Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

Then, waiting until the packet of knives was safely wrapped (even offering his hand in tying the leather thongs that secured it), Mr. Bailey told the butcher that much as he regretted it, he must detain him for a bit until such time as Sir John had arrived, for the magistrate would surely have questions for him.

Then to me he turned and directed me to fetch Sir John. “But, Jeremy, I want you to go back the way we came. Stop at the Jewish church, and if all’s quiet there, tell Constable Cowley to come here to Henrietta Street. Tell him to see can he borrow a lantern from the priest there. Then I want you to go on to Tavistock Street, and if the surgeon’s about, the Irishman …”

“Mr. Donnelly,” I put in.

“That’s him. Ask him to come here, too. Then, of course, on to Bow Street to fetch Sir John. Offer my apologies for breaking into his evening, but due to the circumstances, he’ll want to be here. Got all that, have you?”

“Certainly, Mr. Bailey.”

“Oh, and have Mr. Baker give you a lantern, too. We need light here.” He nodded, dismissing me. “Off you

go.”

And indeed I went.

There was no problem at the synagogue. Maiden Lane was even quieter than Henrietta Street. Constable Cowley seemed near half-asleep on his feet.

“Go on, take him, send him away,” said Constable Langford. “If a great mob did attack us, I do believe he would sleep right through it.”

“I need to be moving around,” said Cowley.

“You need to be sleeping in the daylight hours instead of playing in bed with that would-be wife of yours.”

“We’ll be married soon. You’ll see.”

“Why buy the cow when you’re getting your milk free?” Constable Langford must have thought he had made a great joke, for he laughed most heartily at it.

I rapped hard upon the door. A minute later, shutters opened above and Rabbi Gershon’s head popped out.

“You, Jeremiah! Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, I was just wondering, sir, if you might have a lantern we could borrow.”

“Certainly! Of course! I’ll be right down with it.”

I liked not the notion of leaving Mr. Langford alone, if only for an hour, and so I offered him one of the two pistols I carried. “If you shoot into the air, we’ll hear and come at quick-time. We’re just a street away.”

He accepted it and tucked it into his belt.

Then the door to the synagogue opened, and Rabbi Ger-shon handed out the lantern. I thanked him and promised its return, but said nothing about why it was needed. It would have upset him greatly to know that another woman had died.

I gave over the lighted lantern to Constable Cowley and urged him on his way. Then on to Tavistock Street and Mr. Donnelly.

Having no idea just how the doctor spent his evenings, I feared I might find him away. Yet light shone beneath the door to his two-room surgery as I arrived, somewhat out of breath. I took a moment to regain it, then knocked upon his door.

After a moment’s pause, I heard footsteps and then his voice from the other side.

“Yes? Who is there?”

“‘Tis I, Jeremy Proctor from Bow Street.”

He slipped the bolt and threw open the door. “What a fine surprise,” said he. “Come in, come in.”

“I cannot, much as I would like. I’ve been sent to summon you to Henrietta Street. There’s been another woman found dead.”

“Ah, sweet Jesus, when will it end? Was she cut up all horrible like the last?”

“No, sir, she was not. It was done quite like the first — a small wound just below the sternum — an upward thrust through the cardiac vein.”

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.”