Camille (2 page)

A wall of heavy trees loomed over the road,
nearly obliterating the light from the sky. Anybody or anything
could lurk unseen in the thick foliage. Tendrils of fog curled up
from the moist ground as our feet pounded the path. My ankle still
ached. I held tightly to Dr. Bennett’s hand so I would not stumble
again.

We raced along for a good fifteen minutes
following their footprints. But as the gravel ended, so did our
trail. “I’ve lost sight of them.” Dr. Bennett’s breath came in
heavy spurts leaving puffs of steam in the cold air. “No doubt,
they’re headed for Whitechapel.”

The warming glow of the gaslights lining
Whitechapel Road smoothed the gooseflesh on my arms. Suddenly we
were back amongst the living. During the day, the road was a throng
of shop owners, shoeblacks, and newsvendors. Horses and cabs
slammed over the uneven pavement with little regard for the poor
souls on foot.

In the middle of the night, when the visitors
retired to the safety of their homes, the road transformed into a
quiet canal of cobblestone and brick, lined on either side with a
rainbow of wavy shop windows. Up ahead, the towering white
silhouette of St. Mary’s steeple stood lonely in the midnight sky.
The street was far from deserted though.

We slowed our pace. Two men, enjoying
alternate pulls on a bitter smelling cigar, leaned in the doorway
of a vacant building. I yanked the hood of my cloak low over my
face as Dr. Bennett approached them. A young girl had no place on
the street after midnight unless she was a prostitute.

“I say, did you happen to see three young
lads run past here recently?” Dr. Bennett asked.

One of the men had a long scar across his
cheek. He squinted into the light to get a better look at the man
addressing him. Dr. Bennett, with his neatly trimmed moustache and
white-peppered beard, always appeared respectable. And for good
reason, he was. No one would ever guess he’d just shot a man in the
cemetery.

“Aye, three skinny ne’er-do-wells sprinted
past just now. Looked like trouble, they did. The tall one must
‘ave been in quite a brawl.”

“Yes, yes. Which way did you say they went?”
The strain of the night was getting to Dr. Bennett and his patience
grew thin.

“I didn’t say nothin’ about it.” The man’s
gaze dropped to the cage. “A bit strange seeing a grown man with a
caged cat. You planning to cook ‘im?” His unshaven cheeks wobbled
with laughter.

“About the three boys,” Dr. Bennett
continued. “Did you see where they went?”

The man turned his attention to me. I stared
down at my feet. Surely, the trousers looked strange hanging above
my petite, kidskin boots. We were, no doubt, a curious pair, out
for a stroll with our pet. But the drama of tonight’s adventure
left me aching with exhaustion. I reached into Dr. Bennett’s coat
pocket and fished out the expensive cigar he always had tucked
inside.

“Sir,” I said louder than I’d anticipated,
“we’re happy to part with this cigar, if you would be so kind as to
point us in the direction they ran.”

Dr. Bennett’s gaze followed the cigar as I
handed it to the eager man.

The man displayed a sparse row of yellowed
teeth as he motioned with his head. “They ran toward Buck’s Row.
There’s a hole in the wall down one of the back lanes where
scoundrels with a ‘eavy pocket can trade trinkets for sour ale and
bread.”

Dr. Bennett nodded politely, and we turned in
the direction they’d pointed. Our footsteps were slow and plodding
as we headed to Buck’s Row.

“Curse you, gravity. I think this cat needs a
few less bacon scraps.” Dr. Bennett switched the cage to his other
hand.

“Would you like me to carry the cage for
awhile?” I asked, but I really didn’t have the energy to lug the
heavy cat around town.

“No, I can manage. I’m going to miss that
cigar though.”

I’d been to Buck’s Row only once before and
in daylight. I shuddered thinking what it would be like at night.
In this area of London, the neighborhoods changed drastically with
a step in either direction. Sections of the streets were lined with
comfortable homes, glittering shops and street carts overflowing
with goods. Then there were the other sections, areas so wrought
with poverty and despair even the street lights refused to be
lit.

Loud voices and a badly tuned fiddle drew us
down a narrow lane. A man and a woman crouched on a front stoop
shared sips from a bottle of murky liquid. They eyed us greedily as
we crept past. Dr. Bennett’s hand went instinctively to the pistol
in his pocket. Further down, moans and grunts floated out from
behind a stack of broken crates. Dr. Bennett took hold of my arm
and urged me to move faster.

Prim, proper girl that I was, I twisted my
head back to catch a glimpse down the passage. Dr. Bennett yanked
me forward.

“There seems to be a great deal more activity
on this side of town.”

He dragged me toward the music and voices.
“I’ve raised an amusing girl with the vocabulary of a sailor who
gives away imported cigars to men who would be just as pleased
smoking a piece of dried fish rolled in parchment.”

“I believe it’s time to accept the loss of
the cigar, John. By now those two blokes are leaning over a tavern
table, puffing away as they recount their comical story about the
bookish man, his odd companion, and their balding cat.”

Loud laughter stopped us in front of a dimly
lit doorway. Dr. Bennett peered down at me. “Cami, keep your face
concealed and try not to be noticed. I need to see that boy’s leg
and find out more about him. He may be the perfect specimen for my
observations.”

I smiled and pulled my hood lower. “Always
the man of science. Here I thought you meant to help the lad.”

“Well¬¬-- naturally,” he stammered, “that
too.

The weak candlelight inside the public house
was more welcoming than I‘d expected. There were three, crudely
built tables lining the walls of the windowless drinking hole. At
least a dozen people were crammed into the place. We entered
unnoticed. In one corner, a man with a tattered patch over his eye
strummed an almost sweet sounding tune on a fiddle. It did not take
long to spot the two small boys from the cemetery. They were
wrestling over a pint pot. The liquid contents splashed over one of
the boy’s hands, and he quickly licked every drop from his grime
covered fingers.

Dr. Bennett and I shuffled to a bench in the
darkest corner of the room and sat down. He set Dutch’s cage on the
ground. The cat growled at the unfamiliar voices. A group of
scruffy looking patrons huddled around the counter, their attention
drawn to something.

A red haired woman stood in the center of the
room with her hands on her hips. “Come on now, Strider, you
promised a dance.” She directed her plea toward the group at the
counter. It was hard to tell her age. She could have been twenty or
forty. Poverty always seemed to blur the line between youth and
age. The cluster parted and revealed Dr. Bennett’s specimen perched
on a stool with a glittering ring on his smallest finger.

In the candlelight, his face was even more
striking than in the moonlight. He was pale and filthy, yet he
seemed out of place here. A faded seaman’s coat, no doubt stolen
from an unsuspecting corpse, stretched tightly over his broad
shoulders. He flashed a charming smile to the girl. “Give me time,
sweet’eart. I’m still catching my breath.”

Suddenly, another girl came out of the
shadows and shoved the first girl to the floor. “I don’t think so,
you rotten smellin’ cow.” She stepped over her sprawled victim and
jumped into Strider’s lap.

The impact nearly pitched Strider and the
stool over, but he caught himself and the girl. The first girl
pushed herself to her feet, spitting obscenities as she brushed off
her greasy skirt. She marched toward the couple, but he put up a
hand to stop her.

Strider shifted the girl he was holding to
one side and held out his free arm. “Now you know I’ve arms enough
for the both of you.” The angry girl’s shoulders relaxed, and she
flew to his side.

“How’s that fair, Strider?” The question came
from a thin man in a badly patched pair of trousers. “The rest of
us are standing ‘ere without any sugar, and you’ve got both hands
filled with honey.”

Strider shrugged, a crooked smile inched up
one cheek. “If life were fair, Jack, I’d be sitting inside a fancy
townhouse in Grosvenor Square instead of this place.” He squeezed
the girls closer as they showered his face, ears, and neck with
kisses.

I rolled my eyes. “Swaggering coxcomb. For a
lowly thief who robs from dead people, he’s sure full of bluster.”
The words spurted from the corner of my mouth. Dr. Bennett elbowed
me into silence.

The fiddler strummed a brisk tune, and a few
of the patrons danced across the rough floor. The red head jumped
up. “Let’s dance, Strider.”

The other girl chimed in with the same
request and shoved the redhead hard in the stomach.

I sat forward. “This is far more entertaining
than I’d expected.”

Strider pushed them off his lap abruptly.
“Tell you what, ladies, why don’t you dance with Jack and Henry
over there.” He reached down and rubbed his leg. “I’m not really
fit for dancing tonight.” The light was dim, but I could see that
the shredded leg of his trousers was black with blood.

Dr. Bennett leaned his head toward mine. “I’m
going to order some drink to see if I can get a closer look at that
leg.” Several of the more shifty looking customers were eyeing us
now. “Perhaps, you should come with me,” he added.

“My very thought.”

Dr. Bennett picked up the cage and headed
toward the man serving ale. Our shoes crunched on the filth
littering the floor. Several bloodshot stares followed our
steps.

“We don’t allow no animals in here. This is a
respectable place,” the barkeep grunted from behind the
counter.

Dr. Bennett tossed five shillings on the
counter. The clang of coins brought everyone to attention. “Do you
have something besides the ale? A bottle of good whiskey
perhaps?”

The barkeep’s eyes nearly popped from his
face as he eyed the money. His gaze shot to Dr. Bennett’s face and
back to the five shilling gleaming in the candle light. “I’ve a
bottle of whiskey in the back.” He leaned forward to sweep away the
coins, but Dr. Bennett covered them with his gloved hand.

“They are yours,” Dr. Bennett said, “as soon
as you return with the bottle.”

While Dr. Bennett bartered with the man, I
peeked at Strider from under the lowered edge of my hood. His eyes
were on me! Like a scared turtle, I pulled my face back into the
shadows of my cloak. It was the shortest moment in time, but our
eyes had locked for an instant, and I found myself wanting to look
at him again. But I dared not attempt it.

“What happened to your leg, lad? You may need
to see a surgeon.” Dr. Bennett’s voice was muffled by the heavy
wool around my ears, and I fought the urge to push the hood off my
head.

“Don’t trouble yourself about it, old man.
But if a surgeon shows up in this flash house, I’ll be sure to ask
‘im his opinion.” His voice was edged with the pain he was no doubt
suffering.

I braved another glance at him. He stared at
the ring on his pinky now. It was hard to tell whether he was
contemplating his sordid deed or the worth of his prize. I studied
his profile. It may have been the long sweep of his lashes, but it
seemed that life in the underworld had not completely erased his
innocence. He could not have been more than eighteen. Two curved
lines framed the corner of his lips changing him from somber to
roguish with the slightest movement of his mouth. He dropped the
stolen band on the counter. It spun like a top before he caught it
back up in his fist. He held tightly onto it not realizing that the
thin circle of gold may very well have bought him an early grave.
And suddenly following him here seemed a terrible mistake. I knew
from experience that it was much easier to hunt prey that you have
not met personally … or loved.

The barkeep returned with a dust encrusted
bottle. He blew the dirt and cobwebs off the label and held it
close to a lantern on the wall. “Tis the finest bottle of spirits
I’ve got.” He licked his lips greedily as he eyed the coins on the
counter.

Dr. Bennett pushed the money toward him and
took hold of the bottle. I grew curious about his purchase. I knew
he rarely drank, and if he did, it was port not whiskey. He pushed
the bottle toward the boy. “This might help.”

The lad made no move toward the bottle at
first. He stared at Dr. Bennett suspiciously and then attempted to
get a better look at me as I hid behind my friend’s back. I inched
further out of his view.

“My name is Dr. Bennett.” His hand shot
forward.

The boy hesitated before returning the
handshake. “They call me Strider.” Once again he tried to get a
look at me. Then he stared down at Dutch. “Most respectable
physicians carry a leather satchel. But then we don’t see too many
respectable physicians in this part of town.”

“Cat or no cat, I know a bit about medicine.
And if you don’t douse that leg with some potent alcohol, you’ll be
learning to live without it soon.”

There was no cynical response this time. I
peered over Dr. Bennett’s shoulder and watched as Strider grabbed
the bottle off the counter and opened it. Using the end of his
dingy coat, he wiped the dust from the opening and raised the
bottle in a silent toast before taking two hearty swigs as if he
drank water. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and
bent down to pull up the leg of his trouser. Dr. Bennett had
figured the perfect way to get the thief to show him his wound and
help keep it from infection.