In spite of himself, he laughed. “Why, Jeremy, I do believe you’re quoting me. You were present at the inquest, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I was,” said I, blushing.
“All right then, I’ll fetch my bag and be with you in a moment.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot accompany you, for I must be off to alert Sir John. It was Mr. Bailey and I who were called to the scene by him who discovered the body.” I then gave him the exact location of the passage on Henrietta Street and advised him to go round by Maiden Lane and Bedford Street. “Cutting through the Garden can be right risky at night.”
“I’ll do as you say.”
“And bring a lantern, if you have one,” said I, backing away, “for it is dark in that passage in spite of the full moon.”
“Go then, Jeremy, but come back and visit when you’ve more time to spend.”
“I will, sir! Goodbye, sir!”
Then I turned and flew down the stairs.
It was difficult running with the pistol and empty holster at my waist, and so I soon slowed to a fast walk. Mr. Bailey had not bade me run, had in fact sent me first to the synagogue and to Mr. Donnelly. If I were in a great rush, it was not at his direction but out of consideration to Mr. Tolliver. He must indeed feel badly repaid for the kindness he showed in stopping to see what ailed that poor girl in the passage. How long would they detain him? Surely Mr. Bailey could not suppose that Mr. Tolliver could be guilty of such a vile crime. If he but knew the many kindnesses that he had shown me — and to Lady Fielding before she became Lady Fielding — he would simply have ascertained the pertinent facts and sent him on his way with thanks.
Instead, he had insisted upon looking at Mr. Tolliver’s collection of knives as if he were suspect in the crime. Why, of course a butcher would have knives! Any fool would see that plain. Benjamin Bailey was no fool, but there were times when he showed a certain lack of… of -
Thinking thus, I was perhaps not near as observant as I ought to have been. I had just crossed Russell Street when, from an entry, a hand reached out and grabbed me firmly by the left arm and jerked me to a halt. I turned about sharply, throwing off the grasp as I grabbed for the pistol with my own right hand.
“Here, chum, leave that barking iron be. You and me, we got things to discuss.”
He stepped from the shadows into the dim light given by the streetlamp at the comer. In that instant I recognized him as Mariah’s “protector” — him whom I had dubbed the bully-boy. He was the last person in London I expected — or wanted — to see at that moment. Yet as I stood there staring, within me duty contended with curiosity — and curiosity won.
“What would I have to discuss with you?” I asked in a manner much colder than I felt just then. I seethed inside.
“Well, first off, I hear you been asking about me. I want to know what for.”
“I can tell you that. I wanted to learn your relation to Mariah, the Italian girl.”
I could not have expected his reaction to that — for he laughed, yet not as any ordinary fellow might; his was a whinnying, high-pitched, almost girlish giggle.
“My relation is it?” — still snickering — “Well, I ain’t her father, and I ain’t her brother. I ain’t even her cuz, so I guess that ain’t the kind of relation you mean. Am I right?”
I said nothing; but the distaste I felt for him must have been evident as I began to pull away. I turned and started to walk off.
“Awright, awright, I’ll give it you straight,” he shouted after me. “I owns her.”
Stopping in midstep, I asked myself if I had heard correct. I came back to him.
“What did you say?”
“I says I owns her — much to m’sorrow. Now hear me out.” He talked earnestly, as one who wished to do business. “When her people went back to where they’re from, I got her to stay. We dorsed together, got all lovey-dovey; I turned her out proper. Then I took her to Mrs. Gould — best house in the Garden — right around the comer on Russell Street. There’s girls on the street who’d give anything to get inside — but not her, not our Mariah. The long and short of it is, Mrs. Gould pays me ten ned for her, which is quite generous, not knowing how she’ll perform, like. And she didn’t perform worth a damn. She sulked, she spat, she scratched, and screamed. Mrs. Gould called me to her and demanded her money returned and said I could have the little blowen back. Well, by God, you don’t argue with Mrs. Gould, she got some real villains at her call, so I up with the full wack, ten ned, and I took Mariah back. I’d no choice but to put her out on the street myself, but to do that I had to take a flogger to her and buy her some proper duds. So I spent a bit on her and I keep her fed. She brings in a few shillings a day, but she ain’t a real worker, if you get my meaning. So the long and short of it is, if you want her, you can have her, for you’ve an interest in her. All I want is my ten ned back. I call that a square bargain.”
Reader, as you might suppose, if I seethed before, I was now at my boiling point. It was all I could do at that moment to control my anger. My hands trembled; I clasped them behind me so that he might not see. The very idea of offering another human being, a woman, for sale would have made me shudder uncontrollably under different circumstances, yet I would not show to him such a sign of revulsion, for he would sure take it as proof of weakness. Striving for the same control over my voice, I attempted a reply to his huckster’s pitch.
“And what would I do with her then?”
“That’s up to you, chum. Keep her out on the street, if you like. Dorse with her in your own little love nest. Marry her, if that’s your mind.’
“I will say this: I have not ten guineas to my name, nor anything like it. Yet if I did, I should pay it quite immediate, if only to get her away from you and that terrible life you have forced her into.”
“Nothing would suit me better, chum, believe me.” Then he stepped close and whispered: “You say you ain’t got the wack, and I believe you, but listen to me. You’re in a good position to get it. There’s a good lot of bit flows into Bow Street — fines, swag lifted from scamps, and that. It’s not like the Beak would miss it if you helped yourself, maybe a little at a time. It’d be” — and then he let loose that hideous giggle again — “it’d be like stealin’ money from a blind man.”
That was when I left him where he stood. I’d heard enough. In fact, reader, I’d heard far too much.
Sir John had insisted upon cutting across Covent Garden, even though he had often warned me against venturing there at night. When I had reminded him of this, he had then said, “You’ve a brace of pistols by your side, have you not?” It was then I told him I had but one, for I had given the second to Constable Langford that he might use it to summon help. After a grunt and a long silence, he had muttered, “Very sensible.”
After taking him from the dinner table — he had but just finished his meal — I had waited while Annie fetched his hat and coat. During this brief space of time, it was Lady Fielding — and not Sir John — who had directed a great volley of questions at me. Was it truly Mr. Tolliver who had found the girl’s body? she asked. Why was he being detained? Does Constable Bailey suspect him? How could he? And so on.
Sir John, who had stood aside in silence during the interrogation, then stepped forward and waved his hand to end further questioning.
“Enough, Kate, please. Mr. Bailey was acting in a reasonable way when he held him for my arrival. He knew that I would want to question him myself.”
“But, Jack, Mr. Tolliver is such a good man! He would never…”
“And a wonderful butcher, as well, as I can attest. And of course he would never — but he found the body, and I must ask him about that.”
Somewhat mollified, she waited until Annie had him properly tucked into his coat. Then did Lady Fielding step forward, squared his hat upon his head, and planted a kiss on his cheek.