Death of a Chimney Sweep (10 page)

Alfie moved again while the man’s eye was off him. Now he could almost touch the wall of the yard.

Grimston turned back to face him. By the light of the torch his face looked uncertain.

‘He asked me to tell you that he has changed his mind about sending my little stepbrother to you,’ said Alfie politely.

‘Oh, he has, has he?’ Now Grimston sounded belligerent, but he glanced over his shoulder in an uneasy way.

I shouldn’t do this, thought Alfie. I’m crazy. Why not get away now while he’s a bit unsure, while these three men are still within earshot? But he knew what he was going to do
before the words left his mouth.

‘You see, he has heard all about . . .’ Alfie paused to give his next word emphasis. ‘. . . Isaac!’

At that name, Grimston roared like a bull. He rushed at Alfie, his powerful hands ready to clamp around the boy’s throat.

Alfie coolly flipped the iron lid from the nearest dustbin, neatly avoiding the stones that crashed to the ground.

A hundred rats flowed over the edge, down the side, avoided Alfie’s blazing pitch torch and headed straight towards Grimston.

CHAPTER 18

M
ISSING
B
OY

‘It was the funniest thing you’ve ever seen.’ Alfie rested his feet on the chimney breast and took a bite from the last slice of lemon cake. He was in a mood
to celebrate.

‘Did he screech, with all the rats running around his legs?’ asked Tom eagerly.

‘Near split the walls with the noise he was making,’ said Alfie with enormous satisfaction. ‘The horse went wild too – started running around the yard and the cart behind
it was crashing and banging and the rats were running up the horse’s legs to avoid the kicks, and then all the people from the public house came rushing out and they had sticks and they was
hitting at the rats and then one of them cracksmen came out with a pistol and started firing shots everywhere. A miracle no one was killed.’

Alfie took another bite of the sweet lemon cake. Actually, he had not seen too much of the excitement – though he had heard the noise. He had quietly slid away down towards the Thames,
where he had replaced the torch into its holder and then made his way home.

‘I like the bit where you took the lid off the rubbish bin,’ said Tom, still chuckling. ‘Wish I had been there.’

‘So he went mad when you mentioned the name Isaac. That’s interesting.’ Sammy chewed thoughtfully.

‘Who’s Isaac, anyway?’ asked Jack. He came forward and added some more coal to the fire – this was a night to enjoy. He could easily get more coal tomorrow morning, he
reasoned.

‘Jeepers, what happened to your face, Jack?’ Alfie stared at the slash on his cousin’s cheek.

‘Tell you about that in a minute.’ As usual, Jack didn’t want to talk about himself. ‘Go on, who is this Isaac?’

‘It was when we was talking to the three sweeping boys,’ explained Sammy. ‘Alfie asked them why old Grimston strangled Joe. He asked them quick like, so that they had no time
to think about it.’

‘And Bill, he’s one of the boys, said “Did he?”’ continued Alfie, ‘and then Frank said, “So that’s what happened to Joe”.’

‘And Alfie just said, cool as a breeze, “You don’t sound surprised – not the first time, was it, that Grimston strangled a boy”.’ Sammy was a good mimic.

‘And that,’ said Alfie dramatically, ‘was when Frank, the eldest fellow, said, “So you know about Isaac, do you?”’ He turned to Sammy. ‘How do you think
that he sounded when he said that, Sam?’

‘Scared,’ said Sammy without a moment’s hesitation. ‘And he was surprised – but mostly he was just frightened.’

‘So Grimston has already killed a boy, is that what you’re thinking, Alfie?’ asked Jack.

‘I’d say so,’ said Alfie with conviction.

‘But what would that have to do with Joe?’ Tom sounded puzzled.

‘If he killed one boy, he would kill another boy,’ said Sammy quietly. ‘I’d say that murder is one of those things that the oftener you do it, the easier it is to
do.’

‘I might have a word with Inspector Denham tomorrow,’ said Alfie. ‘He’d know if Grimston was ever accused of murdering a boy called Isaac. Didn’t mention it,
though. He must have got off or else he’d have been hanged by now.’

‘Maybe no one found the body,’ said Jack. ‘If Grimston, or whoever it was, had thrown Joe’s body a couple of feet further, it would have gone straight into the river and
got washed to shore a mile or two downstream. Joe would probably have ended up at London Bridge or perhaps even further. Maybe that’s what happened to this Isaac.’

Alfie nodded. It was only because he had found Joe and had recognised him that Grimston was now under suspicion. Did Grimston know, he wondered, that he was the one who found the body? He
shivered when he thought of that; there was no doubt that the man would not hesitate to murder him if he found out that Alfie was working with Inspector Denham.

‘But you’re forgetting about the gig.’ Sammy’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Joe was flung out of a gig, not a cart.’

‘Perhaps Grimston could have stolen the gig – taken it from one of the yards behind the houses in Goodwin’s Court,’ said Alfie. ‘Mrs Leamington’s son, Arthur,
leaves his gig in her yard when he comes to visit. Where does he live anyway, I wonder – the son, I mean. That’s another thing to find out when I go to Goodwin’s Court tomorrow
morning to look at the chimney.’

He gave an enormous yawn. ‘I’m off to bed now,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked the night watchman to bang on the window tomorrow at six o’clock. But tell us about your
cheek before I go to sleep, Jack.’

‘That parlour maid from Goodwin’s Court was out with her fancy man,’ said Tom eagerly. ‘One of the swells, one of the cracksmen from Seven Dials, it was. Sarah sees her
and she’s so shocked she sings out at the top of her voice “Mavis!” and this Mavis yells, “Run her down, Arthur!” and the swell geezer does just that. He drives his
gig right at Sarah. He pulls the horse up on its back legs and there it was, rearing over Sarah. She got kicked, but just in the ribs. Jack saved her. He grabbed the reins and quietened the horse
down and —’

‘Is Sarah all right?’ asked Sammy.

‘She said she was,’ said Jack. ‘Ribs will be sore for a few days, though, I’d say.’

‘Arthur?’ questioned Alfie, looking from one to the other. ‘It were never Arthur Leamington, were it?’

Jack shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ he said briefly. ‘Sarah don’t know either. The fella had a mask on, covered most of his face, and his cloak was pulled up
around the chin.’

‘Can’t imagine a toff like him to be going out with a parlour maid – even if she is so stuck-up,’ said Alfie doubtfully. ‘And taking her down Seven Dials. Not his
sort of place at all.’

‘Tried to murder Sarah, though,’ put in Tom.

‘Good job you was there, Jack,’ said Alfie. ‘Well, I’m off to sleep now.’

‘But wait, Alfie,’ Tom said in a hurry, ‘that parlour maid, she might be mixed up with Joe’s murder, mightn’t she? And that Arthur Leamington.’

‘What’s they got to do with Joe?’ asked Alfie, doubtfully.

‘Well, she lives in the house where he was last seen alive What if the old lady’s son is her fancy man and he did some burglaries down Goodwin’s Court, and Joe spotted
something? He and Mavis were ready enough to kill Sarah – they would have murdered Joe without blinking!’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alfie. He didn’t think it too likely that a man like Arthur Leamington would get mixed up with housemaids and cracksmen at Seven Dials, but Tom was
easily offended if he thought his ideas were not taken seriously. ‘Let’s think about it in the morning,’ he added with another yawn.

‘You know what I think, Alfie,’ said Sammy. ‘I think that we all need to be careful. There’s an awful lot of murderous people hanging around these days.’

CHAPTER 19

A
LFIE
G
ETS A
S
HOCK

Ellen, the scullery maid, was still in her nightcap and wrapper when she opened the back door of Number Four Goodwin’s Court to Alfie. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and
then said, ‘Where are your brushes?’

‘Left them outside for the moment till I prepare everything,’ said Alfie, whose quick wits rarely deserted him.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Ellen. ‘I’m going back to get dressed. Be as quick as you can. The place will be freezing cold until we can light the fires. Missus isn’t too
happy about you coming, anyway. She said that we should have got Grimston back; it’s his job to put the chimney right. He’s been doing her chimneys for the last ten years, that’s
what she said. She’s sent for him, but since you are here you might as well have a go. There’s sixpence for you when you’re finished.’

‘Won’t take long,’ said Alfie cheerfully. He didn’t like the sound of the master chimney sweep being summoned, but he was hopeful that he would be gone long before the
man arrived. Mr Grimston would be sure to have other jobs lined up before he could get to Goodwin’s Court.

‘There’s a lantern there for you on the table,’ said Ellen. ‘Make sure that you don’t drop it. Any breakages will have to be paid for.’

‘You can trust me. I know what I am doing,’ said Alfie, eyeing the chimney breast in a professional manner. He was glad to see that only a few dead coals lay in the fireplace.
‘You go back and get dressed and leave it all to me,’ he said in a kindly fashion.

Alfie had little notion of how a chimney sweep set to work, but he knew he had to go up there and try to see what Joe had seen on that day.

Joe’s words to him still rang in his head. Alfie went over the phrases again – by now he had them by heart: something about a bend . . . something about going the wrong way or into a
wrong room . . . something about being scared . . .

Alfie wished now that he had taken more careful notice, had talked for longer to Joe, had held onto him until he understood what the boy was trying to say, but it was too late to change the
past. All he could be sure of was that Joe had climbed this chimney in front of him, had emerged, terrified, on the roof, had gone to the extent of trying to escape – walking along the
rooftops and climbing down to St Martin’s Lane – but had he gone back nonetheless?

Alfie wondered whether to take off his coat and just keep on his shirt and trousers – he had seen what soot did to cloth. Then he decided to keep everything on. He had worn the worst of
his few clothes, and they would help to protect his knees and elbows. Reluctantly he approached the chimney. He was too big for a chimney sweeping boy; he knew that. Grimston had said that even Joe
was getting too big, and Alfie would make two of poor Joe, whose body had been skinny, with arms like sticks.

He stood peering up the chimney. There was a ledge a few feet up and he reckoned that he could put the lantern on that. Joe had done a good job on that last morning of his life. The chimney was
well scraped, though the soot still clung to the rough edges of the stones and lodged in little nooks and crannies as far up as he could see.

‘Here goes!’ said Alfie aloud. He stuck his head and shoulders into the chimney and then gasped. He felt as though he was choking. The terrible acrid smell of soot filled his nose
and mouth and stung his eyes. He shut his mouth and tried not to breathe, but his eyes poured with water and he could no longer see the ledge. He sank down onto his knees and pulled his head out of
the chimney. He had never imagined that it could be as bad as that.

Once out, he shook the water from his eyes and looked around. There was a small rail over the kitchen sink with some spotless dishcloths hanging stiffly from it. Without hesitation he seized
one, switched on the tap, soaked it, wrung it out and then fastened it securely over his nose and mouth.

And then once more he turned back. He could not give up yet.

This time he reached up and placed the lantern on the small shelf within the chimney before trying to climb. There was an almost new candle burning brightly inside the glass and he thought it
would last well. It made the chimney seem less smothering to him.

Alfie edged his way up until he stood on the ledge beside the lantern. The wet cloth over his nose and mouth saved him from the worst of the soot and so far, he was thankful to find, there
seemed to be room for his shoulders.