Kitty Peck and the Child of Ill-Fortune (28 page)

I tugged at the knot round my neck and loosened the shawl, careful that Robbie didn’t tumble out. I pulled the loop of plaid over my head and laid him gently on the stones next to the grille, tucking the old fabric under his chin against the cold.

There was a fingernail of moon overhead now and the clouds were scurrying eastward. It wasn’t raining, but the chill sliced through my stinking dripping clothes like a Smithfield skinner’s knife. I tried to tie my wet hair into a knot to keep the wind from slapping strands of it across my face.

The broken grille led out to a yard bounded on three sides by a jumble of buildings. It smelt of straw and the sweetness of horse. I could hear them stabled over to the right. When I scrambled out from the drain with Robbie slung across my back in Nanny Peck’s shawl, a couple of them whickered and kicked out at their stalls, thinking I was the stable lad come with a bucket of oats.

From my reckoning it looked like a brewery yard and it was near the river. I could smell the foulness of the earthy, briny water. The unmistakable stink of the Thames had never been cleaner to me.

I could hear it too – the shrieking whistle of wind through ropes meant tall-masted ships were riding nearby. My teeth chattered as I crouched over the broken bars. Looking back, I don’t reckon it was entirely on account of the cold.

‘Your turn now, Della. It’s easier than it looks. See the bricks to the right – the broken ones? You can use them to pull yourself up to the lowest rung. It’s easy from there, except the fourth one up. That’s come loose. Don’t try it.’

Of an instant Madame Celeste came to mind. I wanted to add something about not looking down and not thinking about the fact that there was a gulley with Misha Raskalov’s body wedged across it fifty, maybe sixty foot below, but if I put it in Della’s mind now it was a thought that would be difficult to shift.

I needn’t have worried.

The sound of boots on brick echoed up the shaft of the drain. There was a rattle of stones too as patches of the wall came loose. I leaned over again. I could see movement down there, but nothing clear.

I thought I should encourage her.

‘The rungs are firm. They’ll take your weight, all of them except the fourth. I’ll reach down to pull you through when you get to the top.’

Della’s voice echoed up the shaft. ‘Robbie. Is he . . .?’

‘He’s fine, he’s all wrapped up and waiting for you to come and take him.’ I glanced over. He was staring up at the moon and sucking on the edge of Nanny Peck’s plaid.

A bell started up from somewhere. I rocked back on my heels and counted. One. Two. Three. Four . . . There was a scuffling sound from the grille. Dark fingers appeared around one of the broken bars. I leaned over again and hauled Della up off the last two rungs and through to the flat stones of the yard. She knelt for a moment, her breathing fast and shallow. Then she stood. Without a nod to me she scooped Robbie up and flattened him to her breast.

‘I heard the bell. We have to go – there’s still time.’

I nodded. ‘It’s five o’clock. You should be boarding now. But if Misha’s dead then you don’t need—’

Della began to laugh. ‘We’ll always need to run. I don’t know how long my bairn has, but as long as he draws breath he’s a danger to them. He’s living proof of their flaw. We have to go to the boat.’

She held Robbie close and ran a hand over the back of her close-cropped head where Misha had landed the blow that felled her. She looked down into her palm.

‘Is it bleeding, Della?’

She shook her head. ‘It hurts like hell, but it will pass. Where are we?’

‘Near the river, I reckon. It’s in the air.’ I scrambled to my feet and pointed to the open arch at the end of the yard. ‘If we go through I’ll be able to get my bearings.’

Della turned and walked swiftly towards the arch. I followed. The sky was lightening from the east now. Out on the road I knew immediately where we were. It was Emmett Street, down by West India. The main Dock Office was over to the left and Steam Boat Dock was less than ten minutes’ walk away. Over the rooftops I could see a cat’s cradle of ropes strung across a forest of masts. Lights were burning in some of the windows as workers roused themselves for the six o clock queues. You weren’t always guaranteed a job at the docks. There were plenty of men, and women too, who had to get up early and beg for it.

I caught Della’s arm. ‘This way. It’s not far.’

Della shook her head.

‘He’s not on board, Kitty. I’m sorry.’

I stood at the bottom of the swaying gangway leading up to the deck of the
Albertine
. It was a neat little working boat, smaller than the
Leopold
that had carried me and Lucca over to France, and a good deal less fancy. Timber was strapped in piles along the centre of the deck. The smell of it put me in mind of the workshop at The Gaudy.

Something trickled down my cheek and I swiped it away with the back of my hand. Tell truth, I didn’t rightly know if I was crying for my brother, for Lucca or for my theatre. Maybe it was all three?

Della tucked Robbie against her hip and reached across to cup my face in her free hand. It was the nearest she’d come to a sign of gratitude.

‘Josette . . .
Joey
,’ she tried to smile, ‘is always clever, always resourceful. He’ll turn up soon. I know it.’

‘Do you?’ In the light things were falling into place, little bits of puzzle that didn’t have a home up to now were locking into their corners. Misha’s cologne had dripped something into my mind. I didn’t think I could ever catch the scent of lemon now without feeling soiled.

I wiped my face again, rubbing my fingers roughly across my stinging cheeks.

‘The captain all right with you . . . like that?’ I nodded at Della’s stained, sodden dress. You couldn’t tell it was blood in this light. Not yet.

She snorted. ‘The amount I’ve offered, he’d take me on board if I had the typhus. Anyway, I’ve asked for a change of clothes. When we get to Hamburg we’ll be travelling as father and son.’

I stared at her. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be very convincing, David.’

She shook her head and smiled tight. ‘And I . . . I’m sorry about that too.’

She offered me her hand.

‘Tell me you wouldn’t do the same?’

I looked down at her long fingers.

‘I wouldn’t lie.’

‘Kitty, it . . . it didn’t seem wrong, but now . . .’

‘Now it’s too late, Della.’

A bell went off up top and the
Albertine
’s horn blew twice. Della glanced back over her shoulder at the deck above where crewmen were loosening ropes. A man on the quay beside us pointed up to the top of the gangway and made a swimming motion with his hand.

‘
Sie müssen an bord zu gehen. Wir segeln
.’ He pushed past and tramped up the boards making them bounce and swing perilously over the river. The tide was high now, I could hear waves slamming and sucking against the creaking wooden hull. We both ducked as something belched deep in the
Albertine
’s belly and a cloud of black steam hiccupped from the squat funnel in the middle of the deck.

Della clutched the guide rope to steady herself and then she gently brushed smuts of smoke and God knows what else from Robbie’s face. He was pulling at her coat and pursing his lips together, making little smacking, sucking noises. He knew he was with his real mother again.

‘We have to go. If Josette . . . Joey is already waiting in Hamburg, I’ll make sure he contacts you, Kitty. I promise.’

She turned to make her way up to the deck, but stopped. She held Robbie away from her and started to unwrap Nanny Peck’s shawl from his body.

‘I can’t take this, it’s yours. I think it means something to you?’

I nodded. ‘It belonged to my . . . my grandmother.’ Lady Ginger’s black bead eyes bored into my mind, despite the fact she wasn’t the grandmother I was thinking of just then.

He is your blood, he is your family. Think on those words.
That’s what the old bitch said about Joey, didn’t she? Only it wasn’t just about him. Blood and family – she was talking about Robbie as well.

She said something else too:
Protect him.
That was for Joey. But what did she mean?
Protect him
from what?

I swear Della must have read my mind.

‘Family is important. Take it.’ She handed me the shawl and turned away again. I pulled it round my shoulders and watched her tall, straight figure move away from me up the swaying boards. I thrust my hands into my pockets against the chill and my fingers closed over the paper hidden in the poppet along with the emeralds.

‘Wait!’ I called out and Della turned.

I ran a little way up the springing planks. She came back to meet me halfway.

I bit my lip. ‘I . . . I think this is something else you need, something important.’ I held the scrap of paper forward and Della frowned. Then, shifting Robbie to her hip, she reached into the folds of her coat and pulled out the cloth rabbit. She’d had it with her all along.

I watched as she brought the poppet to her mouth and ripped at the right ear with her teeth. My crude stitches tore instantly apart to reveal the strips of rag and knots of wool stuffed inside, nothing else.

She threw the toy down. It rolled over the planks into the river.

‘No! He loves it.’ I gripped the rope and knelt to see where it had gone, but the dark waters had already carried it away.

I straightened up. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because the poppet was nothing. This is the prize.’ She snatched the paper from my hand and it flapped about in the wind.

‘It’s worth more than emeralds, Kitty. Without this we . . .’

She shook her head. ‘You took it. Why?’

I couldn’t look at her direct. ‘It . . . it was the day Joey showed me where the stones were. The ear came free and I found the paper rolled inside. He knew what it was, but he wouldn’t say anything other than that it should never be parted from Robbie. When you came tonight I was angry. I just wanted to . . . to . . .’

To punish her for not being David.

I trailed off and stared into the water. Of an instant I felt like a child, a stupid, stupid child. Della was a grown woman with a little one to look out for and I’d been playing a game.

I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I would have given it to you, truly I would, but with everything else—’

Up on deck someone called out to us again.

‘What is it, Della – why would a strip of paper be worth more than emeralds?’

She stared at me for a long moment and then she smiled.

‘Do you remember I said there was someone I needed to find in Paris before I came to London?’

I nodded.

‘It was a priest – a Russian Orthodox priest. He was in hiding. It took so long to find a way to reach him. Hold this.’

Della handed the paper back to me, reached into her coat and took out the tapestry purse where she’d stowed the emeralds. It hung on a cord from her waist. She pulled the strings to open it and fished another small roll of paper from inside. She hoisted Robbie into a more secure position and deftly rolled open the scrap of paper from the purse. It was covered in Russian script, just like the one I’d found in the poppet.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t see—’

‘Wait.’

She reached forward and held it against the torn paper in my hands. They fitted together exactly– two halves of one page.

‘Our marriage certificate, Kitty. I was married to Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich Romanov in Paris on the first day of June 1880. The ceremony was conducted by Father Pavel Suvorin, a priest of the Russian Orthodox Church. There were witnesses – it is a legal and binding match and this document is proof. Father Pavel kept half of it for safety. They knew that – it’s why he went into hiding. I finally found out where he was last week and I went to take the burden from him.’

Robbie watched with fascination as Della eased the paper from my fingers, folded it with the other half and pushed them both back into the purse. She looked at me. In her dark skin, those beautiful glass-green eyes shone in the first rays of the morning sun.

‘Misha was wrong. Robbie is a not a bastard. He never was. I am a Russian princess – by marriage – and our son is a prince of the blood.’

I didn’t need to knock again. Lucca’s door swung open into the darkness of the hallway. Disappointment washed his face before he could mask it, but he stepped aside to let me in. I gave a curt nod and went over to the fireplace. Despite the hour a little pile of coals glowed in the over-sized hearth. I glanced at the table. A fancy four-armed brass candle piece holding a couple of low-burning wax stubs sat in the middle. Next to it a bottle and two glasses stood ready.

He’d been waiting up for Misha all through the night.

I knelt and stretched my hands out to the coals. I couldn’t feel the heat. Tell truth, I couldn’t feel a thing, not the bruises, not the burns, not the scratches, not the cuts. I was numb to the core. Back there on the quay I was so certain that this was the right place to come, but now . . .

Lucca closed the door and I heard him sigh heavily.

‘I don’t know whether to say it’s too early or too late for a visit.’ He crossed the room and his knees cracked as he knelt down beside me. Instantly he covered his nose and mouth.

‘
Dio! L’odore!
Where have you been?’

He stared over the hand clamped across the lower half of his face. I must have looked like a bedlam crouching there in my sodden, ripped dress, my filthy hair matted to my head and my face covered in scratches and spatters of sewer. Lucca muttered in Italian and reached out to push sticky strands away from my forehead. I winced as they pulled at something dried on my skin, opening a wound that began to sting. My teeth chattered now.

‘You are frozen.’ Lucca scattered another handful of coals into the hearth. ‘You must change, immediately.’ He stood up. ‘I have some things, I’ll get—’

‘No!’ I caught his arm. I couldn’t have him bustling around, fussing over me like a mother hen, not now. It didn’t seem right.