Elijah’s Mermaid (34 page)

‘Look!’ I pointed down at the papers. ‘I am no longer so innocent, and if you won’t take me, I’ll go alone. I’ll find this place and . . .’

I broke off to watch Samuel Beresford gathering the fallen pages up and placing them on the tabletop – and he may well have glanced at those pictures of Pearl, and he may have read some of Elijah’s words, for his cheeks had bloomed with spots of red and he gave an awkward sort of cough before saying, ‘Freddie, if you genuinely fear some blackmailing plot, then I think you should tell the constabulary.’

‘You might think so.’ Freddie offered his friend a tight forced smile. ‘But I have my reputation to think of, and that of the business too . . . and everyone in my employ, not to mention the names of Elijah and Lily. I prefer to keep this matter discreet, which is why I shall visit this house today and
if
Lily persists I shall take her too. In the meantime, Sam, would you be so kind as to wait here until our return? If we are not back by eight o’clock then, by all means, I give you my blessing to inform every constable in town.’

The last time I’d been that near to Cremorne, it was summer, we’d made our trip on the river, with Elijah and Papa and—

This time, it was bitterly cold. Sitting in the carriage at Freddie’s side, I hugged my arms to my breasts for warmth. I leaned very hard against the door, and despite the fact that a draught blew in I preferred to endure such discomfort as that than to find myself pressed too close to the man of whom I had grown so suspicious; confused as to precisely what and who our Uncle Freddie really was. At least he did not think to light a cigar, though I’m sure the prospect entered his mind, as he automatically pushed a hand into his overcoat pocket, drawing out the silver box in which the offending items were kept. But after a rapid glance at me the container was swiftly put away. From that point on Freddie twiddled his fingers, exhaling the weary sighs of a martyr. His breaths created a fug all their own, the air in that cab become just as dense as the mists of rain that hung outside, above which the clouds were thick and low, almost engulfing the roofs of the houses, sucking up grey plumes of smoke which rose from most of the chimney stacks. A sleety rain glistened over iced pavements which shone in the glow of the carriage lamps, and the gutters that lined the sides of the road bubbled with froths of marbled slime.

It seemed to me that all of London was made of nothing but water and ice when I stood next to Freddie beneath an umbrella, as he tugged on a bell affixed to a wall, set next to some gates where a polished brass plate was engraved with the curling letters that spelled out the name of our destination:
The House of the Mermaids
.

My eyes squinted up to the top of a wall in which jagged shards of glass were stuck, beyond which the paint at the windows was peeling, and windows were draped with more grime than lace. I imagined a spider lurking there, hiding in dark dusty corners, luring innocent flies to its web. But all such reflections were soon interrupted when we heard the running
patter of feet and then the sound of a key in the gate. And when that barrier opened up, a maid greeted us from the other side.

In late middle age, she was very plain, dressed in immaculate black and white, and needing no umbrella herself, being sheltered by the canopy that covered the path all the way to the door. A swift bob and she asked us to follow, to enter a hall where the milky sheen of black and white tiles was soon to be marred by our muddy feet. And, yes, I was more than nervous by then, beginning to question the sense of the visit, and wondering up
what
garden path Freddie and I were being led.

Freddie set his umbrella down and while he was shrugging off his coat the maid reached out to take my cloak, both of those items soon hanging damp on the large brass hooks of a chiffonier, all marble and mirrors, as grand as an altar, upon which she also placed our hats, while glancing back over her shoulder to say, ‘You’re late. The appointment was made for three.’

‘We were delayed by the weather.’ Freddie’s answer was equally abrupt.

‘Tell me about it!’ She raised her eyes to imaginary heavens. ‘As if business isn’t bad enough.’

‘I told you. They’re after money.’ Freddie was muttering under his breath.

I didn’t dare to meet his eye or I might well have turned on my heel and run, instead of which I followed the clicking of the maid’s as she led us both across the hall, around which many candles had been lit, exuding a pungent aroma which mingled with that of the fragrant white lilies arranged in a vase of crystal glass, the smells you might find in any church.

We were led into a reception room, anything but religious in tone. On the walls either side of the double doors, which creaked behind us like rusty jaws, were a pair of wooden mastheads, each one a bare-breasted mermaid. On top of a pianoforte where the ivories were cracked or stained there was a white cockatoo in a cage, though those gold metal bars were no longer needed to contain what was clearly stuffed within. There
were Chinese screens, and carvings of jade, and glass epergnes placed upon lacquered tables, and one of those tables was set for tea. The pot’s silver was burnished and shone like a mirror, reflecting the tiny embroidered glass circles that glinted in spangled throws around, all the reds and greens and purples and golds that were draped over many low divans. On closer inspection those fabrics were worn, here and there frayed away into little holes. Behind them the walls were panelled in wood that extended from skirting to dado rail, and much of that veneer was chipped but, oh, to see what lay between the dado and the ceiling’s cove – what transported me to another world; a vision of sand and coral and weeds that swayed round the limbs of the half-drowned men embraced in the arms of their fishy loves, bound for the whole of eternity in the flowing ropes of those mermaids’ hair.

Lowering my gaze from that sensual scene, I tried to concentrate instead on the jewel-like colours in Turkish rugs which were scattered most everywhere over the boards, and only looking up again when Freddie swept past me to sit himself down. His long legs were crossed, and his face very strained as he stared straight ahead at some more double doors – just then beginning to open up. The slight whine of hinges, the rustle of silk, and a sight which caused me to gasp out loud, for I had seen that vision before; the black-veiled woman in Cremorne. Now, she emerged like a chrysalis from the clear cocoon of glassy light of the orangery spreading wide behind, in which more candles were flickering as if dancing along with the patter of rain, the rushing of silver rivulets that streaked over transparent ceiling and walls. A magical fairy grotto it seemed, with statues and fountains and palms and ferns, and the smell of vanilla – like Freddie’s cigars – which caught in my throat and made me cough, and I lifted a hand to one side of my head where I felt a sudden stabbing pain.

Somewhere else in the house, a clock chimed the half-hour. The woman closed the double doors and stepped farther into the mermaid room. From top to toe she still wore black, and
through the gauze that hung over her face not a hint of her features could be glimpsed. I wondered whether she could see us at all – me being half frightened out of my wits, and Freddie like a wooden doll popping in and out of a weather clock, for no sooner was he sitting down than he was standing up again, extending a hand in greeting, though with very little enthusiasm.

Our hostess ignored his gesture, remaining entirely motionless, her arms held rigid at her sides. ‘Mr Hall . . .’ Another step closer. ‘It has been many years since we met, and yet I see you are hardly changed.’ Her voice was husky, thick with French accent.

‘Mrs Hibbert.’ He pronounced her name ‘eebair’, and his voice was measured but also curt. ‘I might very well say the same of you . . . if only you removed those veils.’

She laughed; a throaty chuckling sound. ‘I doubt you would think the years so kind if you saw what lay beneath this disguise.’

It was then I had a ghastly thought, wondering if she wore those veils because of scratches on her face – like those that had scarred the flower girl. Or could she somehow be deformed? There was surely a monster’s soul inside, to have thought to sell Pearl to Osborne Black when she was barely more than a child.

Freddie did not seem to care, lacking his usual vivacity, only offering the weary response, ‘Some of us are older and wiser now. Having been bitten we are twice shy.’

What history did he have with this woman? What would I learn about him next? While I pondered that, he spoke again. ‘I don’t know what game you are playing, madam, but we have only come here today in the hope of some news of Elijah Lamb. Or was that correspondence of yours no more than a tantalising lie? Pray do tell. We are all ears!’

His stance was too rigid, his tone too aggressive. I found myself crying, ‘Please, Uncle Freddie. We must wait to hear what Mrs Hibbert says.’

‘Uncle?’ Mrs Hibbert echoed me, that word said in barely a
whisper, after which I heard a long, deep sigh, saw the tremble of muslin, which shifted out before being sucked to her lips again.

‘Not a real uncle,’ I quickly explained. ‘Freddie is a family friend. He is helping me to look for Elijah . . . Elijah Lamb . . . my brother . . . my twin. I beg you to tell us whatever you know . . . whatever it is, however small.’

While I pleaded and struggled to hold back the tears, Freddie harrumphed, sitting back down, flicking some speck of imaginary lint from the pristine grey cloth of his jacket sleeve, during which Mrs Hibbert came near to my side, not sitting but reaching out with her hand, silk fingers gently caressing my hair. A strange thing that was, and a strange thing that I did not recoil when, really, I should have felt disgust at the touch of that black widow spider. But all I could do was to gaze back up, still trying to see through the layers of gauze, attentive to every silky word when she spoke more softly than before. ‘You must not fret. We know exactly where he is. Elijah Lamb is safe . . . for now.’

For now?
Alarm bells were ringing in my mind. ‘What do you mean . . . for now?’

‘Do not be distressed, ma chère. You will see him very soon. So long as . . .’ Again, her words broke off, interrupted now by another voice, from the man who came in through the hallway doors where, as they slowly creaked behind, I saw right through to another room that was set on the opposite side of the house. No mermaids to adorn those walls, but there was an enormous mahogany desk with more drawers and doors than you could count, and rows of elaborate shelves on top. What a mess it looked to be, with papers scattered everywhere or crumpled in piles on the floor round about. Truly, you’d think a bomb had gone off. But when the doors had closed again my concentration was wholly fixed on the lilting voice and flashy garb of the man I had chased to the marketplace. He wore a purple silk cravat, below which there gleamed a large brass key that dangled from a chain at his neck. Seeing that, another memory
flashed into my mind – that same gold around Mrs Hibbert’s neck when we saw her in the mermaid tent.

Despite being indoors he still wore a coat, and a long black velvet one it was this time, the hems skimming over the tops of his boots. On his head was a grey felt hat, the brim wrapped around with mauve ribbons and violets. I felt my gut wrench to see those blooms, my cheeks burning hot in his iced blue gaze, and the leer of his narrow oiled red lips, below which barbed fingers tugged and stroked at the ribbons of his pale moustache. When he’d done with that little performance he took up where his friend left off – ‘Yes, you will see Elijah Lamb, so long as you do as we request and bring our precious Pearl back home.
That
is the price on your brother’s head.’

What could I say to that? Through my confused consternation I heard the rustle of black silk skirts, and the thrash of the rain on the glasshouse roof, and then came another creak of doors, the tinkling of little bells, a blur of grey fur and pale pink flesh and that horrible monkey scampered in, sitting right next to Freddie’s feet, where it started to play with its private parts! All the while it was chitter-chattering as if in self-congratulation, baring its blackened dagger teeth, which glistened with bubbles of spittle and slime. Thank goodness that vile occupation stopped when it spied a bowl on the tabletop, its fingers then reaching for sugar cubes, stuffing a great many into its mouth, lips pursed in wrinkled sucks of delight which turned to a violent screech of alarm when Freddie kicked the beast away.

‘Disgusting, filthy creature!’ His contempt was loudly voiced. ‘And you, Tip Thomas . . . what do
you
want? Will you deign to speak plainly for once in your life and tell what you know of Elijah Lamb?’

‘Not much of a welcome, Mr Hall.’ Tip Thomas whistled and then reached down, scooping the monkey into his arms, soothing it, stroking its wrinkled cheek while it picked its fingers through his hair, as if it was searching for lice or fleas. And perhaps it had found some for, now and then, those busy
fingers poked back into its mouth and rubbery lips appeared to move, as if in mastication. Quite unembarrassed by such a show, Tip Thomas continued his smiling reply. ‘I expect more respect from my business friends, no matter how previous our dealings here. I am hurt, Mr Hall . . . really, I am. I thought Lily Lamb might like to play at guessing a little riddle or two. But,’ he sighed, ‘if neither of you will pander to me, perhaps I shall pander to you instead. Yes, I think I should come straight to the point and repeat what you do not seem to have heard. You bring Pearl back home to the House of the Mermaids and I will give you Elijah Lamb.’

It was only then beginning to dawn, leaving me breathless and faint with the tension, asking, ‘Elijah is here? Is he in this house? You
must
let me go and see him . . . now!’

‘All in good time.’ A sharp finger was lifted to greasy lips, waiting a moment before he went on, ‘You must understand what is at stake.’

‘Will you come to the point!’ Freddie shouted, but this man, this Tip Thomas, would not be rushed, pausing to twist a whisker again. ‘Oh dear,
where
to begin? Perhaps a good place would be this very morning when a doctor was brought into your house . . . a house around which I’ve loitered of late. We chanced to meet when he came out, and having some previous acquaintance I found him not at all discreet, revealing his patient’s condition and how such ailments of the mind were these days his speciality . . . often venturing as far out as Chiswick way to work in a private asylum there, where his skills are usefully employed in . . . how shall we put this tender point . . . in certain surgical procedures. Why, I asked if he might be lured out east, to mend and darn a few holes of my own, to repair time’s nasty wear and tear . . . though,’ he turned to give me a wink, ‘I would hazard
that’s
not a problem for our little shrinking violet. Anyway . . .’he was grinning at Freddie again, ‘being such a gossip, this quack of yours, he spilled ever so many secrets into my own little shell-likes, and not only Miss Lamb’s fragile state of mind, but . . .’ He paused before
continuing. ‘But that of another delectable girl who he hopes to get his hands on soon, an inmate of the asylum, and one committed recently, and going by the name of Pearl.’ His voice grew deep and threatening. ‘Now
that
I found most grievous news.’