Anne Perry: Blood on the Water

And it was Scuff’s river too. He had been born on its banks and grown up within sight of it, to the sounds of it, feeling its damp all his life. Even in his sleep he could hear the lapping of its tide, and its foghorns booming in the distance. Almost all the treasures of his childhood had been saved from its depth, not to mention the pieces of coal, metal, china-even wood, now and then, that he had sold to feed himself. How could any ordinary land-bound London policeman know the river, or care about it as he and Monk did?

First he would go to where they were hauling the ship up, but quietly, not speaking to anyone who might know him. This must not get back to Monk, which meant that Scuff must steer clear of Mr. Orme as well. Although he would have been with Monk, so he had likely been up all night too, and sent home as Monk had been. Scuff figured he was safe for a while.

He walked briskly down to the ferry and used some of his savings to pay his fare to the other side. He climbed up the Wapping Stairs, keeping his face averted from the police station. He went as quickly as possible along the bank toward the dock where he knew from the ferryman that the pleasure boat was being dragged up. He tried to imagine what strength that would take, and what kind of engines it would need. And chains. They’d better be good! If one of them snapped it could take the heads of half a dozen men standing too close. He refused even to think of that!

He moved quickly, used to slipping by unnoticed. It was not so far, about a mile or so. There were loads of people standing around watching. What did they expect to see? A broken ship and a whole lot of dead bodies? They looked sort of huddled, even though it was a bright May morning. You would have thought it was winter! Maybe they were there because they’d lost someone they loved and they felt they had to come to see the boat pulled from the river, out of a kind of respect, like standing at the graveside at a funeral. Scuff did not like funerals. He did not want to see dead bodies here either. He’d seen people drowned before. It was horrible … the bodies all bloated out of shape, and squashy.

But if he was ever going to be a policeman like Monk, then he’d better get used to it. Even Hester could look at dead bodies! But then she could do a lot of things that most people couldn’t.

He moved to stand beside a man and woman who were nicely dressed, but pale-faced and as close together as they could get. What would he say to them? Something that would not sound stupid, or childish, or cruel. Nobody was coming out of the wreck alive. Did they hope there was? They couldn’t be that daft-could they?

There was a shout from the shore. Then as they watched, the funnel of the boat broke the surface. No one made a sound. It was so quiet he could hear the gushing of water out of the sides.

Without weighing his words, Scuff turned to the man.

“You shouldn’t watch this, sir. If you lost someone, you don’t need ter see it.” Then he stopped abruptly. It was out of place. He had no right to speak. They had not asked him.

The man turned toward him in surprise, as if he had not realized Scuff was there. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. Did you lose someone, lad?”

“No. My pa’s in the River Police. He worked all night trying to save people, an’ now they’ve taken ’im off the case. Given it to the land police.” Scuff’s voice was bitter, but he could not help it.

The man’s arm tightened around the woman beside him. “You’re right. We can’t do anything here. Come on, Jenny. Don’t look. Remember him the way he was. Lad’s right.” He looked again at Scuff. “Your pa send you to report back to him?”

“No, sir! ’E thinks I’m at school! But I gotter do something. This in’t right. It’s our river. What kind of a cruise was it, sir? What kind o’ people?”

The man began to move away from the place where he had been standing. His arm was still around the woman, but his glance included Scuff.

“Just a pleasure cruise,” he replied. “The Princess Mary . Started up at Westminster Bridge and went as far as Gravesend, then back again. Expensive, at least for those attending the party. Very good food, lots of champagne and that sort of thing. Just … just people having fun.” Suddenly his face tightened with fury. “What kind of a madman would want to hurt people like that? Why, for God’s sake?”

“Albert …” The woman’s hand tightened, dragging his arm down toward her. “The boy doesn’t know. Nobody does. It’s mad … mad things don’t make sense.”

Scuff wanted to say something that would make her feel better. What would Hester have said?

“They don’t. But they can’t stop us doing our best,” he told her.

The man stared at him, but the woman suddenly smiled. It changed her face completely. “I’ll try to remember that,” she promised.

Scuff smiled back, then left them and started to work his way down the river toward the stretch he knew better. He must find some of the people he used to know before he went to live with Monk and Hester. They were the people who would never tell the police anything, either River Police or the ordinary sort. If the Princess Mary had started at Westminster Bridge, then whoever blew it up had got on before that-unless it was one of the people on the cruise. Most likely it was a porter or servant of some sort, what Monk called “invisible people.” But Scuff knew beggars, peddlers, petty thieves, people on the fringes of life-they often walked unseen, but they saw everyone.

It took him most of the morning to find exactly the right ones. Far more had changed than he could have foreseen. People had grown up; some had gone away, perhaps to sea. Some had died. No one seemed to know him anymore, and the mudlarks-the boys who scavenged on the shore for bits and pieces they could sell, as he had once done-were all strangers to him. And they all looked so small! He had not really thought of it before, but when he remembered how many new pairs of trousers Hester had bought him, he realized he’d probably grown six inches in the last few years.

Suddenly he felt awkward. They should have grown too, and they hadn’t. He saw one boy with no socks and odd boots, just as he had had. He had been going to speak to him and then changed his mind, feeling self-conscious-no, more than that, guilty. He could give this boy a few pence for a pie and a cup of tea, but what about all the others? Scuff now ate well, whenever he wanted to. Why not them? He had been no different from them, once.

He walked away along the bank. The wind in his face smelled of salt and fish and the fetid thickness of river mud. A string of barges went past, the lighterman balancing effortlessly.

Scuff did not know how he ought to feel. How could a few years make him into a different person?

Just beyond the New Crane Stairs by the West India Docks he found a boy he used to know. He was taller and heavier than before, but the wild pattern of his hair was just the same. He was standing in front of a pile of debris. There were glints of metal and brass in it, possibly something worth salvaging.

“ ’Allo, Mucker,” Scuff said cheerfully. “ ’Ere, I’ll ’elp yer.” He took part of the weight Mucker was carrying, and his legs nearly buckled under it. Scuff was taller and heavier than he used to be, too, but he was not used to hard physical labor anymore.

Mucker looked startled. “ ’Oo the ’ell are you?”

“Scuff. Don’t you remember me?”

“Scuff?” Mucker’s blunt face twisted with disbelief. “Never! Scuff were a useless little article, a foot shorter’n you! Fly as an eel, but …” He stared at Scuff with narrowed eyes. “Wot ’appened to yer? Somebody stretch yer legs?”