Person or Persons Unknown (18 page)

“Not long, a minute or two, not much more.”

Sir John turned to me. “Would that be about the length of time it took to walk from Bedford Street — or just this side?”

“That would be about right, sir.”

“In that length of time, say, when you were called by Mr. Tolliver, did you see any part of that wagon?”

“No, sir, I did not.” Of that I was sure.

“So in that brief space of time the murderer could have made his escape. Isn’t that likely?”

“Well… it might be so, sir.”

“It might indeed.” Sir John gave a firm nod. “I have but one last question for you, Mr. Tolliver, and it is this: Did you know the girl you found dead?”

“Know her in what way?”

“In any way, sir.”

“I saw her on a few occasions in the Garden. She bought from me two or three times in the past months.”

“You knew her by name?”

“Oh no. I never asked it, and she never gave it.”

“Was she a girl of the streets? A prostitute?”

“I don’t know — p’rhaps, probably. So many are hereabouts. I saw her once in conversation with a man beneath a streetlamp in such a way.”

“Was that, by any chance, here on Henrietta Street?”

He thought about that a moment. “Why, so it was — right at the comer of Bedford.”

“Very well then, Mr. Tolliver. There will no doubt be an inquest into this death sometime in the future. I cannot yet fix the date, but I would like you to come and repeat what you’ve told me.”

He frowned and nodded. “I understand.”

“But you are now free to go.”

Mr. Tolliver wasted no time on speeches. “Thank you, sir. And goodbye to you, Jeremy.”

He turned and stalked off down Henrietta Street.

“Mr. Bailey?” Sir John called out to his captain. “You have that man’s address?”

“Aye, sir — and of course he’s at his stall in the Garden every day but Sunday.”

“Good. I shall want to talk to him again, sometime soon. There’s something not quite right there. Either that, or he is the worst witness I have come across in quite some time. Both — or either — are possible.”

“Here’s the Raker back with Mr. Donnelly,” said the constable. “And I see Cowley’s lamp swingin’ this way in the passage.”

“In a few minutes more then, we’ll be able to leave. Jeremy,” he added to me in a low voice, “I almost wish that I’d not come out at all.”

As it happened, I missed the better part of Sir John’s inquest into the death of Priscilla Tarkin, for I had been appointed to write and dehver an advert describing the girl discovered in the passage by Mr. Tolliver the night before. It was an appeal to any and all who might know her to come and identify her body. Because of the conditions under which I viewed her, I found it difficult to write a description of any sort. She had not a distinctive face, so far as I could remember, and the bad light had made it most difficult to retain a clear impression of it. And so, knowing not what else to do, I set off for Mr. Donnelly’s surgery that I might have a better look at her.

Arriving a bit before eight, I knocked upon his door. When it opened, again he expressed his surprise at seeing me there, but in no wise did he make me feel unwelcome. He bade me enter, and I explained my mission. All was well, but he reminded me, checking his timepiece, that he would have to leave in an hour’s time to attend Sir John’s inquest. Then he brought me into his examination room, where the body of the unknown girl lay upon a long, narrow table beneath a sheet.

“I have not cut into her as yet,” said he. “She is as she was when you saw her last night, though she has gone stiff during the hours since then.”

“How should I begin a description?” I asked.

“Why, with height and weight, I suppose. I have measured her at five feet tall, and I reckon her weight at not much more than seven stone. Though not a starveling, I would say she was not well fed for some time — perhaps had never been.”

I noted height and weight down with my pencil on the paper I had brought, and I began to study her face.

“Her hair is plain brown,” he continued, “and her face long and oval. She has three missing teeth in back, two on the left side and one on the right. There were no scars I could detect, except one on her left cheek — half-moon shaped, as a ring might have left an impression from a blow to the face. The two missing teeth are directly below the scar. As for her age, I’d give it as fifteen or sixteen.”

All this, as well, I duly noted down.

“These women,” said I, thinking of Mariah, “these girls — they lead hard lives, don’t they, sir?”

“They do indeed, and for that it is men must take the blame.”

“I… I see what you mean, sir.” I continued studying her face, hoping for some inspiration; none came. “How do you describe a face?” I asked.

“Ah, that is a question, is it not?” said Mr. Donnelly. “What is it makes one different from another? Aside from it being long and oval-shaped, what is there about hers that makes it different from all others in London? It is a great mystery to me that God has endowed each of us with a physiognomy quite unlike any other. I have heard it said that each of us has, somewhere in the world, a double — a twin bom of a different father and mother. Yet I have traveled some in this world, and I have seen no evidence to support that. In short, Jeremy, I fear I cannot help you much. I have neither the wit nor the art to describe a face properly.”

During all this he had stood opposite me, looking down upon her as I did. But then, of a sudden, he glanced up at me, declaring, “I must prepare for my session with Sir John. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” said I, “and if you will permit me. Til go to the writing table in the next room and see can I compose an advert that might satisfy us both.”

Thus I took leave of him, sat where I said I would, and sought to write what must be writ. I wasted sheet after sheet in the effort. In the next room I heard the surgeon splashing and humming as he readied himself for the day. At last he came forth, clean-shaven and properly dressed, and I held out to him the latest (though not necessarily the final) version of the advert.

Here is what I had put down:

Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court, seeks the identity of a young woman, 15 or 16 years of age, a homicide victim, whose body was discovered in the passage off Henrietta Street two nights past at half-past seven. She is five feet tall and no more than seven stone in weight. Her hair is a dark brown color, and her eyes also. There is a small scar upon her left cheek in the shape of a half moon; two teeth are missing that side, and another on the right side of her mouth. Her face, oblong and meagre, has upon it a long straight nose and a mouth of some width. When found, she was clothed in a frock of homespun, blue in color.

Any who believe they may know who she is may view her remains at the surgery of Mr. Gabriel Donnelly, 12 Tavistock Street, City of Westminster.

Having read through it twice, Mr. Donnelly offered a judicious nod.

“That should do quite well,” said he. ” ‘Oblong and meagre’ — a nice phrase that.”

“Thank you, sir. I had tried to scatter other, more decorous phrases throughout — but they seemed inappropriate.”

“Best keep to the facts in such circumstances.” He took a second peek at his timepiece. “Shall we go?”

And indeed we departed together, descending the narrow stairs, he leading the way. When we had reached the bottom and exited to the street, he offered me his hand, just as he might to any gentleman. I gave it a good and thorough pumping.

“I’m glad to see my surgery mentioned in print, even in such a matter as this,” said he. “Who knows? It may bring me a live patient or two. The dear Lord knows I could use them. So far, all my patients have been dead — not that I’m ungrateful to Sir John for the work he has given me.”

I bade him goodbye, knowing full well that I might see him again soon at the inquest. Then was I off in a great hurry to the offices of the Public Advertiser, located some distance away in Fleet Street.

Had I but known the difficulty I would encounter at the newspaper’s offices, I might have supposed it impossible to return to Bow Street in time for any part of the inquest into the death of Priscilla Tarkin. The clerk who had taken my advert had been reluctant to agree to my demand that it be placed prominently on the front page of the next day’s broadsheets. We went round and round about it, more times than was needful — or so it seemed to me. At last, I demanded to see the man in charge — editor, publisher, whoever he may be. When Mr. Humphrey Collier appeared, he turned out to be both editor and publisher, and he settled the matter swiftly: “Why, of course,” said he, “if this has to do with Sir John’s investigations, you can be sure it will be displayed most prominently. We’ll put it in big type at the top of the page with a black band about it. None will miss it. Please tell him so for me.”

Thus relieved of that onerous responsibility, I set out at a gallop for the court. Shank’s mare served me well, for I discovered upon my arrival that the proceeding was not near as far along as I had expected. (I later learned that Mr. Marsden had had a little difficulty in assembling a jury; the word had gotten round that a shilling would be paid, so naturally two shillings were asked.) As I entered the little courtroom, taking care to be quiet, I saw that Mr. Donnelly had just completed his testimony and was returning to his place in the bank of chairs to one side reserved for witnesses; there were others seated there, some of whom I recognized and some whom I did not.

One of the former was called, Mr. Thaddeus Millhouse, but he appeared only briefly before the court of inquest. Sir John wanted from him the victim’s identity, which was given as Priscilla Tarkin, commonly known as “Polly.”

“And what was her work, Mr. Millhouse?”

“Her work, sir?”

“Her occupation. How did she earn her bread?”

“As a prostitute, sir. She made no secret of it.”

“She also, it seems, supplemented her earnings in that line by thievery. Or perhaps, unknown to you, sir, theft was her chief occupation. We have proof of this from a search of her quarters. This complicates our investigation of her death somewhat.”

The witness seemed quite startled by this information.

“You may step down, Mr. Millhouse.”

And so he did, leaving Mr. Marsden space to rise and call the next witness, one unknown to me, a Mistress Sarah Linney. As soon as she had placed herself before Sir John, he began to question her.

“Mistress Linney, you were acquainted with the woman, now deceased, known as Priscilla Tarkin, were you not?”

“I was, y’r Lordship, but I — ”

“Let me interrupt you and assure you I am not so august a personage as to deserve the title you have just conferred upon me. I would be pleased to be addressed simply as ‘sir.’ “

“Yes, sir,” said she. “Well, as I was sayin’, sir, I knowed her but only by the name of Polly. In our game we don’t much go by our right names.”

“And what is your game, if I may ask?”

“Polly and me and half the women in Covent Garden, we was strumpets together. But I must say it come on me as a surprise to hear she thieved.”

“Ah,” said Sir John, “you introduce a Biblical term, ‘strumpet,’ yet I understand you well and accept the word. But now I ask you, when did you last see Priscilla Tarkin, known to you as Polly?”

“That would be the darkey she croked.”

“Would you repeat that in plain English, please? While the court accepts words to be found in the Bible, it will not recognize such flash cant.”

“Yes, sir, that was the night she died.”

“Give me the circumstances, if you will. Tell me the whole story, as you remember it.”

“Well, there ain’t much to tell, but it was on Bedford Street outside the Dog and Duck, just round the comer from that alley where she croked — uh, died. It ain’t a place where I go, the Dog and Duck, so I was just passin’ by, like. But I hear this bloody roue — a quarrel, sir, a turrible quarrel it was. And I looks over, and I see it’s old Poll havin’ it out with himr’ She pointed at Yossel, who was seated next Mr. Donnelly.

“I take it. Mistress Linney, that you have just pointed to someone in this room. Do not point. Name the party if you know him by name.”

“Yes, sir. Poll was havin’ it out with him that’s known as Yossel.”

“Do you know him by any other name?”

“No, sir.”

“Then that will do.”

“Anyways, I went right over to her, and I asked her did she need help, and she said no. Then he — Yossel — raises his hand to me to strike me, like, then he thinks better of it, turns and walks away down Bedford, toward the Strand. Then I turn back to Poll, and I find she left me, too, headed into the Dog and Duck. Like I said, it ain’t a place I go to, so I just shrugged and walked on down Bedford, telling myself it was none of my affair.”

“So you never really discovered the reason for their quarrel?”

“No, sir, but I had a good notion seeing that fellow Yossel, who had bothered us poor girls in the past, try in’ to rob us of our earnings, like.”

“Had he ever tried that with you?”

“Aye, he tried.”

“Without success?”

“No, sir, no success.”

“Mistress Linney, you were very specific about the altercation between Priscilla Tarkin and this fellow Yossel, yet one thing you have not made clear is just when this took place.”

“Well, that’s a bit hard to say, sir. Y’see, when you’re out on the game, prowling about all night, well, a body loses track of time. Also, I had some to drink that night, as I must admit, and gin does no good keeping things in order in your head.”

“You must be more definite than that,” insisted Sir John. “Was it early or late?”

“Something in the middle, I’d say. I’d put it between my second gent and my third.”

“Mr. Millhouse!” spoke Sir John, loudly summoning the last witness, “if you will stand where you are, perhaps you can clear up this matter for us. I recall that you declared in your interview with me that you saw Priscilla Tarkin in the Dog and Duck before her death on that night. Was it only once she was there?”

“So far as I know, sir,” said Millhouse, who had risen from his chair as instructed. ‘ T, at least, saw her only one time whilst I was there — and I was sitting in view of the door.”

“We shall assume, then, for our purposes, that it was her only visit to the Dog and Duck that night. I recall, too, that you said she simply walked through the place and left. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you place the time of her visit?”

“Yes, I can, for shortly after she came and went, Mr. Goldsmith, who was one of our party at the table, pulled out his timepiece and said that it was just past one o’clock and that he must be getting on, for he had work to do that night. He then generously settled for our drinks and advised us all to follow his example and return home. Would that I had taken his advice!”

“Indeed! You may sit, Mr. Millhouse. Now, Mistress Linney, will you accept that estimate of the time? You saw Polly enter the Dog and Duck. Mr. Millhouse places that visit at one o’clock, give or take a bit.”

“If you says so, sir.”

“I say so. You may step down. Mistress Linney.” He gave her a moment or two to scuffle back to her chair. Then did he resume: “And so, as far as we know, Priscilla Tarkin was not seen nor heard from further until her body was discovered nearby by Constable Brede at four o’clock. She had been dead for some time. The blood from her wounds had begun to dry. You have heard Mr. Donnelly say that that fact would suggest she had been dead about an hour. So between one o’clock and, roughly, three o’clock, we know not where she might have been. Yet she was found quite near the Dog and Duck, where she was last seen. Is this a mystery, or simply a discrepancy? Let us proceed. Mr. Marsden?”