Airs and Graces (12 page)

He was wrong. There was the chill of a hundred winters in the house. McLintoch lit a branch of candles and set a couple of the delicate chairs upright; we perched in the oppressive darkness, made worse by McLintoch’s acrid pipe smoke, listening to the hubbub of conversation outside. I wondered if there was any way of getting Fowler into the house without drawing suspicion down on him. Probably not.

‘Can’t properly get my mind round this,’ McLintoch said after a long pause, adding conscientiously, ‘sir. Don’t seem right that a slip of a girl should kill four people. Daresay it comes of her having been in London.’

‘There’s no news of her?’ I was startled by the sound of my own voice in the near darkness.

‘We’ve had the spirits asking,’ McLintoch said, ‘but they’ve heard nothing. Not of the girl nor the money. She’s left town, sir, I’m sure of it. It weren’t too bad weather Sunday morning. She might have got out then.’

We fell silent again. Outside, it seemed to have gone quiet. ‘Snowing hard, I warrant you,’ McLintoch said imperturbably.

He had a flask of brandy which he generously shared. We sat for two hours, growing colder by the minute, glancing round every so often in case we’d missed the faint gleam of a new spirit. Towards the end of the time, McLintoch began to shiver almost uncontrollably. He was not a young man and occasions like this must try him sorely. A church bell distantly struck; we counted the chimes – two. Outside was only silence.

McLintoch dragged himself out of his chair and stumbled over to the door. He pulled it open and I saw the snow-spattered form of a watchman, looking miserable. Behind him, snow was falling almost as heavily as it had on Saturday night. McLintoch gestured the watchman in.

‘Here.’ He gave him the flask of brandy. ‘Not much left, but you’re welcome to what there is. Stay for the rest of the night. There’s blankets in the press upstairs to keep you warm. But
don’t fall
asleep
! And if the spirits disembody, send word to me and Mr Patterson at once.
At once!
’

The watchman, beaming with delight, promised to do everything required; we left him clutching the brandy with a blissful smile.

McLintoch drew the door closed behind him and we stood on the doorstep in the driving snow. The crowd had entirely dissipated and the surrounding houses were dark. I looked about for Fowler; I couldn’t see him but I was sure he’d still be there, taking shelter in the small chapel at the end of the bridge, perhaps.

‘I’m off to my bed,’ McLintoch said. ‘Looks like we’ll have to wait a while.’ He glanced at me; something in my expression must have elicited his sympathy. ‘Never you mind, sir,’ he said soothingly. ‘Spirits who’ve died a violent death often disembody late. They’ll be here by tonight, I warrant you.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course.’

It was an unpleasant journey home. Snow drove in my face all the way up Westgate; I put my head down and plodded against it, feeling its cold fingers on my exposed skin. The streets were deserted, and I imagined thieves and robbers in every alley and doorway. I was excessively glad to see the street that led to Caroline Square.

I’d taken a house key with me so I didn’t need to disturb the servants, but there was one occupant of the house who never slept; it was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.

‘Master?’ George whispered, a bright gleam clinging to the banister. ‘It’s cold.’

Compared to the weather outside, the house was delightful. ‘Go into the kitchen,’ I whispered back. ‘That’ll still be warm.’

‘It smells of onions,’ the spirit said peevishly. ‘There’s a note for you.’

The note sat on the hall table, a rectangle of greyish paper with my name neatly written on it, in large childish letters. I felt a sudden surge of excitement.

‘Thank you, George.’

‘Master  . . .’

‘Yes?’

There was a little silence; the spirit said in a very small voice, ‘I don’t mean to annoy you, Master.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘It’s just— I don’t like being dead.’

That brought me up short. Thinking of Fowler’s Ned. I said, ‘I’m sorry too, George. I should have taken greater care of you when you were alive. If I had  . . .’

‘It was my fault, Master,’ he said, sounding as if he was about to cry. ‘You told me what to do and what not to, and I didn’t take any notice.’

That was true. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we can get on better now.’

‘I’d like that, Master,’ he said, brightening with mercurial speed. ‘You really don’t mind me living here?’

‘Not if you don’t argue with the servants.’

‘I’ll try, Master!’ the spirit said exuberantly and shot off in the direction of the kitchen. I wondered how long this display of contrition would last.

The note was sealed with black wax, of the type one finds in cheap inns. The ink was watery, the words written in that big childlike hand. There was only one sentence; it said:

I did not steal the money.

Fifteen

I forgot to advise you to go to every tea party you are invited to; the conversation will be dull, but the women are well worth looking at.

[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe

Froidevaux, 20 January 1737]

Esther was asleep when I crawled into bed and still asleep when I dragged myself out again. I had almost a full day of lessons ahead of me and the disturbed night had left me with a headache and tired eyes. Worse, I found a note on the breakfast table, left there by Esther the previous night; she was visiting Mrs Blackett later that morning and, knowing I taught the Blackett children, wondered if I would be there. The note depressed me hugely. Married only five months and we were already communicating by notes.

It was still snowing, a steady silent fall of heavy flakes that piled up on windowsills and doorsteps, in street corners and hedge bottoms. The snow, almost untrodden in Caroline Square, was crunchy underfoot; flakes trickled through the gaps in my clothing and down my neck. A thick layer of it coated the front of my greatcoat before I was on Westgate.

I had a little time before my first lesson; I turned up the street towards the clockmakers. Carts had traced pale lines down the street but the snow was filling them in again; I slipped crossing to Hugh’s rooms but managed not to fall. In the sheltered alley beside the clockmaker’s, I stamped my feet clear of the snow and went up the stairs.

The door to the dancing school was shut so I continued up, past the rooms occupied by a widow and her three children, to Hugh’s attic room above. The door was ajar; I pushed at it – and stopped in amazement. Bedding was all over the floor, Hugh’s clothes were scattered everywhere, his one chair lay overturned. Pages torn from books of dance tunes were crumpled and trampled underfoot.

In the middle of the mess, Hugh stood, hands on hips, glaring.

‘What the devil’s happened?’ I said.

‘He’s taken the buttons off my coats!’ Hugh said outraged.

My gaze went instinctively to a pile of clothes on the floor. I could see at least two coats and a waistcoat, and not a single button on any of them. And I’d have noticed the buttons; Hugh’s taste runs to the large and bright.

‘Is anything else missing?’

Hugh set the chair upright, sat down on it and stared bleakly at the clothing. ‘A little money, the ring I found— Oh God, Charles, my coats!’

He was clearly in mourning. Hugh adores his clothes; they’re the only thing he spends his money on.

‘I wonder why he didn’t take the coats themselves.’

‘Couldn’t carry them probably,’ Hugh said gloomily. There was indeed a large pile, but even one or two would have brought in a fair amount of money at one of the secondhand shops on the Key. ‘Do you have any idea how much those buttons cost?’

‘And your fiddle? Did he take that?’

‘Had it with me.’ Hugh sighed. ‘I got back very late last night to find the room like this. I couldn’t face dealing with it so I slept on a couple of chairs downstairs in the dancing school. Charles, what am I to do? I’ve a lesson to give in less than an hour and I’ll have to wear the same clothes I was in yesterday!’

‘You’ve time to get those coats to the tailor. He can have them mended by this evening.’

‘The villain cut the cloth on some of them,’ Hugh said, growing ever more morose. ‘You’d have thought he’d have taken a bit of care!’

I went back to the door. Raw wood showed where it had been forced.

‘It must have been done late,’ Hugh said, glumly. ‘I was here at eight, getting some music, and it was all right then.’

‘Tell the Watch,’ I recommended.

He crowed with derision. ‘What can those ancient wrecks do?’

‘They could keep a lookout for the buttons. The thief will sell them as quickly as possible.’

But he was deep in despair. ‘Not worth it.’

There was no arguing with him in this mood; I said, ‘Do you want me to help tidy up?’

‘No, I’ll do it.’ But he didn’t move.

I left; there was plainly no point in showing him the note from Alice Gregson as I’d planned. Hugh would come around soon; he was rarely low-spirited for long. But woe betide the thief if we ever found him!

Maybe someone had seen something suspicious. Hugh’s house is unspirited, so there was no help there, but the widow downstairs might have information. I knocked on her door with some trepidation, knowing she’d not be pleased. She’s never pleased to see me.

She made me wait before opening the door, and had an eyebrow raised and ready. Behind her, a boy of ten or so scowled.

‘Mr Patterson,’ she said coldly. ‘I trust you enjoyed your carousing last night.’

How very interesting. ‘In Mr Demsey’s rooms?’ I smiled sweetly, which seemed to infuriate her. ‘I wasn’t there. Did you see who was?’

‘I do not spy on my neighbours, Mr Patterson,’ she said. ‘And if I
should
see someone disreputable leaving my landlord’s rooms, then that is
his
business, not mine. Even if the man is plainly drunk.’

‘He fell in the snow,’ the boy said censoriously. ‘Serves him right.’

‘You would do well, Mr Patterson,’ his mother said, ‘to tell Mr Demsey to be more discerning in the company he keeps.’

I was tempted to tell him to raise her rent.

She shut the door on me before I could ask if she could describe the man.

It was a tedious morning. My mind was still running on the deaths and wondering if I’d get a message at any moment from McLintoch to say the spirits had disembodied, and I found it difficult to concentrate on correcting wrong notes and worse phrasing. At least the snow eased; by early afternoon, when I had time for something to eat, there were merely a few desultory flakes in the air.

I was in the upper reaches of Newgate Street by then, and it was a long walk down to the Sandhill and Nellie’s coffee house, but I felt the need for air and exercise.

I strode out, concentrating on my footing to avoid disaster. From Newgate, I cut into the Bigg Market and thence into the Groat Market. And stopped in amazement. A group of workmen with spades and picks were just going down into the pit where the mercer’s shop had been, ploughing unhappily through the deep snow. Presiding over them, directing them where to go and what to do, was Claudius Heron. He saw me and waited until I came up with him. He was immaculately dressed as ever; even in warm winter clothing he never looks less than gentlemanly. ‘It is unfortunate there has been more snow,’ he said, without greeting. ‘It has covered up the place where we discovered the coins and pottery yesterday. However, I am hopeful of finding the place again.’

The workmen were hauling themselves over the fallen timbers with the air of men who know that the sooner they get the job started, the sooner they’ll get it finished, and be able to go home.

‘The ground must be rock solid,’ I said. ‘We had a week of hard frosts before the snow.’

Heron nodded. ‘If necessary, we have the wherewithal to build a small fire. I have been meaning to talk to you. Do you think Demsey will be inclined to sell that ring if I increase my offer?’

I was taken aback. If Heron was willing to offer more than twenty guineas, the ring must be more valuable than I’d suspected. ‘I’m afraid the situation doesn’t arise. Hugh was burgled last night and the ring was amongst the items stolen.’

Heron looked annoyed. ‘It should not have been left at risk. He should have taken more care of it! Nobody seems to understand how valuable these antiquities are. When I spoke to Jenison about digging on his property, he obviously had not the slightest idea of the value of the find – he told me to do as I liked without even wishing to see the coins!’

I left him to do as he liked, which was ordering the workmen around in the cold – to do him justice, he would certainly be paying them well – and repaired to Nellie’s coffee house for a quick warming pie before setting off for my afternoon lessons. I didn’t think it would do a great deal of good but I asked one of the spirits to take a message to McLintoch telling him about Hugh’s burglary and asking him to keep an eye out for the stolen goods.

In mid-afternoon, I found Mrs Blackett entertaining what seemed like half the ladies of Newcastle. Six ladies in total, including Esther, and a spirit hovering on the handle of the tea-kettle; this was, I gathered, the spirit of Mrs Blackett’s much-loved elder sister. Every one of them – even the spirit for all I knew – regarded Esther and myself with a dew-eyed romantic gaze. When we married, I was afraid the difference in wealth and status between myself and Esther would cause the ladies to throw up their hands in horror and ostracize us from polite society. Instead, they threw up their hands in delight and welcomed us as prime gossip material. Esther cast me an apologetic smile as I sat down beside her. She was nibbling on some sweetmeat Mrs Blackett had provided for her guests – this sudden taste for sugary things was persisting, it seemed.

There was one lady who did not greet me with enthusiasm, however: Mrs Fletcher. She sat sternly upright at Mrs Blackett’s side, an odd contrast: Mrs Fletcher neat and drab and thin, Mrs Blackett comfortably plump and fashionable, and with suspiciously dark curls. Mrs Blackett patted her hand.