Alex Grecian - The Yard

Hammersmith frowned at his fingers and wiped them on his already filthy trousers.

“His nose?” Day said.

“I was trying to get him by the hair,” Hammersmith said. “I forgot the bastard was bald.”

Get behind me,” Blacker said.

He stepped in front of Penelope Shaw. She grabbed his shoulders, frightened, and despite the seriousness of their situation he felt an electric thrill run through his body.

“Put the pistol down,” he said.

The short woman laughed at him.

“You give me your pistol, mister,” she said.

“I know you won’t shoot me. You didn’t shoot any of the others, did you?”

“What do you know about the others?” This was the tall one talking, the one with the scar. She looked worried.

“Did you get them to sit still and let you shave them because you had the pistol? Or did you make them shave themselves?”

“How do you know that?”

“Don’t matter how he knows it, Liza,” the tall one said. “He won’t know it much longer.”

“I won’t let you shave me. And I won’t shave myself. I know that if I do, you’ll cut my throat. So you have no bargaining power here.”

“Then I’ll shoot you now.”

“Well, I suppose you do have that one bit of bargaining power,” he said.

He pointed at the arched entryway behind the two women. “Get back to the kitchen, Bradley.”

The tall woman laughed again. “You ain’t gonna fool me so easy,” she said.

“Leave him alone,” Bradley said.

Surprised, the short woman-the other one had called her Liza-turned around. The tall one glanced at her friend for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Blacker to make his move. He leapt forward, and as he did, he felt his pistol come free from his belt. He landed on the tall woman, knocking her on her back against the floor. Liza attacked him, beating Blacker on the back with her fists. He ignored her and grabbed the tall woman’s arm, shoving it up and away as she fired the pistol. The bullet smacked into the wall by the staircase, and Blacker felt his stomach lurch as he looked for Bradley, afraid that he’d been hit.

A plain, dark-haired woman ran from the room beyond the arch and gathered Bradley in her arms. The boy seemed frightened but unharmed. Blacker heard Penelope’s voice coming from somewhere behind him.

“You! Stop hitting my friend.”

Blacker turned to see her holding his own pistol. She had it aimed at Liza.

The short prostitute backed away from Blacker and stood pouting against the wall. Blacker picked up the tall woman’s pistol. He stood up and moved away from her, keeping the weapon casually aimed in the direction of the two killers.

“Elizabeth,” Penelope said, “please take Bradley to the kitchen and get him something warm to drink. When you have a moment, send someone round to fetch the police. Ask them to bring a carriage.”

“My colleague is asleep in the wagon outside,” Blacker said. “Let’s wake him.”

“Beg pardon, but there’s no wagon outside, sir,” Elizabeth said.

“He’s gone?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Well, fancy that. He’s an odd duck, Hammersmith is. I suppose you’d better send a runner after the police after all, then.”

Elizabeth mumbled something that Blacker couldn’t hear and took Bradley by the hand, leading him out of sight.

The tall prostitute stood up and brushed herself off. She moved over next to Liza against the wall and sneered at Blacker.

“Bet you liked that, eh? Up on top of me like you was?”

“Not especially,” Blacker said.

“You woulda had your way wiff me if she didn’t interrupt us. I saw you wanted to.”

“Not in the slightest,” Blacker said. “And you might be wise to keep quiet for the time being.”

“Or what? You’ll hit me? Smack me a good one? Show me who’s in charge?”

“I don’t hit women.”

“I, on the other hand, have no problem hitting women,” Penelope said. “Nor do I have a problem shooting them, so keep quiet until the police arrive with a wagon.”

“You won’t shoot me,” the tall one said.

“I believe she would,” Blacker said. “She’s remarkably unpredictable.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Penelope said.

“It was meant as one. Might I have my pistol back before the other police get here?”

“Of course.”

She turned the gun around and handed it to him, and he put it back in his belt where it belonged. He kept the women’s gun aimed at them.

“We may have a bit of a wait ahead of us,” Blacker said. “Wagons are in ridiculously short supply at the Yard.”

“Then are you sure you won’t have a spot of tea?” Penelope said.

“Thank you. Actually, tea sounds lovely.”

He winked at her and she smiled back.

The grounds of the tailor’s house reminded Day of the train station two days before. Dozens of police milled about, digging up flower beds and prying off cellar doors. There was a chance that Cinderhouse had taken other boys and that their remains were still somewhere nearby.

The tailor himself sat at the curb in a padlocked wagon with a guard of Sergeant Kett and three constables. Nobody was taking any chance that he might get away from them. Hammersmith had broken the tailor’s nose, and the police were in no particular hurry to have it set for him. Sir Edward, who had arrived moments ago, reprimanded two constables who had spent a few happy minutes pushing Cinderhouse about in the dirt.

But he didn’t relieve them of duty.

Sir Edward approached Day and Hammersmith where they sat on a low stone wall at the side of the carriage house.

“Well done, you two.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mr Day, if there was any confusion about whether you were up to the job, I believe you’ve proven yourself beyond a doubt.”

“Sir.”

“And Mr Hammersmith. You surprise me.”

“How so, sir?”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“No, sir.”

Sir Edward smiled. “Come see me once you’ve had that arm looked at, Hammersmith.”

Hammersmith nodded and Sir Edward walked away, already barking orders at his men.

“Let’s take a wagon and get you to hospital,” Day said.

“Not yet,” Hammersmith said. “Something I have to do first.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a scared little boy has to be returned home.”

Day grinned. “Ah,” he said. “That duty would be a pleasure after all this. May I accompany you?”

“I wish you would.”

They stood and made their way to the street, where at least a dozen police carriages were nosed in against the curb. For once, there was no shortage of vehicles.

Fiona found some things for him to wear. His clothes were filthy.”

“Thank you for watching after him,” Hammersmith said.

“Not at all,” Kingsley said. “He’s a delightful boy. As brave and helpful as my own children.”

“We’ll take him back to his family now. I imagine he’ll sleep for a week after all he’s been through.”

“I’d like to ride along, if you don’t mind,” Kingsley said. “We can take my carriage. It’s a bit nicer than the police issue.”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

“To be honest with you, these past few days have broadened my horizons some. I find that I rather enjoy getting out of the lab.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come.”

“Fiona,” Kingsley said. “Look after things here, will you?”

“Of course, Father.”

The girl smiled at Hammersmith and he smiled back. He was suddenly aware of his broken nose, bloody arm, and soiled clothes. He was bothered and had no idea why.