The Jade Boy (9 page)

“You disappoint me, Jeremy. And it is always so rude to reject a friend’s offer of help.”

There was anger in Cazalon’s expression, but his voice was controlled.

“I shall cast my sweetmeats to the pigeons here instead then.”

He reached into the pouch and threw a handful of red sugared balls into the midst of a nearby knot of cooing grey birds. Immediately they fell upon the offering.

“It is no matter. I shall forgive your unkindness. Now, I have a private message for the duchess and I wish you to convey it to her.”

Jem looked at his feet and shuffled uncomfortably.

“Look at me, boy,” Cazalon commanded and Jem raised his face. The count was staring at him intently, and the tip of his tongue appeared briefly in the middle of his painted lips, like that of a snake testing the air.

“Tell her that I will bring a new supply
very
soon.”

Jem nodded. He tried to look away but found that he couldn’t. He was also horribly aware of a familiar itching, prickling feeling beneath his scalp.
But this time it was more powerful, as if something with hundreds of slimy tentacles was probing his thoughts.

Remembering Ann’s advice about concentrating on a strong memory or a desire, Jem thought hard about the huge feast waiting back at Ludlow House. Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday were special occasions when the whole household ate together.

It wasn’t difficult, he could almost taste the succulent roasted lamb and there were rows of pigeon pies waiting in the pantry. Jem smiled at the thought.

An odd expression crossed Cazalon’s face. He turned and looked up at the vast, looming bulk of St Paul’s behind them. After a moment he sighed.

“Such an ugly building, don’t you agree, Jeremy?”

The boy didn’t know what to say. St Paul’s was a constant landmark in the city and in his life.

He glanced about, trying to find an appropriate answer and his eyes fell upon the bodies of three dead pigeons – the ones that had fought earlier over Cazalon’s lozenges.

Jem’s eyes widened in horror and the count followed his gaze. He smiled cruelly.

“Such horrible, greedy scavengers, aren’t they. Fit only for
a pie
I would say, wouldn’t you?”

Cazalon stared at him and once again Jem was aware of the probing, flickering sensation inside his mind. But before the count could delve any further, a great peal of bells sounded from the lofty square tower behind them, breaking his gaze.

The service was over.

Jem had found that his appetite for the Easter feast had vanished.

The entire household had gathered together at a long table in the great hall of Ludlow House, but despite the platters of delicious meats, pies, syllabubs and pastries, Jem hadn’t been able to eat. He’d asked his mother if he could be excused and had slipped from the hall.

Now, one thought kept chasing around his head – what would have happened if he had taken one of Cazalon’s lozenges? Would he be dead too, like the pigeons?

“Ah Jem! This is where you are hiding.”

The curtain to the window seat where he sat, lost in thought, twitched aside. It was the duchess. Her eyes were bright and her skin shone, but as Jem looked up he also saw that she was breathing very quickly. Her pearl drop earrings quivered on their pins as her body trembled.

He stood and bowed, but the duchess smiled, settled herself down and patted the
padded wooden seat next to her.

“Now, Jem,” she began, “I need to speak to you very privately and this is just the place.” She smoothed out her skirts. “I find that my supply of
medicine
is running rather low, so I shall need to you to make another visit to my dear friend the count.” The smile disappeared and her eyes grew hard. “Of course, you do understand, Jem, that this is a very… delicate matter. You shall not speak of it to anyone. Not even your mother.” She gripped his hand so tightly that it began to hurt.

Jem shuddered. The last thing he wanted to do was to go back to Malfurneaux Place. For days after that first visit, the infernal house kept appearing in his dreams. Jem would find himself lost in a labyrinthof dark door-lined corridors and every time a door opened, it would reveal another room of hideous things.

He gulped. “I– I don’t think that will be necessary, Ma’am. I– I… met the count at the cathedral this morning. He told me that he will bring you a new supply of the m– m– medicine.”

The duchess dropped his hand.

“When?” she hissed. “When is he coming?”

For a moment her face looked strained and old, as if a veil of creased muslin had fallen over her features.

Jem stared and then, aware that he was being rude, he looked down. He cleared his throat.

“Um… Count Cazalon said it would be very soon, ma’am. That’s all I know.”

“Good,” the duchess snapped. “You may leave me now.”

She waved her hand and turned to stare out over the formal gardens beneath the window. Jem backed away as swiftly as was polite. It wasn’t just that the duchess looked different – when she waved her hand he had caught a faint waft of the sweetly putrid smell he had come to associate with Cazalon.

Two days later, Count Cazalon called at Ludlow House.

Tolly and Cleo were with him as usual, but this time he was also accompanied by two men.

One was tall and ancient with a mottled, slab like face that resembled an old cheese. The other was a thin and rather nervous young man with pale, watery eyes and a receding chin. He looked very like a fish.

The odd party arrived just as Jem was crossing the gallery above the hall on an errand for Wormald. He ducked behind a huge ornamental vase to listen.

The duke came to greet them himself. He seemed eager and excited.

Jem watched as Cazalon, who today was dressed entirely in black, including his wig, introduced the other visitors.

“Your Grace, it is my pleasure to present the Marquis of Kilheron,” the count said, as the younger man stepped forward and swept a low bow. “And, of course, you already know Lord Avebury, here.”

The older man nodded at the duke. The movement was slow and deliberate, as if his head and neck were made from stone.

A loud knock echoed through the entry hall and the footman swung back the massive carved doors to reveal a very fat red-faced man puffing on the doorstep.

“I’m not late, am I? Never does to be tardy in business. Now, what I always say to the wife is—”

“And this is the fifth member of our little club,” Cazalon interrupted. “May I present Alderman Pinchbeck, whose fame as a merchant already stretches from the Indies to His Majesty’s new colonies in the west.”

Pinchbeck lumbered forward and clasped the duke’s hand. His shabby grease-marked frock coat
gave no clue to the fact that he was known to be one of the richest men in the city and his broad accent suggested that the place of his birth was not within the finer districts of London.

The other men eyed the alderman disdainfully and acknowledged his presence with the barest inclination of their heads. Members of the nobility did not like to mix with the merchant classes – even when those merchants were extremely wealthy.

“To business!” exclaimed Bellingdon. “I have ordered refreshments and a fire to be set in my rooms so we shall not be disturbed.”

Cazalon raised his gloved hand.

“I wonder, Your Grace, if my servant here might provide some amusement for the duchess while we are otherwise occupied? The monkey is vastly entertaining and I thought that the lady…’

“An excellent suggestion,” beamed Bellingdon. “It will do her good. Between ourselves, gentlemen, my wife has been acting most strangely these last few days. You know how women take on so.”

He laughed and the other men smirked in agreement. The young marquis made a noise like a donkey.

“So,” Cazalon continued, “perhaps after Ptolemy
has carried these plans to the gallery, young Master Green – who I see is polishing the vase on the balcony above – might convey him and my monkey to your good lady?”

Jem reddened and stepped out from behind the vase. How had Cazalon known he was there?

Now that he had a clear view of the floor below, Jem could see that Tolly was carrying four great rolls of paper and several more were stacked at his feet.

Bellingdon looked up.

“Well, boy? Do as my guest asks.”

Unwilling to meet Cazalon’s gaze, Jem bowed his head and descended the wide oak staircase to the floor below.

“Pick them up and follow us,” said the duke, pointing down at the scrolls.

As Jem bent to gather them together, Cleo, who was nestled on his friend’s shoulder, let out a welcoming chirrup. Jem looked up and caught the expression of warning on Tolly’s face.

Bellingdon led the way across the black and white marble tiles of the hall. Up ahead, a footman opened a set of double doors. The duke allowed his guests to enter the room first, then he followed, leaving the boys staggering after him with the scrolls.

“You may leave them there and then go,” said the duke without looking at Jem and Tolly, indicating the table at the centre of the room. “Oh, and take the moor and the animal to the duchess,” he added to Jem.

The boys shuffled over to the table and gratefully allowed the heavy scrolls to roll from their arms.

Jem bowed to the duke’s guests and led the way from the room, passing a gilded buffet table that groaned with pies, tarts, tiny roasted larks, marchpane fruits, custards and pitchers of wine. It was obvious that Bellingdon had ordered that no expense should be spared to impress his guests.

The centrepiece of the display was a pineapple, but Jem knew that no one would taste this exotic morsel. It had been specially hired for the occasion at great cost.

Jem’s stomach rumbled and Tolly shot him a quick smile.

As the doors closed behind them, Jem tried to communicate silently, but his question was met by a sharp, “
No, not here
.”

The trio headed back across the hall and were halfway up the great staircase on the way to the duchess’s salon when Tolly spoke into Jem’s mind.

“
We should be safe now. I can’t feel him any more – there’s enough distance between us.
”

Jem didn’t need to ask who Tolly meant.

Tolly continued, “
Ann warned me that we must not communicate when we are near him. Because Cazalon has your blood, he can enter your mind and listen. But, the greater the space between you, the less he will be able to hear
.”

“
But what about you and Ann?
” Jem thought.

“
We found out long ago that he can’t hear us. Ann thinks it’s because of our own gifts – her magic, and my ability to read and speak into minds. He foolishly assumes that I can’t think for myself, because I don’t talk. Cazalon regards me as a pet, like Cleo here, and I intend to keep it that way
.”

Tolly scratched Cleo’s nose affectionately and the little monkey caught his finger and hugged it.

“Now, we need to find out what they’re doing in that room. Is there any way we can get near enough to hear them without being seen?”

“But what about the duchess? The duke said I was to take you to her…” Jem was uneasy.

“There’s plenty of time for that. It’s more important to find out what they’re up to – if we can.”

Jem thought for a moment and remembered that
the massive fireplace in the duke’s meeting room was connected to a smaller fireplace in a bedroom directly above it. The bedroom was grand, but hardly ever used because the sun never shone through its windows and it was always cold. Once, years ago, Jem had squeezed himself into the deep recess of its fireplace while playing a game of hide and seek with his mother, and had been surprised to hear, very clearly, the sound of two housemaids grumbling about their duties coming up the chimney from the room below.

“
Follow me
,” he thought, and led the way up a second flight of stairs.

Easing the door open, the boys and the monkey crept into the gloomy bedroom. The dark velvet hangings on the monumental four-poster bed that stood opposite the window were dusty, and despite its size and grandeur, the room had the air of somewhere sealed up and forgotten.

“Over here,” whispered Jem. The boys tiptoed across to the fireplace and ducked inside, under the carved stone opening. At the back, a vent connected with a main flue that ran from the room below, up into the huge brick chimney on the roof above.

“
We must be very quiet and still here – and so must Cleo
,” thought Jem.

Tolly smiled. “
She knows that already
.”

Tolly reached up to his red silk turban and eased a familiar jewel from the folds.

“Ann!” Jem asked in an excited whisper.

Tolly placed the jewelled scarab beetle on the hearth stones just outside the fireplace. Within a few seconds the transformation began as before. The boys shielded their eyes as the plume of purple smoke coiled itself into a glowing human shape. Once again there was a soft, sad musical noise and Jem caught the scent of violets. When he looked up Ann stood there, brushing glittering dust from the folds of her ragged dress.

“Hello again.”

She grinned at Jem and bent down to join them. “Budge up then,” she whispered as she crammed herself into the little gap between them. Cleo jumped from Tolly’s shoulder to settle in Ann’s lap.

Carefully and silently, they folded themselves into comfortable positions in the cramped soot-blackened space. Already they could hear echoes from the room below, but, as they sat in perfect silence, they began to hear almost every word quite distinctly.

“Do help yourself to another pie, Kilheron. My cook is one of the finest in London.”

This was the duke. They heard footsteps – presumably the young marquis – walking over to the buffet.

“Excellent. They really are most awfully good.”

Kilheron’s voice was high and thin.

Jem’s empty stomach made a small growling noise like a hungry kitten. He looked down guiltily.

“Never mind the food, Bellingdon. We are here to discuss the matter of London.” This was another voice. It was deep, dry and resonant. Jem thought of Lord Avebury. Tolly nodded.

The duke’s eager voice came again.

“Indeed, indeed. And so we shall, my lords.”

There was a cough and the duke added, “My lords
and
Alderman Pinchbeck… Now, I feel that perhaps Count Cazalon is the man who can best explain our business proposal.”

The children heard a rustling noise. It sounded as if someone was limping to the fireplace while dragging a swathe of material behind them.

“My dear friends,” the sing-song voice was unmistakeably Cazalon’s, “we are gathered here today because we love this great city.”

There was a murmur of assent.

“And we love our king, too, do we not?”

The murmur became a clamor of agreement.

“God save His Majesty,” called out Kilheron.

Cazalon continued. “Then what better service could we offer him than to embark on a project to create a great new city that is fit for our most gracious monarch?”

There was a moment of silence below, then Cazalon’s voice came again, “London has become a sewer, an abomination, a pit of squalor and pestilence. Only last year we carried the diseased bodies of our citizens from their houses and buried them, by the thousand, in lime pits beyond the walls.”

More murmurs of assent below. Jem shivered as he recalled the events of the previous summer, when plague had stalked the city, claiming victims wherever it found them. Old, young, rich, poor – all were equal in the shadow of the Great Sickness. Most of the duke’s household had moved out of London to Pridhow, the Bellingdon country estate in Herefordshire, but reports came daily of the suffering and horror.