Mister Creecher (9 page)

Creecher disappeared into the darkness and there was a long pause. Then all at once the giant emerged into the light, head down, eyes glinting from under his furrowed brow, his coat sweeping back and forth as he took long rolling strides towards Billy.

‘Good,’ said Billy, his mouth a little dry. ‘That was good.’

‘Shall I try once more?’ asked Creecher.

‘No,’ said Billy, putting his hat on and walking towards the light at the alley’s end. ‘I think you’ve got the idea.’

CHAPTER XII.

The cloud that for months had covered the city like a filthy blanket momentarily developed a ragged tear and a beam of light poured through, hitting the soot-blackened dome of St Paul’s and polishing the golden cross at its summit. It gleamed like a crucifix on a priest’s black cassock.

The effect was startling, if short-lived, and even Billy, who was normally immune to the architectural delights of London, joined the tourists in looking up in wonder.

For a few seconds it was as if the whole of the City stopped to watch, but as soon as the clouds rolled back and the light faded, each one of the crowd – lawyer, con man, banker, thief – went back to their allotted tasks.

Billy, too, returned to his employment. Frankenstein and Clerval were sightseeing in the City and Billy was in slow but dogged pursuit. Billy had already accompanied the men on a visit to the docks, where Clerval had arranged meetings with several importers and exporters.

From there Billy had tailed the two men up the winding narrow streets to the hill on which London’s great cathedral stood, dominating the skyline for miles around.

Frankenstein and Clerval walked up the steps and into the cathedral entrance. Billy followed moments later and saw the two men strolling down the nave, stopping below the dome, looking up and pointing.

Clerval, as usual, was the most animated, constantly tapping Frankenstein’s arm to show him some new feature he had spotted. For his part, Frankenstein seemed relaxed for a change and bore his friend’s enthusiasm with an amused indulgence. After looking at the choir stalls and the altar, the men headed towards the crypt.

Billy followed them down the stairs. He had never been to the crypt before. He had been to the cathedral many times: the exiting congregation, chatting, distracted, provided easy pickings. But the crypt had always felt too enclosed, too much of a potential trap. Billy felt nervous.

He watched from a safe distance as the two men studied a large tomb in the centre of the vaulted room: a huge monument, topped with a black sarcophagus. Only when they moved away did Billy see that it was Lord Nelson’s tomb.

He was taken aback by the sudden surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. One of Billy’s earliest memories was standing on the bank of the Thames, watching the funeral barge sail down the river. They had been allowed a day away from the workhouse for the occasion.

It was a painful memory, not because he had any special feelings for Nelson, but because it came as such a vivid reminder of his mother. He could almost feel her hand in his – as though they were standing together once more amid that great crowd of mourners thronging the waterfront.

But like a dream it slipped away and Billy was left with all that desperate loss renewed. Tears blurred his vision and, as always, his sadness changed in moments to anger, to a bitter and violent resentment of the whole world about him.

He stomped out of the crypt. Frankenstein and Clerval continued their tour and headed for the stairs that would take them to the top of the dome and the great view of London that attracted so many visitors.

Billy did not follow them. He would be too easy to spot in such a confined space. He knew where they were and he simply had to wait for them to come down again. He sat on the steps by the entrance, the image of his mother at the waterfront still clinging to his mind.

All those thousands of people and yet it was
his
mother who had to die. Billy wondered how many of the people milling around the cathedral were there that day. Why did they live and not her? He would have killed any one of them with his bare hands if it could have brought her back to life.

The image of Creecher’s mighty hands around Fletcher’s head came fleetingly into his mind’s eye again, but he was able to waft it away. He would not feel remorse for that animal. Creecher had done the world a favour.

Billy spotted Frankenstein and Clerval leaving the cathedral and as he got to his feet to follow them, he noticed a familiar figure walking east. Even from the back he could tell it was Skinner, together with a couple of his cronies. Sooner or later, Billy knew he was going to bump into Skinner. He could only hope that Creecher would be on hand when he did.

He cursed and looked around for Frankenstein and Clerval, and saw them strolling down the hill. The clouds above were dense and it was oppressively dark. The sky, the soot-blackened buildings and the granite cobbled streets filled Billy’s entire view with a grimy gloom.

At the point where Ludgate Street became Ludgate Hill, a great crowd was gathering. Billy could see that they were clustered at the end of Old Bailey and he sped up so that he would not lose sight of Frankenstein or Clerval as they became part of the throng.

The crowd was ragged at the edges and surged gently back and forth, like waves against a shore. Frankenstein and Clerval, clearly curious as to what the attraction might be, decided to take a closer look. Billy, who knew all too well what was going on, followed them in turn.

Sure enough, a scaffold had been erected outside Newgate Prison. A hanging always drew a large and enthusiastic crowd. Billy often worked these congregations too, thieving in the shadow of the gallows.

Three of the four on the scaffold had already had their heads covered by the time they joined the crowd. The last was a young woman who Billy guessed must have been nineteen or thereabouts. Her pretty face was marble pale, her eyes wide and shadowed. Her lips were fluttering but Billy couldn’t hear what she was saying above the noise of the crowd.

The hangman covered her face with a nightcap, stepped back and dropped the trapdoors. Suddenly all was silent. Billy looked away. He’d seen that dance before and had no wish to see it again. He wished his ears had not caught the creak of the hemp ropes as they took their weight. Then the crowd roared to life.

He turned towards Frankenstein, who was staring at the hanging figures with an expression so moved that it could not have been stronger had a member of his own flesh and blood been dangling on the scaffold.

Clerval looked sour and shook his head wearily and then leapt to the aid of Frankenstein, who collapsed backwards and would surely have fallen had his friend not held him.

A couple of people chuckled at the sensitive foreigner. Clerval helped his friend to a quieter courtyard nearby and sat him down while Billy watched from the shadows.

Frankenstein fumbled in his pockets and took out a small bottle. Clerval grabbed his arm and said something in French that Billy could not understand, though he could guess what the bottle contained without catching the word opium.

Frankenstein pushed his friend away and, pulling the stopper from the bottle, took a swig while Clerval turned away angrily. Frankenstein looked back in the direction of Newgate and the scaffold and took another swig.

Was this man – a man who fainted away at the sight of a stranger’s death – the dangerous man that Creecher spoke of? It seemed hard to believe.

When Billy recounted the day’s events to Creecher that evening in the attic, the giant listened in silence until Billy reached the part about the hanging.

As soon as he mentioned the woman on the scaffold, Creecher let out a strange moan, like a wounded dog. His hands flexed, his fingers falling in and out of fists. Billy grew nervous. This was the way the sweep would get just before he gave Billy a beating.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Oui,’ said Creecher almost inaudibly. ‘Go on.’

Billy took a deep breath and told Creecher about Frankenstein’s reaction and how Clerval had settled him. He told him, too, about the opium. Creecher nodded and snorted derisively.

‘Opium,’ he said. ‘Pah! The coward cannot even look the world in the eye without this drug to dull his nerves.’

Creecher put his hands to his face and shook his head. He ran his fingers through his long, lank hair and then suddenly stood up and banged one of the beams with the flat of his hand, sending a mist of dust across the attic. He strode through this fog towards Billy almost doubled over, seeming to fill the whole space. Billy scrambled backwards.

‘When will he keep his promise to me?’ he growled, coming right up to Billy’s face. ‘How long must I wait?’

‘Wait for what?’ said Billy, flinching and turning away.

Creecher came to a halt and looked down, muttering to himself.

‘Spends his days dosing himself with poppy juice, while I –’

‘Wait for what?’ repeated Billy. ‘I don’t understand.’

Creecher fell silent, his head hanging. Billy could see his great shoulders rise and fall, slowing now as his breathing calmed.

‘I have already told you,’ said Creecher, the threat gone from his voice. ‘It does not concern you.’

Billy knew that he should leave it there, that picking at this scab could be dangerous, possibly deadly. But his curiosity was too hungry now. It needed feeding.

‘Can’t you at least tell me why you and this Frankenstein fellow seem so troubled by the hanging? You don’t neither of you strike me as the sentimental type, if you get my drift.’

Creecher turned with a half-smile that Billy found particularly unpleasant on that long, grim face. The giant sat down on the dusty floorboards. Billy could see that a story was coming.

‘There was a girl in Switzerland,’ said Creecher. ‘Her name was Justine. She was young and pretty.’

He stared off into the distance, lost in thought. Billy raised an eyebrow. Was Creecher love-struck? It seemed hard to imagine.

‘And you knew her?’ asked Billy, prompting the giant to continue his story. It seemed so unlikely that he would know any girl, young or old, pretty or not.

Creecher shook his head.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I did not know her. How could I? A brute like me. No, no. But I saw her. Once.’

Creecher stared away again and Billy watched him in wonder. Creecher’s face was not made for delicate emotions, but there was a yearning there, Billy was sure of it.

‘Who was she,’ said Billy. ‘This Justine?’

‘She was a servant in the Frankenstein household,’ continued Creecher. ‘More than a servant, I should say. They treated her like one of the family.’

‘So?’ said Billy, concerned that the story was going to end there. ‘What has she to do with a hanging?’

Creecher licked his thin black lips.

‘Frankenstein had a young brother – much younger – only a small boy. There were many years between them. His name was William.’

‘Had?’ said Billy. ‘Is he dead, then?’

Creecher nodded grimly.

‘And what’s he got to do with this Justine?’ Every word that Creecher spoke seemed to confuse the matter.

The giant’s face took on a new level of paleness.

‘The boy,’ he said, ‘was murdered. Justine was convicted of William’s murder and hanged.’

Billy raised his eyebrows and puffed out a breath.

‘No wonder Frankenstein was a bit shaky,’ he said. ‘Must have brought back some bad memories for him. His brother and –’

‘It was
guilt
you saw,’ said Creecher between gritted teeth. ‘Do not credit Frankenstein with pity. You do not know him.’

Billy was about to ask why Frankenstein would have felt guilty about the murder of his baby brother but there was something about Creecher’s tone of voice that made him think twice.

But it certainly explained why the hanging of the girl at Newgate had such a profound effect on Frankenstein. Billy shook his head.

‘What sort of person would kill a little child?’ he said with a curl of his lip. ‘Hanging’s too good for ’em, that’s what I think.’

‘Nobody cares what you think!’ hissed Creecher.

Billy lowered his head and scowled at the floor, unwilling to look at the giant’s snarling face. He was annoyed with himself at how upset he was by Creecher’s reaction. He could feel tears stinging his eyes.