The Mermaid in the Basement (28 page)

The guard named Billy was as thin as the first guard was thick. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Come on, then,” to Dora. She followed him down the hallways, frightened by the feral expressions on the faces of the prisoners. Many of them were in cells with no windows whatsoever, and they stared at her as she walked by.

“You got a visitor, Newton.”

The guard pulled the ring of keys from his belt, fitted one of them into the lock, and slung it open. “You sing out when you’re ready to go.”

“Thank you,” Dora whispered. She stepped inside, and Clive came toward her.

“Dora!” It broke Dora’s heart to see how he had changed. He had always been a happy-go-lucky, cheerful young man, but now his face was strained and his eyes seemed sunken into his head. She was carrying the bundles, and when he came to her, he put his arms around her and held her with the bundles between them. “I’m so glad to see you, Dora!”

Dora felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. She determined to be cheerful on her visit, and she said, “Here, you’ll muss up the goodies I’ve brought to you.”

Clive stepped back, and she saw that he was wearing clean clothes and was glad of that. The cell itself was spotlessly clean, and she saw a table for the parcels. “Come and see what I brought you.”

Clive came to stand beside her as she unpacked the items from the sacks. “A kidney pie just like you always liked and a whole sackful of fairy cakes.” She named off the items as she lifted them out and then said, “I also brought you a new book by Mr. Dickens. Everyone says it’s very amusing.”

“Thank you, Dora.” Clive was standing there, and she noted that he had lost weight. She could see it in the hollow places in his cheeks and in how his clothes seemed to hang on him in a way that he never would have allowed when he had been free.

“I wish I could make you some tea, but you can eat something.”

“All right.” Clive sat down on the cot and watched as Dora busied herself fixing a plate for him. She talked cheerfully, but he saw the sorrow that was in her eyes, and when she came over and handed him the plate, he pulled her down on the cot. “Sit down beside me while I eat and tell me what you’ve been doing and how the family all are.”

Dora felt a lump in her throat, but she put on a good face and forged ahead. She told him of the little things that made up her life, including stories of what David was doing and how the horses were. Clive merely nibbled at the food.

“Aren’t you hungry, dear?” she asked.

“They brought our dinner not long ago. If I had known this was coming, I wouldn’t have eaten it. But this will keep.”

“Is the food very bad?”

“Not as good as Nessa’s,” Clive said, and a travesty of a smile touched his lips. “I don’t think I ever realised how much we owe to Nessa. She’s the best cook in the world, and I took it all for granted.” He sighed suddenly and shook his head with a slight motion that was filled with sadness. “I took so many things for granted.When I get out of here, it will be different.”

“Yes, it will,” she said. She quickly kept the conversation going, aware that Clive was watching her intently. She was not good at covering up her feelings, and finally he interrupted her by saying, “What’s wrong, Dora?”

“I—I’ve just been worried about you.”

“But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Dora had not intended to add to Clive’s burden, but he questioned her gently and reached over and took her hand, and finally she said, “It’s that man that I can’t stand.”

“You mean Aaron Digby?”

“Yes. He—he’s courting me, Clive, and Aunt Bertha’s insisting that I need to be nice to him.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her. She’s the world’s greatest busybody.”

“I don’t like him, Clive.”

“Dora,” he said and put his other hand over hers so that he held her small hands between his larger ones. “I’ve ruined my life. I don’t want you to ruin yours.”

“I’m afraid, Clive.”

He squeezed her hands, then removed one of his and put it around her shoulders. “I am, too, Dora. I’ve done nothing but think about how mean and useless my life has been.”

“That’s not so!”

“I can’t think of any kindness I ever did anybody. I’ve been so blasted selfish—so caught up with myself.”His words were bitter, and he seemed to shrink inside himself, looking down at the cold stones of the floor.

“That’s not true. You are a good brother to me, Clive. Think how many things you did for me when I was a child.”

“I can’t think of any.”

“Yes, you can.” She put her hands over his now and squeezed them.

“You remember you always let me ride your pony? You wouldn’t let anybody else touch it.”

The memory stirred in Clive, and he said,“That’s the sum total of my righteousness and my good deeds, I suppose.”

“No, it’s not. You remember how you used to take me out to find birds’ eggs?”

Clive smiled then, and his eyes lit up. “I’d almost forgotten that.We climbed some tall trees, didn’t we, to find those birds’ eggs! Do you still have that collection?”

“Yes. Of course, it’s still not complete.”

A sadness swept across Clive’s face, and he murmured, “You know, Dora, it’s hard to believe that there was a time when the most important thing in life was to find a nightingale’s egg.”

The two sat there, and Dora yearned to simply throw her arms around him and cling to him. She wanted to weep, but she knew he had burdens enough without that. She stayed until finally the guard came down and said, “Time to go, miss.”

Quickly Dora rose, and Clive put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for coming, Sister.”

“I’ll come back,” she said. She left the cell, and she was aware now that the rain, which had started some time ago, was falling harder.When she descended to the main floor and went into the entry room, she saw that the rain was falling in slanting sheets, a regular downpour.

“You can’t go out in that, miss,” the burly guard said. “You’d better wait for it to slack off.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“You can sit over there on that bench.”

Dora sat down, and the rain that fell was grey and grim and struck the earth with force. The downpour so burdened her spirit that she lowered her head and would not look up.

Grant had come to the jail to get information from one of the prisoners. He had found the man unwilling to talk and had stayed for some time, trying persuasion and then threats. Finally he saw that he was getting nowhere, and he said sourly, “You’re going down for this one, Johnson. All you have to do is tell me who masterminded it, and I’ll see you’re taken care of.”

“I ain’t no squealer.”

“No, you’re very noble and all that.” Grant got up and called for the jailer. When the door opened, he left in a bitter frame of mind. His job required him to be with the worst of London’s population. He had spent his life with the grimy side of the city, where virtue and charm were almost nonexistent.

He passed down the hall, thanked the guard, and was about to leave when he caught sight of a woman sitting on the bench. He was slightly shocked when he realised it was Dora Newton. He paused to study her and was struck by the sadness of her face. She was looking down. She had on a hat with a wide brim, but he could see enough of her face to know that she was devastated. For a moment Grant hesitated, then an impulse took him that he could not explain. He moved quickly across to her and said, “Well, the rain’s pretty bad, isn’t it, Miss Newton?” He saw her look up. There was a half-frightened look on her face. She reminded him, in that instant, of a frightened deer that he had once seen, a doe with a fawn. He had come upon them, taken them by surprise, and he had never forgotten that look in the beautiful eyes of the doe.

“Inspector Grant, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Can I get you a carriage?”

“No, thank you, Inspector. I’m just waiting until the rain slackens a little bit. My carriage is just down the street.”

“Well, you don’t need to sit here. That rain might be coming down for quite a while.” The impulse grew stronger in Grant, and he said, “Come along.”

“Where?” Dora asked, giving him a startled look.

“To a room where you can have a little more privacy.”

Dora rose and followed him as he walked through a door and down a hallway. He opened another door and said, “Come in,Miss Newton.”

Dora entered and saw that it was a rather well-furnished room with tables, chairs, and best of all, a kettle on a gas fire.

“We sometimes take a little refreshment in here when we need to talk to one of the inmates. Look, let me make you some tea.”

Dora whispered, “Thank you.”

Grant made the tea with quick, efficient movements. He poured it into the kettle to steep, got two cups from the shelf on the wall, and said, “There. I’m not much of a cook, but I suppose anybody can make tea.”

Dora said nothing. She was intimidated by Grant, and he knew it. It was something he was used to. Part of his job was to intimidate people, and he did it very well. He wondered now at himself as he looked at the young woman. He was not known for his softness, but he saw something in the young woman that stirred an old memory of some kind. He could not put his finger on it, but he had seen a young woman like this somewhere who had touched his heart. He tried to think of it, and finally it came to him. She had been a young girl, no older than Dora Newton, whose mother had committed suicide. Grant had been there to investigate, and the helplessness of the girl had touched even his hard spirit, and he had done his best to comfort her.

The tea was ready, and he poured it, saying, “How is your brother, Miss Newton?”

She took the cup and held it, and when she looked at him, he saw the sorrow and the grief that had marred her smooth features. Her dress was simple, well chosen, and he could not help but note the clean-running physical lines of the young woman. She seemed as thoroughly alone as if there were no other being alive on the planet. He had often seen this on the faces of those who came to visit family members sealed up in this prison.He studied her face as she drank her tea. He had noted before that she had a quality he could not name. It had something to do with the gravity that comes when someone has seen too much or has been given too much to bear—a shadow of a hidden sadness. There was a fragility about Dora Newton that pulled at Grant.Hardened as he was to most things, from time to time, he felt a love for fragile, beautiful things that he never spoke of to anyone.He had a few ceramics that he took out and examined from time to time, and this young woman had some of the same grace and beauty.

Dora lifted her eyes and whispered, “He’s very well, thank you, Inspector.”

“I know you and your family are worried about him, Miss Newton.” He hesitated and tried to think of something to comfort her, but the man they had in the cell would soon be on trial for his life. A man, Grant knew, who had little chance of hearing a good verdict.

“Do you think there’s any chance my brother will be found innocent?”

Grant ordinarily would have blurted out a resounding “Of course not,” but he found he could not do that with this young woman. His mind raced as he tried to think of an appropriate reply that might give some comfort, and finally he said, with as much as force as he could muster, “I’ve seen men who came out well in situations like this.”This was not altogether true, but Grant had seen a few instances. Grant found himself wishing that this would be one of them.

The two sat there quietly, and he inquired after her family. She was surprised at his interest, surprised indeed that he had stopped to talk to her and that he had shown a kindness. It did not show in his rugged features or in the determined quality of his eyes or the tightness of his mouth. The kindness caught her off guard, and she found herself warming to him. Finally she looked out the window and said, “I think it’s slackened now.”

“Yes, it has. I’ll take you to your carriage.” The two went out, and as they did, he picked up an umbrella from a stand. He opened the door, and when she stepped out, he opened the umbrella and put it over her.

“Which way is your carriage?”

“That’s it down there.”

The two moved out into the rain. It had almost stopped, but it was still enough to ruin Dora’s hat, so Grant kept the umbrella over her in a protective gesture. As they moved, he was aware that she was touching him, leaning against him slightly as if for protection. In another kind of woman he would have taken this as an invitation, but one glance at her face, and he knew that she was totally unconscious of the touch. She was the kind of woman Grant did not see often, and he knew that to her he was like an exotic specimen found in a museum.When they reached the carriage, he opened the door, and the coachman looked down. “Are you all right,Miss Dora?”

“Yes, thank you, Albert.”

Grant helped her into the coach and then closed the door. Suddenly she turned and held her hand out, whispering, “Thank you so much, Inspector Grant.” He had one hand free, and as he reached out awkwardly, he felt the fineness of her bones and the grace of her hand. For one moment he had the absurd impulse to bend over and kiss it. He had never done such a thing in his life, and he was stunned at his own thoughts. “Good day,Miss Newton.”