‘At once, or it’ll be the worst for you!’
The maid began to drag herself up the stairs as if her limbs were made of lead. At a nod from the old woman, the two men followed. When they reached the landing on the first floor, Collins whispered in his friend’s ear, ‘Both of us with the same girl? Taking her to a nearby inn? For heaven’s sake! What are you thinking of?’
‘I asked you to trust me,’ Dickens muttered.
The only illumination came from the faint glow of the moon through a skylight. The ceiling was low and a taller man would have needed to bend to avoid banging his head against it. Three doors led from the landing. From two of the rooms issued the unmistakable cries of men and women in the throes of ecstasy. Nellie halted in front of the thin door, and it seemed to Collins that a tremor ran through the whole of her body.
Dickens hissed, ‘Is that Bella’s room? Come, there is no need to be frightened. You can see we are gentlemen! I swear, we mean her no harm.’
She shot another glance at them, taking in Dickens’ extravagant clusters of brown hair and Collins’s fancy yellow waistcoat. Her lips were pursed, as if she were thinking: not quite gentlemen, actually. Her dark eyes, misty with suspicion, held something else as well. Collins realised that it was terror. Did this pitiful creature really believe that she would be called to join Bella in satisfying their lusts? The thought had the same effect as a drenching by a bucket of icy water.
‘My friend is right,’ he said. ‘And we mean you no harm either. What are you afraid of, Nellie? That Bella’s customer will want to punish you for disturbing him? We won’t allow it, do you hear? We simply won’t let him take out his anger on you, will we?’
Dickens nodded. ‘The sooner the blackguard is gone, the better.’
Tears began to form in Nellie’s eyes. ‘But, sir…’
Dickens patted her on the shoulder. ‘I am sure you are a good friend to her, Nellie,’ he said meaningfully. ‘So let me tell you this. The sooner you introduce us to Bella, the better for everyone.’
The maid seemed to have been paralysed. Even when Collins gave her an encouraging nod, she did not move an inch.
‘He has the key to this room,’ she said. ‘All I can do is knock. If he don’t answer…’
Dickens took a step toward her. ‘Does he hurt her, Nellie?’
She choked on a sob. ‘I…I can’t say.’
‘We must stop this,’ he said. ‘Will you knock at her door?’
‘Sir, I -’
She was interrupted by a sound, from inside the room. A low groan. And then, unmistakably, a man’s hoarse voice.
‘Please…help me!’
As the voice fell silent, Nellie screamed. Dickens leapt forward, hammering the door with his fist. ‘Let us in! For pity’s sake, let us in!’
Collins rushed to his friend’s side and pressed his ear to the keyhole, but he could detect no further sound from inside. The door was locked. Nellie’s head was in her hands and she had begun to weep. Dickens put his shoulder to the door in an attempt to shift it, but to no avail.
The commotion must have roused the watcher down below; for a coarse voice roared, ‘What’s to do? What’s to do?’
One of the doors to the landing was flung open, and a half-dressed man appeared. ‘What’s happening, for God’s sake? Are the peelers here?’
Within moments the place was in uproar. The man who feared the arrival of the police was fastening his britches with clumsy desperation. A grizzled old fellow emerged from the second room, wheezing so frantically that Collins feared that he might succumb to a heart attack at any moment. The bald ruffian from the parlour was lumbering upstairs, with the fat brothel-keeper trailing in his wake. Looking into the other rooms, Collins could see two naked girls cowering in the shadows. Their clients jostled past the bald watcher, the younger man taking the steps two at a time in his haste to escape.
The watcher grabbed Dickens by the arm. ‘Causing trouble, mister? Why did she scream?’
‘We heard the voice of Bella’s client,’ Dickens said.
‘He sounded frightened and in pain. But the door is locked and I cannot force it open.’
The man pushed him aside and heaved against the door. Timber splintered, but the lock held. Puffing furiously, the fat little woman arrived on the landing.
‘What’s all this to-do?’ she demanded, turning furiously to Nellie. ‘Where’s Bella?’
The maid was sobbing piteously and unable to speak. Fearing that the fat woman would strike her servant, Collins interposed his squat frame between them and said, ‘We heard her visitor. Something – is very wrong.’
The watcher grunted and took a step back before charging at the door. They heard the wood giving way. He charged again and this time the door yielded under his weight. Bella’s room was no more than twelve feet square. Apart from a tall cupboard and a double bed, the only furniture was a cracked looking glass and a battered old captain’s chair on which were piled a pair of tweed trousers and an expensively tailored jacket as well as a man’s underthings, evidently discarded in haste.
Stretched out on the bed lay the body of a naked man. His wrists were tied to the bedstead by lengths of rope, his glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Collins had a sudden fancy that he saw in them a look of horrified bewilderment. Tall and broad-shouldered, with heavy jowls, the man had a shock of jet-black hair. His lips had a sensual curve. Blood dripped onto the sheets from a gash in his stomach, an inch above the navel.
The watcher uttered an oath. ‘She’s done for him!’
‘Murder!’ the fat woman cried. ‘Oh, Bella, you stupid little bitch!’
Behind them, Nellie retched. Dickens was the first to move. He rushed into the room and bent by the corpse, searching for a pulse. After a moment he said, ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘There’s her weapon,’ the watcher said, pointing to a pair of scissors lying on the floor. They were dark with blood.
The brothel-keeper lifted the man’s coat from the chair.
A leather wallet tumbled from one of the pockets. She picked it up and folded it open. They could all see that the wallet was empty.
‘So she’s a thief as well as a murderess! She’ll swing for that. Precious little bitch, just see if she won’t!’
Only four of them were in the room: the fat woman, the bald man, Collins, and Dickens. Outside the door Nellie was wailing, her head in her hands. Of Bella there was no trace.
‘She must be in there!’ the fat woman cried, waving at the cupboard.
The two friends held their breath as the bald man flung open the cupboard door. Collins was not sure what he expected to see: a cowering woman, stripped and covered in blood, he supposed. The cupboard was crammed to overflowing with gaudy gowns and dresses. As well as a pair of tasselled boots, there was a mass of lace and ribbons piled high on the cupboard floor. The watcher tore the clothes aside, as if to unmask his quarry, lurking behind them. But there was no sign of her.
The room had a small rectangular window set high in the wall above the end of the bed. Collins could detect no other means of egress. The watcher ripped the blankets from the mattress, but found nothing. He got down on his hands and knees and peered underneath the bed, discovering only dust.
Unable to help himself, Collins cried, ’Where is she?’
The fat woman clasped a podgy hand to her heart. ‘The window is bolted shut. Besides that, there are bars outside.’
‘Could the bars have been tampered with?’
The bald watcher clambered onto the bed and shoved at the window. There was no hint of movement. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I couldn’t move ‘em, never mind a young slip of a girl like her.’
‘How can she vanish into thin air?’ Collins demanded.
‘This Bella, is she a wraith, a phantom?’
‘All her clothes are in the cupboard,’ the fat woman gasped. ‘Every stitch. But where is the key?’