I whirled round and round, water in my eyes and too much light after the darkness, my head dragged back by a weight of hair. I turned on to my stomach and saw, some distance away, the iron arch of a bridge. Vauxhall Bridge, that must be, and the tide was going out, carrying me away from it and down towards Westminster Bridge. I was some way out from the bank so I started swimming, aiming for Millbank on the left. It was a forest of great square wooden pillars, jetties jutting out where the sloops carrying stone for the Houses of Parliament unloaded their cargoes. I’d seen it from the landward side and knew there were cranes up there, only I couldn’t see them from the water, or see anything of the building site, just a few sloops moored among the wooden pillars and what looked like a steam tug. If I could only get among the timbers and jetties, there’d surely be steps or a ladder where I could climb out, or perhaps there’d be somebody on one of the boats to help. But the current was carrying me along so fast I’d be past the building site and under Westminster Bridge before I could get to the bank. A thumping sound came from behind me and to the right, getting nearer and nearer. I screwed my head round to look and saw another tug, steam rising out of it, seemingly coming straight for me. I shouted something, uselessly of course, because nobody would hear me above the engine, and pulled desperately to the left. It missed me, I think, by quite a wide margin, but it didn’t feel like that. I’m sure nobody on board noticed me. I experienced a moment of calm and relief as it went away, then I was caught by the wash of it – waves that flung me around like a piece of rag. I lost all sense of direction and just concentrated on trying to keep my head above water most of the time. When the waves subsided and I could see again, I found that the steamboat had done me a favour. The wash had pushed me much closer to the forest of wooden pillars than I’d have managed on my own. I was near the end of the wharves, coming close to the great coffer dam that closed in the main building site on the river side. A half-dozen strokes with what felt like the last of my strength brought me alongside one of the wooden pillars. It had a piece of slimy rope looped round it and for some time I clung to the rope, though it felt old and frail enough to break at any moment, my chest heaving and my whole body shuddering. When I recovered enough to look around me, I saw that an unloading jetty came out to within a few dozen yards of my wooden pillar. I couldn’t make out any steps up to it, but it had huge wooden supports that might be possible to climb.
Reluctantly, I let go of my rope and swam towards it, my body more than half wanting to give up and sink down into the brown water. About halfway along it, I came to a vertical post with two diagonals leading up, and clung there. If I could climb one of the diagonals, then get my fingers over the edge of the jetty, I might just be able to pull myself up. Exhausted as I was, it looked to me to be nearly hopeless, but it was all I could think of. I managed to get a hold on the diagonal, dragged one foot out of the water and jammed it into the angle between the vertical and the diagonal. Then it was a matter of lifting myself up enough to get the other foot there, but my body just wouldn’t do it. I leaned out too far and fell back into the water with a splash that sounded like an Atlantic wave, and a yell of fear and frustration that seemed to echo all around the empty wharves. Then, as I thrashed to get back my hold on the post, I heard a man’s voice shouting, first from some distance, then nearer.
‘Who’s there? What is it?’ Then steps, running along the jetty, and the voice right above me. ‘What have you gone and done?’
I looked up and saw a craggy brown face and a trim beard the colour of pewter. When he saw me, his mouth dropped open. I thought maybe he was surprised to see it was a woman, though I didn’t know why he should be. Then, in a quieter voice, ‘Wait there.’
I didn’t see how he thought I had a choice. Perhaps I’d expected him to plunge into the water straight away, but not everybody’s a swimmer or a hero. Then the steps came back at a run and the end of a long pole splashed into the water beside me. It was about the size of a young birch tree. I grabbed it, understanding that he intended to tow me to where there were steps, and let it drag me through the water. Then something went wrong. I thought I must have shifted my grip or my weight, because suddenly the pole was pulling me down. I opened my mouth to yell to him but my mouth filled with water. To loosen my grip on the pole might mean losing my last chance, so I clung to it, going down and down. Dimly, I heard more shouting and another voice. Then I was going up again, my head breaking the surface, being towed along – this time faster. A stone wall came up on my left, then a series of projecting stones that made steep steps. A different, younger man was halfway down the steps, holding out his hand, telling me to let go of the pole and take it. The voice was Welsh. I plunged towards him and he caught my wrist in a grip that nearly broke it, hauled me out of the water and somehow got me up to the bank where the older man was standing, looking shaken.
‘A close thing,’ he said. ‘It seems I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. A very good job that Evans came along.’
He was perhaps in his late forties, and there was something calming about him – his grey eyes looked as if they’d seen a lot of things. The Welshman said he was going for a blanket and it struck me that I was practically naked in my chemise and under petticoat, both soaked and clinging to my body. I stayed crouched on the stones and we waited until the Welshman came back with an armful of blankets. Between them, they got me upright, draped blankets round me and supported me to a workman’s hut with a bench to sit on. For some time, I was too weak to say anything, shivering under the blankets. A stove stood in a corner of the workshop, and they lit it and produced tea from somewhere. My teeth juddered against the cup and the Welshman helped me to hold it. While they’d been getting the stove going, I’d heard them talking to each other in low voices, and gathered that they thought I was a failed suicide. It was mainly the Welshman’s idea. He seemed a kindly man but religious, and while I was drinking he said things were never as bad as that, not ever, and the Lord would always provide. I couldn’t explain, and a small part of my mind was waking up and wondering how much I should explain in any case. The older man stood at a little distance, looking down at me. The Welshman called him Mr James and spoke to him with respect in his voice.
‘Where is it you live?’ the Welshman asked.
I gave my address. It was a respectable one, and I could see they thought I was a servant there.
‘I’ll take her back,’ Mr James said.
The Welshman suggested they might get a message to the family, who’d surely send for me when they heard. I’d decided to remain the disgraced servant woman until my mind caught up with what was happening. He added that there were few cabs to be found this early, and in any case it would be hardly proper. I imagined myself in wet underthings and blankets, crushed against the dignified Mr James on a cab seat, and could see what he meant. But Mr James was determined and the Welshman gave way. As a final kindness, he found a pair of wooden workmen’s clogs for my bare feet. They were too big but, with the support of the two men, I managed to stand up and shuffle to the door. We went slowly through what seemed to be a village of large huts with wide avenues between, laced with iron tram tracks. There were quite a few workmen around even this early, and we got some curious looks. The partly built tower of the great building loomed over us. As we went, some of my strength came back and I was able to shuffle unsupported. We came to a tall wooden gate, which stood open with dozens of workmen coming in now.
‘It’s all right, Evans, I can manage from here,’ Mr James said.
The Welshman seemed relieved not to be seen on a public highway with me and left with murmured advice that I should always pray. Mr James gave me his arm and we walked out into Millbank, the workmen moving politely aside to make room for us. The shock of vehicles trotting past and scores of people on the pavement in the fine summer morning hit me, as if I’d expected the world to stop what it was doing while I was imprisoned. Mr James was looking up and down the road for a cab. We had to wait some minutes before one appeared in the distance, and he signalled to it urgently. It was about a hundred yards away, coming at a slow walk, when I was aware of somebody running up on my other side.
‘Well, where in the world did you get to?’
We both turned at the question. Mr James, I suppose, saw a young woman in a grey dress, no hat and her hair all over the place. I saw a vision.
‘Tabby.’
Mr James jolted with surprise and looked questioningly at me.
‘You know her?’
‘We work together.’ I still wanted to be the servant he’d assumed me to be because explaining anything else was too complicated. I knew Tabby was quick-witted enough to back me up.
‘What’s happened to you?’ she said.
‘We pulled her out of the Thames,’ Mr James told her. Not surprisingly, he seemed disconcerted.
‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ Tabby said. ‘You’re coming home with me.’
By now, the cab had stopped beside us and the driver was looking down from the box. Smartly, Tabby pulled the front cover open, waited while I got in and settled herself beside me. Since there’s only room for two in a cab, that left Mr James standing, looking disconcerted at the speed of events. I didn’t blame him. Tabby had mumbled the address to the cab driver as she got in, and he shook the reins to impel the horse back to its slow walk. As we drew away, I called to Mr James that I was very grateful to him and I’d bring back the blankets. I owed him a proper thank you, and I told myself I must come back and find him, but for now my mind was too full of the miracle of being back with Tabby.
‘How in the world did you come to be there?’
‘Business. I’ll tell you later.’ She was frowning, worried. ‘But where the bloody hell have you been?’
On our slow journey to Mayfair, I told her. She listened, making no comment. ‘It’s because somebody is trying to force Robert to do something, only I don’t know what,’ I said. ‘Now, at least, I can ask him.’ In the amazement of travelling home alongside Tabby, I didn’t doubt that I’d find Robert waiting there. At least now we could deal with it together, whatever it was. But Tabby’s frown grew darker.
‘No, you can’t, because he’s not here. He went abroad two days after you disappeared and we’ve none of us got any idea of where he is.’
It was the worst blow of all. After the first shock of it, I asked questions and found out about Amos tracking him to the Channel and Miles failing to find him in Paris.
‘How long have I been away?’
‘Ten days.’
I sat, slumped and shivering, almost beyond curiosity, until the cab slowed to an even slower walk, jolting on cobbles, then stopped outside a gateway.
‘It’s Abel Yard,’ I said, expecting to have been taken to our house.
‘That’s where I told him.’
She helped me out of the cab, reached up to pay the driver, then gave me her arm through the gateway and across our yard. The staircase to the parlour seemed steeper than I remembered and I stumbled in the clogs on my wrapping of blankets, Tabby coming behind to catch me if I fell. Sun was coming through the parlour window, gilding the motes of dust that whirled up as I opened the door. It was probably a warm day but my teeth were chattering. For the first and only time in our partnership, Tabby actually acted as a maid. She sat me in a chair, went downstairs for coal and kindling and got the fire started, then found a towel from somewhere. She slid off the clogs and started drying my feet.
‘I’ll have to take those back, too,’ I said.
‘Your feet are all cut.’
‘Probably from the post, trying to get out. If Mr James hadn’t happened to be there …’
‘Later. You stay there. I’m going upstairs to get you some clothes.’
I always kept some clothes at Abel Yard, and it was an odd assortment of them that she brought down – winter petticoats, an old chemise, thick stockings and a wool dress. With no sign of embarrassment, she helped me out of the blankets and thin underwear and got me dressed. She made tea, even stronger than I’d usually make it, and took a jug down to Mr Colley’s cowshed at the end of the yard for milk. After two cups, I could feel my blood circulating again and my mind coming back into some kind of order.
‘I can walk,’ I said. ‘We’ll go round to the house together.’ The urgency was to find Robert. I was sure that there must be something the others had missed. Now I was back, it was unthinkable he shouldn’t be here too. Helena and Harry would be at the house with Mrs Martley. I’d have to find a way of explaining things to them, but for now all I wanted was to have both of them in my arms, holding them close until they wriggled and giggled to be let go. I moved towards the door and looked at Tabby, expecting her to come with me. She stayed where she was.
‘You think that’s the best idea?’
‘Of course. Don’t you?’
‘Nah. I was thinking it might be a good thing if you stayed out of the way.’
‘But we have to find Robert. Whatever’s going on, it’s something they want him to do. Now they haven’t got me, they have no hold over him.’
She gave me a long look. ‘It’s eight days he’s been gone, so I reckon whatever it is, he’ll have done it or be doing it by now. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s something big.’
‘I still don’t know what happened that night.’
‘Mr Legge and I have been making enquiries. He’ll tell you.’
I put my head in my hands and winced when my fingers touched the place where I’d been hit. The water seemed to have opened it up again.
‘What were you doing at the Parliament site?’
‘Looking for somebody, but I didn’t find him. I’ll tell you about it, only you should be in bed. I’ll fetch Mr Legge.’
‘Following who?’
‘I don’t know the name. There’s a fellow who’s been visiting the scullery maid there, secretly at night. I reckon he works on the site.’
‘What scullery maid, where?’ My head felt as if it weren’t attached to my body; it was still floating.
‘The Maynards’ place. It all started there. Somebody knows what was going on and I’m trying to find out who. I reckon she was the one who let the bitch out.’
I tried to follow what she was saying. ‘There’d be quite a gap between them.’ A scullery maid would be some steps below a skilled workman.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Tabby said. ‘Why’s he going to all that trouble? And she behaves quite high and mighty for a scullery maid. I reckon somebody in that house was helping whoever took you. She’s probably the one who let the bitch out in the back garden to distract the servants.’
‘Bitch?’ Dogs again. I couldn’t keep up.
‘I told you it’d be too much for you to take in. Are you going to get up those stairs to bed or do I have to carry you?’
She’d have done so, too. I started laughing, then it combined with the shivering and wouldn’t stop. I let her help me upstairs and on to the bed, still fully clothed, and rolled myself into a cocoon of sheets and eiderdown. She drew the curtains, asked if I’d be all right then went, presumably to fetch Amos.
I tried to think about it all as the bright light of a summer day came in through the gap in the curtains, along with the occasional moo of a cow and the continuous crooning of chickens coming up from the yard. Then I slept, only I kept seeing Robert in my dreams and couldn’t understand what he was saying to me. I didn’t know what it was, only that it was urgent. Around mid-afternoon, I woke up suddenly, my mind as clear as it was likely to get. Tabby was sitting on the floor, playing with the cat that had got in somehow. She dropped the stocking she was using to amuse the cat carelessly into its claws. It had been waiting for Mrs Martley to darn it but was a lost cause now.
‘I went for Mr Legge but he’d gone out somewhere to see a horse and they didn’t know when he’d be back. I said to tell him it was urgent and he should come here as soon as he gets in. I went to your house on the way back here but didn’t say anything to Mrs Martley about you being found. She even talks to me now, she’s so concerned. She says the children are as sound as pippins and not worried.’
A fleeting thought that they should be crossed my mind, but still, pippins were a good thing, and in my head I could hear her saying it. Again, with Tabby’s help, I stood up and went downstairs to the parlour.
‘What about his brothers?’ I said.
‘We shouldn’t tell them. Mr Miles talks. Can’t help it, he just does.’
She was right. Now my mind was clearer, I could see the point of keeping away from everyone until we knew what Robert was doing. While we tried to find a way out of this thicket, the brothers would have to do without news. I’d no fears that anybody in Abel Yard would talk. The cowman and carriage builder we shared it with stuck to their own affairs and let the rest of the world go its way.
‘So all we have to decide now is what we do next,’ I said.
‘What I’ve been thinking …’
I never found out because somebody was hammering at the door downstairs. Tabby went to the window.
‘Mr Amos.’
She went down to let him in. He came pounding upstairs the moment the door was opened, practically running, hat in hand, his face red. He said, ‘Thank heavens …’ Then stopped, speechless. I’d known Amos in several tight places and a number of moods, but never incoherent before. His yellow hair was all over the place, streaked with sweat. His hat looked as if it had rolled in the dust. He just stared at me. I told him, as coherently as I could, what had happened, and gradually his face returned to its normal colour, though he was still as agitated as I’d ever seen him. Tabby, still in her unfamiliar ministering role, brewed tea and persuaded him to sit down, then took up from when she’d been interrupted, speaking to Amos.
‘What I’ve been thinking is she shouldn’t go back to her house. The people that took her will be mad she got away from them, and they’ll come looking for her.’
‘Why should they?’ I said. ‘They’ve got what they wanted. The whole point of taking me was to make Robert do whatever it is they want, and he’s probably doing it.’ I was sick at heart, thinking of those letters, wondering what Robert was involved in.
‘Because you know about them and what they’re trying to do,’ Tabby said.
‘But I don’t. I’ve only seen two of them – one of those was under a veil – and I’m sure they’re not the main ones. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s supposed to happen on July the twenty-third. And I’ve no idea what it is, except that it must be big for them to go to all this trouble.’
Tabby looked away from me. ‘But they don’t know you don’t know.’
Amos broke the silence. ‘Anyway, we’ll have to tell Sergeant Bevan you’re back.’
‘No.’ Tabby practically shouted it at him. ‘If you do that, she’ll have to tell him about whatever Mr Carmichael’s doing, and it must be something bad, so they’ll arrest him and put him in prison, and what’s the point of that?’
I started saying that none of us had any idea what Robert was doing. Tabby’s certainty that it was something very serious was scaring me even more. Her view of wrongdoing was usually a pretty tolerant one. I had the idea she knew something she wasn’t telling us. But Amos interrupted me for once, speaking across me to Tabby.
‘We can’t not tell him. He’s been looking for her.’
‘Not looking very hard, from what you tell me. He already thinks she might have just been pretending to disappear.’
‘Why should he think …?’ I said.
‘He’ll know she wasn’t when we tell him about it,’ Amos argued.
‘No, he won’t. He’s just a raw lobster like the rest of them. Even if you tell them the truth, they don’t believe you.’
‘Will you both please stop talking as if I weren’t here.’ It came out as a wail, which I hadn’t intended, but at least it stopped them arguing. Reluctantly, because like Amos, my instincts were to trust the police, I was on Tabby’s side. I’d got Robert into this, against my will, and it was my job to get him out of it. The problem was we’d no idea where to start. Amos accepted, reluctantly and temporarily, that he wouldn’t tell Sergeant Bevan, and we discussed what to do instead. He was in favour of going down to the Thames and looking for the boat, but Tabby and I said there was no point. Minerva and the poet had been intending to sail with the tide, and in any case, one sloop looked much like another to our landsmen’s eyes. The only possible trail was Tabby’s conviction that somebody in the Maynards’ household, probably the scullery maid, was involved in whatever it was. Neither Amos nor I was convinced, but we had nothing better to suggest. Tabby would continue her observation of the house and I was to stay at Abel Yard, out of sight. Amos returned to his stables for the evening round but insisted he’d come back and keep watch in the yard all night. With difficulty, I convinced him that he’d be better off in a chair in the parlour. His notions of propriety were surprisingly strict sometimes. While he was away, Tabby didn’t let me out of her sight but, as soon as he reappeared, she went. I didn’t discuss with Amos my feeling that Tabby knew more than she was saying, partly because I didn’t want to start another round of discussion. I went upstairs, poleaxed by tiredness, but kept waking with the bedclothes twisted round me, thinking I was back in the river.