The Hidden Man (34 page)

‘What
does
it look like?'

‘It looks like what you would find in a burglar's satchel. It looks like common and sundry booty.'

*   *   *

When a man comes across lost or hidden items of value, the law requires that he do his best to discover their owner. I therefore sat down at my desk with Flitcroft's list beside me to draw up a notice for insertion into the
Preston Journal
and also as a bill to display at the Moot Hall and post office. I had finished the task, given my work to Furzey and returned to my desk when Robert Hazelbury walked into the office. He was carrying a fat ledger under his arm.

‘I need your help, Mr Cragg,' he told me. ‘I've been working every day at the shop, going through the books, and this morning I've had Mrs Pauline Owen in. She requires her necklace.'

‘I'm sorry, Mr Hazelbury. I don't follow you.'

‘She'd pawned a pearl necklace with Mr Pimbo a couple of weeks before he died and now she wants to redeem it to wear at the Guild Ball, she says. But you have told us that the shop is shut and cannot engage in business. How should I proceed? She is threatening to make a great to-do in public over the matter.'

‘What? And tell the world she's been to the pawn-shop with her pearls? I doubt that.'

‘Well, she is ready to pay the redemption money in full. It seems hard on her not to let her claim the necklace back – and there'll be others, no doubt, who are in the same position but as yet too discreet to come forward.'

‘How was Mrs Owen's transaction recorded?'

The cashier slid the ledger from under his arm and, coming round the desk to stand by my side, placed it in front of me.

‘I've brought the Pledges Book to show you,' he said, opening it. ‘It was kept by Mr Pimbo personally. As you may see, each item is listed against its ticket number and the customer's name, date of transaction, amount loaned and period of loan. Then there are these columns, recording if and when the pledge was redeemed, and the gross amount including interest paid to us for the goods' return. Alternatively they note the expiry of the redemption period, and the amount the item sold for. The final column gives the final profit or loss. You will see that the most recent loans recorded are only a few days before Mr Pimbo's death.'

I picked up the ledger and turned the pages. I soon found Mrs Owen's transaction and saw that the necklace had been pawned on the sixteenth of May for a period of thirty days.

‘So that means the period of the loan runs out…'

‘The day after tomorrow, Mr Cragg. That's the reason for Mrs Owen's anxiety. And here you see the names of some of our other clients who may always have intended to claim their jewellery in time for the Guild.'

‘I see. This is a sensitive matter, of course.'

I thought for a moment.

‘Very well,' I went on. ‘Out of consideration for Mrs Owen, and others, I shall relax the ban on trading to this extent: items still in pawn may be redeemed, and you may advertise the fact. But there are to be no new pawns, Hazelbury. Money in, you see, but no money out.'

I turned the pages backwards, looking idly up and down the lists of pledges. I admit I was diverted by the discovery of my fellow Prestonians furtively pawning their valuables to tide them across a few weeks of shortage, or to pay the unexpected fee of a doctor or a lawyer – Luke Fidelis's perhaps. Or my own. To learn the secrets of others is surely one of the most natural, if not the most fragrant, of our desires.

Then an entry of more than three years ago caught my eye:
‘
1 hall-marked silver salt in shape of triangle 4 1/2 oz
'. It had been pawned by a Mrs Crossley for the term of a month and deemed worth a seven shillings advance. Running my finger along the line, I saw that the space for redemptions and sales was blank. I said,

‘Tell me something, Hazelbury. Here is an object that has not been redeemed, and has not been subsequently sold on in the shop. What happened to it?'

He leaned over to look more closely.

‘Oh, aye. Happen it will have taken Mr Pimbo's fancy, will that. There have always been some of those, that he decided not to part with.'

‘Have you ever seen this silver salt of Mrs Crossley's yourself?'

‘No, I don't recall it. Not that I would. Mr Pimbo always conducted the pawning business himself, you see. For discretion, he said. It were only when a thing came on sale in the shop that I took note of it.'

‘And you think this salt cellar was never even offered for sale in the shop?'

‘I'm sure it wasn't. It's not written down as sold, and it's not in my stock, or ever been. I would remember a three-sided salt.'

I pushed back my chair and crossed to the cupboard in which I had put the silver I had earlier shown to Flitcroft. A moment later I returned holding the triangular salt that the antiquary listed as having been assayed at York in 1637.

‘Could this be the one?' I asked.

Hazelbury took it, turned it over in his hands, and shrugged.

‘Like I said, I never saw the thing. And I haven't seen this before either.'

I called out to Furzey in the outer room to bring in the scales, which I set up on the desk. The salt weighed exactly four and a half ounces.

‘May I borrow the Pledges Book from you for an hour?' I asked Hazelbury. ‘I promise to send it back to you promptly.'

After he had gone I began a systematic search through the ledger for all silver items that had been neither redeemed by their pawners, nor sold in the shop, and one by one I found items of similar description to the things I had pulled out of the rabbit hole on the Moor four days ago – a cream jug, a belt-buckle, a marrow spoon and a caddy spoon. It took me the longest time to find the apostle spoons, and I did not do so until I had gone back in the book thirty-five years, when I found they had been pledged by Mrs Georgina Peel, who had inhabited Peel Hall in its last years of ruin and dereliction. How ironic that what we no longer supposed to be Benjamin Peel's hoard contained at least one thing that really had belonged to Benjamin Peel.

On being weighed each piece was of exactly the same weight as a corresponding object in Pimbo's ledger, pawned with him at some time in the last ten years, and remaining unredeemed and unsold. I sat back, mystified. What I had originally supposed – hoped, even – to be part of the treasure of Benjamin Peel had turned out to have been the property of the late Phillip Pimbo, and now of his estate. To explain by what means it found its way into a rabbit's burrow was quite beyond me.

But there was no time to consider the puzzle now. I summoned Furzey again.

‘You may forget about taking that notice to the
Journal
,' I said. ‘Will you instead return this ledger to Robert Hazelbury at Pimbo's shop, with my thanks. I must wait here for Dr Fidelis and Mr Quick.'

With his usual show of reluctance when receiving a direct order Furzey picked up the volume and trudged back to his own area in the outdoor office, but almost immediately returned with a letter in his hand. This he casually placed in front of me.

‘This almost slipped out of my mind, Mr Cragg.'

I picked up the paper and saw it was addressed to Messrs Willoughby and Pickle, Lloyd's Coffee House, Lombard Street, London.

‘What is this?'

‘You asked me to get it if I could. I got it.'

I looked at the back and immediately saw the sender's name written there: Tybalt Jackson Esq.

‘Furzey! This is wonderful! You found Jackson's letter at the post office.'

‘It wasn't difficult. It was to travel as a by-letter with the Duchy mail to London, but the post-boy had been obliged to wait for a packet from the Duchy office that was delayed. Mr Crick dug Mr Jackson's letter out of the pouch when I told him the one that wrote it's been murdered, and his letter is needed in evidence. He said he'd want a written retrospective warrant from you, but he didn't argue. Now, if you'll excuse me, Sir, there's the
very
pressing matter of the return of Mr Hazelbury's book.'

He left me once more and, with some impatience, I broke the seal on Jackson's letter and unfolded it.

To Messrs Willoughby and Pickle, insurance brokers.

Sirs,

Your business has now brought me to Preston, where I compose this letter in a miserable stinking inn more suited to the accommodation of beasts than men. I have come to this town in the expectation of finding Zadok Moon, though I have not yet done so. There is indeed talk in this town of him being an embezzler, as you in London have long suspected, but of proof there is none. I have met one who tells me he can bring Moon and me together and I hope he will do so this night, after which I hope to have more intelligence of the slaver
The Fortunate Isle
and her fate. I am, Sirs, compelled to add that during my long journey from Bristol and stay in Liverpool, I have spoken with many who engage in the business that occupies that ship, and the many other ships you gentlemen transact with. I have concluded it is a vile business and the Devil's work and if I cannot persuade you to leave off dealing with slave-traffickers, which I hardly think I can, then I beg leave to tender my irrevocable resignation from your employ, after my present commission has been discharged. There are others on hand who will judge me and, if I do not resign, I shall not be able to face them out.

Yours, Tybalt Jackson.

My father used to tell me that a prudent man reads every letter two times, but a lawyer reads it thrice. My first perusal informed me of the facts: Jackson was on the track of Moon; he had met a person – unnamed, alas! – who claimed to know where to find him; and his mind and purpose had turned so wholly against the Guinea Trade that he meant to leave his employment while it had to do with that. My second reading left me pondering on how that fateful conversion had taken place, while my third allowed some deeper reflections on the state of Jackson's mind. He seemed angry in his righteousness, but he also stated his intention of continuing his commission to the end. Jackson was evidently a man of the strictest probity. Finally I gave some time to thinking about the meaning of his last sentence, referring to ‘others on hand who will judge me'.

‘What others would those be, that he would not be able to face out?' I mused aloud. Hearing me speak the word ‘out' Suez pattered over to my side and looked up with his head cocked and his ears pricked.

Glad for the chance to get some air, and with no sign still of Fidelis and Elijah Quick, I took him for a trot around Market Place. Then I left him in the kitchen to be looked after by Matty, and returned to wait at the office.

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

I
T WAS HALF
past one o'clock when they walked into the office – Fidelis and, close behind him, the imposing and smiling figure of Elijah Quick who filled the doorway with his great size. I began by asking Quick if he understood the reason for his coming to Preston.

‘The doctor, Sir,' said Quick in his deep mellifluous voice, ‘has told me during our journey that the girl was Jackson's bed-mate. I understand she has not spoken a word since he died because, having witnessed his murder, the shock has struck her dumb.'

‘Temporarily dumb, I would say,' said Fidelis. ‘But there is no knowing how long the effect will last.'

I said:

‘Dr Fidelis and I hope that you may be able to win her confidence, and break the spell, Elijah. We know nothing of her history, which does not help. But someone of her own race—'

Quick interrupted me again, anxious to correct my assumptions.

‘There are many races in Africa, Sir. Many nations and many tongues, so I regret there is a small chance that she and I will be able to communicate in any of the continent's languages.'

‘The girl understands English. We are hoping, however, that she will be reassured by your appearance.'

‘The colour of my skin?'

‘Exactly.'

‘In that case I hope I can indeed communicate with her.'

‘Let us go to her and see, shall we, Mr Quick?'

And so I fetched my hat and we set off to introduce him to the girl.

*   *   *

When we came to the Biggses' door and the maid saw Elijah with us, her eyes grew to the size of billiard balls and she clapped her hand to her mouth. But she recovered sufficiently to show us into the hall and hurry away to fetch Mrs Biggs. The lady herself appeared a few minutes later.

‘My husband is not at home,' she stated, her eyes looking Elijah up and down with distaste.

‘There is no need to trouble him,' I said. ‘I would like to question the girl you have staying with you about the murder of Tybalt Jackson, and I have brought Dr Fidelis and this other gentleman to assist. May we have a few words with her?'

Mrs Biggs's mouth twitched into a mean smile.

‘Barbara, as we have been calling her, has continued mute and sulky, Mr Cragg. I warrant you will not be able to extract a sound from her, let alone a word. We have tried.'

Trusting that the Biggses had not been trying to extract sounds too hard, or too painfully, from their guest, I gestured towards Quick.

‘I am hoping that she will be willing to speak to Mr Quick here.'

Looking Quick upwards and downwards once more, Mrs Biggs tightened the wings of her nostrils and sniffed.

‘He may try it,' she said.

‘Then will you bring the girl to us, if you please?'

Jackson's girl, as she now appeared to us, had been restored to her own sex. Coming into the parlour she looked scrubbed and demure in a servant's plain grey dress and linen cap.

‘Will you sit?' I asked, indicating one of the four chairs that surrounded a circular table at one end of the parlour. She stood for a moment uncertainly, then made up her mind and sat. Fidelis, Quick and I took the other places at the table while Mrs Biggs sat on a stuffed wing chair by the fire at the other end of the room.