Imogen Robertson - Anatomy of Murder

Sam released her almost at once and ran back into the dark of the workshop, hiding himself under the blankets with his face to the wall.

Jocasta came and sat by him, then pulled a fold of newspaper full of fried bits of meat from her pocket. His swift hug had made the grease run, but she divided what was there and put his share by his side, chucked Boyo some scraps and began to eat her portion.

“I thought you were dead.”

Jocasta sniffed. “Well, I’m not. Got stuck is all.”

There was a long pause then Sam turned in his bed and began to pick away at his food. “I was up all night.” His voice was sulky and sore.

“What are you, mother to me now, whelp?”

Sam turned his back on her again, through he took his share with him. Jocasta finished eating, balled the newsprint in her hand and said, less fiercely, “Got it though. And Molloy came good. Got me in and saved my arse ten minutes later.”

“How so?” Sam asked, muffled and damp-sounding.

“Gave me a moment to hide when I needed it.” She looked down at the thin bones of his shoulders. “Sorry you were scared, Sam. I was scared enough for us both, but I had to wait till Missus and him were sleeping before I could slip out, and they talked half the night. That is, Milky Boy was shouting and slurping his words. Ripley got him good and drunk at the chophouse.”

Sam shifted and looked at her with his strange, serious eyes. “What were they talking on, Mrs. Bligh?”

“I’ll tell you. Reckon I met your Tonton Macoute an’ all.”

Sam’s eyes got wide. “You saw him?”

“Not saw him exactly, just a little bit. Heard. Or sort of heard. Get us something to drink now, I’ve been breathing slut’s wool all night and my mouth’s too dry to tell.”

He was up and grabbing the pitcher so fast, Boyo spun a circle and barked.

Harriet pushed herself away from the wall while Crowther tried to speak a little more like himself.

“We must examine the body here, I believe. If you would care to send Harwood’s men into the room, we may arrange the corpse and I can begin.”

Harriet took her cloak from the chair behind her and began to set it round her shoulders.

“I shall certainly send them in. But for myself, I have to go, Crowther. I am taking Stephen to visit James this morning. It is already a little past the hour I promised him we should depart.”

Crowther looked at her in surprise. “Surely, Mrs. Westerman, you can have no intention of traveling all the way out to Highgate this morning?”

She paused in the fastening of the cloak and said evenly, “I have every intention of doing so. I made a promise to my son.”

“A promise made before these people were murdered! This is nonsense.”

Harriet stiffened. “You call it nonsense? I have a duty to my husband and son, and what could I do here? You know Bywater bled to death. You do not need me to examine his stomach contents. I have seen the room and we agree. We shall meet later in the day.”

“As you wish, madam.” His voice was very cold.

Harriet’s hands fumbled at her fastenings and she said fiercely, “Oh, don’t talk to me in that tone, Crowther! Lord, I am bullied and harried at every side. Rachel, Graves, Mrs. Service’s concerned looks! Now you begin. You told me yourself to take Stephen. It is not his fault this blood has been spilled, and my husband is ill, and I must care for him.”

Crowther spoke with a faint drawl. “Care for him, or be seen to care for him, Mrs. Westerman?”

She spun toward him, her finger raised and accusing, red spots of color rising in her pale cheeks. Crowther had the startling impression that if she had been within reach, she would have struck him.

“Do not dare , sir! Never for a moment. . never dare question my love for my husband! Not you! There is not another man in England of half his worth, not another man better loved by his family or more valued. I would gladly give my life. .” It seemed the air went out of her lungs. She turned away with her head down. “Do not dare, sir.”

Crowther shut his eyes briefly before opening them again and saying, “My apologies, madam. I spoke in haste.”

She would not look at him. “I hope to see you this afternoon at Berkeley Square,” she said very quietly, and left the room.

Crowther turned and slammed the wall above Bywater’s mantelpiece with the flat of his hand.

In his keenness to hear her, Sam seemed to have forgotten he was angry with Mrs. Bligh. Jocasta wiped the small beer off her mouth, took her papers from her pocket and dropped them in front of him. He touched them gently, as if they might sting.

“What do they say?” he asked.

“Can’t tell. Looks like a list of some sort, and there are numbers too. We’ll go and ask Ripley and thank him for getting Fred so messy at the chophouse.”

Sam sniggered. “Was he horrid out of it?”

“Heard him meet sharp with every stick of furnishing in the place, and all the time whining and grieving till the old bitch slapped some quiet into him.” Jocasta smiled, then went more serious again. “He went still as the grave when the other fella came in though.”

Sam shivered. “Tonton Macoute?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t hear him. His side of it was all whispered. Mother Mitchell’s voice could cut rock, though. Heard her .”

Sam had wrapped his arms round his knees. “Did they say anything on Finn and Clayton, Mrs. Bligh?”

Jocasta leaned forward to pick up Boyo by his scruff and set him on her knees. “Reckon they did. From her words, it sounded like they’d decided I’d taken warning and was gone. She praised the fella for it.” She pulled at Boyo’s ears, and the terrier twisted around to lick her hand. “She sounded fat and happy. Something happened last night that made her light-as if all their troubles were neatened. Then I heard her open the table and give him the papers.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Did they notice you’d filched some, Mrs. Bligh?”

She shook her head. “There were bundles. I just took a few pages from the middle, is all. Then I heard him speak.”

“What did he say?”

“If you gave a fox or a crow a voice and told it to speak quiet, I reckon it would sound like that. He said his master thought there was a sailor might give trouble. Something about a bloke picked up on a boat what might have said something he shouldn’t, so this sailor needed finding and sorting.”

“Did you hear a name?”

“Maybe. It was said lower than the rest, my mind’s still trying to get its tongue round it, and my old heart was banging about so. Then Fred was promising him more papers and the crow voice was out of the place.”

Sam’s face was so serious and thoughtful, Jocasta almost laughed. “Come on then, lad, if your breakfast’s finished. We got to go and see Ripley, then Molloy. Make our thanks and make our way.”

“What about the sailor?”

“We’ll ask about, and them as we ask will ask too, soon as I can wring a name from my head.”

Harriet had been aware of Isabella’s letters to Fitzraven in her possession and the necessity of reading them, but in the rush of the last days she had found it relatively simple to avoid the task. They had not been mentioned at the conclusion of their first interview with Miss Marin, and Harriet had assumed that a tacit agreement had been reached between all those present that they would be read and then returned without comment, unless comment was particularly called for. She had not liked to do so, however; it was a gross intrusion, and her own liking for the soprano had made the issue uncomfortable. Now she opened the package on her lap without any feeling other than a profound sympathy. Crowther had been right. The dead had no privacy at all.