11

I GAVE ROSIE a single kiss on her forehead and started to turn.

But before I could open my mouth, another voice spoke, quavering and still unbroken. ‘I don’t know, Mr Ch—’

‘Don’t use my name, boy.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. Timothy was here, and now he’s gone.’

‘I can see that.’

Chastain approached the boy and leaned down, so close I could feel the air as he moved. His boot was no more than eighteen inches from my face.

‘Jake, isn’t it?’

‘Jonathan, sir.’

‘Ah yes. Well, Jonathan, you’re going to tell me where I can find Honey. And don’t tell me you don’t know.’

I could hear rustling. The boy was shrinking away from the lieutenant, his back against the wall.

‘He goes to the Hippodrome, sir.’

‘But he won’t go there any more, will he? Not now the girl’s dead. Where else?’

Jonathan was weeping. ‘I don’t know, sir. He was here, sir, and now he’s not. I was asleep.’

I released Rosie’s hand and she grabbed it again, holding it tighter. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

There was a sudden noise and rapid footsteps. The boy had made a dash for it. Chastain caught up to him in the doorway, and I risked raising my head to see. They were bathed in light, and Chastain had Jonathan by the shoulder. A man like him – a Royal Navy lieutenant, a gentleman – could throttle any of these lads and never be held to account.

As silently as I could, I pushed myself up to a crouching position, every muscle screaming at the agonising slowness. Rosie’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t try to stop me. Faces in the room turned in my direction, and I put my finger to my lips.

Jonathan was whimpering and begging, and his legs were wilting under him. ‘I know of one place, sir. One place he might’ve gone. There’s an artist. He does pictures of people. Him and Micky went there a couple of times. I don’t know the address, but I can take you.’

I contemplated rushing at Chastain, but I knew he was too strong for me, and he had that pistol. I would have to use a bit of cleverness instead. As another train came past, drowning out all the other sounds, I turned to the window and stepped through.

I found myself in a dank back yard containing nothing but a rotting scuttle. Low wooden fences divided it from its neighbours on either side, and along the back, not four paces away, a wall higher than my head hid the railway. The train was still clattering past, smoke and steam billowing up as if the house backed on to a chasm down to hell.

I had to be quick.

I vaulted over the fence into the next-door yard and then the next, hoping I wouldn’t be spotted. I found what I was looking for: steps up to the road. I sprang up them two at a time and took a single deep breath at the top. I straightened my coat, brushed down my trousers and lifted my chin.

A smart black brougham was waiting on the street, facing away from me. I couldn’t see the driver, but I would’ve bet every farthing I possessed that the carriage was owned by the Royal Navy.

I could hear Chastain’s voice. ‘Are you lying to me, lad?’

He was dragging Jonathan up the steps by the collar. The boy was wearing boots split at the toes where he’d outgrown them, a ragged shirt and a jacket of indeterminate original colour, made grey by the dirt. Atop his head, he had a too-small cap balanced on a sprout of black hair. At most, he was twelve years old.

‘Lieutenant Chastain!’ I exclaimed, as though we were met by chance at our gentleman’s club. ‘Did you get my note?’

‘What?’

‘I sent a message to you at the Colossus.’ I wagered that he hadn’t come straight from his ship. By the time he discovered the truth, the boy would be safely out of his clutches. ‘My investigation led me here. Who’s this?’

Realising his position was somewhat compromising, Chastain loosened his grip on Jonathan and gave him a pat on the back. ‘He’s helping me. Honey isn’t here, but this lad here knows where he’s gone. Something about an artist.’

‘Oh.’ I smiled in a convivial manner; just two fellows discussing business. ‘Well, I can save you a trip. It was the artist who gave me this address and he hasn’t any idea where Mr Honey is.’

‘Well, that’s as—’

‘This young man may as well go about his business, don’t you think?’ I gave Jonathan a severe look and he stared back, goggle-eyed. ‘I’m sure he shouldn’t be wasting any more of your time, Lieutenant.’

The boy needed no further encouragement. He dashed past me and along the road.

Chastain watched him go, his mouth drawn back into a grimace. ‘Where’s your hat, Mr Stanhope?’

I put my hand to my head, like an idiot. My bowler was still in the cellar. And it was my favourite too, a gift from Jacob.

‘How foolish of me. I seem to have come out without one.’

Chastain raised his eyebrows. Truly, he seemed more offended by my naked head than by the sight of young boys sleeping in a dank coal cellar prior to returning to selling themselves on the street.

‘And this artist? Where is he?’

‘He doesn’t know anything, I assure you.’

‘I insist you tell me.’

‘I regret, I cannot.’

Chastain glanced towards the waiting brougham. I could see him weighing up his options. Kidnapping street urchins was one thing, but I was a gentleman, and a journalist at that. The tension in him was injurious to watch.

‘Mr Honey has something that belongs to me.’ He was speaking slowly, pushing out each word as if he was disgusted to have it in his mouth. ‘Or he knows where it is. I wish to get it back.’

‘Oh? What is it?’

He didn’t reply but, quite unconsciously, he positioned his finger and thumb as though he were holding something between them; something about the size of a hazelnut. And then it came to me, what the Blood Flower must be. I wasn’t certain. But if I was right, it was indeed beyond price.

Chastain worked his mouth. ‘Keep me informed, will you?’

He marched away towards the brougham and climbed inside. I watched until it reached the end of the road and disappeared. Not five minutes later, Rosie had ushered all of the boys out of the cellar and on to the pavement. Some were taller than her, almost young men with fuzz around their chins, and some were kids, rubbing sleep from their eyes.

She handed me my hat.

‘Look at them.’ She pointed to the smallest. ‘He’s hardly older than Robbie. It breaks my heart. Where are their mothers?’

I collected all my change together and Rosie went among them, handing a precious coin to each one, a penny for the older ones and a farthing for the younger. They gathered close to her, some clutching her skirt or sleeve, eager grins lighting up their faces. As she paid them, she touched them, a squeeze of the shoulder, a ruffle of the hair, and I could tell she wanted nothing more than to take them home and give them a square meal and a place to sleep. But this city wasn’t our home, and these boys were only a few among hundreds or thousands. No one could feed them all.

As we were about to leave, I noticed a movement in one of the doorways, a frightened face peeking out. Jonathan had returned. I beckoned him over and shook his hand, which was scarred and rough despite his tender age.

‘You’re safe now, young man.’

He whipped off his cap. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I don’t have any coinage left for you, I’m afraid. I do have this.’ I gave him my empty wallet. ‘It’s a nice one. Leather. Might fetch ninepence, if you’re lucky.’

He bobbed his head. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

‘That gentleman – did you meet him on his ship?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The boy had a solemn face, not prone to smiling. I was uncomfortably reminded of Lillian.

‘You … ’ I struggled for the right words. ‘You provided a service for him, did you?’

‘No, sir. My brother, sir. I waited outside.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I realised who this boy must be. ‘ Your brother was Micky Long.’

Jonathan swallowed hard. ‘Half-brother strictly, sir, yes. He died.’

I had the strong urge to put my arm around him, and he must have sensed it because he leaned slightly towards me. But I was unpractised at physical contact and the moment passed.

‘I’m sorry this happened to you,’ I said. ‘I hope whoever did it is brought to swift justice. I’m sure they will be.’

He didn’t argue or agree. I wasn’t sure he was capable. He was like a pigeon I’d once seen, caught by a cat, unable to flap its wings. I will never forget its black and yellow eye blinking at me as it waited for death.

‘Will you want anything else, sir?’

‘Only one thing. The artist you mentioned to Mr Chastain. You should forget about him, all right? Don’t mention him to anyone again.’

‘I won’t.’ He shoved my wallet down his shirt. I could see its outline bulging through the cotton.

Without another word, he went back down to the cellar, his bare feet almost soundless on the rotten steps. The other boys went as well, bar a couple of the oldest, who set off towards the city. I wondered what kind of life any of them would have. I couldn’t imagine they would survive into their twenties.

As Rosie and I started back towards Viola’s house, she turned to me. ‘Poor child,’ she said. ‘Now he has no one. What’ll happen to him?’

‘I don’t know.’

I didn’t want to tell her what I really thought: that the boy would most likely follow in his brother’s footsteps, and sooner rather than later. He would end up dead of disease or cold or violence before his voice had broken. What a brief and terrible life.

‘That awful man,’ said Rosie.

I nodded, but I also noted that Chastain hadn’t harmed the boy. Lots of threats and demands, but no actual harm. But perhaps I’d interrupted him just in time.

‘I think we can assume Chastain was one of Micky Long’s customers on the ships,’ I said.

‘That makes sense. And Micky brought his brother along to … what, keep him safe?’

‘Perhaps. Or to show him the ropes.’ I winced at the thought of it. ‘Chastain has lost something that belonged to him: the Blood Flower. My guess is, Micky stole it. And Chastain thinks Timothy Honey knows where it is. The two lads were friends, sleeping in that cellar in the day and visiting the ships at night.’

‘And they knew Natalia too.’

‘Yes.’

Rosie’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. ‘But you have doubts. I can see it in your face.’

I did, but I was struggling to articulate them. Some of the pieces simply didn’t fit.

‘It doesn’t feel quite right. Micky was killed because he was the thief, but he clearly didn’t have the Blood Flower in his possession when he died. Chastain indicated it was an object. Something small.’ I couldn’t explain the rest of my theory about the Blood Flower; she would want to know where I came by it.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘So that’d be why that horrid man is hunting Timothy Honey, and perhaps why that poor girl was killed too, if someone thought she had it. So, what are your doubts?’

‘None of that explains why Quinton accused Honey and then gave him an alibi, does it? Nor who has the Blood Flower now.’

She squeezed my elbow. ‘Nor one other thing, Leo, I’m afraid: it’s obvious to me that Mr Black knows more than he’s saying. He’s your friend, but you have to consider he might be involved in some way.’

She was right, yet I couldn’t believe it. Peregrine was many things: oversensitive, rash, bombastic, careless of others and, I was forced to admit, violent when provoked. But always in the service of his own sense of justice. A crime like this … it wasn’t in his nature. But, when I thought about it, how much of his nature did I really know? We’d only been friends for two years or thereabouts and for more than half of that time he’d been away with the theatre company.

Neither of us spoke for a while, lost in our thoughts. I knew what I had to do next, but it involved a betrayal.

‘How bad would it be to break a promise to someone, if the reason for the promise, the justification, no longer applies?’

She looked up at me, her green eyes reflecting the afternoon sun. ‘I suppose it depends. You could ask the person you made the promise to whether they see things the same way.’ She slowed slightly and detached her arm from mine. ‘Is it me?’

‘No, of course not. It’s Peregrine.’

‘Oh.’ She took my arm again. ‘You’ve seemed a tad distant over the last day or two. I wondered if that was the reason.’

‘Not at all.’ I felt a wash of heat in my chest. ‘I’ve been distracted by the investigation, that’s all.’

‘Is that what it is now? An investigation?’

I supposed it was, though I’d surprised myself by calling it that. Of course, discovering the truth wouldn’t change anything for Natalia and Micky. Justice was a footnote for them, nothing more. But what else was there, now? Better a footnote than being forgotten completely.

‘There’s more I want to know, yes.’

‘So, where are we going?’

‘To see Sergeant Dorling. I need something from him, but he’ll want something in return.’

When we reached the police station, I was once again struck by how small it was compared with those in London. Rosie paused at the entrance.

‘You don’t need me,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and relieve Viola. She doesn’t like looking after the kids for too long. She says they discourage the spirits from speaking to her.’

I suppressed a laugh. ‘Of course.’

As ever, we were incapable of parting sensibly. With every other person I knew, a cheery wave would be sufficient. Rosie deserved more, and yet I couldn’t embrace her or kiss her cheek. That wasn’t how we were. So, we did what we always did, hopping on each foot and smiling, without ever quite turning away, until one of us did, or we both did, and the spell was broken.

Dorling met me in the foyer, this time wearing full police uniform and a medal on his chest.

‘What is it now, Winthrop?’

‘Stanhope. You said before that you wouldn’t help me unless I gave you something in return. Well, I have a proposal for you.’

He pulled out his pocket watch and glowered at it. ‘All right, make it quick.’

‘I want to examine the bodies of Micky Long and Natalia La Blanche.’

‘Why?’

‘I have good reason. And I have experience. I used to work for a surgeon of the dead.’ I held out my hands in a manner I hoped was reassuring. ‘The corpses will be left exactly as I found them. I assume they’re still in the mortuary?’

‘I believe the girl’s been claimed by the circus people for burial.’

‘But Micky Long is still there?’

The lines on Dorling’s his face grew darker and more pronounced. ‘No one cares about him. Why would they?’

Unclaimed and penniless, he would get a pauper’s funeral. I needed to see him before that happened.

‘Very well. I’d like to examine him. Today.’

Dorling folded his arms. ‘You said you had something to offer in return.’

‘I have. It’s about a club owned by Mr Quinton. But first, do I have your agreement?’

I felt a prick of guilt. I’d promised Peregrine that I wouldn’t mention Papaver to the police, and I was breaking my word. But Honey had told us that Sergeant Dorling already knew everything, so I wasn’t giving him any information he didn’t already have. It was a betrayal, but only in the narrowest sense. I wasn’t hurting anyone.

Dorling glanced at the constable at the desk, who was pretending to read some papers, and gave me a brisk nod. I spent two minutes telling him about the dance partners for hire at the club and the illegal opium trade. Through it all, he remained impassive. Not a flicker of interest.

‘Anything else?’ he said, when I’d drawn to a close.

In for a penny, I thought. ‘Yes. There’s a lieutenant on the HMS Colossus named Chastain. You should question him. I believe he was one of Micky Long’s … customers. I saw him earlier on Cumberland Road. He’s searching for something he claims was stolen from him.’

Dorling, who, up to that moment, had looked utterly bored, suddenly stood up straight. ‘Really? That’s very interesting. Thank you, Mr Stanhope.’

‘You’re welcome. Can I assume you’ll—’

‘But not enough for me to grant you access to the mortuary.’

‘What? But you agreed. I’ve told you everything I know.’

I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d broken my promise to Peregrine for nothing. And yet Dorling wasn’t leaving. He remained looking down at me, his moustache trembling with anticipation. ‘Which is what any subject of Her Majesty should do if they have information regarding criminal activity. You’ve done your duty and for that you deserve my thanks. Which I’ve given.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘What else could there be?’

I was tiring of his sanctimony, especially as it was clearly a preamble to a negotiation.

‘What else do you want?’

He rubbed his hands together. ‘Ah, well, that’s the question, isn’t it? What do we want, here on the south coast, miles and miles from London? See, Mr Stanhope, we toil away without the benefit of recognition from the powers that be, and lacking adequate resources to hold back the tide of—’

‘I take it you want me to write a favourable article about the police in Portsmouth. Very well, I’ll do it.’ I didn’t mention that such blandishments would never get past the subeditors.

‘Thank you, Mr Stanhope. And if my name were to be—’

‘Agreed. Leader of men, unsung hero, worthy of the highest commendation. Is that it, or would you like me to propose you for a knighthood?’

He drew himself up, feigning disgust at my impudence. ‘It’s nothing more than what’s deserved.’

‘If you say so. I’ll need a letter from you giving me permission to enter the mortuary. And directions for how to get there.’

He leaned on the constable’s desk to scribble out a note, virtually stabbing the paper with the final dot of his signature. The haggling over, he was impatient to be leaving.

‘If they refuse to let you in, there’s nothing I can do about it.’