I won’t claim I didn’t feel a burst of excitement. It was a lot of money. In fact, it was a dangerously large amount, certainly too much for Dora Hannigan to have come by honestly, or why had she stuffed it into a chimney?
I felt a pang of fear. I considered putting it back and pretending I’d never discovered it, but what good would that do? Either it would be found and spent by the next residents of the room, thanking God for their luck, or it wouldn’t, in which case it would be burned to ash the next time the fire was lit.
I didn’t have time to think. Mrs Raster would return soon.
I wrapped the leather pouch tightly into a pair of Aiden’s trousers and tucked it at the bottom of the carpet bag.
As I was leaving the room, I heard someone on the gallery steps. I looked over the balcony and saw the bald man who’d been squinting at me earlier coming up. He was hatless and coatless, drops of rain glistening on his jacket and his scalp. I stood aside for him, my heart beating on my ribs like a convict on the bars. He stopped in front of me, standing too close, looking me up and down with the air of an undertaker estimating the quantity of wood required. I became keenly aware of the two-storey drop to the courtyard below.
‘I remember you,’ he growled, examining my face. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do. You were with the coppers.’
‘No. I mean … yes, but I didn’t choose to come. They forced me to.’ I wished just once I could sound confident and perhaps a little dangerous, instead of squeaking like a carriage wheel in need of a drop of oil. ‘I’m here to find out if Miss Hannigan’s children have any relatives.’
He glared into my eyes, his face inches from mine. If this was the man who had killed Dora Hannigan, he would know to dig a deeper grave this time.
‘Where are the children?’
I gripped the carpet bag tightly. ‘They’re safe. The police have them.’ I realised how that must sound, as if I was constantly hobnobbing with the constabulary. Nevertheless, he nodded. I had the sense he was relieved but was trying not to show it.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Stanhope. And I’m guessing you’re Mr Cowdery.’
‘That’s right. Edwin Cowdery. And you can take a message back to your friends from me.’ He pushed up the brim of my bowler hat with his finger. ‘Tell them no one here killed Dora. It wasn’t us. Tell them that from me, Mr Stanhope.’
I heard a woman’s voice calling up from the courtyard. ‘What’s going on, Edwin?’
We both looked over the rail. The woman was wearing an apron and a lace cap, and was short, with powerful arms and shoulders, seemingly built for, and perhaps by, manual labour.
‘You’re not needed here,’ he called down to her. ‘I’m having a word with this gentleman, that’s all.’
She put her hands on her hips and met his eyes. She had the implacability of a tree stump. ‘I don’t think he’s enjoying the word you’re having.’
He grimaced, breathing heavily through his nose. ‘He’s working with the coppers, Erica.’
She raised her eyebrows. I had the sense that they knew each other well, and this exchange was one fragment of a years-long debate.
‘Would you rather they never found Dora’s killer? Well then.’ She beckoned me down. ‘Why don’t I see you out, Mr …?’
‘Stanhope. Thank you.’
I hurried down the steps, hoping not to hear Cowdery following me.
‘The girl’s sickly,’ he shouted down. ‘Ciara, her name is. She has fits. Make sure they know.’
I thought back to that night when she had woken me in the pitch darkness, and the pulling and jerking of her hot little hand in mine.
‘I will,’ I called back, feeling this was an oddly civilised chat after what had just happened. I almost asked him what he knew about her infirmity, but he opened the door to Miss Hannigan’s room and was gone.
The woman, Erica, was waiting at the bottom. ‘He’s not a bad man,’ she confided. ‘He’s upset about Dora dying that way. It’s hit him hard.’
‘Did he know her well?’
She took my arm. ‘Didn’t you say you weren’t with the police?’
She led me back down the hallway towards the front door. I kept a firm hold on the carpet bag, feeling as if I was holding a bomb that might go off at any moment.
On the pavement, I turned to thank her. She surveyed me over the top of her pince-nez with shrewd eyes that would brook no nonsense, and I realised she wasn’t as old as I’d first thought; no more than thirty.
‘I’m Erica Cowdery,’ she said.
‘Oh. Are you Mr Cowdery’s—’
‘Sister,’ she interrupted me, her mouth twitching at the corners. ‘His younger sister. It’s been very nice to meet you, Mr Stanhope.’
‘You too, Miss Cowdery.’
‘Probably best not to get too curious, though, for your own well-being.’
She shut the door before I could reply.
In the street, the wind had picked up. Newspaper pages had blown free and were being whisked along, flipping like acrobats. A small boy was chasing them, leaping and laughing, his arms outstretched and his face a picture of delight.
I envied him so terribly I could have wept.
Back in my room, I opened up the pouch and pulled out the notes, spreading them across my bed.
I had made a mistake.
Some of them were, indeed, pounds, but others were higher denominations, fives and tens, which I’d never set eyes on before. I marvelled at the intricacy of the patterns on the paper.
Note by note, I added them up: two hundred and four pounds.
It was remarkable. How could anyone have this amount of money? I did a quick calculation and couldn’t believe the answer, so did it again; the notes I was holding in my hands would pay my rent for the next ten years.
I rustled them between my fingers. Such thin stuff to hold that much power. I pressed them to my face, inhaling the metallic tang of the engraver’s ink.
It changed everything.
I had brought up a pot of tea on a tray, and poured myself a cup, watching the steam rise. It was just paper, I reminded myself. I had never yearned for the wealthy life my mother had wanted for me, marrying some gentleman with a job in a bank or a toff with a rich daddy, like John bloody Thackery. The thought of it made me laugh, and I spilled my tea over my trousers, quickly pricking both my humour and my brief avarice. It’s hard to feel anything other than foolish while hopping around the room flapping a trouser leg.
When I got back to the money, I had started to think more clearly.
This wealth could change Aiden and Ciara’s future. It was enough to fund their care in the very finest orphanage and ensure they benefited from the best education. They could eat well every day: chicken and ham and green vegetables, with apple pie to follow, lemonade in the afternoons and peppermints before bedtime. They could eat like I used to when I was a child, sitting at the table while a maid ladled gravy on to veal shanks. I didn’t miss much about my childhood, but memories of that dinner table still made my mouth water.
But nothing was so simple. This money must have belonged to someone else at one time, and whoever it was would likely want it back.
The only person I could think of who was rich enough was Sir Reginald Thackery. Had Dora Hannigan stolen from him? If so, John might have been right; his father could have committed murder to get his property returned.
But he hadn’t had it returned, had he? It was right here on my bed.
And there was another possibility. I remembered what Jacob had said: if your father’s wealthy, you’re wealthy too. John Thackery probably had access to this amount of money.
If so, the lie I had told the police would allow a murderer to escape justice.
I collected the notes and returned them to the pouch, which I shoved under my mattress. It had to be kept secret, or all our lives would be endangered.
The following day was Saturday. I worked at the hospital in the morning and, when I left at midday, people on the streets had their coats over their arms. The sun had found its way through the clouds.
It was perfect weather for the zoo.
I went straight to the police headquarters on Whitehall and asked for Constable Pallett. He appeared after five minutes, jacketless with his sleeves rolled up, his hands in his pockets.
‘Constable, I want to visit those children I brought here a few days ago. I have their things.’ I held up the carpet bag. ‘I’d like to take them out for the afternoon, if that’s possible. I was thinking of the zoo.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, sir. But they’re with Mrs Downes now, and she don’t like to let them out, not without proper authority. She’s a bit … particular.’
‘I see. That’s a shame.’
I admit I was disappointed. I’d started to look forward to our little trip, and Constance had danced around the room when I told her we could go. Drawings of elephants and kangaroos had started appearing around the house. She would not take this news well.
Pallett scratched his chin, still no more bearded than my own. ‘Let me check, sir.’ Three minutes later he reappeared, now in full uniform. ‘Why don’t I come along with you, sir, and have a word with Mrs Downes? They’re just nippers, and it’s not right they can’t go out if someone’s willing to take ’em. Not after all they’ve been through.’
‘I don’t want to keep you from your work, Constable.’
‘That’s all right, sir. By rights I should be making a list of every resident of Rose Street, name, age and occupation. That’s the important task you’re detaining me from.’
He laughed, and I can honestly say it was the first time I’d ever heard him make a joke. It didn’t suit him. But I was glad of his help and wondered whether his sympathy for the children was rooted in his own upbringing. The rumour was he’d been born in a rookery in Acton town, and had six brothers and four half-brothers, some in prison and one dead, hanged by the neck for garrotting a barman who’d refused him a third bottle of malmsey.
The two of us walked swiftly up Whitehall to Trafalgar Square, where I nodded, as usual, to the statue of General Havelock, stuck on his plinth with a bemused expression, his back permanently and wisely turned to George IV, who was sitting astride a horse and wearing what appeared to be a Roman tunic. What the man himself would have made of such unsuitable garb, I couldn’t have said, but it made me feel chilly despite the sunshine.
Endell Street was a busy thoroughfare leading from Long Acre up towards Bloomsbury, jammed tight with carts and carriages pulled by glum horses flicking their tails, bearing little resemblance to George IV’s mighty iron steed, save in their immobility. Pallett led me to a row of houses, one of them somewhat prouder than the others, with clean paint and all its windows intact.
Mrs Downes turned out to be an austere woman in a dark green frock. She resembled nothing so much as a pine tree, being narrow yet sturdy at the feet, spreading widely in the lower branches and tapering to a crisp, snowy peak at her bonnet.
Pallett explained our purpose, and she pursed her lips.
‘It’s most unusual,’ she said. ‘Other children do get envious, you know. Them that benefit from special treatment soon wish they hadn’t, in my experience.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Mrs Downes,’ replied Pallett, unintimidated. ‘But perhaps we can make an exception on this occasion?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, I suppose it don’t matter much, all things considered. Wait here.’
Something in her tone made my skin itch.
While she was gone, a skinny boy of perhaps eight years appeared in the hallway. He stopped and watched us, mouth agape. A girl arrived too and stood beside him. Apparently, we were their afternoon’s entertainment. They looked alike enough to be brother and sister, both barefoot and dressed in near rags. I would have guessed her age at about eleven, but she was so gaunt it was hard to tell. I smiled at them and she smiled back and then, as if remembering herself, cocked a bony hip and raised her eyebrows at me, her fingers plucking at her ragged collar.
All I could do was shake my head. I wanted to tell her not to do that, not ever to do that, but I didn’t know who she was, where she came from or where she was going. What had Hooper called this place? A halfway house. A moment of peace, perhaps. Or an intake of breath between two screams.
She ushered her brother away when Mrs Downes reappeared with Aiden and Ciara.
Ciara sat on the carpet and did up her shoes. Aiden, his shoes already on, stood in the hallway and glared at me.
‘Would you like to come to the zoo?’ I asked him.
‘Why?’
It wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. Didn’t all children want to go to the zoo?
‘It’ll be fun.’ I could hear how feeble that sounded. Their mother was dead, and I was wittering about having fun. Still, I’d started and couldn’t seem to stop. ‘My landlord’s daughter will be coming too. She’s very excited.’
‘Do we have to go?’ he asked.
Mrs Downes gave him a little push towards me. ‘You’ll do as you’re told and be grateful. There’s plenty here who’d kill for what you’re being offered, as you’ll doubtless find out in due course.’
Ciara had finished tying her laces and stood up.
‘I thought it might help if Ciara saw a real lion,’ I said to Aiden, as one might to an adult. He deserved my honesty. ‘She might remember what really happened.’
Aiden folded his arms, still not moving. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’
Mrs Downes had run out of patience and shoved him on to the doorstep. ‘These two have been trouble since they arrived.’
Again, something in her tone scratched at me. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘What trouble?’
She folded her arms and peered down at Ciara. ‘This one’s not right.’
‘Pardon?’
‘She’s a lunatic. I was dragged from my bed by one of the others, a good girl, quiet and well-mannered, cos this one was yelling the house down and shaking as if the devil had tooken her.’
She edged an inch or two away from Ciara. The girl didn’t seem to notice, and was pulling up her socks.
‘Yes, I’ve seen it too,’ I said. ‘Afterwards she’s quite unaware and resumes her normal behaviour. It’s rather …’ I searched for the right word to ease her worries ‘… disconcerting. But not a danger to her health, as far as I can tell.’
Mrs Downes grimaced. ‘Maybe so, but this ain’t an asylum. I took steps.’
‘What steps?’
‘As it happens, Miss Lizzie Anderson, the noted mesmerist, was in my charge for a short while some years ago. I could tell she had a gift, and it’s only got stronger in the meantime. In demand all over London, she is, but she still comes round here if I have a need.’ Mrs Downes paused, as if we might take this opportunity to congratulate her. ‘Lizzie talked to the girl, and put her into a spell, as she does, and at the end she said the madness was too strong in one so young. It has overwhelmed her, and there’s nought to be done.’
I had once seen a mesmerist, when I accompanied Jacob and Lilya to a show in the days before her sight had left her completely. There was a whole slew of acts offering communion with the spirits, the bringing forth of ghosts and so on. I presumed that Jacob was hoping Lilya might be cured, but she thought the whole affair ridiculous and left before the end. The final act was a mesmerist, and Jacob called out loudly to him with a challenge, asking whether it might be possible to cure a woman who thought she was a man. I hid my face, panicked, but need not have worried. The mesmerist, no fool as it turned out, paused dramatically, training all eyes back on himself, and answered that Jacob had certainly affected a remarkable disguise, and that his beard was almost convincing. Jacob sat down again, sour-faced, and would not speak until we were nearly back at his home, where he explained, between snarled complaints about charlatanism, that he had hoped I might finally be made happy if my body and spirit were rectified. I exchanged angry words with him, annoyed by his disrespect of my circumstance, and was only mollified after two glasses of Lilya’s sloe gin.
Mrs Downes half closed the door, peering round it. ‘I’ve done all I can, but I have to think of the others. These two will be going to orphanages on Monday.’
Pallett drew himself up. He was standing on a lower step but was still eye to eye with her. ‘You’re supposed to keep the children until a family member is found or the search for one is abandoned.’ He was always polite, almost theatrically so, yet I could tell he was annoyed.
She shook her head briskly. ‘She’s a lunatic and I don’t have the facility, not for two bob a week. The bindings and laudanum and so forth. They’ll have to go.’
She shut the door, and I realised I still had hold of the carpet bag containing their clothes. Somehow, I didn’t feel inclined to knock again and ask her to send their things onwards with them.
Pallett left us at Seven Dials, his long legs carrying him back to his paperwork, while the children and I walked to the pharmacy to collect Constance. I made them hold my hands at Wardour Street, which was hectic, with broughams rattling past and pedestrians packing the pavement. A lady crossing from the other direction beamed at us, and a driver stopped and waved us over. I nodded my thanks and felt most peculiar, as though I was living somebody else’s life.
I was still perplexed by Aiden’s reaction to my invitation to the zoo. I would have been overjoyed at his age, and yet he was walking along sullenly, his hands in his pockets.
‘I think there are giraffes!’ I declared, trying to engender some excitement. ‘Don’t you want to see one? They have very long necks.’
Ciara raised her arm straight. ‘Like this?’ She crooked her hand to be the giraffe’s head, her thumb becoming its lower jaw, opening and shutting.
‘Yes, but much bigger.’
In truth, I’d never seen a giraffe except in pictures, and wasn’t absolutely sure of their size. I had in mind something like a deformed horse.
‘What about you, Aiden?’ I said. ‘What do you most want to see?’
He kept his eyes straight ahead. ‘I don’t know what there is.’
‘I’m sure there are all sorts. What animals do you like?’
He didn’t pause for thought. ‘Dogs.’
‘Well, they won’t have dogs, I don’t think.’ I was starting to feel impatient. ‘But what about lions and tigers?’
He took his sister’s arm. ‘Ciara will be frightened,’ he said. ‘I have to look after her now.’
This time, I caught his meaning. He was angry and hurt. I’d promised to make sure they were cared for and, in his opinion, I’d let them down, giving them to the police and leaving them at the halfway house.
As we reached the pharmacy, I turned him to face me, holding him by the shoulders. He looked back at me, his expression shuttered.
‘I’m sorry about how things worked out,’ I said, speaking slowly, searching for the right words. ‘I know you’re grieving for your mother. I’ll do my best to find a good orphanage for the two of you. Do you understand?’
Underneath my mattress was enough money to pay for their care for years to come. And, probably, to get us all killed as well. But what use was it if it couldn’t be spent?
‘What do you mean?’
He didn’t answer and, when I let go of his shoulders, he pushed open the pharmacy door.
Constance was ready to go, eagerly clutching four paper bags. Alfie took me to one side and spoke quietly.
‘These children are not your concern, Leo. Are you sure you should be taking an interest in them?’
Aiden was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded, and Ciara was kneeling in front of the fireplace, wiggling her fingers exactly as she had the first time she’d visited with her mother. It seemed like months ago, but it was only two weeks to the day, almost to the hour, since Dora Hannigan had asked if I would extend her some credit. She’d probably been thinking about her day’s chores, and church tomorrow and school the day after; times tables, spellings and sewing. It seemed inconceivable that she’d been excised from the world, and even more so that the world appeared to have healed around the wound, leaving only these two small scars.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I said to Alfie.
‘All right.’ He handed me two shillings. ‘For your expenses.’
‘Thank you.’
I should have turned him down, but I couldn’t afford to. I could barely afford my rent. I wouldn’t touch the children’s money for any sake other than theirs.
I left their bag of clothes in my room, and off we went.
When the omnibus arrived at the Regent Street stop, it was crowded and reeked of sweat. We had to stand in close proximity to other passengers, an inconvenience I had good reason to loathe. I kept one arm across my chest, holding on to the pole as we lurched over the cobbles, while Ciara clung on to my jacket and swung helplessly from side to side.
Eventually, we reached the north-west corner of Regent’s Park, which was our stop, and Constance launched herself out and strode down the road towards the entrance, turning from time to time to beckon us to hurry as if she were our teacher and we were late for class. Poor Ciara was quite out of breath by the time we got there.
I paid at the booth and we entered what could only be described as another world.
The nearest I had ever come to visiting a zoo was a dismal menagerie on the Strand, nothing more than a corridor lined with cages containing sad-looking animals with bald patches in their fur and flies crawling across their faces. The solitary lion could have been stuffed, for all the animation he exhibited, and the smell of droppings was so overpowering one could only remain inside for two or three minutes before rushing out to the street to inhale.
The London Zoo was quite different.
The main path was flanked on either side by large cages housing the most colourful birds: parrots, finches and birds of paradise in one; ducks and pelicans in another, with their own pond. The next contained falcons and hawks, glaring at us as if they wanted to peck out our eyes.
And the noise! Squawking, whooping, chuckling and growling; there was every kind of sound one might imagine a creature could make, coming from all directions.
‘Which way should we go?’ asked Aiden, frowning at the choice of pathways ahead of us.
I checked the sign. ‘Perhaps the giraffes first?’ I ventured.
I was looking forward to seeing them most of all.
‘No, let’s start with the lions,’ said Constance, already setting off. ‘We need to know what Ciara really saw, don’t we?’ She gave us no choice but to follow, not least because she still had the sandwiches.
We heard them long before we reached them, a rumbling, thunderous burst of noise as if the air was being ripped in two. Ciara held on to my sleeve.
‘It’s all right,’ I assured her. ‘They can’t hurt you.’
I wondered what she would say, if anything, when she saw one. Perhaps when she set eyes on a real lion – the size of the beast, its mane, teeth and claws – she would realise her mistake. Perhaps I would find out the truth.
The lion house, as it was called, was a long building with a curved roof, reminding me of my brother’s toy railway station.
Constance was looking around, shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘Are you coming in?’ I asked, and she nodded.
A man was wandering behind us, on his own. I noticed him because everyone else seemed to have company. He was a little younger than me, perhaps twenty, and I accidentally caught his eye. He quickly looked down, hiding his face beneath the brim of his brown felt hat.
Inside the lion house, the animal stench was strong, though nowhere near as bad as the menagerie on the Strand. The lady in front of me was fanning herself, and her husband blew out his cheeks.
‘They don’t need to bite,’ he said to her, loudly enough for the whole room to hear. ‘The stink alone is enough to kill you!’
We joined the throng at the first cage. Aiden, despite his previous ambivalence, pushed his way through to the front and was soon lost from sight, but Ciara hung back, staying close to me.
Constance took her hand. ‘Shall we look together?’ she said, and the little girl nodded gratefully.
Left on my own, I had the opportunity to observe my fellow zoo-goers. They appeared to think they were at a society occasion. Almost everyone was well turned out, the ladies in colourful frocks and elegant bonnets, the children clean and pink-cheeked, and the gentlemen in smart coats and top hats which they tipped to one another. They took far less notice of the few men who, like me, were wearing bowlers or flat caps and the clothes they went to work in. One fellow, in a chesterfield and shoulder cape, barged his way in front of me as though I didn’t exist, poking my side with his cane and bellowing at his friend to follow.
We had been in the lion house for ten minutes before I even saw a lion, but it was worth it. The crowd thinned at one of the cages, and I spotted Ciara, on her own, apparently having overcome her fear. She was holding on to the bars, no more than a few inches from the beast’s fur. His backbone protruded like a line of thick rope under his skin, and his mane was not at all as I remembered, a sort of bushy hat, but flowed from his head down his shoulders to his chest like living gold. His tail flicked gently from side to side with a restrained force, a mere hint of his true power and ferocity. It seemed indecent that such a creature could be held captive.
He climbed to his feet and turned to lie the other way, his face a picture of regal disdain. He didn’t so much as glance in our direction. We were jabbering monkeys, grinning and hooting in celebration at his terrible downfall.
The fellow I’d seen before, who’d complained about the smell, reached between the bars and prodded at the golden fur. The lion didn’t stir. I almost wished he had. I wondered how quickly the fool would withdraw his hand if one of those huge paws had been raised and a single claw extended.
I’d lost sight of Ciara. I looked around, but couldn’t see her. She had been right there. Where could she have gone?
Other children were in the building, shouting and laughing, pulling at their mothers’ hands. None of them was Ciara. What colour was her dress? Grey, I was sure, from too many washes and not enough bleach. But what about her coat? Was it dark blue?
How could I not know?
I started walking, scouring the building for her round face, feeling my heart begin to hammer. I didn’t want to call out and make a scene. She was probably pressed up against one of the cages, quite safe. I would spot her in a moment, most likely with Aiden, listening as he lectured her about the animals. Any moment now.
But there were Aiden and Constance, and she wasn’t with them.
‘Have you seen Ciara?’ I asked, and they both shook their heads. ‘Go and find her, would you?’ I was trying to keep my voice steady.
I had made a mistake bringing her here. Such a tiny child, she didn’t have the means to understand what had happened. She had said a lion had killed her mother and, even though that was ludicrous, she might have become terrified if one looked at her or bared its teeth.
I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if I’d been emptied out. Should I tell a member of staff to form a search party? I would feel so foolish when she turned up, having innocently wandered off. But what if she hadn’t, and by delaying I was making it harder to find her?
What if we never found her?
With a shock that stung the skin on my face, I remembered the young man in a brown felt hat who’d followed us into the lion house. He’d been on his own, which was unusual in this place. Could he have been spying on us, waiting for his chance? Could he have taken her?
I thought of her mother’s corpse lying in a dug-out hollow in a dingy courtyard, her clothes soaked with water, her face grey.
‘Ciara!’ I shouted. ‘Ciara! Ciara!’