Chapter Nine
Nereia went upstairs and found Mary chatting with Hanna, the two of them bantering in a carefree way that went to Nereia’s heart. Her sister was going to be very beautiful, Nereia thought, admiring the way the green of her dress brought out the richness of her golden curls, gleaming in a stray ray of sunshine. This was how Mary should have been, laughing with a friend of her own age. She should be safe and cared for, not condemned to this precarious way of life. And now, after all they had been through and the deadness of heart to which she had resigned herself, it seemed just possible that Madam would be able to send Mary to safety with her maternal relations.
Nereia could not express even to herself just how much she wanted this to happen. She would give up anything to make it so! How painful it was to come back to life and hope; and with it pain and fear and all the other uncertainties which Nereia had been dead to. Ever since it happened, ever since they’d been caught she had felt as if made of stone, heavy and dull and unassailable. Now everything was to play for once more, and hope and fear stabbed her to the heart.
“Nereia? Are you all right?” Noticing her sister’s red, swollen eyes, Mary came rushing over to throw her arms around her. “What happened?”
“Nothing, Mary; I’m fine, I promise you.” Nereia’s voice was a little ragged despite her best efforts. “Do you mind if I don’t go out for a walk?”
“Of course not; we’ll stop here and eat biscuits instead!”
“I need to talk to Madam and it may take a while, so I thought that you and Hanna might like to go instead. Hanna, if you’d like to I’ll ask Madam about it.”
Mary looked at Hanna and Hanna looked at Mary; clearly they did want to go.
Nereia smiled. “Why don’t you put something warm on? Madam says it’s cold outside.”
When they got back downstairs Madam stood at the parlour door.
“May I go, Madam?” Hanna asked shyly.
“You may.” She held out a silver coin to the pair of them. “Buy a sugared bun or whatever takes your fancy, and get a bit of fresh air. Hanna, I’ll need you back in enough time to help Astrid prepare lunch, but until then the morning is yours. I rely on you,” and just for a moment, there was steel in her gaze, “to keep Mary out of mischief, and Mary, I’m relying on you to get Hanna back in good time so that neither of you end up in trouble.”
Hanna curtsied while Mary added “I will, Madam.”
“I am not necessarily expecting any change though, so if you happen to feel the need to stop at the coffeehouse or something of that sort, I shan’t be unduly offended.” The girls exchanged a delighted look. “No taverns though!”
“Thank you Madam!” they chorused, and the two of them fairly scampered out, the blonde and the red hair catching the sun as they opened the front door.
Madam smiled to herself; they’d be safe enough in the coffeehouse. She went back to Nereia who sat smoothing the blue of her skirt nervously. “So... Nereia, do you know when that other you, the implacable one, surfaces?”
“No, not until it has done.”
“Come over to the mirror,” Madam suggested. “You’ll see it in the eyes. They go blurry or wide; I don’t know how to describe it, but you’ll see it.”
Nereia stared at her reflection for some minutes. “Nothing’s happening.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Madam thought about this for a moment. “The times when I’ve seen it, it’s been when Copeland was here or when you were thinking about what happened. I’m sorry to say it but I suspect that if you want to summon it, you’ll have to think about when you went down into the room.”
“Really?” Nereia asked nervously.
Madam nodded. “Look into the mirror and tell your reflection about it.”
Nereia thought about that day for the first time since it had happened. Just trying to remember, her memory shied away from it but Nereia was determined. She was afraid of thinking back to that night but was more frightened that if she did not get this other self under control, it would hurt somebody. Furthermore, Mary had been frightened to see it, so though she could already feel her back tensing up painfully under the bandages and her legs threatening to go shaky at the knees, Nereia gritted her teeth, looked deep into the mirror, and remembered.
Madam, standing behind her, saw her eyes become blurred and that dead, implacable glare come into them; and then after a moment of conflict, Nereia’s eyes rolled up and she dropped to the floor like one dead. Cursing, Madam tried to lift her onto the sofa, but found that the girl was strangely heavy; so heavy that she could not move her. She took one of the cushions from the chair and placed it under the girl’s head and then, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled her shawl from the back of the sofa and covered Nereia with it.
There was no waking the girl, and her skin had gone bone-white, accentuated by the straight dark hair that fell past her shoulders and now pooled on the floor. Madam hoped she had not done something very stupid. What if the next time Nereia’s eyes opened it was the implacable thing looking through them and not Mary’s sister? Gods, she hoped that that would not be the case.
Being of a practical bent, she brought over her mending and a little table and sat beside the girl in case there was any change; but though she did her best to concentrate, she spent considerably more time watching the girl’s face than she did setting stitches.
All unaware of anything more sinister than a couple of hours’ freedom on a fine, crisp day, Mary and Hanna walked away down the street, chatting nineteen to the dozen. Mary was enjoying Hanna’s company. The red-haired servant girl was unlike any of Mary’s other acquaintances. Admiring her own neat reflection and slender waist in windows as they passed, the chambermaid talked all about her beau, the finest fisherman in the fleet, and her father who was a carpenter. They were not excessively well off, she said, but certainly had enough to live which meant they were not too deep in Copeland’s shadow. Mary listened in wonder as her friend ordered confidently at the coffeehouse. The waitress teased Hanna as she brought the coffeepot over and Mary gathered that though not a regular, Hanna did occasionally go there for a treat. The coffee was rich and not too bitter and when the waitress brought them over a sugared bun apiece, Mary thought she had died and gone to heaven.
“Ahhh, that was good,” Mary sighed eventually, licking her fingers as surreptitiously as she could. She leaned over to Hanna. “I suppose it’d be terribly bad manners to lick the plate?”
Hanna grinned. “Yes it would; but if you want to, I’ll distract everyone’s attention.”
“Really? How?” Mary was intrigued.
Hanna looked round briefly. “See the old dame in the corner, in the black with the stick?” Mary nodded. “I’d go to leave and trip over the stick; and as I fell forward, I’d jolt her elbow. Then she’d spill coffee on that smart lady’s jacket, and the smart lady would stand up and make a terrible to-do about it. But she’s got her dogs with her, so as the waitress dashed over to help the dogs would come tumbling out from under the table and bite the waitress’ ankle. Then the waitress,” Hanna cast a significant glance over her shoulder, “would fall into the lap of the thin beardy man, which would offend his wife so much that she would pick up her parasol and bang it on the table.”
“But as she picked it up,” Mary joined in, “she would catch the end of it on the big shelf there, which would raise up the end of it so that all the ornaments would roll down to the other end, and bounce off the head of the cook-”
“-until finally the brass pan fell on her head like a helmet,” continued Hanna, “and everybody rushed over to help her pry it off!”
“Whereupon it would become apparent that far from having used the cover of all this chaos to lick the plate, I’ve been sitting there with my mouth open just watching!”
The two of them giggled in a most indelicate manner, earning them a couple of acid comments from the fine ladies on the tabl
es nearby. This made it all so much funnier that they could not maintain a ladylike decorum and, trying not to catch each other’s eye, they paid the bill and fled the scene, stopping only at the end of the road to go into fits of good, honest, ungainly laughter.
Jack finished breakfast and paid his compliments to his hostess in his usual extravagant manner. It amused Esme no end when he went into what she called his High Society manners and this time the contrast between his profuse, flowery compliments and his rustic attire had her rolling her eyes to the high heavens.
“Esme, I don’t know why you should make fun of an honest farmer who has dropped by to wish you a good morning,” Jack told her.
“I don’t know why I should either, milord, but when you’re dressed up like that you don’t look in the least like a good honest farmer!”
“But I bought the clothes from a good honest farmer! Unless of course the bit you’re quibbling with is my being good and honest in which case you’re quite right. My secret is discovered – I am in fact bad and wicked!” He pulled a terrible grimace and Esme poked him in the arm.
“I always knew that, milord! The problem isn’t the clothes though, it’s you. A child could see you’re not of farming stock, or of a fishing family or any other kind of working man.”
“No, really?” Jack was intrigued. “How?”
Esme surveyed him analytically. “It’s difficult to say. The minute you open your mouth you give yourself away, but it’s more than that. You stand like a Lord; you walk as if you own everything you see. Your hands are not a worker’s hands and you’re fashionably untanned, so you obviously haven’t spent much time outside in the fields or at sea, but mostly it’s... It’s the way you swagger.”
“Swagger?” Jack was highly diverted by this. “I’d never pegged myself as a swaggerer before. My mother will be shocked beyond measure!”
“All right, not swagger, exactly. You’re confident; not cocky like some of the lads but... Assured, maybe? You’re not automatically wary or afraid and you’re not used to others telling you what to do. You’re not so used to being tired that it becomes a way of life. You haven’t had to get up at cockcrow regardless of whether you slept or not or whether you feel ill, and you go through life more at ease than a working man does. It’s in your attitude, your posture, everything.”
“Is that true?” Jack was thoughtful now.
Esme shrugged. “Can you tell the difference between a race horse and a farmer’s horse, milord? The difference is as obvious. The only one who’d mistake you for a worker is someone who doesn’t notice people, the sort who would see a horse and not wonder what kind of horse it was. Otherwise-”
“I know, my aristocratic blood shines through!”
“When it is not eclipsed by the sort of manners to shock a farmer, yes!” she retorted, taking his plate through to the kitchen. “What will you do this morning? Apart from acquainting yourself with the idea of morning being at the beginning of the day, that is. Vansel will be back for lunch but he certainly wasn’t expecting to see you up and about.”
“Ha! The morning is my own then!” Jack was gleeful as a child. “I shall go and explore, and observe the downtrodden demeanour of the working man so that when Vansel does get back I can stun him with my accurate impersonation of a farmer!”
“He will be stunned one way or the other, I shouldn’t wonder. Do you know your way around this town, milord?”
“No... but if I get lost I can always ask someone.”
“Well, just you be careful. I should take Jem out with you.”
“Esme, I’m a grown man!”
“My Lord, you are aristocratic, barely turned eighteen and in a town which has a good share of pickpockets and thugs! More importantly,” she dug him in the ribs affectionately, “I’d be in serious trouble with Vansel if anything happened to you.”
“Ah. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Take Jem with you, do. He’s only moping about waiting for Alaric to get in touch. It’d be a great favour if you would.”
Jack, no fool, knew full well that he was being manipulated, but he was very fond of Esme and knew that Vansel would not appreciate his charge wandering round the town unattended. Besides, he was bound to get lost otherwise, so it would be useful to have a guide.
“Very well.”
Esme smiled. “Jem!” Her husband popped his head through the door. “Milord Jack wants to go explore the town – would you go with him and make sure he doesn’t get lost?”
“Certainly, m’dear!” In short order Jem had located hat and coat and was waiting by the front door when Jack came out similarly attired. “Right, milord; where would you like to go?”
“What shall we do now?” Mary and Hanna were at a stall in the market place. They were sorting through ribbons to wear in their hair. These were not of a very good quality but they were bright, gaudy colours which lifted the spirits.
“I know.” Hanna picked up a third ribbon. “Let’s go see Bet - she could do with cheering up a bit. Madam said I could go later in the week but I daresay a day or two won’t make much difference.”
“Is she... Is she all right?” Mary was slightly subdued.
“I think so. Madam says her face is healing nicely and she’s over the fever.” Hanna paid for the ribbons and set off towards Mickel’s warehouse, Mary lagging behind a little. “What’s the matter? Don’t you know her? Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you. I think you’d like her. She’s great fun, is Bet - at least I guess she’ll not be on form until her face has healed properly, but when she is, she’s good fun.” Mary looked awkward, and Hanna continued “Don’t worry, she’ll really like you.”
“It’s not that,” Mary faltered. “It’s just-”
“I know you don’t know many people round here and you’re a bit shy,” Hanna soothed kindly. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m going to take you round and introduce you to all my friends - we’ll have a great time. There are two or three of the girls who I would introduce you to but they’ll be working this morning so we’ll do that another time. But if you’d be interested I’ll take you to see my family. They’d really like you too, and you should see some of the stuff my father’s apprentices make in their spare time - little toys for my sister and a neat little table that folds flat, and all sorts of things.” She cast Mary a mischievous look. “I think my father thought that if he took on enough nice young men I might marry one of them and then he could take over the business and I’d never have to work. You can imagine how angry he was when I brought my beau, Raf home! Poor Raf - he’s not the woodworking sort. But he works really hard at his fishing and he always catches enough. It’s just that what with him supporting his mother he wouldn’t earn enough for all of us, so I told my father that I was going to learn to be a maid with Madam so I can get educated with the rest of them and once I can do numbers properly, I’ll sort out that side of my father’s business and he can pay me a wage and then we’ll have enough to live on nicely and we can get married. My mother kept her wedding dress - of course it’s terribly out of date now but it can be altered for me and my sister will be a bridesmaid and get a new dress, and my father will make us some furniture and we will live-” she finally stopped to take a breath, “-Happily Ever After.”
Mary, overwhelmed by this sudden rush of confidences, suddenly realised that it was her cue.
“Gosh, that will be wonderful...” She hesitated. It would be awkward to go back and explain about Bet now, but as soon as she had finished with the good wishes she would do so. “Raf will be a very lucky man-”
“And I’ll be a very lucky woman!” Hanna smiled, lost in dreams of a bright future. “He’s so young and handsome, and he works so hard and he’s so kind to me. He’s such a catch and I caught him, which is a good start if I’m going to be a fisherman’s wife, don’t you think? We haven’t set a date yet because we’re waiting for me to learn a bit more about keeping the books, but it sh
ouldn’t be too much longer now and then I’ll be married and we’ll live together and- Wait, isn’t that Bet?”
Hanna darted across the road, pulling Mary with her and after a moment, she found herself face to face with Bet, who had frozen when she heard her name called but relaxed slightly on sight of her red-haired friend.
“Hanna? What are you doing here?”
“Madam let me out for the morning to go for a walk with Mary, so we thought we’d come and see how you were getting on.” She stood back so that for the first time Bet saw Mary. For a moment the two girls froze, both covered in confusion and shame. Then they both blurted out “I’m so sorry,” and stopped in surprise.
“Why are you sorry?” Mary asked cautiously.
“It was all my fault that they found you and it’s been haunting me for days.” Bet stopped as a thought struck her. “Wait a minute, what are you sorry for?”
“Well, it was our fault, what happened to you... Actually, it’s been haunting me for days too.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think it’s been haunting the whole town,” Hanna told them softly. They looked at her uncertainly, and she shrugged. “It does no-one any good though. What do you say that for the minute we all stop haunting each other and just be friends?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mary’s sense of the ridiculous got the better of her. “We all stop haunting each other?”
She and Bet looked at each other; and suddenly Bet threw her head back and laughed, catching herself with a yelp as it pulled at her scar. She rubbed her face but could not stop and, after a moment, Mary joined in and then Hanna. For a long moment they could not do anything, caught in a fit of hysterical giggles then, recovering herself slightly, Bet gestured to them.
“Come on! Shhhh!” She was still wiping tears from her eyes as she led them round the back of the warehouse. Mary and Hanna followed, giggling but mystified, as Bet followed the path round the back. She ducked under the office windows and they copied, following to the back of the privy. As quietly as she could, she heaved a large sheet of wood to one side, revealing a door which Bet unlocked and a trapdoor which she hauled open.
Vansel popped out like a jack-in-the-box and looked so surprised that he caused a flurry of further giggles, immediately suppressed. He thanked Bet in a low voice and hurried off. Bet led the girls along the passageway back to the road, and they stopped there to chatter at leisure.
Copeland had long disappeared by the time Blakey staggered out of the caves. He collapsed on the ledge as the recollection of what happened really sank in and sat, chilled and shaking in the autumn sun. He knew more now about the origins of the pearly flakes in his snuffbox than he had ever wished to know. Given the importance of the process and the income it earned, it alarmed him even more that Copeland had lost his control enough to kill such a valuable asset as Old Emma, who had supervised it all. Blakey could not reconcile the importance of his new role here with Copeland’s growing suspicion of him, but whatever it meant, it did not bode well.
He shook his head. He would think about that later. He was supposed to be supervising in the sheds but he could not bring himself to go back into the caves right now. He could not rid himself of the image of that beatific face, half orange with the light of the traitorous lantern and half blue with Angel-light. It was no good. He had to find out who the boy had been and break the news to his family, though how he would explain how the boy had died he didn’t know. He heaved himself up and made his way to the drying sheds, stopping only in the entrance to dip a cupful of water from the barrel and swill his mouth out. Then he walked into the sheds, and went to find the overseer of the drying floor.
“So who is he, the jack-in-the-box man?”
“Vansel, his name is. More than that I don’t really know - a friend of Mickel’s.” Bet shrugged. “I know it sounds stupid but I was actually a bit scared of coming outside, so I’m really glad you two came along. It’s not half so scary when you’re not on your own.”
“I know what you mean,” Mary confided. “This is the first time I’ve been outside since - you know - but Madam sent Hanna with me and we’ve had some fun. We still have a bit of time left. Do you want us to come up to the bakery with you? Then if the soldiers are still there when you get back, at least you’ll have the bread in case they ask.”
“Yes please. Just the thought of seeing Mr Copeland makes me go all wobbly inside.”
“Me too.” Mary changed the subject abruptly. “Oooh, we got you something. At the market, I mean.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten!” Hanna fumbled in her pocket. “Here.” She held out the little coil of heather-purple ribbon to Bet, who took it reverently.
“For me? Oh thank you! I love this colour, too. Hold on a moment.” Bet stopped and put her basket on the wall so that she could tie the ribbon in a neat bow around the end of her plait. She smiled, admiring the rich splash of colour against her chestnut hair and they walked on, chattering, as far as the baker’s. As they went in, however, that establishment dropped into silence.
“Hello ladies. What can I do for you?” Arram said cheerfully.
Bet was clearly very conscious of all the stares and shrank back into silence, so Hanna replied. “Mickel wants some bread. Did he say what sort, Bet?”
“No...”
Arram busied himself wrapping up a loaf and just at that moment his wife came in. “Goodness, it’s all gone quiet in here. Whatever - oh!” Seeing the three girls, she stopped dead and then, taking in the situation, she made a decision. She cast a glance outside the door of the bakery, shut it firmly behind her and turned back to them.
“Bet, Mary, it’s good to see you both. I don’t suppose you’d know but the whole town has been worried about you. We didn’t know if either of you were alive or dead - or your sister, Mary - and we’ve all been thinking about you.” She paused, weighing her words. “I don’t suppose there is anything helpful we can do but if you ever need anything, any help or whatever, just come and ask.”
“Sara!” Arram was aghast at the risk his wife was taking. If just one of these women reported this implied criticism back to Copeland, there would be serious consequences for them all.
“What, Arram?” she demanded. “These ladies are my good neighbours and most of them are thinking the same as I am. But somebody has to say it! These girls need to know that they should not feel alone or ashamed. This is a hard, unforgiving town and it’s dangerous enough just living here.” She did not mention Copeland but everyone knew what she meant. “If we don’t look after each other we’ll end up huddled alone in the darkness, waiting for that knock on the door. I don’t want to stir anything up, but these girls have been through a hell of a lot and if it makes it easier to know that we are on their side, then we should let them know it.” She turned back to the girls and grinned suddenly. “And if he was even thinking about trying to charge you for that loaf, I’ll have his guts for garters!”
Even Bet cracked a smile at that and, in the pause that followed, another woman stepped forward, a thin, fragile woman with grey hair. “Sara has the right of it. I’m not looking to make trouble but what happened to you was not right. I stand with Sara. If you ever need anything, from a meal to a mended stocking to a shoulder to cry on, come to us. And you tell your sister I said so.”
“Thank you.” Mary was abashed at this unexpected support.
“I stand with Sara too.” This voice made them all jump, booming as it did from a short red-faced woman. “And if that Blakey ever tries to come near you again, he’ll feel the business end of my rolling pin!”
They all grinned and yet it was in deadly earnest.
“I’ll slap him with a fish, an old sloppy gurnard, no less!” one of the fish-wives joined in gleefully and all of a sudden the rest were off.
“I’ll prick him with pins!”
“And smash a bottle over his head!”
“Not the good stuff I hope! Give them
some of that vinegar you sold me the other day!”
“Oi! That’s decent stuff that is! Blakey can have the bottle once it’s empty.”
“We’ll douse him in the harbour mud!”
“Yes, head down!”
“With the tide coming in!”
“I’ll whack his shins with my walking stick!” shouted Arram’s elderly mother from her chair in the corner, “and once he’s down I’ll kick him in the bozzy, see if I don't!” Her cackle was positively vicious.
There was a few seconds of baffled silence.
“Er... what’s the bozzy?”
Everyone looked at each other; then Sara quipped “Isn’t it that little yard behind the harbour?” and suddenly the shop resounded with guffaws.
“It wasn’t that funny!” Hanna whispered. Mary said nothing, but she thought it was not so much the joke as a release of tension. Something had happened here today, something that nobody had intended, and they were all a little scared at having been caught up in it. And yet, these were hard, no-nonsense women who might be worn down by the difficulties of their lives, but who had been tempered by the process as well. Mary could not define it exactly, but she felt as if she and her sister had suddenly found a band of allies.
Blakey went to look for Den. As overseer, he did not work on the drying floors but was in charge of the caskets of Angel Feathers in the store-room, keeping track of how many went in or out. He had a small bunk in the corner and a large part of his job was making sure that the workers did not raid the stores.
“Den, how many families work here?”
The old man mused for a moment. “Six families.”
“There was a boy who is about fourteen. Do you know who it would be?”
“There are three or four, mebbe.”
“Where are they now? Show me.”
With much muttering, the old man heaved himself up from his bench. He locked up first the cupboards and the hatch and then the storeroom. He put the keys on their ring into the capacious pocket of his jacket, struggled into a canvas over-suit, wet a cloth and wrapped it around the lower half of his face, and then held out a second one to Blakey.
Blakey waved it aside. “I’m fine, thanks.”
The old man’s eyebrows shot up. “So that’s why he’s put you here!” He stumped along to the stairs to the gallery, Blakey following. They mounted to the balcony and stopped at the first room. Den looked over the railing for some moments, grunted and moved on to the second. No-one in the first room, evidently, Blakey thought, and felt himself relaxing a bit.
“That’s one of them. Want him?” Den nodded at one of the figures in the second room.
“No. One is missing and I need to tell his family.”
“I doubt they’ll notice.”
Blakey was quite struck by this – though not as much as he expected to be, he realised.
The old man dug him sharply in the ribs. “You won’t last long here without wearing a face-cloth.”
Blakey smiled, unheeding, wrapped in comfortable content as he inhaled the dust of Angel Feathers. Den muttered to himself and moved on; none in the third room either. He led Blakey back downstairs and round into the adjoining hut where the workers stayed when not on-shift. This was a windowless, sparsely-furnished place, warm and thick with the smell of sweat and humanity but with an acrid, metallic edge that was almost an aftertaste. It was vaguely familiar but Blakey had more important things on his mind. Or at least he was supposed to. He was beginning to feel quite placid and complacent, which should have been disconcerting because he knew that he had been awash with horror only a few minutes before.
The hut was crowded and untidy, lit only by two dim lanterns at either end. The remains of stale food were left on the table or trodden into the floorboards and the tables and chairs looked to have been knocked together by someone unskilled. The walls were lined with bunks; half of them were filled with sleeping bodies and in one corner there was a terrible, decaying smell.
“Hah! Haven’t been here for a while. I’ll get rid of that.” Den gestured. It was a corpse, apparently a couple of days dead and now stinking through the thick fug of the dormitory. Unpleasant, Blakey thought, slightly surprised that no-one had done anything about it.
He followed Den over to the sleeping bodies. None stirred as he yelled and turned them over. He did not bother with more than a cursory glance at their faces, but lifted the left wrist of each to peer at the markings on it. “Second one here.”
After he had looked at all of the sleepers, he went back to a woman on the third bunk from the door. “This is the third boy’s mother. The families work the same shifts. Normally they sleep in neighbouring beds, but I don’t see the boy. You want to speak to her?”
“Yes; can you wake her?” Despite the stink, Blakey’s head was beginning to clear a bit from that complacency which, he now realised, was the effect even of just a few minutes in the processing sheds. He didn’t want to think how powerful Angel Feathers were, that just inhaling the dust for a few moments could do that to him.
Den spent a good ten minutes trying to wake the woman. Eventually he had to dash cold water into her face, which got her spluttering into wakefulness. As she came to herself woozily, Blakey was struck by the similarity of her face to that of the dead boy; but glancing round in the half-light, he felt the hairs on his neck begin to rise. Every face in every cot, regardless of age, sex, or expression, all looked subtly alike. All of them showed what Blakey suddenly realised were traces of the slow progression to beauty that Angel Feathers brought; all, with no exceptions but Den himself.
“Your son – what is his name?” Blakey demanded of the woman.
“My son?”
“About 14 years old. You do have a son?”
“Erik. Yes...”
This was not exhaustion speaking. Blakey pulled her forward to a chair nearer the door, where the cold breeze and daylight flooded in. Her face was tired but unconcerned in its elfin beauty.
“I’m sorry, but I have to tell you that he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry ma’am.”
Her face crumpled as at last it seemed to hit home, great tears spilling from her eyes. “How...?”
“He was sitting outside the cave.” Blakey hesitated, wondering how in the world he would explain this. “Mr Copeland told him to come into the caves with us-”
“Mr Copeland?” She caught her breath. “Did Mr Copeland give him the orange lantern?”
“Yes ma’am, he did...”
Her face cleared and she wiped the back of one hand across her face irritably. “You could have told me. I thought he had just died somewhere.”
“Madam, he is dead. I saw it happen.” Blakey was not sure what he was expecting, but it was not this.
“Well of course he is. It was only a matter of time. I hope it didn’t hurt him, too. But I was starting to think that maybe it was him over there that’s smelling so bad. This way is really good news. Don’t you see? When Mr Copeland gives someone the orange lantern, he doesn’t cut their share out of the family’s allowance of Angel Feathers.”
“His allowance?” Blakey stuttered.
“Of course! Aleyn, Erik took the orange lantern!” It took a similarly long time to wake her husband, but when the eerily similar-faced man roused he listened to the news with dawning joy.
“He did? He was always a good boy, Erik, always thinking of his family!” the man exclaimed. “Den, can we have his allowance now?”
“No, of course not. Rules is rules, and I didn’t get where I am today by breaking them, not for no man!” Den replied equably.
“But we need it Den! We need it to – to cope with his loss.” Aleyn left his bed, approaching the older man.
“I’m sure you do, only you can’t have it.” Den shrugged, unmoved.
“Give it to me!” the man begged, clutching desperately at him; in one swift movement Den whipped him across the
face with a short lead lined bludgeon from his pocket. Aleyn fell, clutching at his head and bleeding profusely where the too-fragile skin had split. His wife, her face contorted with need, stumbled forward, crying “Den, please, I need it so much. You have to give it to me, you have to!” and trying to grab at him. Den backed away, calling “Time to go, Mr Blakey!” as all around them others started to wake up and rise from the beds. Thin, emaciated shapes with the same eerily beautiful face, they all surged forward, falling over each other in their eagerness.
Blakey darted out of the sheds and as Den barred the door behind them, the inhabitants beat upon it, pleading and begging. There were the crashes and bangs of chairs being smashed against the door as they tried frantically to get through. Blakey stumbled back to the storehouse in silence.
“Make you feel better, did it?”
“They’re ghouls! They’re hardly human!” Blakey stammered. “And their faces!”
“Look in the mirror sometime, why don’t you? Or in a month or two you’ll be exactly the same as they are!” Den slowed to a halt on the pebbled shingle. “Look, that was a decent thing you tried to do there and it’s more than many would have, but you have to understand the way things work here. They come to us and they work; we pay them in Angel Feathers, not in money. They have to wear the facecloths while they work but they don’t pull them close nor wet them, because that way they get a part of their fix just from breathing the dust in the air. Me, I wear a facecloth and I make sure it’s wetted and tucked close. That’s the only reason I’m still here and not lying in the dark somewhere in the depths of the cliff next to an orange lantern.”
“You know about that?”
“No, and I don’t want to know,” Den snapped. “Not if I want to survive! Look, if you know what happens to them as take the lantern and go with Mr Copeland, and if Mr Copeland is letting you wander round on that balcony without a facecloth, then you need to walk more cautiously, my lad, because it looks like Mr Copeland has got you chalked down as a customer. If he knows you are and he’s sent you to look after the sheds where the Angel Feathers are made, where you can get a fix just from breathing in the air – well, that don’t suggest that he wants you to reach my age.” The old man sighed. “I’ve said my piece now and it’s more than I ever should have. But I’ll tell you this; once upon a time that woman would have wept her heart out over the death of her only son. But she would have been more anguished at not knowing what had happened to him. The woman that she once was would have wanted to thank you for taking the trouble to tell her.” He hesitated. “It was – it was quick, was it?”
“He wouldn’t have known it happened,” Blakey told him. It was probably a lie. “You knew the lad?”
“My great-nephew.” Den admitted. There was silence for two beats. “Tread carefully, man, or you’ll end up in there with the same face as all the rest of them, and they’ll be identifying you from the brand on your wrist, same as I had to for my niece, my own brother’s daughter.” And with that, he stamped back into the storeroom.
Blakey let him go and strode off towards the town himself. He needed to be amongst the bustle of normal people. The thieves and pickpockets and whores who he had pitied for being under Copeland’s sway now seemed incredibly lucky to be alive and not reduced to anonymous squalor. He couldn’t forget the expression he’d seen on the face of Den’s niece, of delight, even relief, at the news that her son’s death had brought a larger fix of Angel Feathers. It was not even that they had been reduced to the level of animals, because no animal that he could think of would act in such a way.
Blakey shuddered. Thank God that his sister, his mother would never fall a prey to the drug, even if it was becoming clear that that was exactly the trap that Copeland was trying to manoeuvre him into. Trying? He blocked the thought but then went back to it deliberately. It was true that Copeland was trying to push him over the edge into addiction but Blakey was horribly afraid that his employer had succeeded. He walked faster now. Afraid as he was to do so, he needed to go and check his own face in a mirror. Surely, surely there would be no trace of Angels on it yet; but he needed to be certain.
“Well, we’d best be getting on.” Sara opened the door again. “But remember what we said. You need anything, you come to us.”
The ladies filed past one by one, each stopping to say a word to the girls, until the shop was empty.
“Don’t forget your bread!” Arram nodded in the direction of his wife. “And though I must be a fool to say it out loud, what she said goes for both of us.”
“Thank you.” Mary dropped a little curtsey, which tickled the baker no end. Bet took the bread and placed it in its neat little packet of waxed paper in her basket. Still a bit overwhelmed, she simply smiled her thanks as they left.
“Well, this is a strange day and no mistake,” Hanna exclaimed as they walked away. “Just wait till I tell the girls! They’ll be struck down!”
“Hanna!” Bet stopped in her tracks.
“Hanna, you mustn’t tell anyone!” Mary was absolutely in earnest. “You mustn’t! They’d get into trouble, and we’d get into trouble with them!”
“What would we get into trouble for?” Hanna could not understand this. “We haven’t done anything.”
“Hanna, haven’t you been paying any attention at all? How have you not seen what’s going on in this town?”
Hanna looked blank. Mary and Bet shared a baffled stare, and the three of them leant on the wall, looking at the sea.
“Hanna, your father is pretty well off, isn’t he?” Mary started after some thought, “so you won’t have much to do with Mr Copeland, right?”
“The moneylender?” Hanna shrugged. “Not really.”
“If you’re going to marry Raf it’s quite possible that you might and if so, it’s dangerous that you have no idea about how normal people live here.”
“Normal? I am normal!” Hanna bristled.
“You are a hell of a lot luckier than normal people if you don’t know about Mr Copeland!” Bet snapped suddenly. “You think we won’t get into trouble if we don’t do anything wrong? What do you think I did wrong that made him slice my damn face open and push me into the harbour to die? Or did you just think ‘oh whoops, somebody cut up the whore’?”
Hanna was horror-struck. “Of course I didn’t, Bet, you’re my friend! I – I didn’t think...”
“You need to think in this town, Hanna; it’s dangerous.” Mary cut in. “Look at what happened to me and my sister. All we wanted was to leave. Bet got attacked, not because Copeland didn’t believe her but because he decided that it took her too long to tell him what he wanted to know. And what about Emma? Did you see what he did to her?”
“No...” Hanna looked from one to the other.
“He cut her face right off.” Bet’s voice was a sick whisper. “Right off, Hanna – it was just a great bloody...” She stopped herself and looked away for a moment. “He’s a bad, cruel man, Hanna. He’s dangerous and nervous and you can’t tell what he’s going to react to and what he isn’t. Whatever you do, whatever it takes, don’t get caught in his clutches. Once you borrow money from him you might as well have sold him your soul, because he’ll squeeze you and squeeze you until that’s just what he gets.”
“What Sara and her friends said was brave, and really risky.” Mary shook her head. “If we mention it to anyone – if even a breath of that gets back to Copeland, he doesn’t want evidence and he doesn’t have doubts. Bad things would happen to all of them, and to their husbands and to their children. Copeland would make sure all of them were in pain and fear and need and sorrow and humiliation for the rest of their lives. In this town you don’t tell people anything, because they might be your best friend in the world but if they are as afraid of Mr Copeland as many people are, they will tell him. They’ll hate themselves for doing it, but they will tell him, simply because they are scared of what will happen to them when he finds out they knew. ”
“You can’t be serious!” Hanna was horrified.
”Do I look like I’m joking?” There was a moment’s pause. “You can’t tell the girls, Hanna. We can’t tell anyone - except my sister, maybe?” Mary glanced at Bet for agreement.
Bet nodded cautiously. “Yes, Nereia will know what to do.”
The decision made, the three of them walked slowly back along the harbour.
“I should be getting back. I’m only supposed to be buying bread. I shouldn’t be too long.” Bet gestured at the loaf.
“I have to be back in time to help with lunch,” Hanna agreed.
“Let’s walk back to the warehouse with Bet - it’s on the way.”
“Thanks, girls.” Bet swung her basket idly. “It’s been a weird day but I’m so glad you were with me. The thought of coming outside was really daunting, but being with you two, it wasn’t so bad.”
“I’m glad.” Mary smiled. “If we can get out again we’ll come and find you, shall we?”
“Oh do, that would be great!”
They walked along companionably until a voice said “Excuse me, ladies; I rather think that I might have taken the wrong turning. Can you direct me to the Mermaid Inn please? Er... me darlins?”
Mary turned haughtily on her heel to find an extremely good-looking young man, cap in hand, behind her. He had tousled sandy hair and an open, mischievous face. His eyes were a clear green as he smiled down at them, and on impulse she decided to reply in kind.
“Sir, you are impertinent!” she returned in her best imitation of Nereia’s ‘Society’ voice.
“Oh good grief, have I misjudged the situation?” Jack stuttered. “Ladies, I cover myself with confusion and can only beg your apologies. The shining light of your quality was sadly masked by the gloom of this rather grim little town!” He executed a florid court bow, much to their amusement. “Pray take pity on my ignorance and redirect me to the Mermaid Inn? I’m lodging there and have completely lost my guide.”
“Goodness!” Mary twinkled up at him. “I was joking - but it seems that perhaps you were not!”
“Dash it all, I’ve let the cat out of the bag now, haven’t I? Well, so long as Jem don’t find out-”
“Jem from the Mermaid?”
“Why do you ask?” Jack turned to see the innkeeper dashing red-faced up the road behind him. “Oh, I’m in for it now!”
“Mr Jack! Mr Jack!” Jem called. “We should really be getting back now! Where are you going?”
“Coming, Jem!” Jack bowed to the girls. “Ladies, a pleasure to meet you and my thanks for your help.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.” Mary dropped him a graceful curtsey which Bet and Hanna copied as best they could.
As they walked away, the two rounded on Mary who raised an eyebrow. “Well, that was a bit out of the common way!”
“Where did you learn to do that?” Hanna was trying to keep a straight face, and failing miserably.
“Aristocratic forebears. It comes naturally!” Mary declared. “Well, that and the fact that Nereia taught me. Said I’d need it one day, though I’m not sure that this was what she had in mind!”
They walked on a little way, chatting and occasionally throwing glances over their shoulders to admire the good-looking young man who was evidently being told off by the innkeeper.
“Shortcut?” suggested Hanna “Doesn’t this alley come out by the warehouse at the other end?”
“I’ve never tried it.” Mary shrugged. “Bet?”
“Me neither.”
Chattering gaily, and not without a backward glance as the dashing stranger was lost to sight, they turned into the alleyway and followed its windings as it got narrower, overshadowed by the towering higher stories of the blank-walled buildings amongst which they stood. After a couple of turns the alleyway ended in a small yard.
“Huh! So much for that!” Hanna grumbled. “Sorry, girls.”
“Do you think this is the Bozzy Arram’s mother was talking about?” Mary’s suggestion provoked giggles from the other two. They started to make their way back, only to find the narrow alleyway blocked by a group of four soldiers who, from their nonchalant poses lounging against the walls, were evidently there by design rather than by accident. The girls halted dead.
“They were in the marketplace when we got there,” Bet muttered.
“They were there when we left it too,” Hanna replied.
“Oh dear.”
“Just walk past as if it’s no problem, and once we get onto the road again we’ll be fine.”
“Hello, pretty ladies,” drawled one of the soldiers as they drew near.
“Good morning!” snapped Mary crisply as they kept walking.
“Are you going our way?” a second, dark-haired one interjected.
“I doubt it!” Hanna’s tone was tart.
“I think you’ll find what you’re after at the Black Cat,” Bet suggested. “They have good food and drink, comfortable beds and girls to suit every taste, there.”
“But not every purse,” the first soldier snarled. “Besides, the bitch that runs it won’t let us in there. Seems to think her girls are too good for the likes of us! As if a slap or two matters to a whore! They get their money anyway.”
“Well, we need to be off.” Hanna linked arms with her friends. “We’re late, you see.” The three of them walked forward but the soldiers moved over to stand in their way.
“Excuse me!” Mary said coolly. The soldiers exchanged glances and suddenly the dark-haired one clutched at her. Mary slapped him in rising panic. “Get out of my way or I shall scream.”
The soldiers exchanged glances, but did not move.
Mary took a deep breath but as she started to scream the dark-haired man clapped a hand over her mouth, while his companions grabbed at Hanna and Bet.
A tide of adrenaline ran through her as, unthinking of anything but the need to get away, Mary bit hard on the hand clamped over her mouth. The soldier released her, swearing. She screamed. The dark-haired man tried to get a hold on her again but by now she was in the throes of fear and simply punched him in the face.
Hanna wriggled free of her captor, stamping hard on his foot with the neat little heels she wore, but as Mary darted to help Bet, the fourth man caught her hair and dragged her back. She screamed again, but all of a sudden the hold upon her loosened.
“Scoundrels! Cads! Blackguards!” Help was at hand but Mary could not pause to see who it was. A broken shovel-handle lay by the wall. Mary grabbed it. Hanna was belabouring one of the soldiers; Mary hit him on the back of the head with as much force as she could muster. He dropped as if pole-axed. Bet elbowed her captor in the stomach, so as he collapsed forward Mary walloped him too.
The last two soldiers had joined forces. One held the man while the second punched. Bet grabbed the soldier’s arm as it went back for the next punch. As he turned, Hanna thumped him in the stomach and Mary bashed him over the head. They turned to the last soldier, now sheltering behind what turned out to be their new acquaintance. The soldier backed away, still holding the young man locked in his grasp; but now that the punches had stopped, their new acquaintance had caught his breath and threw the soldier into the wall hard enough to wind him, whereupon the young man quite scientifically knocked him out with a single punch.
“My thanks, ladies.” He bowed, every bit as courtly as before.
There was a groan from behind them. “Wait a minute, I know that damned face!” one of the soldiers swore.
“Time to go, I think.” Jack gestured the girls to precede him, and they dashed around the corner and back along the alleyway where a red-faced Jem was just dashing in at his best running speed. “Back to the Mermaid, Jem!”
Watching them sprint away, Jem gave up and staggered back to lean on the harbour wall in an effort to catch his breath. That damned boy was more trouble than all his sister’s five children put together, he thought. There was no way he
could catch up with them now, so he wasn’t even going to try.
“You! Did you see a man and three girls go past!”
Jem turned with great dignity. “Are you h’ addressing myself?” he huffed, with his best outraged-bucolic face on.
“Yes! Did you see them?”
“H’ as you may have noticed, my good man, I h’ was facin’ out to sea, watchin’ to see h’which way the wind might be blowin’!”
The soldier swore and ran off in entirely the wrong direction, followed by his friends. “It was him, I tell you!” the last was shouting. “I recognised him from Mardon. He’s worth fifty gold guineas if we tell the Colonel, fifty!”
“An’ what are you going to tell him? That we was beat up by three women and we lost him? Garn!” The dark-haired man spat on the ground. “Some kind of fool you are!” He trotted after his mates, contemptuous, but there was a thoughtful light in his eyes that suggested to Jem that that one was going to try for the reward. Knowing the Colonel the money would never actually materialise, of course, but in about an hour they would have the whole town locked down.
“Damn it, Jack!” Jem muttered. For the second time in one day, against all previous tradition, he went on his way at a jog, heading up the hill to the Mermaid with red face, short breath, and a feeling of trouble to come.