gin left. I wouldn’t say no.’
After the first few sips Frances visibly relaxed. ‘That Tom fella who works for Albert,’ she said. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Interested, are you?’
Frances smiled. ‘Always interested, Min, if it’s the right fella.’
‘Tom’s a lovely lad. Had a terrible time of it last year, though. I ain’t sure he’s totally over it.’
‘Might he need consoling?’ Frances said, giving Minnie an arch look.
‘You,’ Minnie said, waving her gin glass at Frances, ‘are incorrigible. Besides, Tom’s a lot younger than Jack, and you’ve always said Jack feels like he’s too young for you. Aside from the fact he’s half cracked.’
‘You know what I mean. It ain’t Jack’s age, as such, it’s more how he seems. I told you, didn’t I, when I first got to know him, he always looked like he needed a good scrub. Particularly his hands. Black, they were.’
‘Why so dirty?’ Minnie asked. ‘The stuff he does for Kippy, it’s mucky work sometimes, but nothing a good wash wouldn’t sort.’
‘Oh, it ain’t what he does at the Palace. It’s one of his other jobs.’
Minnie wasn’t surprised to hear Jack took on other work. A lot of people she knew had to work more than one job if they wanted to keep the wolf from the door.
‘What’s that, then?’ she asked.
‘He’s a sweep,’ Frances said, leaning forward and topping up Minnie’s glass.
‘What?’ Minnie said, sobering up instantly.
Frances gave her a bemused look. ‘A sweep. You know, fella with a load of rods and brushes, sorts out your flue.’ She started to giggle. ‘Rude.’
‘How long’s Jack been doing that?’
Frances shrugged. ‘I dunno. It’s only an occasional thing. Why’re you so interested?’
‘No reason,’ Minnie said, feigning indifference while her head was racing to make the connections. ‘It’s just he’s never mentioned it.’
‘Well, it ain’t exactly a riveting topic of conversation, is it? Where you going?’ Frances said, as Minnie leapt up and reached for her coat and bonnet.
‘Need to see a man about a chair.’
THIRTY
From Frances’s rooms it was a short walk to the Fortune Theatre. Luck was on her side, and Ned the caretaker was just finishing his lunch.
‘You here about the chairs?’ he said. ‘’Cos you can’t have ’em back. The punters love ’em. They reckon pink and gold together is a dead classy combination.’
Minnie shook her head. ‘You’re fine. I just wanted to ask you something. When you came to collect the chairs that day you told me your name and then you said something like “although you know that, don’t you?” I’ve a head for faces, Ned. I’d remember if I’d met you before.’
‘It weren’t you I was talking to. It was Danny, the young lad you had helping you out.’
‘How’d you know him?’
Ned shrugged, seemingly confused by her interest. ‘He worked here for a while. Helped me out with a few bits and pieces. He’s a handy lad.’
‘Why’d he leave?’
‘We were having that refurbishment done. The place was gonna be shut for a week or so. No work, so he moved on. Why’d you ask?’
Minnie shook her head. ‘No reason.’
She blew the expense and caught a cab to Albert’s. Now she was sitting in his morning room, recounting her conversations with Frances and Ned. As she revealed each successive detail, Albert grew more and more animated.
‘So,’ she concluded, ‘he was at the Trafalgar Theatre that day and he lost a twin sister. He’s worked as a sweep. He was there at the wake when Lennie Thomas died, and he worked at the Fortune with Peter Reynolds. The only thing that don’t really fit is Bernard’s drowning. He came running when Frances called for help.’
‘I’ve wondered about that,’ Albert said. ‘Maybe he drowned Bernard, thought the job was done and was changing out of his wet clothes, when he hears the stage weight falling in your office and realises he’s not alone. Frances calls out, and he realises he needs to go and make it look like he’s helping.’
‘Wouldn’t she have noticed his clothes were already wet before he got in the tank to help her?’
‘It’s not the kind of thing you’d be looking for, is it? And in the heat of the moment, she was hardly going to worry about inspecting Jack’s clothes.’
Albert crossed to the fireplace and removed an empty clay pipe from the mantelpiece, rubbing it gently between his forefinger and thumb while he spoke. ‘James Tomlinson, the lad who was put in the asylum after the Trafalgar Theatre disaster. He lost a twin sister that day.’
‘James Tomlinson. Jack Cassidy. What was the name of that sweep again?’
‘Danny Webster. In his rooms there were all sorts of letters made out to other names, but for the life of me I can’t remember any of them.’
‘Maybe we need to pay Danny Webster another visit.’
‘And Jack. If nothing else, we can get him to explain his connection to all these crimes. I don’t suppose you know where he lives?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. But we’ll have to head back to the Palace.’
Minnie hurried into her office. On the desk was a box holding several pieces of card. Each of them had the contact details of anyone who worked at the Palace. Inwardly, she blessed Tansie for this bit of organisation that he’d impressed on her she needed to maintain when she took over the management of the Palace. ‘You never know when you’re gonna need someone last minute,’ he’d told her, fanning the cards in front of her face. ‘And this way, you don’t have to keep all those addresses in your head.’
She rifled through the cards, telling herself she should have kept them in Tansie’s strict alphabetical order. Finally, she found Jack’s. ‘Mare Street,’ she said. ‘27 Mare Street.’
‘That’s it,’ Albert said. ‘That’s where Danny Webster lives. I didn’t get much of a look at him that day. He had a hat pulled down over his face, collar turned up, muffler pulled up over his mouth to keep out the cold. So I couldn’t swear to it, but I reckon Danny Webster and Jack Cassidy might be the same person.’
THIRTY-ONE
Danny Webster’s landlady had a face like a bulldog sucking a lemon. ‘You here again?’ she said to Albert, but he didn’t reply. She seemed to take particular offence at Minnie’s presence, sniffing her disapproval as her eyes ran up and down Minnie’s frame.
‘I don’t allow my gentlemen to have no lady callers,’ she said, stressing the word ‘lady’ as her lip curled.
‘Then we won’t have a problem, ’cos I ain’t a lady caller. I’m a detective,’ Minnie said, sweeping past the landlady and opening the door to what they now knew was Jack’s room.
It was much as Albert had described it: large damp patches visible on every wall, and floorboards that felt as if they might collapse beneath your feet. And yet scrupulously organised. Everything carefully folded and tidied away.
‘Bit odd, ain’t it?’ Minnie said. ‘Young fella keeping his room so neat?’
She lifted the edge of the rug. ‘Book I was reading the other week, there was a secret trapdoor under the carpet.’
No such luck, but just as she went to reposition the rug, Albert stopped her and pointed to scratches on the floor by the wardrobe.
‘Someone’s moved that,’ he said. ‘It’s a heavy item from the looks of it, even if you took all the clothes out, so they’ve had to drag it, which would explain the scratches. When John and I were here before, we didn’t lift the rug. Didn’t see the scratches. Nice work, Minnie.’
‘I knew all that reading would pay off one day.’
Albert opened the wardrobe door. Jack’s clothes were hanging on hooks, some items neatly folded and stacked on a high shelf. It was a big wardrobe, which made it all the more obvious that Jack had so little to put in it. And why had someone moved the wardrobe and then moved it back again to the same position?
