Maxim Jakubowski - The Best British Mysteries III

The woman’s myopic gaze feasted on the notes for a few seconds before she secreted them among the folds of her grubby but capacious dress. ‘That’s very generous, sir. Very generous indeed. You’ll both be wanting to stay the night here, I take it?’

‘Not exactly,’ Dickens said. ‘I am on good terms with a man who keeps an inn not far away from here, and it would please us if Bella accompanied us there.’

The fat woman frowned and indicated their surroundings with a wave of a flabby hand. ‘This is her home, sir. She doesn’t care to go out much.’

Dickens said with animation, ‘But this is our one and only night in the locality! Who knows when we will return? My friend and I wish to enjoy a memorable finale to our sojourn south of the river!’

He passed her another sheaf of notes, and the woman caught her breath. So did Collins. Clutching the money tightly in her fist, as if fearing that he might change his mind, the brothel keeper whispered, ‘Well, sir, the circumstances are obviously exceptional. Very exceptional indeed.’

‘I’m glad we understand each other. Now, if we can be shown to Bella’s room?’

The woman glanced at a battered old clock on the sideboard and let out a snort of temper. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long. Perhaps you’d like to make yourselves comfortable in the parlour while I see what’s what?’

She shuffled back into the malodorous passageway, and they followed her into a rear hall, from which a narrow flight of stairs ran up to the floors above. Opposite the bottom of the staircase was an open door leading to another room. A bald, unshaven man in shirtsleeves, heedless of the chill of evening, was standing there, a tankard in his hand. He glanced at the two visitors, but seemed more interested in savouring his ale. Collins surmised that he was a ‘watcher’, retained to keep an eye on the girls and customers of the House of the Red Candle.

Someone was coming down the stairs, taking them two at a time, stumbling over her skirts so that it seemed that she might at any moment trip and fall head over heels. The fat woman demanded, ‘Where d’you think you’re hurrying off to, Nellie Brown?’

Nellie came to rest at the foot of the stairs. She was a stooping, round-shouldered woman in a lace cap and a maid’s uniform. Pulling a handkerchief from a pocket, she blew her nose long and loudly.

‘Nowhere, m’m,’ she croaked.

‘I have two gentlemen here with an appointment to see Bella. You took His Lordship up a good three-quarters of an hour ago. You left the key with him, didn’t you?’

With eyes downcast, Nellie said, ‘Yes, m’m.’

‘Well, he never needs longer than thirty minutes. What are they doing up there?’

Nellie, evidently reluctant to meet Mrs Jugg’s gaze, bowed her head and declined to speculate.

‘Lost your tongue, girl? Why, he was supposed to be out of there a good fifteen minutes ago!’

‘Yes, m’m.’

‘I can’t abide cheats, whatever their airs and graces! He paid for half an hour, no more. If he wanted longer, that could have been arranged.’

Nellie’s shoulders moved in a hapless shrug as she considered the threadbare carpet.

Dickens shifted impatiently from foot to foot, and the woman snapped ‘Well, I can’t keep these two gentlemen waiting. You’ll have to rouse her.’

Nellie darted a glance at Bella’s visitors before shrinking away from them, as if fearing a slap, or worse. Collins thought she was afraid of Dickens; he had a fleeting impression of dark, secretive eyes and a disfiguring mark on her left cheek that she was striving to shield from his gaze.

For a moment Dickens seemed taken aback, but then he said, ‘Yes, my friend and I have made a special journey. We prefer not to waste our time.’

Collins was disconcerted by the sudden urgency in his friend’s tone. His mood of excitement had given way to fascinated apprehension. The whole evening had taken on an Arabian Nights quality. Dickens had a hedonistic streak, but his taste did not usually extend to houses of ill fame quite as unsalubrious as this.

‘Take them up with you, Nellie,’ the fat woman commanded. ‘Bang on the door until he leaves her be. I don’t care if he hasn’t got time to button up his trousers, d’you hear? He’s long overdue!’

‘But…’ Nellie sniffled. Her distress was unmistakable.

‘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?’