The Humbug Murders (30 page)

I let her help me, and together we joined the pack of men and women in various states of undress making their exodus from this sinful place. We passed through the Long Gallery, where Sikes was clapping his hands and screaming, “Bull's-eye! Where are ye, ye mongrel!”

But his back was to me, and he never turned. Not as my Nancy and I half-fell, half-dragged ourselves down the stairs, past the foyer, and out into the grey of a terrible, mad day.

The Lycia—the building that smelled of terrible chemicals—was now a blazing inferno. Men rushed this way or that, pistols drawn. I heard the jolting blasts, saw men jerk and fall.

I ran. The woman's hand had been in mine, then we pierced a crowd, were jostled and clawed at, and then she was gone, her fiery red hair swallowed up by the tide of madness all about me.

Two more buildings in the Royal Quarter were afire, and I saw a small man with wild eyes stand right in front of me, tears in his eyes, blood speckled about his face and hands.

Roger Colley.

“My brother! My
brother
, you bastards!” he said, firing a pair of pistols at some hard men who twisted and sagged. “Gonna have me a right
benjo
in his honor. Gonna see every one of you dead!”

He didn't notice me, and I kept with the crowd fleeing the Quarter.

Soon finding myself on my own, I made fast progress through the myriad of stinking, squalid blind alleys, courts, and passageways between tall and narrow houses. A dense fog gathered. A hazy orange color rose from the Quarter behind me, hellishly reflecting the moist windows of fetid gin-palaces and coarse eateries. I pushed my way past drunken scalawags, past women with heavy makeup and rotting teeth. I rushed past ovens with roasting chestnuts and baked potatoes sold to starving lads for a farthing. Finally, I swept through a narrow alleyway into the large open court.

Letting out a sigh, I wiped my brow and walked towards Furnival's Inn, above which were my rooms. Smiling, I was already embracing the sound of merriment and the wafts of kidney pie and mulled ale when someone cleared his throat behind me.

“Wotcher, Mr. Scrooge, sir!” called a guttural croak. Windows in the brick rows of houses and commercial buildings surrounding him were frozen on the inside. Gas lamps shone behind them betraying a rudimentary coziness, despite the smell of damp brick.

I stopped and sighed. “Good evening, Humperdink,” I called back.

Humperdink, an example of what passed these days for a municipal constable, wheezed and reeked of gin as he waddled across the court. The tightness of his uniform caused Humperdink's body to release a vibrato of bodily gases as he walked. Yet he moved with surprising speed given his girth. “Mr. Scrooge, sir, so sorry to have interrupted your customary evening walk, sir. Most sorry indeed, sir. Oh, bit of a nasty bump to your lip there, sir?”

I wondered how this oaf might be so oblivious to the severity of my beaten state. Perhaps it was the dimming light as afternoon passed to evening.

“Unfortunate placement of a lamppost, Constable,” I mumbled.

Humperdink cleared his throat. “Well, sir, and this is not a light matter in any sense, sir, but as a man of the law, it is my duty to protect the good people of London, sir, and naturally that would involve the sharing of the truth, as known by the Lord Almighty, sir.”

Baring my teeth, I spat, “For the love of
God
, what are you on about, Humperdink?”

“Well, sir, as the protocols of the courts would have it, sir, I must inform you that a certain Mr. Jack Colley met a bitter fate in the prison yard but a few hours ago. Stuck and bled out like a pig he were. We knows you went to see him, and his brother Roger, well, he might be quite of a temper about this here turn of events, see. And Inspector Foote, he tasked me to find you and give you, the, the wotsit, the heads up, as it were.”

With that, the portly man turned on his heels and waddled down the slippery lane.

I turned back to the inn, and a single thought burned in my aching skull:
Gin!

But Adelaide was there, laying in wait for me at a table near the window, wearing a breathtaking floral-print dress and an elegant wide-brimmed hat that cast haunting shadows over her eyes. In her lacy-gloved hands rested a pair of theatre tickets.

“Aren't you the fright?” she asked, rising and taking my arm. “Let's get you upstairs, cleaned up, and ready for a night out.”

“What? No!” I objected. And swirling in the back of my still aching head, Dodger telling me that The Lady always wore floral-print dresses . . .

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you were doing that led you to this sorry state?” she asked. “No, never mind. One of those wealthy investors didn't like the terms you proposed and got a bit handsy, did he?”

“None of your concern,” I muttered darkly.

“Well, what is of our mutual concern is that Miss Nellie Pearl had her servant hand deliver these invitations to tonight's performance. She has Mr. Fezziwig's invitation; you see . . . and requests not just our company, but also our assistance in an urgent matter. This is what we've been waiting for, Ebenezer.”

I was halfway up the steps when I looked over and peered into her lovely eyes. In the span of just over twenty-four hours, I had found myself eye-to-eye with a trio of murderers. What had I to worry about in just confronting her about her lies?

Instead, I turned away. A night at the theatre it would be.

THE CACOPHONY IN
the Adelphi Theatre's main arena was like a roaring sea. Instruments were tuned as hundreds of people babbled and shifted, rustling into their seats and greeting one another. My head was still pounding from Sikes' treatment earlier, and the silk cravat Adelaide had picked out to hide the swelling marks on my neck where he choked me was a cool comfort against the pain. Having just survived a murder attempt and nearly becoming a casualty in what was clearly a war between Smithson and Roger Colley, I would have preferred an evening clutching a glass of brandy in the bath, but my reluctance had not been long lasting. As Adelaide had put it, this was what we had been waiting for.

I'd sent word to Dickens for him to round up a few more “war men” to keep an eye on myself and Miss Owen. Clearly, Smithson wanted me dead. All I could hope was that Roger Colley's assault on the Quarter would keep the crime lord busy until our protection arrived. I told him we would say nothing of this to Miss Owen. I rather liked the idea of someone following her every move and reporting it back to me.

Although the Adelphi was a smaller theatre with reasonably priced tickets, its location off the Strand attracted the finer folk. The congregation ahead surged with shiny top hats and exaggerated gowns. Adelaide wore a crisp green dress with a floral pattern of delicate fern leaves, and she looked every bit as astonishing as she had at the Dyer affair. My stomach flipped. A woman of her station sliding so effortlessly in to such society functions . . . Suspicion brewed.

The narrowness of the atrium and the straightness of the sides rendered most of the seats completely comfortless, but the tickets Nellie had sent us secured us the very best seats in the middle, where we would be surrounded by London's rich.

With a smile and a twinkle of the eye, she caught the notice of a young usher to whom she presented our tickets. He burst into a flush of excitement when he spotted the backstage pass that Nellie had sent with the tickets.

“Well!” he exclaimed. “A rare opportunity to meet
The Lady
, eh? The star of our show must hold you in very high regard.”

Shock hit me like a quivering arrow. “ ‘The Lady?' ” I asked.

“
The Lady of Shalott
! She is one of the very best actresses we have ever had on this stage, our Miss Nellie Pearl is. Have you seen her perform yet? You shall be astounded! Let me show you to your seats.”

A stirring of unease snuck into the back of my mind.
Could
Nellie be the mysterious Lady?

Adelaide's arm was linked with mine as we made our way down the arena past rows and rows of lush red seats, the balconies all decorated for Christmas. Gold and green and red twinkled in the shiny surfaces of crystal chandeliers and polished brass railings. Adelaide was calm and poised, exchanging polite nods with wealthy patrons as we passed them. Her eyes met theirs with confidence, and she smiled. I felt my guard lowering as she brushed by me, filling me with tantalizing aroma of her rose perfume. But an image of
her Tom
, covered in my friend's blood, flashed into my vision, and I immediately shook myself back to awareness.

“You should simply tell me what's on your mind, Mr. Scrooge,” she said without looking at me as we settled into our seats near the aisle.

“A great many things,” I said, opening the program.

Her eyes flickered to something at my left, and her cold glare burst into welcoming warmth. “Oh, look! Here is a description of Nellie's role,
The Lady of Shalott
!” She leaned over me and pointed at the place in the program, her shoulder touching mine.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed someone in the aisle, loud enough for many heads in the rows in front and behind us to turn. Mine turned, too.

“Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, how fortuitous to run into you here.”

“Mr. Lazytree!” I said, jumping up to shake his hand. It was Sunderland's agent, the one who had only last night orchestrated all those interviews with potential investors. “Very good to see you again, how do you do?”

“Just out for a spot of entertainment with the missus, Scrooge. Loves the theatre, she does, don't you, Winnie? Haven't been since Villiers died, of course. Terrible.”

“Villiers?” I asked.

“Indeed! Owner of this very theatre! Stabbed over a hundred times, they said, I'm sure you've heard. And his secret mistress, too, would you believe. Nobody even has the foggiest who she was.” There was a gleeful flicker in his eye, and I could tell he was reveling in the gossip.

“Yes, Crabapple mentioned—”

“And I think I spotted this enchanting lady at the charity ball last night?” he said, delivering his hyena-like laugh and sending a cheeky grin in Adelaide's direction, to the obvious annoyance of his wife.

“Adelaide Owen,” said my associate, rising beside me and extending her gloved hand. The man kissed it without breaking eye contact with her.

“Owen? Not Scrooge, then?” trilled Mrs. Lazytree with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “So you aren't married? And unchaperoned, I see! How very modern.”

Adelaide smiled kindly.

“Thank you once again for orchestrating those opportunities,” I said, lowering my voice. “The evening ended somewhat abruptly, so . . .”

“Not to worry, Mr. Scrooge,” said Lazytree, with a conspiratorial wink. “You will be receiving
quite
the visit to your offices in the morning.”

The Lazytrees continued on down the aisle and found their seats some rows in front of us, but not before Mrs. Lazytree could turn to send Adelaide an icy glare. I sat back down feeling thoroughly delighted. The deadline for the rail investment was tomorrow, and by the sounds of it, the funds would be secured with time to spare!

“Business looks to improve, Adelaide,” I said. “We will soon have every penny we need.”

She nudged me. “But what about all the capital I raised for you this week? It was already improving, wasn't it?”

Though she had no idea that the funds she had gathered were not even a tenth of what was required for the investment deal, she had certainly succeeded in areas I had not in that regard.

“A clerk worth their salt shouldn't need constant reassurance,” I grumbled. “You know the books as well as I. A marked improvement, down to you. Which you already know.”

Crossing her arms over her breasts, she said, “Pardon me, Mr. Scrooge. I didn't realize how much a kind word costs you.”

The orchestra silenced their tuning, and the lighting flickered, signaling the imminent start of the performance. A hush rolled across the atrium. I heard Adelaide draw her breath, then she nudged me and pointed. A man in a tall top hat was late arriving, causing upset and annoyance as he squeezed past occupied seats several rows away. He was clutching white gloves and a program, and when his head turned towards me, I gasped.

Shen!

I looked away and brought my hand to my face. His warning this morning had been clear and, of course, I had not heeded. Had he already received word of my trip to the Quarter and come here to finish what Bill Sikes had begun? My heart thumped against the back of my throat.

“He didn't see you,” Adelaide whispered. “It seems he is here for his own enjoyment.”

The Chinaman took his seat, and from that moment until intermission, he stared at
The Lady of Shalott
, transfixed.

The performance was mesmerizing. Unlike The Adelphi's usual melodramatic themes, this romantic interpretation of Lord Tennyson's poem had the performers sweeping across the stage in stunning feats of ballet-like nimbleness and grace. Actresses, each as beautiful as the next, dressed in pure white maid's costumes, swanned round Nellie as she cried on the stage, her character condemned to a lifetime of viewing the world only through a mirror.