The Dark Clue (48 page)

I knew I should distract myself by writing my diary, but I could not do it.

I prayed:
Return him to me, and I will be good. Make normal life possible again, and I will embrace it – joyfully; and never again complain of drudgery, or duty, or the ache of disappointment.

*

A little before dawn I must have drifted off to sleep. I was woken by a sound from the garden. I looked out and saw a light in the window of his studio.

It did not even occur to me it might be an intruder. I ran downstairs, and outside, and flung open the door.

Walter stood before a huge canvas smeared with black and red. He was unshaven, his cheek bruised, his hair tousled, his eyes bloodshot and unnaturally bright. For a moment he seemed not to know me. Then he said quietly:

‘You should be asleep.'

‘How could I sleep! I didn't know where you were!'

I cried, and took him in my arms. He set down his palette, and stroked my hair like a child's.

‘I have your reticule,' he said. ‘There. On the table.'

‘Never mind that! What happened to you?'

‘I got lost, that's all,' he said gently ‘I'll tell you about it later. Now. Please. Go and rest.'

I could not speak what I felt. I left and returned to my room.

LII

From the private notebook of Walter Hartright,
13th December, 185–

I have crossed the bar. Today. 13th December. A little after 1.00 a.m.

We think we are our own masters, but something drives us or draws us to our destiny.

I thought I was pursuing a common thief. I followed him out of the square, down Carburton Street, across Portland Place. What was in my mind? Nothing – save that I was doing what I must do.

And that luck, or God, was on my side. For every time I seemed to have lost the fellow, I saw him again.

We ran the length of Queen Anne Street, and then my quarry (pilot?) vanished into a small dimly lit court at the end. I went after him, but could not immediately see him, and – since there was no way out but the narrow alley by which we had gone in – assumed he must have entered one of the tenements, where I had no chance of finding him. But then I heard an urgent clacking
sound, and, looking towards it, was just able to make out his figure in the shadows. He was desperately rattling at a latch, as if he were intending to escape inside but found the door locked. He glanced over his shoulder as I sprang towards him, and turned to face me.

I should have seen the warning in his eyes. They were not frightened, as they should have been, but satisfied – almost triumphant.

But I had not time to heed it. I pushed him roughly against the wall, seized the reticule, and – fearing he might try to snatch it back – thrust it into my pocket.

Then I heard the door opening, and steps, and hoarse, rapid breathing. I tried to turn, but was jostled off balance. Before I could recover myself, someone was tying my hands behind me. And then someone else slipped a hood over my head, and whispered:

‘Come along, sir.'

There was a man on either side of me, and a third behind. They edged me back towards the street, rearranging themselves into single file in order to pass through the alley. When we emerged they stopped for a second or two. I heard the stamp and snuffle of a stationary horse, and murmured voices, and a door opening; and then I felt myself being lifted and bundled into a cab.

Only one man, I felt fairly certain, got in with me; but in my present helpless state I could not hope to tackle even one, so as we moved off I forced myself to stay calm, and await a more favourable opportunity to get away. It was not easy, not only because I was naturally confused and disoriented, but also because my pinioned arms prevented me from sitting back in my seat, so making me prey to every lurch and bump in the road. But I determined not to protest – or indeed to speak at all, unless my captor spoke first; for to do so would have been to throw away the only weapon I had.

I think he must have seen things in the same light; for several times I heard him drawing in his breath, or clicking his tongue, as if he were on the point of saying something – but in the event he always appeared to think better of it, and kept his peace. From which I deduced, first, that he was hoping by remaining silent to
break my nerve; and, second, that his own nerve was far from steady – both of which only stiffened my resolve.

I thus had ample time to reflect on who he might be, and why he had gone to such lengths to abduct me. The most obvious motive was robbery – but surely he and his friends might easily enough have accomplished that in the little court? I could think of no-one who might have a reason to murder me – and, in any case, for that, too, the cab was a quite unnecessary contrivance. I could only conclude that he had taken me for someone else, and that in due course – if I had not managed to get away first – his mistake would be discovered.

We had been going, I should guess, about ten minutes, when a particularly savage jolt flung me to the floor, knocking my face (for of course I could not put up my hands to protect it), and wrenching my shoulder. At this, my companion's firmness finally deserted him, and he cried out:

‘Oh! Are you ‘urt, sir?'

Hurt and dazed as I was, I was conscious of a certain exhilaration at having won the battle of wills between us. I did not reply, which made him still more anxious.

“Ere,' he said, helping me back to my seat. His hands were trembling, and his breath was rancid with gin. He laid two fingers against my throat. I felt something hard and sharp protruding between them.

‘This ‘ere's a spike,' he said. ‘You understand?'

I nodded. Perhaps the hood prevented him seeing, for he gave me a small jab and repeated:

‘You understand?'

‘Yes.'

‘Very well, then. Now, I'm going to undo your ‘ands, and tie ‘em again in front of you, so's you can sit straight. But you tries any dodges, and I swear as you'll get this' – another prick – ‘in ‘ere. Understand?'

‘Yes.'

But for all the bravado of his words, he spoke them with a tremulousness that suggested he was far from confident, and which tempted me, for a moment, to take advantage of my freed hands to try to overpower him. Then I reflected that he could see, and I could not; and that even a drunk and irresolute man might have plucked
up the courage to stab me before I had been able to tear off the hood. I therefore decided to bide my time, and meekly let him go about his business – which he conducted with surprising deftness, loosening the rope in a moment, and fixing it again in a moment more, with such assurance that I could only suppose he was, or had been, a sailor. When he had finished, he sat back, and said:

‘I'm sorry, sir, but there was no other way to make you see ‘er.'

His voice was quite different now: sad, and almost gentle.

‘See who?'

‘My wife, sir. As ‘as something to say to you. She called at your ‘ouse, but was turned away.'

‘My house!' I exclaimed, suddenly seeing a chance to demonstrate that I was not the man he thought. ‘And where is that?'

‘Brompton Grove, sir. That's what she told me.'

I was dumbfounded. I had no recollection of sending anybody away. And I could not think of any woman who might have sought me out in this manner. The prostitute I had met at the Marston Rooms? True – I had left her abruptly – but not before paying her, so she had no cause for complaint – unless she had been as consumed with lust as I had been, an idea which I immediately saw was absurd. And how, anyway, could she have known where to find me?

Then I remembered the pawnbroker in Maiden Lane. I might unwittingly have left some evidence of my address in the pocket of my coat. But why might she want to see me? And why had she waited so long?

Finally, at a loss for any plausible explanation, and with a growing feeling of alarm, I said:

‘Why does your wife want to see me?'

‘She'll tell you that ‘erself, sir.'

To have pressed him further would have been to betray my fear, so I held my tongue. I did not speak to him again.

I had long since lost any sense of direction; and without my eyes to help me, had to rely on hearing alone for clues as to where we were going. Once or twice I made out the steady beat and splash of steam-boats, from which I knew we were close to the river; but none of the other sounds I could pick out – the rumble of passing vehicles, a drunken bellow, a barking dog – was specific enough
to tell me anything useful, save that we were still in the city. I was, however, conscious of a gradual change in the
quality
of what I heard; for everything – even the thrum of our own wheels, and the clatter of the horse's hooves – seemed by degrees to become softer, as if we were being slowly wrapped in a blanket, and so cut off from everything around us. At the same time, the air grew stiller and colder, numbing my bound hands, and making me long for the gloves and the little flask of brandy in my pocket (though I would not demean myself by asking for them) – from all of which I guessed it must be snowing.

And I was right; for when we at length arrived – after heaven knows how long – I could smell it through the fabric of the hood, and feel it underfoot when my captor helped me down. I heard him mutter something to the driver, and then he took my arm and began to guide me across some rough cobbles, taking care to prevent me slipping. Behind us I heard the cab driving away, at which my heart sank – for with it went any hope that this might only be a short interview, and that they intended I should be taken home immediately afterwards.

We appeared to be approaching a public house, for from just ahead of us came the unmistakable sound of singing and raucous laughter; but we stopped before we reached it, and I heard the secretive patter of fingers knocking on a window, and then, after a few seconds, a door opening. A woman's voice, so quiet that I could barely make out the words, said:

‘This the man?'

There was no reply that I could hear, but a moment later I was led into an uncarpeted hall, and thence into what seemed to be a parlour, for I could feel the welcome warmth of a fire. I heard the rustle of the woman's dress as she came towards me, and then felt her fingers quickly squeeze mine – like a strange token of the handshake she would have given me if my wrists had not been bound, and this were merely a normal social occasion.

‘I'm the lady of the house,' she said. She spoke softly, with the trace of an Irish accent; and I knew at once that I had never met her before in my life. ‘Mary'll do for a name, if you want one. Please sit down.'

The man helped me into a comfortable chair close to the fire. I heard her settle herself opposite me.

‘I'm sorry I can't take that off,' she said. ‘But I cannot run the risk.'

I wanted to ask:
Of what? -
but I felt that to enter into conversation would be to suggest that I accepted this situation, and so somehow make it appear legitimate.

‘But I'll not be making excuses,' she continued. ‘You're wanting something, and I'm going to help you to it.' She paused a moment, for effect: ‘The truth about Turner, am I right?'

I still said nothing. She sighed, like a mother cajoling a sulky child – which instantly made me feel a little like one. Finally she repeated:

‘Am I
right?'

‘What of it?' I said, as carelessly as I could.

‘I knew him,' she said. ‘He used to come here.'

‘And what is “here”?'

‘A lodging-house,' she replied simply. ‘Most of the boarders is sailors' women.'

‘And he presented himself as “Turner”?' I said, instantly suspicious – for anyone who had really known him would have realized that such recklessness was quite out of character.

‘No. I'd no idea who he was, till the fellow who keeps the Ship and Bladebone saw him one day by chance, and said, “You'll never guess who that is.'”

‘And how did
he
know?'

‘Turner was his landlord.'

‘What! You mean he
owned
the place?' I cried; although – as I privately had to admit to myself – the very improbability of the idea gave it an odd sort of credibility, for it was the kind of detail no-one would think to invent.

‘That's what Mr. Hodgson told me,' she said defensively.

At that moment – as if the mention of a public house had put the notion in his head – the man suddenly mumbled:

‘I think I'll just slip next door for a drop of somethin' short.'

He had the shifty, off-hand manner of someone who fears he may be stopped, and thus hopes to escape attention; but the woman was having none of it. As he started to edge away, she said, lethally quiet:

‘What, are you still afeared?'

‘Don't a man deserve a drink?' wheedled my captor.

‘You take another one, you won't be able to stand,' she replied.

‘I brought ‘im ‘ere, didn't I?'

‘Afterwards,' she said, relenting slightly.

‘Oh, come on!' he said. “E ain't going to cut it now!'

‘In a minute. After he's gone upstairs.'

My skin prickled with contradictory emotions: dread, and outrage, and excitement.

‘He had his own ways, Turner,' she said. ‘His own tastes.'

‘What kind of tastes?' I said.

‘You'll be seeing one of his women shortly,' she said. ‘She'll show you.'

Show
, not
tell.
My mouth was dry. I said: ‘May I have some water?'

‘Upstairs,' she said. ‘In just a moment. But first I wants to tell you something about her. About poor Lucy. She's not got a great head on her, and what she has's been all but fuddled away, for she's a terrible one for the crater. That's why we keep her in, and I lay out her money for her, when her sailor-friend sends it; for she'd drink it all else, and then try to make away with herself after. But you can trust her. She won't lie to you. You understand?'