22

MY VISION WENT BLACK, and I had to crouch down, struggling to regain my breath. The pain was spreading outwards from my stomach to my chest and bowels. I didn’t dare look up at the fellow. His heavy boots were scuffing the paving, as though he wanted nothing more than for me to stand, so he could punch me again.

A voice came from the direction of the carriage.

‘Was that necessary, Fenny? He wasn’t going to be any trouble.’

The fellow who had hit me spat on the ground. ‘Never does any harm to make sure.’

I held up one hand. ‘What do you want?’

‘You, mate.’ He hauled me to my feet and looked into my eyes. ‘Are you all right?’ He patted my cheek. ‘’Course you are.’

I had never seen him before. He was my height, but heavier, dressed plainly, with lavish sideburns decorating a face you would otherwise forget.

My intakes of breath were causing sharp pains in my chest, and I was having trouble straightening to my full height.

The driver rapped his knuckles on the wooden seat. ‘Let’s go.’

My assailant rubbed his hands together and a smell wafted into my nostrils: the silt of the harbour. ‘You’ve got a choice now, Mr Stanhope. Or may I call you Leo? Leo, it is.’ He indicated the carriage as if inviting me into his parlour. ‘You can get in now, like a good boy, or I can hit you again first. Either way, you’re coming with us.’

I had no idea what would happen if I got into that carriage. I had a vision of lying on the beach by the bridge, my throat neatly cut.

Viola’s house was agonisingly close, and Peregrine was probably inside. I took a shallow breath, testing the contractions of my stomach muscles.

I was quick, but was I quick enough to reach the front door before they caught me? Probably not. And the house was hardly a castle. Being trapped inside with these two circling like hungry dogs wasn’t a pleasant prospect. And no matter what came next, I couldn’t allow them anywhere near Rosie.

Which left only one choice.

I started towards the carriage, allowing the fellow to get half a step ahead of me. I braced myself, took one agonising lungful of air and elbowed him hard and sharp in the kidney. He let out the smallest groan and tried to twist away, but these days I knew how to win a fight: don’t talk, don’t think, don’t hold back and don’t stop until it’s over. I punched him hard in the back of his neck with my right fist and he staggered forward with an ‘oof’. I brought up my left towards his face.

I would not be taken. The last few years had exhausted my patience with ruffians and bullies. I’d been burned, beaten and half-drowned, and had decided with absolute conviction: never again.

So much for that.

He turned, slapped my fist out of the way, grabbed my jacket and slammed his head into the bridge of my nose. A blinding pain shot across my cheeks and up into my forehead.

I made one last attempt to swing at him, but I could hardly see, and he dodged it easily. I heard him laugh. He was enjoying this. He danced around behind me, grabbing me around the neck with his forearm, and pulled me sharply backwards so I was right at the point of falling. He held me there, perfectly balanced, neither quite dropping nor able to stand upright.

‘Last chance, Leo. Get in the carriage or I’ll be tempted to get nasty.’

I nodded, and this time I meant it. He shoved me forwards, and I climbed inside. He followed me in and sat on the bench opposite, so we were knee to knee like old mates on our way to the pub.

The driver flicked his whip and, as we were leaving, I heard a shout. I looked back through the rear window and a figure was running after us, waving both hands. My eyes were watering liberally, and I couldn’t properly see who it was. She shouted again, and I knew it was Rosie. But she was too late.

We reached the junction and turned westwards into the city.

My assailant put out his hand, but I declined to shake it. My mother always told me that politeness is never wasted, but of late I’d begun to wonder whether she’d acquired enough experience in her life to make that determination with certainty.

‘Fenwick,’ he said. ‘Nice to make your acquaintance.’ He thumbed towards the driver. ‘And that’s Mr Hall.’

He handed me a rag and I put it to my face. My nose was bleeding and sore as hell, but the bone appeared to be intact.

‘Why are you doing this? I’ve arranged to meet Mr Quinton later anyway. There was no need for violence.’

Fenwick stretched out his back, twisting left and right, wincing a little. ‘Cuts both ways, Leo. Nice shot you got in there. Didn’t think you had it in you.’

‘What does he want with me? I don’t have the … object with me. I won’t renege. Tell him that and let me out.’

His mouth formed a sneer. ‘Renege? Renege?’ He tapped on the roof of the carriage. ‘Hey, Hallsy, what does renege mean?’

A voice came down from the front. ‘It means to back out or default, usually on a deal. It’s the kinds of behaviour that gets a bloke into trouble. Like renegade, you see?’

‘Oh.’ Fenwick seemed to process this information and then called up to his friend. ‘You ever reneged on a deal, Hallsy?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘Good man. Seems like a pretty low thing to do.’

I wasn’t impressed by this double act. ‘I spoke with Alice Morgan yesterday. I asked her to tell Mr Quinton he could have it. All of this is pointless.’

A chill was creeping into my chest. Why was this happening if Alice had passed on my message? And then an icier feeling still. What if she hadn’t?

We had already passed the turn-off for Papaver, so we weren’t going to meet Quinton there. And we couldn’t be headed to the New Hippodrome either as that was far behind us. He must have an office somewhere, I thought; a lair where he counted his money.

Fenwick was biting his nails, a contrarily boyish act.

‘I have a question,’ he said. ‘It’s been eating away at me for the last couple of minutes. I’m a man of curiosity. Not educated, I grant you, but keen as mustard to learn.’

I watched his eyes, wondering whether I should refuse to play this man’s game. But I could still feel the ache where he’d hit me. Better wits than fists.

‘What’s your question?’

‘It’s this. Who’s this Mr Quinton you keep talking about? I’ve no idea who he is.’

My skin seemed to shrink on my bones. If Quinton hadn’t sent them, then who had? And where did these men come from? Every single other person I’d met in this ghastly town had recognised his name. I realised I’d already given them an awful lot of information on the assumption they came from Quinton. I would have to be more careful from now on.

‘He’s an important man and I’ve arranged to meet him later. You must let me out.’

If I didn’t attend the meeting as planned, Quinton would certainly go to Viola’s house and take the Blood Flower by force.

Fenwick patted me on the knee. ‘Sorry, Leo, no can do. Looks like you’re going to have to renege after all.’

We took the main road, passing the police station, and veered north through a maze of shaded side streets. We emerged next to the railway bridge, and I feared he would force me out and on to a train, and then what? Where would we go?

But we continued, around a park dotted with trees and a Navy barracks, and into a residential area; narrow lanes with houses tightly packed on either side, each one coordinated with its neighbours, the same black doors and white window frames. Even the brass knockers and numbers matched, as if someone had measured them with a ruler. But the buildings weren’t the only things that were identical. Everywhere I looked, there were sailors dressed in loose blue trousers and shirts, white scarves tied around their necks.

Fenwick pulled down the window and exchanged friendly words with one of them about a recent fracas at a pub they called The Nut. I had the impression the two men had been on opposite sides, and yet they seemed quite affable now, treating the event more like a sports fixture than a battle.

Afterwards, we turned north and progressed at a slower pace, obstructed by the sheer volume of people, mostly sailors, spilling off the pavement and into the road, so close we could have leaned out of the window and prodded their caps from their heads.

‘You’re in the Navy,’ I said.

Fenwick gave me a sarcastic clap. ‘Very good, Leo. I’m Petty Officer Fenwick and my friend there is Hall. He’s a civilian.’ He spread his arms as if showing off his own estate. ‘Welcome to Sailortown.’

‘Mr Chastain sent you.’

‘You mean Lieutenant Chastain. Show due respect to the Royal Navy. That’s the way of it.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll find out soon.’ He grinned. ‘I hope you don’t get seasick.’

We pulled up by a stable next to a vast quay, milling with people. Two huge ships were groaning and aching, attached to the dock with ropes thicker than my waist.

Hall left the carriage with a rating who looked about twelve years old, and the three of us went down a ramp to a wooden pontoon. As we dropped below the quay, the noise changed, from the hubbub of people and creaking of ships to the slapping of waves against the concrete wall and clinking of halyards on masts.

They led me to a substantial clinker rowing boat, perhaps sixteen feet long, with three rowlocks either side, but only two oars.

‘Get in,’ said Fenwick.

I had very little experience of the sea, having been brought up about as far inland as it was possible to get. I suffered a pang of unease, lowering my foot on to the wooden seat, feeling it rise and fall with the movement of the water. The last time I had been on a boat, I’d thrown myself off it and almost drowned.

‘Hurry up,’ said Hall. He was a pinch-faced fellow with a restless manner.

I sat down gingerly. The two men untied the boat, fore and aft, and jumped in. They picked up an oar each and used them to push us away from the pontoon. Then they settled in to row, with me facing them like a lady being courted on the Serpentine.

I kept my expression neutral and tried not to shiver in the chill wind. No need for them to see how nervous I was. After ten minutes, I broke the silence. ‘How did you know where I was staying?’

Fenwick was red-faced, speaking only as he leaned forward and groaning with effort as he pulled back.

‘Mr Honey was kind enough … ugh … to tell us when we found him … ugh … at the circus place.’

‘Did you hurt him or Miss Brown?’

‘Only a little, and … ugh … no Miss Brown with him … ugh … just some darky bobtail was all.’

It didn’t seem worth continuing the conversation, and anyway, the boat was starting to get buffeted by the chop in the harbour. The waves were small, but when they hit us at a particular angle, they slopped over the gunwales, soaking my captors and puddling around my shoes. It wasn’t long before I had to pull my feet up on to the seat to keep my trousers dry.

We skirted a couple of single-masted ships and headed across the harbour towards Gosport on the other side. But gradually, the hazy grey cranes started to slip away to our left, and I realised the tide was sucking us into the harbour along a sort of channel between the mudflats.

An hour into our journey, the patches of glistening mud shrank away, and we were in open water, surrounded by craft of all sizes and types. Some were not much bigger than our rowing boat, while others were proud sailing vessels with portholes and colourful paintwork. A couple were stocky steamships, the noise of their engines throbbing across the water. Almost all were anchored, though we did pass a schooner making slow progress towards the open sea, its sails barely filling. Fenwick saluted, and a sailor at the prow returned the gesture.

Not long later, both men stowed their oars and started bailing out water, now seven or eight inches deep. The boat spun slowly, still being pulled by the tide, sliding into the lee of a hulking iron barge which blotted out the light.

As we emerged from its shadow, Fenwick looked up and pointed. ‘Ain’t she a beauty.’

I looked over my shoulder, and there was the sleekest ship I’d ever seen. Nothing on the Thames could compare. She was the length of a football pitch, red at the waterline, black on the hull and a shining white on the rails. At the centre was a giant steam funnel that spoke of speed, and either side of that, circular shapes like giant hat boxes.

From where we were, still several hundred feet away, I could hear the sound of hammering.

Fenwick was watching my reaction like a proud father. ‘The Colossus. Newest in the fleet, not yet finished. Still waiting for her artillery. Hall here is working on the engines, aren’t you, mate?’

Hall emptied the last dregs of water over the side from his pail. ‘Engineer, see.’

A thought occurred to me, and I felt a shiver run across my skin. These men were surprisingly free with their names and positions. I wondered whether they were intending to kill me.

Of course, my thoughts strayed back to Rosie, her voice crying out as the carriage pulled away. If I die here, I thought, I hope she doesn’t try to find out what happened to me. Better she goes home and forgets all about this place.

I still had her ring in my pocket. I touched the circle of metal through the cloth and felt myself calmed.

The two men went back to their oars and, as we neared the Colossus, Fenwick threw a couple of fenders over the side and hurled a rope up to a sailor on the deck. The fellow dropped us back along the hull towards a ladder, the pitch and roll of the sea becoming more violent, throwing us against the side of the ship with a metallic clank.

‘Up you go, Leo,’ said Fenwick.

I caught hold of the ladder and tried to lift my foot to the bottom rung, but our boat was lurching and bucking, and I was forced to let go. I tried again, getting one foot on to it, but found my weight neither fully on the ladder nor fully on the rowing boat, and the gap between the two getting larger. Another second, and I would be in the water, in danger of being crushed between the hulls. I felt a shove on my behind and managed to pull myself on to the bottom rung. Behind me, I could hear Fenwick’s jeering laughter.

‘Ain’t got your sea legs yet.’

I reached the top and clambered on to the deck. The racket was deafening. Half a dozen men were on their knees hammering rivets into the decking. None took any notice of me.

Fenwick came up the ladder behind me and pointed towards a door. ‘This way.’

He clapped Hall on the back by way of a cheerio and ducked under the lintel, leading me down some steps and into the bowels of the ship. The corridor below was too narrow for two men to walk side by side, so I had to follow him, our shoes ringing on the floor and my nostrils filling with the smell of new paint. The sound of hammering became hollow and echoic, and I was reminded of being in the iron bath at Viola’s house. What a moment that had been.

Fenwick knocked on a door and Chastain himself opened it. He was wearing a naval uniform, but compared with the last time I’d seen him, he was dishevelled. He hadn’t shaved or brushed his hair, and his face was pasty and shining with sweat.

‘Mr Stanhope. You’re very welcome here. Please come in.’ He turned to Fenwick. ‘You can go.’

Fenwick stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Payment of half a crown was mentioned, sir, and sixpence for Mr Hall. I’m sure you wouldn’t renege on that, as Mr Stanhope here would say.’

The man simply wouldn’t let go of an idea, once it had entered his head.

Chastain’s expression grew colder. ‘Later, Petty Officer. This isn’t the time.’

There was something about how he said it that made me suspicious. I wasn’t the only one. Fenwick eyed his superior for a few seconds.

‘Your debt is growing, sir. These trips to fetch gentlemen on your behalf do add up.’

Chastain glared at him. ‘We have an arrangement, you and me. I will keep my part of it, and you keep yours.’

Fenwick angled his head in acquiescence. ‘I’ll be very keen to see that you do, sir, as will Mr Hall, I’m sure. Keen as mustard, we’ll be.’

He stalked away down the corridor.

Chastain indicated I should sit on one of the three hard chairs. The room was as plain as the inside of a biscuit tin.

He looked at me up and down, and left the room, returning with a dripping flannel. ‘Wipe your face,’ he said. ‘You have blood on it. I’m sorry for the manner of your arrival. The petty officer isn’t as gentle as I’d prefer. I can’t offer you anything, I’m afraid.’

I admit that even in this place, shivering mostly with cold, but a little with fear, I was disappointed not to get a pot of tea.

‘What do you want, Lieutenant?’

He sat down, his elbows on his knees and his foot tapping on the metal floor. Despite his efforts to appear calm, his fidgetiness gave him away.

‘An object was stolen from me, as you know. An object of great value.’

‘A jewel,’ I said. ‘The Blood Flower.’

He nodded. ‘So, you already know. Good. That makes this easier. I would like it back.’

‘How did you come by it?’

‘We were in Africa. Madagascar. Our government, in their wisdom, decided to abandon the island to the French. I was on the Dragon at the time, and we had to ship out at short notice. The locals hated us for leaving, and they were right. We followed orders, but it was a betrayal of trust. An act of cowardice.’

Though he was speaking calmly, I sensed an anger boiling below the surface. He talked about the ‘locals’, but I was certain he was referring to a single person. A lover, perhaps.

‘And you decided to take a prize with you.’

‘They called it the Voninkazo Ra. The Blood Flower. But it wasn’t plunder.’ His mouth twitched into an unconvincing smile. ‘Why leave such a treasure to the French?’

The noise from the deck shifted in tone and volume; someone was hammering right above our heads.

‘I want your agreement to something.’ He had to speak loudly to make himself heard over the din. ‘I represent the Royal Navy. You’re a journalist, and you know things that I’ve done, things my superiors would frown upon.’

‘Frown upon? Three people have been murdered.’

He looked at me in surprise. ‘Not the murders, Mr Stanhope. Those people were of no importance to the Royal Navy. No, it’s something else altogether that would concern them. That’s where I’d like some assurances from you.’

‘Oh, I see. You’re referring to the visits of Micky Long and Timothy Honey to this ship. And others, I’m sure.’

He blinked, struggling to maintain his composure. ‘Quite. I propose a business arrangement. In exchange for your discretion, I will share one tenth of the ruby’s value with you. Furthermore, if you ensure its safe return to me, I will pay you another tenth. That’s a considerable amount of money.’

I had no desire to write tittle-tattle about a naval officer’s liaisons with young men. I cared about Natalia, Micky and Bill, their lives snuffed out like tallow candles. And I cared about the people they’d left behind. But even so, my mind was whirring. He still believed the Blood Flower was immensely valuable. I wondered how he’d react if I told him that it was worth about six months of my meagre wages.

The hammering changed again, moving further down the deck like thunder rolling along a valley.

‘You may be assured of my discretion,’ I said.

‘Good. But keep in mind, if avarice starts to influence your judgement, that the Royal Navy has considerable resources at its disposal. They don’t like to be embarrassed. It would be very much in your interests to keep your word.’

‘I understand.’

He looked relieved. ‘Now, as to the gem itself, I know that Mr Honey is no longer in possession of it. The outstanding question is, where is it now? He’s been in the company of a man named Black, I believe. An artist and an actor.’ His manner suggested he thought of these as depraved occupations. ‘My belief is that Honey has given the ruby to this fellow Black. Furthermore, I believe that you know the man. Last time we met you were very keen to dissuade me from approaching him.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘Of course, you can see how this implicates you.’

‘Not really.’

‘It suggests you’ve been party to a deception, a plot to keep me from my property. But now, with our arrangement, your interests and mine have aligned. You stand to earn twenty per cent. You will give me the fellow’s address as a token of good faith.’

Of course, I couldn’t do that. And besides, as soon as Chastain had the stone, or knew where to find it, I would probably be tipped into the harbour with deck rivets tied to my feet.

‘Mr Black doesn’t have it, Lieutenant.’

‘How can you be certain?’

When I didn’t immediately reply, Chastain leaned back in his chair. Gradually, he smiled.

‘Ah, I see. That is a surprise. It’s you. You have the Blood Flower.’

I could feel the balls of my fingers itching.

‘Not with me, but yes, I know where it is.’

‘In that case—’

‘You’re probably thinking you can hold me here and search for it at my sister-in-law’s house. Or that you can torture me until I give you the location. But there’s no need.’

He rubbed his chin, still staring at me.

‘Why?’

‘I’ve arranged to meet Mr Quinton at nine o’clock tonight. I’m going to give the Blood Flower to him.’

Chastain raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t understand. How does that help me?’

‘I also have an agreement with Sergeant Dorling, the policeman who’s investigating the murders of Miss La Blanche, Mr Long and Mr Broadman. He will lie in wait under the pier, within earshot. I shall coax Mr Quinton into admitting that he’s guilty and the sergeant will arrest him and retrieve the gem. Then the police will restore it to its rightful owner. You.’

Chastain weighed up my proposal, finally shaking his head. ‘That all seems rather complicated.’

I had to agree. As I was explaining my plan, I couldn’t help but conclude it was destined for failure.

‘Perhaps, but what are your choices, Lieutenant? My wife saw me leave with your men earlier. There are lots of people on this ship. Keeping me here will be a gamble at best.’ I sat back with my hands behind my head, a posture I couldn’t remember attempting before. ‘I’m giving you a chance to get your property back with the least possible risk, recovered for you by the police, no less. You can pay me my twenty per cent and keep the balance. And Mr Quinton won’t be able to threaten you because he’ll be in prison. It’s the perfect solution for you.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re a clever man, Mr Stanhope.’

My goodness, I thought, I do hope so.

It took a further fifteen minutes to persuade Chastain that he shouldn’t accompany me to my appointment with Quinton. But eventually he sent for Fenwick, who arrived eating a baked potato wrapped in paper, and instructed him to take me safely ashore. Fenwick wasn’t keen, but after some discussion, they seemed to reach a financial accommodation.

‘Time for another trip, Leo,’ he growled at me. ‘Hallsy ain’t going to like it though. Not one bit.’

The journey back was hellish. The tide was still coming in, so the two men had to work twice as hard as on the trip out. If they stopped pulling on the oars to take a breath, the boat started to spin and drift back the way we’d come. Fortunately, the wind and waves had dropped almost to nothing, so we remained dry, but a thick fog was descending on to the water, meaning we were reliant on Fenwick’s handheld compass to know in which direction we were heading. The needle kept sticking, prompting him to curse and shake it vigorously, once slamming it against the thwart. I feared he would break it, and we would be lost completely.

They rowed for an eternity. Hall was as relentless as a steam-pump, but Fenwick was soon red-faced and puffing. Eventually, he begged for a pause.

The stench of the fog was sickening, sulphurous, like the Bermondsey tanneries on a still summer day, except this fog was cold and damp, sticking to my skin and clogging up my lungs.

‘This is far enough,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’

They stowed their oars and Fenwick stood up, setting the boat to rocking. I backed away to the furthest point of the bow.

‘What are you doing? Far enough for what?’

He came towards me, rubbing his hands together. ‘Can you swim, Leo?’

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I won’t tell anyone who you are, I promise. I don’t remember your names. Please take me to the shore.’

He grabbed my collar and pulled me to my feet. ‘We don’t care if you know our names, Leo. We’re the Royal bloody Navy.’

The boat tipped alarmingly as he dragged me towards the edge.

‘No,’ I pleaded. ‘Stop this minute. Lieutenant Chastain is an officer. You must respect his rank, remember? That’s what you said. And he told you to take me back safely, didn’t he? Didn’t he?’

‘I said you had to respect his rank, not me.’ He patted me on the cheek. ‘Every trip I take for ’im, I raise the price. Started at sixpence and now it’s half a crown. One day soon he’ll stop paying and I’ll wring the buggerer’s neck and sink him. A person like that on the Colossus, and an officer to boot? It ain’t right.’

I tried to struggle, but he was too strong and far steadier on his feet. It was all over in a second. He gave me a shove backwards and I flailed briefly, whirling my arms, before crashing into the water. The last thing I saw before it closed over me was Fenwick and Hall looking down, huge grins on their faces.

The water was freezing and all I could see was grey as I floundered, trying to bring myself up to the surface despite the weight of my clothing. The water had seemed calm from the boat, but now it was chaotic, slapping against my face and filling my throat. I managed to take a breath but couldn’t inhale enough air to raise a shout. The cold had stolen all the strength from my lungs.

And then, my feet touched the mud. I stood up. The water only came to my chest.

Fenwick pointed behind me. ‘The shore’s that way.’

I turned to half-wade, half-swim in the direction he was pointing, hearing their laughter ringing across the water. The mud sucked on my feet, and I feared I might get stuck, but Fenwick and Hall kept an eye on me, circling in the boat, until a low quay emerged from the fog. I climbed up on to it and turned, intending to yell a few obscenities in their direction, but they were already pulling on their oars, heading back to the Colossus.

I squeezed as much water as I could from my clothing, but even so, goosebumps were rising on my arms and thighs. Wet footprints followed me alongside the harbour.

I had no idea where I was, but I knew the city was on a peninsula, so if I headed south I must eventually end up somewhere I recognised. There was no pavement, and the road wasn’t much more than a mud track, so I didn’t pass anyone on foot. But several carts went by, splashing dirt on to my clothing. Finally, I reached somewhere familiar: the hospital. It was the last place I wanted to be as I could ill-afford someone to recognise me from my last visit. But at least now I knew where I was.

I headed inland, reaching a paved road lined with tenements, shops and guest houses. It was crammed with people, eyeing me and talking behind their hands. One lad asked with a snigger if I’d been for a swim. I didn’t reply. A sort of fatalism had engulfed me. I cared not a jot what anyone said or thought.

The church bell chimed for eight o’clock and I quickened my pace. I had less than an hour until I was supposed to meet Quinton by the pier.

I passed the train station and the barracks near Sailortown and the common next to the beach. My stomach was growling, my feet were sore and I was as filthy as any mudlark. I made the final mile on sheer determination, pounding one foot in front of the other like a boy stamping on ants. By the time I was in sight of Viola’s house, my teeth were clamped together so hard, my jaw ached.

The lamps were lit inside. Rosie opened the door to me.

‘Leo! Thank God. Who were those—’

‘I’m all right. What’s the time?’

‘Almost nine. But Leo—’

‘I mustn’t keep Quinton waiting. Please fetch the Blood Flower.’

She didn’t move and for a moment I thought she was reluctant to let me have it. But then I noticed her flushed cheeks and wet eyes.

‘What is it, Rosie? What’s wrong?’

‘Viola’s gone. And she’s taken the Blood Flower with her.’