“You intrigue me, Harry.”
We had halted our stroll in the middle of the lane. An old mottled cat, which fended for herself, came close to us to see if we would offer her a scrap. Finding no comestible in hand or upon our person, she crept on, sniffing and pawing through the rubbish that lay strewn about in search of something that would fill her empty stomach. There were rats and mice that thrived within this forgotten lane, and she would soon eat if she would but be patient for the night.
“Let us go round the corner. There’s a small pot-shop there. One cannot say much for it, but we may have a pint if you’re game.”
“Only if you permit me to pay,” said I.
“It is not my design to traffic in your generosity, Frederick.”
“Still, it’s the least that I can do in exchange for whatever intelligence you may wish to share with me.”
Scadger and I struck the bargain with a quick handshake. As we were set to make our way to the public house, we both noted Harry’s oldest son David creeping toward us with small, stealthy steps.
“Mr. Trimmers and I are going to talk close-by, David,” said Scadger to his son, “so go and tell your mother that we plan to remove ourselves for a bit. And when the doctor is done, please be so good as to ask him to join us at the Ox and Crow.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Now run along, son, and do as I say.”
“Yes, Papa.” Curiously, the boy resembled to a striking degree my brother Gus at that same young age, and I could not think of him without feeling a deep pang of sorrow. As was usually the case since discovering Newman’s Egyptian markings in the Bedlam cellar, I settled and soothed myself (as best as I was able) by thinking that if Newman had returned to the Dell, even against his own wishes and by means that kept him under lock and key, perhaps his father had also come somehow to be secretly consigned to that lunatic house, and it would only be a matter of time before I could see them both. I admitted to it being a dubious hope, just as one hopes that a drowning man will suddenly bob himself up from the churning sea and take the lifeline just when all appears lost, but this possibility, however slim, had nonetheless become my lifeline, and I clung to it for what little peace of mind it gave me.
David took a step back, but didn’t retreat in full. There was some hesitation to his withdrawal and the desire to say something else to his father perched upon his parted lips.
“What is it? Out with it, boy,” said Scadger.
The lad obligingly tendered the following words, half question and half entreaty: “Are you going to tell Mr. Trimmers about who I found?”
Scadger nodded.
“And you’ll tell me what he says — who he thinks she is?”
“Of course I will, David. I would never keep a thing from you. We are the dauntless duo, are we not?”
David smiled and nodded.
“Now be the obedient young helperman and go tell your mother where we have gone and that she isn’t to worry.”
David nodded, turned and ran back into the house.
“‘Who he thinks she is’: what does your son mean by this?” I queried.
“I’ll tell you presently. Let’s not discuss it here. I trust not even these cats and rats to keep overheard confidences to themselves.”
Chapter the Thirty-fifth. Thursday, July 3, 2003
he Ox and Crow was, uncontestably, the smallest tavern in Dingley Dell. There were three tables, a bar counter, a stone hearth, and not much else besides. The public room was encompassed by dull walls that had been formerly wainscotted and tastefully ornamented but now stood bare and differently shaded in those places where shelves and sconces had previously been affixed — indications of better days (for this neighbourhood of the East End had not always been one given over to impoverishment and destitution). There were three labouring men sitting at the table nearest the bar, and then another man who slept upon the pillow of his arm at the next table. The third table was empty, and beckoned us by default. Here we took our seats, as the publican, a man I vaguely knew by the name of Peecher, came over to ask us what we would have, though all that there was, was gin and porter and beet sugar rum and some perry ale, which I learnt from the rather forthcoming owner had been accidentally denatured and could not be recommended.
“I’ll take a pot of porter,” said Scadger.
I asked for gin, the spirit being by no means my favourite, but the only thing I could think of that would be tolerated by my weak West Ender’s constitution. Many a man on my side of the Thames, unaccustomed to the insalubrious potations of the East End, had lain writhing upon their cramping beds from having imbibed the sort of befouled labouring man’s beverage that conversely passed without complaint through the tempered tracts of those, like Harry Scadger, whose digestive systems had become inured to the effect.
After taking a drink of his dark brown beer and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Harry looked me squarely in the eye and said by way of brief prologue: “Three, no — almost four weeks ago my son David was playing upon the bank of the Thames where it wends closest to the apricot grove. He wandered up a little farther than was his usual habit and there he discovered it—her—lying there at river’s edge.”
“Her?”
“The body of a dead woman. She was drest in clothing I had never seen worn by a woman in the Dell. And there was a small, thin, leatherish sort of valise of a very odd make, which lay next to her. All was wet: the corpse, the valise. She had apparently been carried along by the river and then deposited in this spot. David left the body to come fetch me. Perhaps twenty minutes passed before he returned with me in tow.
“By that time someone else had arrived and was inspecting the body on his own. It was Dr. Chivery from Oxbridge. The professor was so attentive to his investigation that he didn’t take notice of us at first, but finally he did look up with a slight start and asked what David and I knew about her.
“We could offer nothing more than that which we could all see with our own eyes. Dr. Chivery had already gone through the valise and was now clutching in his trembling, attenuated fingers two soggy pieces of paper that he had obviously removed from the case.
“‘And what is it that you have found out?’ I asked.
“‘Nothing good,’ the professor answered cryptically. ‘And you and the boy will only make matters worse by divulging any of what you see here. It is of paramount importance that we keep knowledge of this dead woman’s presence to ourselves. Now we must find a place to bury her — someplace where her grave will never be discovered or disturbed.’
“I suggested to Chivery that it might be better to fetch the sheriff, but he remonstrated vehemently against that course, having convinced himself that there should be additional calamitous consequences should a public report be issued and an inquest held. ‘Trust me, I beg you,’ he concluded.
“Together David and the Professor and I dragged the woman quite some distance from the river, and using two broken shovels from my brothers’ work hutch, we buried her in a secluded spot near the timbermen’s sward. When the deed was done, I asked Chivery if I could see the papers that were now tucked into one of his pockets — the papers that had so disquieted him. He shook his head. ‘There is something that I must do,’ said he. ‘Something that these papers compel me and only me to do.’
“As much as I desired to read what frightening words had been put upon those leaves, I agreed not to deter Chivery from his self-appointed mission, not even guessing what that mission might be. You see, Frederick: I did have good reason to trust this man. When I was a boy, he had been my teacher. He didn’t remember me, considering me in this later year just one of many members of a large family clan — nameless to him except that I be a Scadger. But though his fading memory would not recall it, he and I had had a richly productive season together, which I shall limn for you shortly. I mention it here to give reason for why I would extend to the professor every consideration for the course of action he chose for himself to the exclusion of my son and myself, and trusting that the course should be the right and proper one.”