The Beggar Maid (41 page)

Jackson's surprised expression was answer enough. He shook his shaggy head. ‘No, miss.'

She had been pinning her hopes on the fact that Harry might not have anywhere else to stay, but perhaps he had found the house locked and assumed that everyone had left. It was a disappointment, but she would find him. She realised that Jackson was staring at her. ‘What's the matter, Mr Jackson?'

‘I got nothing for our dinner, miss. The money ran out some time ago and me sister's been feeding me and Bosun when we visit her in Hoxton. It's lucky you arrived when you did because we was about to set off.' He glanced down at the dog who was looking up at him with adoration in his large brown eyes. ‘Wasn't we, old man? Us is good pals, ain't we, mate?'

Bosun wagged his tail in answer and his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth as he waited for his master to give him instructions.

‘I've brought money,' Charity said hastily. ‘I can give you your back wages and tomorrow I'll go to market and get provisions.' She met his anxious gaze with a smile. ‘If your sister won't mind, perhaps you'd care to share a dinner with me at a chop house? I haven't eaten since I left Bligh Park this morning.'

Jackson's deep-set eyes twinkled appreciatively. ‘I'm sure she won't mind, miss. She's got ten nippers to feed and a husband who labours in the Gaslight and Coke Company all hours of the day and night.'

‘I'll take my bag up to my old room and tidy up, and then we'll go.' She went upstairs, grimacing at the layer of dust that lay everywhere like a fluffy grey blanket. Mrs Diment would have a fit, she thought, as she trailed her fingers along the balustrade.

The room she had shared with Violet and Dorrie was stuffy in the heat of the late afternoon and flies buzzed lazily against the windowpanes. She opened one of the sashes and allowed them to fly free. A cool breeze floated in, bringing with it the all too familiar noxious city smells that she had happily forgotten during her stay in the country. She took off her bonnet and brushed her hair, tying it back with a length of blue ribbon that Dorrie had left on the dressing table. A quick look in the fly-spotted mirror revealed smuts on her nose and cheeks and she wiped them away with a clean hanky. Satisfied that she looked reasonably presentable, if a little travel-stained, she went downstairs to find Jackson seated by the range, smoking a clay pipe. He leapt to his feet, knocking the remains of the tobacco into the fire. ‘I'm sorry, miss. I ain't allowed to smoke indoors, but I got used to it in Mrs Diment's absence.'

‘That's quite all right, Mr Jackson. I don't mind at all. My grandfather smoked cigars in the old days, but he became accustomed to smoking a pipe. It was one of his few comforts in life towards the end.' She felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes as she recalled her grandfather's tragic death, but this was not the time to wallow in the past. She must be positive and think of the future. ‘I know a very nice chop house close to the Gaiety Theatre. It's not too far to walk.'

Jackson picked up his battered bowler hat. ‘I ain't fit to be seen with a young lady like you.'

‘Nonsense,' she said firmly. ‘It's not every day a girl has a chance to be escorted by a fine figure of a man like you, Mr Jackson.'

She could have sworn that he blushed, but he turned away quickly and shambled to the door. ‘After you, miss.'

It came to Charity in the middle of the night. She had assumed that Harry would return to Nevill's Court, but Jackson had not seen him. Dan had said his brother intended to contact Gideon, and there was a good chance that he might know Harry's whereabouts. It was so blindingly obvious that she wondered why she had not thought of it sooner, but then she remembered her last encounter with Gideon. Their easy-going relationship would never be the same again after his declaration of love. She lay back against the pillows, smiling ruefully into the darkness. Proposals from two highly eligible bachelors must be the stuff that dreams were made of for some young women, but not for her. It was a cruel blow of fate that had thrown her into the path of two such men; one whom she loved, and the other for whom she had a great fondness, but she was not a fit partner for either of them. She would have to face both Gideon and Harry, and she must see this matter through to the end. After that it was up to her to make a life for herself, Violet, baby Alice and Dorrie. She closed her eyes. Early tomorrow morning she would walk to St Pancras New Church. There must be someone there who could tell her where to find Gideon.

The lodging house was in a side street not far from the church, and Gideon's landlady wore the world-weary expression of a woman who was accustomed to opening the door and finding distressed parishioners on the step. ‘Mr Raines is out visiting the poor.' She had a duster clutched in her hand and she began polishing the brass doorknocker as if her life depended upon it. ‘He won't be back for ages.'

Charity smothered a sigh of relief. She had not been looking forward to her meeting with Gideon, but at least she was spared an embarrassing encounter. ‘Is Mr Bligh staying with you? Or he might be going under the name of Elliott.'

‘This is a respectable house, miss. I don't harbour gentleman who use aliases.'

‘I have some very important information that I must pass on to either Mr Raines or Mr Bligh.'

‘I don't doubt it, miss. Try the church or come back another time. I haven't got all day to stand here talking to the likes of you. I have work to do.' The landlady was about to slam the door but Charity put her foot over the threshold.

‘My name is Charity Crosse and I'm staying at the house in Nevill's Court. It's really urgent that I speak to one of them, but Mr Bligh in particular. I'd be very much obliged if you would pass on that message.'

‘Get your foot off my doorstep, miss.'

Charity's foot was wedged in between the door and the jamb, causing her considerable pain and she had little option but to remove it. ‘Please pass on the—' The door slammed in her face.

She limped down the steps to the pavement and stood for a moment, glaring at the house, where not a speck of dirt had been allowed to linger. The windows gleamed and winked in the sunlight and Charity had a vision of the tenants being dusted and polished as they sat down to eat their meals. The rest of the street had a far more relaxed atmosphere. Housemaids leaned on iron railings, chatting to their counterparts next door. Charwomen holystoned the front steps and swept the pavements, although none of them matched the standard set by Gideon's fearsome landlady. Butchers, bakers and fishmongers pushed barrows from house to house, while others drove carts along the street shouting their wares. There was no sign of either Gideon or Harry and Charity had no idea where to start looking.

She went first to the church and left a message with the warden, giving the address in Nevill's Court, and then she set off for the market to buy food. It might, she thought, be worth a visit to the bullion dealer in Hatton Garden. Daniel had given her the address and it was just possible that they might know where she could contact Harry. Cheered by the thought, she was on her way to market when she heard a deep voice calling her name. She stopped and turned to see Bert Chapman standing in the well of the brewery dray. ‘Stop,' he shouted above the noise of the horses' hooves and the rumbling of cart wheels. He drew the animals to a halt and handed the reins to his mate. ‘Don't run away from me, girl.' He leapt to the ground.

Charity broke into a run, dropping her basket in her attempt to dodge a couple who were walking arm in arm and a woman who was pushing a wooden cart which seemed to be overflowing with babies and toddlers, all of them crying in a pathetic chorus.

‘Stop that girl. She's me daughter,' Bert shouted breathlessly, and a male passer-by put out his foot to trip Charity up. She fell headlong, winding herself. Bert dragged her to her feet and gave her a shake. ‘Where is she?' he hissed. ‘Where's that wanton little bitch Violet?'

‘I'm not telling you,' Charity gasped.

He twisted her arm behind her back. ‘You will or I'll break every bone in your body.'

‘She's somewhere you won't find her.' She yelped as he put even more pressure on her arm. She felt as though her shoulder would dislocate at any moment, but she was not going to tell him. Then, just as she felt she could stand no more, Bert released her and she fell to her knees. In a flurry of fur and bared teeth, Bosun brought Bert to the ground and stood over him.

‘Get that bloody animal off me,' Bert demanded, cowering.

Jackson strode up to them. He helped Charity to her feet, ignoring Bert's angry cries. ‘Are you hurt, miss?'

Shaken and in pain, she shook her head. ‘No. I'm all right, thank you.'

‘Shall I let Bosun finish the brute off, miss?'

An interested crowd had gathered round them and someone at the back applauded. ‘I'll bet a crown on the dog to win.'

Bert covered his head with his arm. ‘Call a copper. I'm about to be savaged by this brute.'

Jackson leaned over and grabbed Bosun by the collar. ‘It's all right, old chap. We won't finish the bugger off this time, but if he so much as comes near Miss Charity again you can have him for your dinner.'

Bosun wagged his tail and licked Jackson's hand, which sent a ripple of amusement round the onlookers, but Bert was not amused. He struggled to his feet, wiping the dust from his clothes. ‘You haven't heard the last of this.' He strode back to the dray and climbed up onto the driver's seat, swearing volubly.

The crowd melted away as swiftly as it had gathered and Jackson took Charity by the arm. ‘Where to next, miss? I think you need a bodyguard from now on.'

She reached out to stroke Bosun. ‘Thank you both. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along when you did.'

‘I guessed you was out looking for that vicar chap you told me about after supper. He seems the best bet while you're looking for your man.'

Charity let this pass. She was not in the mood to argue. Now that Bert had discovered her presence in London she knew he would not give up until he had her cornered. It was even more important to find Harry now. ‘I was going to market and then on to the bullion dealer in Hatton Garden.'

‘'We'll try there first and the market on the way home. I take it that that fellow was Violet's dad. I've met his type afore and he ain't exactly the salt of the earth, if you get my meaning.'

‘Yes,' Charity said simply. ‘I know exactly what you mean.'

The bullion dealer remembered Harry. ‘My business with the gentleman is completed, and I don't know where to contact him.' He smiled knowingly. ‘People find me. I don't need to go looking for them.'

‘Can you tell me when you last saw Mr Bligh?' Charity asked anxiously.

‘It must have been at least two days ago, miss. I'm sorry I can't help you further.'

Disappointed and frustrated, Charity left the gloomy premises in Hatton Garden, emerging into bright sunlight. Jackson was leaning against a lamp post, smoking a cigarette, which he stubbed out beneath the heel of his boot as she approached. Bosun wagged his tail and licked her hand as if sensing that she was upset.

‘No go then?' Jackson straightened up. ‘What next?'

‘I don't know.' She shook her head. ‘Perhaps he's left for home, in which case he'll find out soon enough what's been happening in his absence.'

‘Then it's off to market, miss. We got to eat and I'm feeling hungry. Bosun could do with a tasty meal and a nice juicy bone.'

‘You're right, of course.' Charity tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘I'm afraid I lost my basket. I'll have to buy another one.'

They returned to Nevill's Court, having stopped at Jackson's request to eat a dish of eel pie and mash swimming in liquor. Bosun carried a marrowbone in his mouth, growling ominously at anyone who looked as though they might take it from him. Charity blinked as they emerged from the darkness of the alley into the sunlit court. The cottage gardens were filled with roses and honeysuckle clambered over brick walls and wound itself around railings vying with the wild convolvulus. She could hear voices and recognised the shrill tones of Miss Creedy, and the meowing of several of her feline friends. Shading her eyes she saw that Miss Creedy's latest victim was none other than Gideon.

He looked round and smiled. ‘Charity, I came as soon as I got your message.'

‘I told him that you would be back soon,' Miss Creedy said, picking up a fluffy tortoiseshell cat and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. ‘We've been having a lovely conversation about cats.'

‘Yes, indeed.' Gideon gave her a courtly bow. ‘Thank you, ma'am. I've learned a lot about our feline friends today.'

‘You must come again,' she said, reaching out to grab him by the hand. ‘You must come to tea one afternoon. My cats and I so rarely have visitors.'

‘Thank you, that's very kind of you.' Gideon withdrew his hand gently.

‘Come inside, sir,' Jackson said, putting down a basket of groceries to take a key from his pocket. He placed it in the lock and it turned without protest. ‘You'll be here all day and all evening if she has her way.' He tipped his bowler hat to Miss Creedy. ‘Good day to you, miss.'

‘Yes, thank you for keeping my friend company.' Charity shot a quick smile in Miss Creedy's direction and hurried into the house, followed swiftly by Gideon. Jackson had already made his escape, accompanied by Bosun, who was cowering away from a gang of cats who were stalking him with their green eyes fixed on the bone.

‘Come into the parlour, Gideon.' Charity led the way to the small, sunny room on the far side of the entrance hall. She snatched the dust covers off two of the chairs and motioned him to sit down. ‘Thank you for coming,' she said shyly. ‘After our last meeting I wasn't sure of my reception.'