The Tiger in the Well (22 page)

After the fish, a saddle of lamb, cut up small for the mon

r ^

key's paws, with vegetables similarly treated; and then some melon; and then a Scotch woodcock—anchovies and scrambled eggs on toast. The monkey ate a mouthful or two of everything but the anchovies.

After the meal, a glass of port, and some nuts cracked by the valet and delivered by the monkey; and then Mr. Lee said, "Enough. Take me to the drawing room."

Miranda heard, and leaped from the table at once, clinging to his lapels; and then remembered the apple, sprang back to fetch it, and came back to his bosom, where she nestled, chewing and nibbling fiercely as the valet wheeled the chair out and into the drawing room. When he was positioned at a comfortable distance from the fire, when coffee and brandy had been poured, when the monkey was curled up asleep in his waistcoat, Mr. Lee spoke again.

"You may show the secretary in," he said, his soft voice rumbling and making the monkey click her tongue in her sleep.

The valet bowed and left, and a minute later came back with a tall man whose blond hair was cut short and brushed upward in the Prussian style. He put down a briefcase beside him, clicked his heels, and bowed slightly.

"Welcome back, Mr. Lee," he said. "I hope you had a good journey."

"Good evening, Winterhalter. Yes, thank you, it was enjoyable. Please sit down."

Coffee and brandy were offered, coffee was accepted, and the valet withdrew.

The strange voice had wakened the monkey, which now sat on Mr. Lee's shoulder, darting glances of hatred at the visitor. He took no notice; he sat upright, occasionally, at Mr. Lee's request, lifting the coffee cup or the brandy glass to his employer's lips. The monkey watched his hand every inch of the way.

"Well now, Winterhalter. How much has Parrish collected for me.^"' said Mr. Lee.

"IVe banked seven thousand eight hundred and forty-six pounds, seven shillings and threepence since your last visit, Mr. Lee. That's in addition to the proceeds from the sale of the white goods to Argentina, which came to three thousand four hundred pounds. That's eleven thousand two hundred and forty-six pounds, seven and threepence. Expenses are a little higher this quarter, mainly on account of the police. Mr. Parrish's contact. Inspector Allen, has been unfortunately removed from his duties, and—"

"He won't talk, I take it."

"We have taken care of that, sir."

Mr. Lee nodded. "Good," said the invalid. "Good. Now to other business. I had a useful journey to Russia. The possibilities are enormous, and I have begun to organize already. I am pleased with the application shown by this man Parrish. I am going to reward him with more responsibility. By the way, is his domestic matter proceeding well.^"

"There was a favorable judgment in the court only yesterday, Mr. Lee. Favorable to Mr. Parrish, that is. The matter should be resolved any time now. Oh—^we have acquired this."

He reached into the briefcase and took out something small and soft. The monkey hissed with hatred, and Mr. Lee chit-tered softly until she calmed down. Winterhalter set the object up beside the lamp. Harriet would have recognized it; it was her woolly bear, Bruin.

"Ah," said Mr. Lee. "We shall put that in a safe place. Miranda is jealous. Excellent work, Winterhalter. Excellent. Now, the Russian business. Attend closely, if you will, and feel free to take notes. It is a complex matter."

The secretary flicked open a notebook, took out his silver pencil, and sat up attentively. The monkey caught the glint of silver; its hard black eyes followed every movement as the two men talked. It sprang from the armchair to the carpet, to the curtains, to the mantelpiece, never still for a moment. In the red firelight, it looked like an imp playing in the pal-

ace of the Prince of Darkness. Once it sprang up next to the woolly bear, but Mr. Lee growled and Winterhalter lifted the toy out of its reach, for all the world as though they were saving it for later.

Playing with Blocks

When Sally awoke she could hear voices and foot-steps and the sounds of a busy house going on around her. She had no idea what time it was. Harriet was fast asleep and still dry. Sally lay for a minute or so, collecting herself, and then got up and drew the thin curtains. There was a church tower at the end of the narrow street, and the clock said ten to eight.

She woke Harriet and washed and dressed her, and they went downstairs and found their way to the kitchen, which seemed to be the center of the house's life. Dr. Turner was there, eating breakfast at a large table with six or seven other women in various stages of shabbiness. The maid who'd let her in the night before was cooking eggs at a range. Mary, the woman with the cut on her head, was not there. Dr. Turner looked up and greeted her.

"Ah! Miss Lockhart! Come and have some brekker. There's porridge and toast and there's some tea in the pot and— hello! What's your name.?"

Harriet was introduced, and they sat down. The other women looked at them curiously, but only for a moment or so. There was a democracy here that Sally was comfortable with: it reminded her of the old days in Burton Street. As they ate the watery porridge and the burned toast. Dr. Tumer quietly explained a little more about the place.

"Miss Robbins inherited a lot of money from her family's firm—they make chocolate, I think, or cocoa or something— and set up the mission five years ago to spread progressive

ideas through the East End—you know, sociaHsm, secularism, what have you. Soon found out that that wasn't what they needed just yet. So she turned it into a shelter. A place for women to go when they've got nowhere else. As for me, I was going to be a missionary in Africa, would you believe. But I heard about Miss Robbins and came here to have a look, and here I still am. Not sure about God anymore. Think he's turned his back. We've got to look after bodies, you know. Souls can take care of themselves. But this woman needs medicine now, and then she might be alive next week, and she can think about her soul then. Or that child: he needs shelter tonight before his father kills him. When he's learned to trust an adult for more than a minute at a time, then someone can tell him about Jesus. Waste of time till then. That's what I think, anyway. Of course, this is a drop in the ocean. We don't do much good in comparison to what there is to be done. There are thousands, thousands out there starving and ..." She fell silent, and then shrugged. "You'll find Miss Robbins's bark pretty fearsome," she went on, "but she's fair. Don't give her cause to bite you, though, or you'll lose a limb. I think she said she had a job for you this morning. If you want to leave Harriet here, she'll be perfectly safe. I don't know what your situation is, but she'll be all right with us."

Sally had a hundred qualms about leaving Harriet. While Parrish was still hunting for her, she didn't want to let the child out of her sight. On the other hand, having seen Dr. Turner at work, she'd trust her with her life. If anywhere was safe, she decided, the Spitalfields Social Mission was; and it was time she began to pay them back for their hospitality.

An hour later, having settled Harriet with Susan the maid, Sally was walking with Miss Robbins down toward Wapping. She seized the chance to ask about Mr. Katz.

"Mr. Katz is a friend of the mission. He's helped many refugees—^Jewish mostly, of course. He's a clockmaker by

trade. His own house is full just now, or I daresay he would have taken you there."

"But how did he know about me?"

"I don't know. He has many acquaintances among the socialist groups in London."

"He said there was a friend we had in common. But I can't think who it might be."

"Nor can I," said Miss Robbins. "You will have to ask him. Now, about this problem. There's a woman down in Rowley Court. We helped her last year when her husband was ill-treating her. He was out of work. It's got better now; he's got a job and he doesn't drink so much. We keep records, you see. Need sorting. Job for you. But she remembered us and came to ask for help. Here we are—on the left. Keep your skirt clear of the ground, I should."

She folded the street map she was consulting and turned into a dark alley. It was a clear, cold day, but as Sally followed her between the high brick walls she felt as if she'd left the sky behind forever and would never smell fresh air again.

She gasped at the stench and held her sleeve across her face. It was more than a stench—it was an invisible being that leaped at her and almost tangibly forced her backward. As they rounded the corner into the court she saw what was causing it. The privy in the court, the only one between all eight dwellings, was blocked and overflowing; the stones on the floor of the court were covered with a lake of sewage. A child squatted on one of the house steps, naked from the waist down. She was hardly bigger than Harriet, though her pinched face was like an elderly monkey's.

"Ma!" she shrieked when she saw the visitors, and vanished on dung-spattered feet.

"Hitch your skirt up under your belt. Never mind your boots—they can be cleaned. Don't waste time feeling sick. Take notes. That's what you're here for," said Miss Robbins.

Sally fumbled at the skirts of her coat, doing as Miss

Robbins had advised, and then took out her notebook and pencil.

"Miss Robbins—you see how it is?" said the woman who came to the door. "It's been like this three weeks now, miss. We asked the landlord, and he says it's nothing to do with him, it's the water board. Only I dunno where to go, miss, nor what to say or nothing. ..."

She was hollow-cheeked and thin, and under one eye was a livid bruise. Her clothes were hardly clean, but they showed evidence of careful mending, and there was a spark of live-Hness in her eyes still.

Sally was finding it difficult to avoid being sick. That anyone could stay for more than a few minutes in this noxious atmosphere, far less live in it, was incredible, yet here people were. She concentrated hard, taking down the woman's words, trying not to breathe.

Then Miss Robbins insisted on an inspection of the privy itself.

"No good complaining if I don't know what I'm complaining about," she said. "We want facts, the more of 'em the better. Can you remember the date it became blocked.^ And what you did, and when you spoke to the landlord.?"

She quizzed the woman thoroughly. When she'd found out all she wanted to know about that topic, she touched the woman's bruised cheek and said, "How did you come by that, Martha.?"

"Oh—I fell in the dark and hit it on the stair rail, miss. Honest. The candle blew out, and I couldn't be bothered to go back for the matches."

"Is your husband still working.?"

"Yes, miss."

"How much does he bring home.?"

"Nineteen shillings last week, miss. Twenty the week before."

"And you manage on that.?"

"Just about, miss. We're better off than some. I'm up to date with the rent, and that's a great thing, miss."

"Indeed. One might think that the landlord would agree. And your children, how are they.'"'

"Fit as fleas, miss. You'd think this'd make 'em ill, but they're all right so far. But there's typhoid just along the street. Just two courts down. It won't take long to get here, and once it's in the court ..."

"Very well. Leave it to me. I'll see that something gets done. By the bye, if your husband hits you again, you will let me know, I hope.'"'

"Course I will, miss," she said in a subdued voice.

They said good-bye and left. Sally felt pale and found herself damp with the effort of controlling her urge to vomit. Miss Robbins uncapped a bottle of smelling salts and passed it to her without a word; the stinging shock helped Sally recover a little.

"I hope you took notes of everything," she said. "You can write it up for me later, but we'll need it before then. Come along."

She led Sally briskly under the arches of the London and Blackwall Railway and up Leman Street toward Whitechapel. It was shabby here, but at least the air was clear of that stench, though it bore traces of others: a sickly heaviness from the sugar refinery on the left, a choking whiff of smoke from the animal charcoal works a street or two away on the other side.

In Colchester Street, Miss Robbins scanned the brass plates by the doors until she found the one she wanted, and then walked straight in without knocking. Sally followed, notebook ready.

A fat man in an office was making entries in a ledger, while a thin man was counting out coins on a table.

"Cooper.'"' said Miss Robbins. "Are you responsible for the rents in Rowley Court.'^"

"I beg your pardon.'"' said the fat man. The other man stopped counting, hand in midair.

"The drain is blocked in Rowley Court. The tenants complained to you on . . ."

"The twenty-fifth of last month," said Sally.

". . . and you have done nothing. The place is now in an atrocious condition. Have you referred the matter to the Metropolitan Water Board.'*"

"I may have done, yes. But I fail to see—"

"By letter.'' May I see a copy.?"

"No, you may not. How dare you come in here and demand—"

"How dare you expose your tenants to disease and filth.? How dare you allow children to remain in conditions like that.? How dare you take rent from people while doing nothing to remedy that appalling state of affairs.? How long d'you think it'll be before typhoid arrives.? Or cholera.? I'm glad to have met you, Cooper. I shall know you again."

"Please, please, just a minute, madam—let me explain. They're not my properties; I'm only the agent. I did pass on the tenants' observations to the owner, madam—that would be directly after I became aware of the problem—but more than that is not within our competence. It's the water board's responsibility entirely, and what Mr.—I mean, what the landlord has done with regard to the, to informing the, er, the water board, I couldn't say."

"Who is the owner.?"

"Ah, well, that's a company, madam, not so much an individual."

'The name.?"

He made a pretense of checking it inside a ledger, though he must have known it as well as his own face in a mirror.