Maggie (20 page)

She touched a bell on the wall by the fireplace and a smart maid answered it, her apron crackling with starch. For one awful moment the earl fully expected to be shown the door.

“Annabelle,” said Madame Dupont, “take this gentleman to Linda.”

The maid gave a bob, and the earl, with a feeling of relief, rose to his feet and followed the maid out of the hall and up a flight of thickly carpeted stairs. On the second floor, the maid rapped at a door, pushed it open, and stood aside to let the earl pass.

The door closed softly behind him.

A very young girl, she could not have been more than sixteen, sat primly on a chair by the bed. She was moderately pretty with a head of thick brown hair, but her expression was sullen and her mouth already seemed set in a perpetual pout.

She said not a word, simply stood up and reached for the fastenings of her dress.

“Don’t,” said the earl. “I mean, I just want to talk.”

The girl, Linda, looked at him with sullen contempt. Obviously she considered him weird, and was mentally deciding to tell Madame Dupont to charge accordingly.

“Sit down,” said the earl.

The girl sat down again and eyed him warily.

The earl drew a pile of sovereigns from his pocket and poured them from one hand to the other so that the gold flashed and glittered in the gaslight. Linda stared at the coins as if mesmerized.

“Ye must be wantin’ something unco funny fur tae want tae pay in gold,” she said, wrenching her gaze from the coins and looking thoughtfully at the poker as if wondering whether it would make a suitable weapon.

“No,” said the earl, pulling up a chair and straddling it with his arms resting on the back. “I want some information. Tell me about the girls of Salamanca Street.”

A flash of fear crossed the girl’s face. “I ken naethin’ about that,” she said. “Tak’ your money and go.”

“Look here Linda… it is Linda, isn’t it?… I shall not tell anyone anything you say. There is some connection between certain girls in this house and Salamanca Street, and I want to know what it is.”

Once again his long fingers played with the gold.

“How mich is there?” demanded Linda harshly.

“Thirty gold sovereigns,” said the earl softly. “Thirty. Enough to take you away from here, should you wish.”

Linda ran a pale tongue over her dry lips. She rose and went to the door, and, opening it, looked out into the corridor. Then she closed it again and walked rapidly back to him, leaning against his shoulder and whispering urgently, “Gie me the money now. Let me feel it in ma hand tae gie me courage.”

Hoping he was not being gulled, the earl put the money into both her small hands. She grasped the glittering coins firmly, and said, “Lean forwards. Lean closer tae me an’ ah’ll tell ye.”

The earl bent his head, and, stooping down, with one fistful of coins on his shoulder and the other fistful of coins buried in the folds of her dress, Linda began to speak in an urgent whisper.

“It’s like this. My mammy couldnae pay the rent, and the man frae the factors comes around. He says tae Mammy he had work fur me up in the toon, and if I wad go wi’ him, Mammy wouldnae have tae pay the rent again.

“Well, ah’ve two wee brithers and sisters and nae Daddy, and I knew whaur ah wus goin’, fur there was always talk in Salamanca Street aboot whit happened tae the girls. Whit could ah dae? There wus that reporter, Murdo Knight. He cum aroon here wan nicht and questioned a girl called Jennie. She wus dragged frae the hoose that nicht and no one saw her again.”

The earl’s mind worked furiously. He must get the police and the Press. This place must be raided and all the girls lined up. He felt sure they would all talk to save their skins.

“Look, Linda,” he said, “Take the money and leave. This house is shortly going to be raided by the police and after that, no one will be able to touch you again. Do you think
you can get away in, say, the next half-hour?”

Linda nodded dumbly, her eyes wide with terror.

“Go back to your mother’s in Salamanca Street,” said the earl. “Wait there. Tell her that I will take care of her rent and that you can find decent employment.”

Linda nodded again.

“Now what is the routine? Do I pay you?”

“No,” whispered Linda, “unless I tell the auld bitch we’ve been up tae somethin’ funny, ye pay the reg’lar price on your road out.”

He let himself out quietly. Madame Dupont was waiting in the entrance hall as he settled his bill. She was extremely businesslike about the whole thing, he reflected wryly.

In no time at all he had joined the colonel and Mr. Farquharson and told them Linda’s story. The men hailed a hansom and went straight to Central Police Headquarters to lay their evidence before Chief Superintendent Menzies.

To the earl’s disappointment, the chief superintendent did not immediately order the Marquess of Handley’s arrest. Mr. Menzies knew of several brothels in the city which were backed by wealthy men. Certainly, it did seem to suggest a reason for Macleod and Murdo Knight’s murder. On the other hand, he did not want to bring the Marquess of Handley’s wrath down on his head.

Mr. Menzies suggested they should raid Madame Dupont’s premises first and then go on from there.

The earl, Mr. Farquharson and Colonel Delaney waited in increasing impatience as the superintendent arranged a search warrant and then got his men together. Out they went into the windy, late afternoon.

The house in Renfield Street seemed strangely closed and quiet. A policeman seized the knocker and gave the door a resounding bang. An interested crowd began to gather.

“Break the door down,” urged Colonel Delaney.

“We’ll try a bit harder,” said Mr. Menzies, turning up his
coat collar against the biting wind. “Try again,” he said to the policeman on the step. The policeman banged and banged on the knocker. They could hear the echoes resounding inside the house, resounding as if inside an empty house.

Mr. Menzies gave a massive shrug. “All right, boys,” he said. “Break down the door.”

A policeman came up with a large axe and smashed and hacked at the lock until with a cracking and splintering sound the lock gave and the door swung open.

The house was quiet and deserted. Even the magazines had gone.

“This is what comes of you taking so much time over the matter,” said the earl angrily to Mr. Menzies.

“We’ll try the factors,” said the superintendent.

With a rising feeling of frustration and anger, the earl went with the police to Hope Street. He already knew what they would find. The offices of Berry and Berry were as empty and deserted as Madame Dupont’s house had been. Wooden filing cabinets stood empty, their drawers hanging crookedly open.

“We’ll just need to go forward to the Marquess of Handley’s residence,” said Mr. Menzies ponderously. “He has a flat in the west end and a house on the outskirts of the city and a big mansion down in Ayrshire.”

“Let’s go, old chap,” said the colonel to the earl. “I really think we should return and report to the ladies.”

The earl opened his mouth to berate the superintendent and then closed it again. He felt immeasurably weary. He nodded and followed the colonel and Mr. Farquharson out of the factor’s offices.

Mr. Farquharson said he was returning home, but that he would call on them in the morning. The earl and the colonel walked in moody silence towards the Central Hotel.

The earl suddenly saw Roshie standing on the front steps
of the hotel, desperately looking from left to right.

“Something’s happened!” he said, breaking into a run.

“Oh, my lord,” cried Roshie, his eyes bulging out of his head and his hands shaking, “the Marquess of Handley called at the hotel and told me you wanted me urgently at an address at Glasgow Green. But when I got there, I found there was no such address. Now the ladies have gone and I don’t know where they are.”

The earl brushed past him and ran into the hotel shouting for the manager. The staff was quickly assembled, questions asked. Soon it became all too clear that Maggie and Miss Rochester had left some time ago with a gentleman answering to the Marquess of Handley’s description.

“The police will find them,” said the colonel, although he looked worried to death.

“We can’t just sit here,” said the earl. “Damn these slow-witted policemen.”

A small kitchen boy was shoved forward by the manager. “This lad has some information. Go ahead, Angus. Tell the gentlemen what you know.”

The kitchen boy was a small white-faced individual with well-worn clothes covered by a spotless apron.

“I wus goin’ off duty,” said Angus, staring hard at his own shoes, “and I saw him come out with them two ladies and get in the carridge.”

“We already know that,” sighed Colonel Delaney, “but thank you all the same.”

“Very well, Angus,” said the manager, “you may go back to your duties.”

Angus still stood staring at his own shoes. “Lovely horses they wus,” he said. “Big an’ black.”

“Yes,
thank
you, Angus.”

“Mad for horses I am,” Angus told his shoes. “Hope he doesnae take them on the boat. It’s blowin’ up awfy hard down by the Broomielaw.”

“What! What are you talking about?” demanded the earl.

“I was tryin’ to tell you,” said Angus plaintively. “I saw him first with the carridge and the two ladies when I was taking my break in the afternoon. Before I came back fur the evening, I went down to see my Ma. We live down near the Broomielaw. I saw the horses again. Down by the boats.”

“Come along,” said Colonel Delaney. “Please God we may be in time.”

The hansom bearing the earl, the colonel, Roshie and the excited kitchen boy rolled onto the Broomielaw and stopped in front of a forest of tossing masts. The wind was howling and shrieking in the rigging.

“Now,” said Colonel Delaney, startling the small party by pulling a serviceable-looking pistol from his overcoat pocket, “where did you see the carriage, Angus.”

“It’s still there!” said Angus, pointing down the quay.

They all set off at a run.

The carriage was empty, the horses tethered to a post tossing and bridling in the noise of the storm.

“He must be aboard that ship,” said the earl. “Shout and see if you can rouse someone. The gangplank is up.”

They all yelled but their voices were picked up by the wind and blown away in the opposite direction.

“I’m going to try to jump,” said the earl, narrowing his eyes and trying to calculate the distance. “If I can make it, then I can lower the gangplank.”

“It’s very dangerous,” said Colonel Delaney doubtfully. “If you miss, you could be crushed against the quay.”

“I’ve got to try,” said the earl, a picture of Maggie’s pale, wistful face rising before his eyes.

He went back as far as he could from the boat, and then made a mad sprint and took off from the quay with a tremendous leap and landed with a crash on the deck.

“Quickly,” called Colonel Delaney. “The gangplank.”

The earl wrestled and fought with the large knots of the
ropes which held the gangplank and at last succeeded on lowering it onto the quay. He was fretting at the delay, and yet knew he would probably need help if the crew turned out to be on board along with Handley.

As soon as the gangplank was secured, the earl did not wait for the others but began to search the ship. There was no sign of any crew. Since they obviously could not set sail in such a storm, they were probably all ashore. And yet the marquess’s carriage was still there, so where was the marquess? Find him, and find Maggie, thought the earl.

He found Maggie and Miss Rochester in a forward cabin and he only found them by accident. The boat was plunging and reeling at anchor and he stumbled and sat down heavily on a berth and heard a stifled gasp. With trembling fingers he stood up and struck a match and lit the brass tilley lamp on the low ceiling. Then he turned back to the berth and ripped away a pile of old blankets and tarpaulins. Maggie’s white face seemed to swim up at him like a body surfacing up from the water. He untied her gag and she gulped and gasped for air. “Peter,” she whispered. “I thought he meant to suffocate us. I couldn’t breathe.”

“Where is he?”

Maggie looked bewildered and shook her head. “I was unconscious. I… I’m going to be sick. Oh, my head!”

“Miss Rochester. Where is she?”

Without waiting for an answer, the earl searched feverishly under the blankets on the opposite berth. Miss Rochester was revealed, her face a frighteningly purplish colour.

Colonel Delaney, Roshie and Angus came crowding into the cabin. “Angus,” said the earl. “Untie the ladies. Colonel, bring that pistol and let’s see if we can find Handley.”

Out onto the deck they went again, out into the clamour of the storm. The marquess’s carriage still stood on the quay.

“He’s probably drinking with the crew in some pub nearby,” said the colonel.

“You go and look,” said the earl. “I feel he’s still here. I’ll go on looking. Take Roshie with you. As you say, he may have the crew with him.”

The colonel and Roshie were half way down the gangplank when something made Roshie look around. The riding light on the ship next the
Mary Jane
swung in a wide arc and briefly illuminated a tall figure standing in the bow. It was the Marquess of Handley.

Colonel Delaney called to the earl, shouting as hard as he could against the noise of the wind. But the earl had already seen Handley.

The colonel and Roshie ran back on deck and unfastened the gangplank and let it fall down onto the quay. There should be no escape for the marquess that way.

The earl advanced on the marquess who watched his approach with great amusement.

“Good evening, Strathairn,” said the Marquess of Handley pleasantly. “I am about to blow your brains out which will give me infinite pleasure.”

Still smiling, he put his hand in his pocket, and then a baffled look of dismay crossed his face. He had left his pistol below in the cabin.

As the earl ran towards him, the marquess turned about and plunged over the side of the ship and straight down into the churning water. Without a second’s thought, the earl dived after him. Peter, Lord Strathairn wanted revenge.