The Murder of Patience Brooke (23 page)

‘Until tomorrow then. I will call at Crown Street after I have pursued my enquiries after Mr Wilde. Goodnight, Sam. I am sorry I kept you up so late. Goodnight.'

‘Shall I walk with you?' Sam asked, concerned by how exhausted Dickens looked.

‘No, get thee to bed. The walk is not far.'

‘Goodnight, Charles.'

Sam watched him go along Norfolk Street towards Park Square, a solitary figure in the night.

Dickens walked home. At Devonshire Terrace, he stood for a moment looking up into the sky where the cold moon gleamed, remembering how he and his sister, Fanny, used to wander at night about a churchyard near their house at Chatham, looking up at the stars and wondering at their distance. Well, Fanny was far away now, dead of the disease that would kill Francis Fidge before the summer, and the little crippled boy, Harry, her son, dead, too. He went in.

On Saturday morning, Elizabeth Jones took a cab to the shop in Crown Street. Mr Brim had been given instructions to stay in bed and to be tended to by Posy; he had submitted to the combined persuasion of Eleanor, Elizabeth and Posy, too. And he had professed himself reassured by Scrap who had declared, ‘Yer don wanter fret, Mr Brim, cos Mr Dickens sed that Ol’ Crookface is gorn far away and can’t ’urt us. Anyways, yer got me to look after ’em, an’ Mrs Jones, ’ere, well she’s a lady an’ she can tidy shop and fings, but I’ll be on guard – me an’ Poll can see orf any villuns.’

The shop was reopened, the man in the white waistcoat, somewhat dashed by Elizabeth’s authority, was paid his dues, and Poll and Scrap took up their station in the doorway where they were found by Dickens who had thoughtfully purchased another cake for their morning refreshment.

‘I owe you some money, Scrap,’ he said after greeting Poll with a pat on the head.

‘Nah, Mr Dickens, I bin treated these last days. No need.’

‘But you have been on duty. The superintendent told me. Reassured, he was, when he had to go to Bow Street. Two shillings, I think. You’re in employment now. Can’t turn down your wages. We have a contract.’

‘Oh, well, if yer put it like that.’

‘I do,’ said Dickens, handing over the two shillings. ‘The job’s not over yet – at least until Mr Brim comes back.’

They went in. Dickens declined to stay for cake, but he enquired for ink and paper.

‘Are you sure, Mr Dickens?’ asked Eleanor.

‘I am, Miss Eleanor. I have much writing to do.’

‘About Jip?’

Dickens had almost forgotten that he had promised a good dog in his new book. ‘Yes, indeed.’

‘What is he like?’ asked Tom Brim, suddenly popping up.

‘He is – er – a spaniel,’ Dickens improvised, ‘yes, a pretty little spaniel with silky ears, and he is very clever, of course.’

‘As clever as Poll?’ asked the little boy. Poll growled slightly.

‘No, no. He has not had the opportunities that Poll has had.’

Elizabeth smiled at him. She loved the way he entered into the child’s world, and the seriousness with which he answered their questions. Dickens chose his ink, blue, and his paper, another quire, and left them to their cake. He walked on to Lombard Street and obtained the address of Oliver Wilde, a handsome set of apartments on Regent Street. Thither he went and found Mr Wilde enjoying his coffee.

‘A late night?’ Dickens asked.

‘An early morning, rather, but I pay my debts, as I said.’ He grinned and asked Dickens what he could do for him. A nice young man, Dickens thought, looking at his rumpled hair and open face.

‘I wondered if you knew anything about Crewe’s marriage plans.’

‘Ah,’ said Oliver. ‘There is talk. He is pursuing a young lady, a very young lady, as a matter of fact. She is only eighteen. She is the daughter of Mr Topham, a banker who has a fine house in Hanover Square. You may have heard of him. He is famously rich and she is his only child. Laetitia, she’s called. Lovely name, is it not.’

Dickens heard the wistfulness in Wilde’s voice. You may be successful yet, he thought before replying, ‘I have heard of him – does the young lady return his affections?’

‘How could she not? He can be very charming and he is a good-looking young man. All the ladies rave about him but –’

‘There is a but?’

‘Well some of us who know him don’t like what we know – he gambles, as you saw, and he drinks and he can be a nasty piece of work if crossed, but she doesn’t know all that. Who could tell her?’

‘Her father must have heard things.’

‘I think he has. There is talk of her going to Paris – I hope she does – with an armed escort,’ he said fiercely. ‘I’d be prepared to guard her against that man myself.’

‘I hope so, too,’ said Dickens. ‘Perhaps when she comes back, things will be very different – don’t give up.’

Oliver Wilde was quiet. Dickens could see that he was concerned. He prepared to go but the young man stopped him.

‘Mr Dickens, do you know something about him? Why did you want to see him last night? Do you think he is a danger to her? Would he harm her? – I mean, suppose he were to do something dreadful if he knew her father was going to take her away. He is capable of anything, I think. We all know that he has money troubles, and that Sir Hungerford is losing patience with him. Oh, God, Mr Dickens, what can I do? – I’d do anything for her –’ Wilde blushed. He had given himself away.

Dickens felt himself in a quandary – he could not lie to Wilde. If Crewe did try to take Laetitia, then the young man would certainly blame him yet he could not tell Wilde the whole story. He would have to tread carefully.

‘I do not know, Mr Wilde, what he might do. Perhaps you could keep a discreet eye on him. You might watch his behaviour if you see him at a social occasion, but you must not be rash. All that you have said is speculation – you must not let him know you are watching. You might hurt Miss Topham’s feelings. I beg you, be discreet. If you are concerned or you hear anything, then come to me and we will see her father.’

Oliver Wilde promised that he would not be impetuous. Dickens went away, but he was not entirely certain that Mr Wilde would exercise caution. That he loved Laetitia Topham was as obvious as it was clear that he did not like Edmund Crewe. He felt anxious that he had created a complication as if the case were not complicated enough. He could hardly have told Wilde that Crewe was a suspected murderer, but had he put the young man in danger? He had to hope that his reference to Miss Topham’s feelings would prevent the boy from acting rashly, and what would Sam think?

Dickens took a cab to Bow Street to give the superintendent his news about Crewe and Laetitia Topham. He explained what he had felt necessary to tell Oliver Wilde. Sam agreed that the young man’s fearful questions had had to be answered, and that they could only hope that Oliver Wilde would be cautious. His practical common sense and ability to accept things as they were was reassuring, as always, so they went for lunch at the Piazza Coffee House then went back to find that Rogers had come from the town house. He had found out much the same thing: the talk in the kitchen was that Mr Edmund was to marry a rich heiress and all his money troubles would be solved. There had been a row with Sir Hungerford though the details were not clear – probably about money, Mollie had said. She thought it all very romantic. Talk was that the young couple might run away because Mr Topham, her father, cast in the role of villain, did not approve. Rogers did not know how much was true, but it made him think about the poor young lady.

‘I see,’ said Sam, ‘You think he might run off with her to get the money. It’s time we scared him off. Interesting,’ he said to Dickens, ‘that Mr Wilde had expressed the same idea.’

As he spoke, the door was flung open, and a harassed-looking constable came in, followed closely by a frightened-looking Mrs Morson.

‘The lady, sir, she wouldn’t –’

‘It’s all right, Semple, I’ll deal with it.’ Semple disappeared. Dickens and Rogers stood, appalled at what they saw in Mrs Morson’s face.

‘Jenny Ding is missing.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Dickens, ‘he has her.’

Mrs Morson sat down; she was white and shaking. Dickens took her hand. The superintendent took charge. ‘Rogers, take a constable with you to the Albany. Tell him about Crewe, what he looks like and so on. There’ll be a porter, ask him if he knows if Crewe is at home. If he is not, leave the constable on watch for him. As you go out, get Feak and another constable, Stemp will do, and tell them to get to Lantern Yard immediately. He needs to have a look through that window you climbed through. Tell him to be careful not to be seen. If Crewe is there, Stemp must come back here for me. Come back from the Albany as soon as you can.’

Rogers wasted no time. The superintendent turned to Mrs Morson. ‘Tell us what happened. Do you know that she was taken?’

‘No, we do not, but after what Mr Dickens told me at the Home, I thought –’ She broke off, uncertain now, hoping that it might not be so. ‘I had been out with some of the girls to the village. Ellen was with some of the others in the kitchen. Jenny was about, in the kitchen, then in the parlour, then in the hall, reading her book. She liked to wait there to answer the door – I did not think to warn Ellen about that – but would he just come to the door? Anyone might have answered.’

‘When was it realised she was missing?’

‘When I came back, I knocked at the door – I could have let myself in with the girls, but we had parcels and I knew Jenny would be there – but no one came so I knocked again. Eventually Ellen came and I asked where Jenny was. Ellen thought she might be in the parlour. She was not. I went upstairs, but she was not there either. I questioned the girls, but no one had noticed. Isabella thought she might be out in the garden with James or Davey, or in the stable. She was not – they had not seen her – and they did not know how long. I had been out for two hours – she may have been gone since I went.’ Mrs Morson stopped to wipe her eyes. ‘Oh, Charles, you told me to be careful. I should not have left the house.’

He pressed her hand. ‘But, we had James Bagster sleep in the house, and we could not expect Crewe to come in broad daylight – we did not expect him to come at all – it was just precautions.’

‘You do not think she has just run away?’ asked Sam.

‘On the way here, I thought of that. She had been unusually subdued, unhappy. I thought – I said to Charles that she was growing up. We talked about it.’

‘Could he have approached her – in the village? Could he have persuaded her to go with him? It is all so unlikely – why would he do this?’ Dickens felt frustrated. None of it made sense except – he thought of that ruined angel’s face. What recklessness possessed it? ‘When could he have seen Jenny?’ he asked.

‘Tuesday, Wednesday? Ellen took Jenny, Isabella, Esther, and Lizzie Dagg to the village – they pair off sometimes to go into the shops. It would be easy for a pair to split up.’

‘What if –’ Dickens’s mind was racing. ‘What if Crewe approached the older one, say, Isabella, flirted a little whilst keeping his eye on the younger. Suppose Isabella, or whichever one it was, told Jenny not to tell – that’s why she was upset – suppose he did come to the door, persuaded her to come out to take a message for Isabella and then just took Jenny?’

‘We have to assume he has her,’ Sam decided, ‘and we must act on that assumption. Feak hasn’t come back so I assume that Crewe is not at Lantern Yard. Where’s Rogers? He should be back by now!’

On cue, Rogers arrived to tell them that Crewe had not been seen at the Albany, and that he had left the other constable there.

‘Rogers, I want you to go to the Home with Mrs Morson, and I want you to find out if any of the girls knows anything, if any stranger approached them. Tell Jenkins to start searching. Bagster can help – anywhere down the lane where he might have taken her. I doubt they’ll find anything. He’ll be back in London, but it has to be done.’

Rogers and Mrs Morson left. ‘We go to Lantern Yard,’ said Sam. I’ll get another couple of constables to go with us. We could do with Scrap – he can get into places we can’t and he’s invisible. No one will notice one more ragged boy wandering in the lanes.’

‘Will he be safe?’

‘He’s resourceful and clever – he’ll know his way round those alleys better than Crewe. We’ll tell him just to keep his eyes and ears open. Will you get him from Crown Street?’

At the shop, Dickens told Elizabeth quickly that Sam needed Scrap. She understood, her eyes telling him that they should take care. Scrap understood that Dickens had urgent need of him. He dashed into the back of the shop, emerging with an old cap of Mr Brim’s which he jammed on his head. Outside the shop, he bent and daubed his face with a bit of mud – he knew he looked too clean. Dickens and he took a cab from Shaftsbury Avenue to Whetstone Place from where they hastened down to Lantern Yard, passing one of Sam’s constables.

Feak was at the entrance to the yard, and further down, they could see another constable waiting. Inside the house, the superintendent was just emerging from the empty room opposite Blackledge’s. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

They went into Blackledge’s room which smelt stale after being locked up. But it told them nothing. It was just empty, keeping its secrets as it had done before.

‘Scrap, we are looking for a girl, about thirteen, small, dark hair, wearing a blue dress. Neat – not a girl from the alleys – she will look different so you’ll know her. I want you to scour these lanes, go where we cannot go, ask – any children playing, any mothers – people you think will answer – you know the type – tell them she’s run away. Listen in at the cellars, backyards, but do not do anything. If you see or hear anything come straight back. There’ll be a constable here and wait for us. It will be dark soon. Listen out for the clocks. It’s now four o’clock. When you hear six striking, come back anyway. We’ll be here. Go now – and Scrap, don’t put yourself in any danger – don’t ask the wrong people.’

‘I knows wot yer mean, sir. No need to worry abaht me. I’ll be back by six.’ He took off the clean shirt Elizabeth had given him, and put his shabby jacket back on. Seeing their faces, he said, grinning, ‘Gotter look the part.’ They went to the door with him and watched him go, kicking stones and whistling like any urchin with nothing much to do.