The Blighted Cliffs (19 page)

This
was useful information, though hardly ideal: if getting news out of a
tavern keeper and a landlady had been a struggle, I could not imagine
trying to break down the reserve of a bank clerk. And it would take
far more than a guinea to bribe him. 'I wonder, Mrs Pring, did they
mention which bank?'

With
a great show of reluctance, she told me. 'Mazard's Bank.'

Having
expressed my gratitude to the informative Mrs Pring, I decided my
final task for the evening - for it was too late to visit Isobel,
unless I fancied the pleasure of her guardian's conversation again -
would be to examine the bank. I don't know what I anticipated
finding, for it was unlikely that a strongbox marked 'Vitos' would be
sitting by the front door with a key in its lock, and I did not
intend to see Sir Lawrence add bank robbery to his list of charges
against me. But I had hit upon this unexpectedly productive seam of
enquiry, and I was determined to follow it until it dried up.

And
the name 'Mazard' chimed with something I had heard before, though at
that moment it evaded me.

Unsurprisingly,
my run of luck ended before the sombre frontage of Mazard's Bank. It
was a squat structure by the quay, looking on to the mercantile
street behind it and standing next to a large warehouse which, from
the lettering on its side, seemed also to belong to the Mazard
company. No lights showed in either building, nor in fact in any of
the houses on that road, and I was forced to acknowledge that I could
go no further that evening. Still, I at last had a name to the body -
to both bodies, in fact - and that was good, for I was convinced I
would not discover the killer until I understood more fully the
circumstances of the victims. I still had several avenues of enquiry
open, I was free of Crawley's biting sarcasm for a few days, and if I
could keep clear of Sir Lawrence and his minions, I might well make
some real progress.

None
of which happy thoughts, I discovered when I had climbed into bed and
shut my eyes, could prevent that ghastly image of Webb's distended
face from looming before me all night.

8

DESPITE
THE UNSETTIANG DREAMS, NONE OF WHICH I COULD properly remember
afterwards, I awoke feeling surprisingly well rested, and my mood was
further enhanced when I was able to climb out of my bed at leisure
and dress at my own pace, without interruption.

Only
when I had completed my toilet to my satisfaction did I descend the
stairs.

The
boy was there, mopping half-heartedly at the bar counter. Isaac was
his name, I had discovered the previous evening. He wore his habitual
look of nervous suspicion, as if an invisible hand were ever poised
above to strike him, but he managed a quick smile when I tossed him a
couple of pennies.

'As
we agreed,' I said cheerfully. 'The price of a good night's sleep.
Did anyone call for me?'

'Nah,'
he said, taking one last swipe at the bar with his oozing cloth. 'But
they might tomorrow,' he added swiftly. 'Can't be too careful.'

'Indeed
not.' I was quite happy to keep paying the fee to deter unwanted
morning visitors.

As
I waited for Isaac to bring my breakfast, I enjoyed the contemplation
of my first day in Dover entirely at my own command. With Crawley at
sea, and Ducker no longer vigilant over my every move, I was free to
go as I pleased, and that pleased me mightily.

Not,
of course, that I could while away the day in diversions and
entertainments, for I was much aware of the need for action if I was
to satisfy my uncle, and my modest success the previous evening had
only stiffened my desire to prevail. And I doubted Dover's hostelries
and their rough custom would admit to an agreeable day's drinking.

Still
revelling in my freedom, I began to consider what I would do.

Although
I was keen to learn more of Messrs Laminak and Vitos, I was mindful
of Crawley's suggestion that I should investigate the late Mr Webb a
little further. On the one hand, it seemed perverse to investigate
another death when I had made so little progress on the one on which
my life depended, but I did not believe that two fresh bodies so
close to each other could be wholly unrelated. It was even
conceivable that Webb could have been the third member of the party
at the
Crown
and Anchor
on that fateful night. Besides, the sun was shining - as much as it
ever did in Dover - and my spirits were high. A walk along the open
cliff seemed far more attractive than a morning spent interviewing
bank clerks.

My
breakfast digested, I left the inn. The Deal road was up past the
castle, and as I reached the end of the street that led there I saw
again the church which marked the last resting place of Caleb Drake.
It had been dark when I was last there; now I could see the church in
its fullness, a stolid building with a square tower and jagged,
tooth-like arches framing the door. The parson was gathering flowers
in the cemetery, and he gave a sprightly wave as I passed.

The
sight of him reminded me of our last encounter, and that Isobel's
home lay just past the corner. I had not seen her since the business
with Sir Lawrence in the stable yard two mornings back, and I owed
her thanks for that at least. But I did not intend to try that door
again without advance preparation. Crossing to the spiked fence
bounding the churchyard, I gestured the priest to come over.

'A
fine day, he answered my greeting.

'Indeed.'
There was definitely a blue tint to the grey of the sky today, and
that, I supposed, merited excitement. 'Tell me, Father, what is the
nature of the employment at the
Magdalene
Home
on the woolcombers' street?'

He
squinted at me. 'I know what ye think, and there's many a man who
thought likewise.' I squirmed under his gaze. 'But although they live
by the statutes of Christ, under the direction of Miss Hoare, they
take no holy orders. They merely reside there until they have the
spiritual means to make their return into society. Until then, they
go about the Lord's business.'

'And
that is?'

'They
purge their souls in works of ablution, finding salvation through
cleanliness. Their work is much prized in the town for, as it is
written, "wash me and I shall be whiter than snow" '

'Do
you mean,' I asked, after a pause, 'that they run a laundry?'

The
old priest nodded. So that explained why my efforts at courting
Isobel's custom had been received so unfavourably, and why, though I
had thought it queer at the time, they received no business after
dark. I thanked my luck that I had not been more direct with Miss
Hoare, if she it had been.

To
my pleasant surprise, I was spared the hazard of further
indiscretions at the Home of the Lady Magdalene when I called:
instead of a nun berating me through the hatch, I found Isobel.

'Is
Miss Hoare about?' I asked, peering around the door.

Isobel
shook her head. 'Gone to Canterbury. Shall I tell her you asked after
her?'

'No,'
I corrected her hurriedly. 'In truth, I had come to see you.

She
looked gratified by the admission, and cocked her head to hear more.

'I
wanted to thank you for lying about - that is to say, er,
misremembering certain events in front of the magistrate the other
morning."

'Misremembering?'
she asked coyly. 'I was in bed all night that night I met you. Miss
Hoare'd give me a right dunking if she thought I'd not been.'

'A
dunking?'

'Her
way of seeing to us - dunks us in the laundry vats when we
misbehave.'

'Well,
Mrs Dawson '

'Isobel.
Sir Lawrence Cunningham's the only one who calls me Mrs Dawson.' A
look of revulsion crossed her face.

'Isobel,
then. I'd like to thank you for being in your bed that and I
apologize if I was uncouth the last time we spoke at the night. I
meant no insult.'

'That's
all right, Mr Jerrold.'

I
could not have her addressing me as though I were her husband.

'Martin.'

'I
can see you could get confused, meeting a girl who didn't ask for
money to sleep with you. Don't suppose you get it often.'

I
bridled at the suggestion, and was about to offer a sharp retort when
I saw the laughter in her eyes, the gently mocking curve of her lip.
'Certainly none so pretty as you,' I answered, in a stab at
gallantry. For she was pretty, in a slightly scrawny fashion: dark
hair fell straight down behind her bony shoulders, and she had a pert
face and a small nose and eyes that brimmed with mischief. Her skin
was a smooth, milky white, save on her arms, where it was furrowed
red from the laundry.

She
laughed again. 'Well, if you think you can pay me off with kind
words, you're likely right.'

'If
I had more to offer... In fact, if I have more to offer, if there is
anything I can do to confirm my gratitude, I am eager to show it.'

I
saw something spark in her eyes, and remembered that it was the
promise of my gratitude which had coaxed her under the bed at the
inn. Clearly there was something she wanted of me. But for the
moment, she kept it to herself.

There
was a pause.

'Well,'
I said awkwardly. 'As I say, my thanks for your good offices. But if
they are not to have been in vain, I fear I must take my leave.'

'Where're
you going?'

'Deal.
I have enquiries to make there concerning a dead revenue officer.'

'I'll
come with you.' My astonishment at her presumption, and at her
forthright tone, must have shown, for she added, 'I'd be so very
grateful if you took me for a walk.'

I
took her meaning at once, and felt the freedom of my own destiny
falling away around me.

'What
about Miss Hoare?' I asked lamely.

'She's
in Canterbury, remember? And the scrubbing can wait for tomorrow.
I'll get my bonnet.'

Isobel
vanished behind the door, leaving me quite perplexed. Out of
instinct, I resented anyone who would thrust herself upon me
uninvited, but out of honour, with my protestations of gratitude
still ringing about me, I could hardly refuse. And although it would
not do to arrive at the gates of the customs house with an urchin on
my arm, some company on the long road to Deal might be welcome.

I
am told that on a clear day one can see all the way to France from
the cliffs; indeed, that the previous summer the locals entertained
their fears watching the massed armies of invasion parading on the
foreshore, until the moment of relief and anticlimax when they saw
them march away to Austria. It is sufficient comment on the climate I
enjoyed during my time in Dover that I never had the least indication
that another continent might lie beyond the horizon, but that day
with Isobel, when occasional openings in the high cloud admitted blue
sky and shafts of sunlight, was perhaps the closest I came.