‘You want me to empty the jockum-gage?’ Fettler growled.
‘If it’s all you’re fit for,’ Val retorted.
‘Dugh—’ Philo jumped up with such urgency that he choked on his food. He was still bent double, hacking and gasping, when Fettler seized the chamber-pot.
‘Then I’ll empty it,’ Fettler said calmly – and flung its contents straight at Val.
The whole room froze. Before Val could do more than gasp, Fettler threw the empty pot straight at his head. Val ducked, then roared with outrage. The pot hit the wall, but didn’t shatter. Kit launched himself at Val, trying to block the punches that Val was already throwing.
‘Enough!’ croaked Philo. He stepped in front of Fettler, who had pounced on Kit’s clasp-knife.
‘I’ll cut out his tongue!’ Fettler screamed, as Philo grabbed his arm. ‘I’ll teach him to stubble it!’
Val’s blows were raining down on Philo’s back, but he couldn’t defend himself. He was too busy slowly, painfully turning Fettler’s wrist, trying to loosen the younger boy’s grip on the clasp-knife. Then Kit called to Lippy – who waded in, at long last.
Even Val, who had been trained by Irish chairmen, couldn’t compete with Lippy Whittle in a fight. Lippy yanked him off Philo’s back as if he were a flea. Hurled against a wall, Val lost his wig. He started forward, but Lippy barred his way. That was when Fettler dropped the clasp-knife.
‘Get it!’ Philo yelled at Dandy, trying to make himself heard above all the noise. Fettler was bawling into his face, telling him that if he didn’t put a gag bit on Val, Fettler would do it for him.
Then a sharp voice cut through the commotion. ‘What is amiss here?’
It was Garnet, propped on a cane in the doorway. He wore his blue dressing-gown over a linen nightshirt. There were slippers on his feet, but his cropped head was bare. He was wheezing from his climb.
Silence fell.
For a few seconds Garnet scanned the room, his face devoid of expression. Then his dark gaze fastened on Philo, whose stomach turned over.
‘You live like pigs in a sty,’ Garnet observed at last, with icy contempt.
‘Fettler threw the pot at me!’ Val was soaked in urine and red with anger. But when Garnet peered at him over his spectacles, any further words seemed to wither on Val’s tongue.
‘Benjamin?’ said Garnet.
Fettler Ben swallowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
‘Take off your coat and clean up that mess,’ Garnet continued. As Fettler began to kneel, Garnet added, ‘Clean it with your coat, Benjamin.’
Philo winced.
‘Theophilus?’ Garnet crooked his finger. ‘A word, an’ it please you.’
Philo followed him downstairs with a heavy heart, not daring to glance back at the others. It was like a walk to the gallows. Garnet’s slow pace made it even worse; he finally stopped on the next landing and turned to Philo with a look of such disdain that Philo cringed.
‘You’re none of you fit to live under a civilised roof,’ said Garnet.
Philo hung his head, knowing better than to mumble an apology.
‘You’ve disappointed me,’ Garnet went on. ‘You call yourself a captain, but you’ve no more command over those simpletons than a mule has over its master.’
‘Sir—’ Philo began, then flinched as Garnet’s eyes widened in disbelief. There was no going back now, though; before Garnet could skewer him with another well-timed insult, Philo asked, ‘Why did Brimstone Moll Wapshot come here last night?’
Garnet hissed.
‘’Twasn’t Ben who told me,’ Philo hastened to add. ‘Fleabite spied her.’ Knowing that intelligence was far more valuable to Garnet than anything else, Philo continued to offer it up like a sacrifice to a vengeful god. ‘She’s removed from Rat’s Castle, sir, along with Stoat Grocott. And Jemmy Jukes has disappeared. And there’s a fence in Goldsmith’s Alley who’s afflicted the same as Jemmy was. Sir, you always say to mind the smallest matter, lest we miss something big. Well, there’s mischief brewing on Dyott Street – I’m sure of it. So I was a-wondering what Brimstone Moll might have wanted from you.’
Philo stopped to take a breath, his eyes glued to Garnet’s face, which gradually assumed a thoughtful look. Finally Garnet murmured, with obvious reluctance, ‘She wanted a charm. For protection.’
‘Against what?’
‘A devil.’ Hearing Philo gasp, Garnet added drily, ‘That was her phrase, not mine.’
‘A devil!’ Philo exclaimed. ‘What kind of devil?’
‘The kind that troubles folk of feeble wits and little education.’ Garnet stared down his nose at Philo. ‘What else have you to tell me?’
‘Ah . . .’ Philo racked his brain. ‘I saw Bluff Bob Crow in Newton Street, last night. With a ladder. We should check the Advertiser tomorrow.’
‘Indeed. I shall make a note of it.’ Garnet’s gaze was like a drill-bit. At last he said, ‘Well – you have your uses, certainly. Go. Tell the others to report as soon as they’re presentable. And Theophilus . . .?’
Philo waited, his heart in his throat.
‘Don’t disappoint me again,’ Garnet warned. Then he began to stump downstairs, and Philo flew in the opposite direction like a mouse freed from a trap.
CHAPTER 10
WHAT HAPPENED
WHEN PHILO WENT TO CONSULT SUSANNAH AGAIN
Val and Fettler arrived late at the gathering in Garnet’s room, looking sullen and well scrubbed. The two of them sat down quietly, in an atmosphere of subdued strain, as Philo was making his report. Garnet had decided to wait until everyone was present before reading out newspaper advertisements. So it wasn’t until after the last report had been delivered that he finally picked up The Public Advertiser.
‘Gracious heaven,’ he said, ‘what a generosity of incidents! I haven’t seen so many robberies since the end of the last war. You’d think this city was full of discharged soldiers.’ He clicked his tongue and began to read aloud.
‘Stolen from the premises of Robert Coppinger, glass-grinder, in Nottingham Court, three ounces of silver, a vial of mercury, two fine sconce glasses, a diamond-tipped cutter...’
Listening to Garnet work his way through a long list of burglaries and street thefts, Philo kept an ear cocked for anything that might have occurred near Middlesex Court, where Jemmy Jukes had been found. In the end he decided that three burglaries on Monday night could well have involved Jemmy: the one in Nottingham Court, another in Hanover Street, and a third in Wood’s Yard. He discounted a violent robbery in Castle Street because Jemmy was a housebreaker, not a footpad, and didn’t make a habit of assaulting people.
At the end of the meeting, after Garnet had collected the previous night’s fees, everyone received their afternoon instructions from Philo. Lippy and Dandy were given the job of making new torches. Kit was told to pay a call on any of his friends living around Dyott Street who might know what was going on in that neighbourhood. Fleabite and Fettler were sent out shopping, while Valentine announced that he was expected at a boxing match.
Philo let Val go, but not before taking him to task on the doorstep of their lodgings.
‘When you come back,’ said Philo, fixing Val with a hard blue glare, ‘I’ll not hear another word against Fettler. Mark this, Val – I’m not trifling.’
‘He insulted me!’ Val hissed.
‘You insulted him.’
‘For good reason! He is a dead weight! He pulls in next to naught, yet receives no less a share than the rest of us—’
‘Listen to me.’ Philo stuck a finger through Val’s buttonhole and jerked him forward, until they were nose to nose. ‘We all put into the common pot for our beds and clothes and victuals. And each receives an equal shot of what’s left, after Mr Hooke’s portion—’
‘Aye – though I earn thrice Ben’s takings!’
‘And I earn double yours,’ Philo said flatly. ‘If you mislike it, Val, you need but whip off when the pleasure takes y
ou—’
‘Indeed I may!’
‘—which you would have done long since, had you a choice in the matter. For make no mistake, Val – I know well enough how you’re placed. If your chairmen cronies had been willing to share the burden of your rent, we wouldn’t have you with us. You’d be carousing with them every night, if they wanted a kid about while they were bussing their blowens.’ Philo watched Valentine’s face fall. It was a fair, freckled, heavy face that never saw enough sun or sleep; noticing the scars on it, Philo heaved a sigh and said, ‘There’s some in our company who don’t give you your due, for the reason you’re Irish. Fettler’s one of ’em – I know that. And it likes me not, Val. I’ve a mind to stop it.’
Valentine grunted, his muddy green gaze slipping sideways.
‘But you must help me in this, and cease giving yourself such a parcel of airs,’ Philo continued. ‘Do you understand? Else you’ll not prosper.’
With a nod, Val muttered, ‘And tell Fleabite to leave my wig alone.’
‘I’ll do that.’ Fleabite was always pretending to feed and delouse the wig, which he’d named Quibble. Once he’d even tied it to a string and taken it for a walk. ‘But you must stop calling him Captain Queernabs,’ Philo warned.
‘I will,’ Val promised, then set off for the Bear Garden. Philo headed in the opposite direction, towards St Giles’s church, pondering what he’d learned that morning. He was beginning to sense a vague and rather ominous pattern, like a spider’s web. Cockeye McAuliffe had stopped him in the street, looking for Jemmy Jukes, and had mentioned that something strange was wandering the parish. Jemmy Jukes had then been found senseless just a few blocks away. Other inhabitants of Rat’s Castle were moving house in the middle of the night. One of them had asked Garnet for protection against a ‘devil’. Meanwhile, Jemmy’s fate had also befallen Henry Bambridge, a suspected fence, who was very possibly housing a footpad called Beans O’Neill . . .
What did it all mean? And did it have anything to do with the sudden plague of thefts affecting the parish?
It was a grey, gritty day, with swirls of bitter wind that kept tugging at Philo’s hat and flapping the skirts of his coat. At the Resurrection Gate, Susannah had wrapped herself in five grubby shawls, one of which she had fashioned into a kind of hood. She was squatting on the ground, and smiled up at Philo as he approached her.
‘Rosemary, sweet and dry! Penny a bunch!’ she trilled.
‘I didn’t come for that.’ Philo hunkered down beside her, speaking softly. ‘Would you do me a service?’ he asked. ‘There’s a farthing in it for you.’
‘Keep your farthing,’ Susannah replied. ‘What’s the service?’
‘I need you to go to the Fountain, in King Street,’ said Philo. ‘’Tis close by—’
‘I know it.’
‘There’s a cull lodging there named Bob Crow. I need you to pass him a message, if he’s in the house.’ Philo took a deep breath, mentally rifling through his store of intelligence about the lamplighters. ‘Tell him . . . tell him Josiah Billings needs him at the Fox, on Drury Lane. Now. Tell him that. To his face. Go to his room and do it. Then wait to see if he leaves, before you come back.’
Susannah studied Philo for a moment. She had the strangest eyes – misty yet penetrating. ‘Will you sell my rosemary while I’m gone?’ she said at last.
Philo hesitated. He had been planning to follow her – at a discreet distance – so as to be on hand when Bob left home. But he understood her concern.
‘I shall,’ he promised, ‘though I’d not hoist your hopes too high, if I was you.’
Susannah smiled again, before repeating the message Philo had given her. Then she placed her basket in his hands and limped away, dragging her foot slightly. Philo was startled. He hadn’t been aware that Susannah was lame. Watching her go, he realised that he had never actually seen her on the move before. During the three years of their acquaintance, she had always been parked in one spot – this spot, by the doors of St Giles-in-the-Fields.
It occurred to him that for someone who prided himself on his knowledge of the city, he knew far too little about Susannah Quail. He had never met her two older sisters, nor visited her lodgings on New Street. He had never inquired about her missing father. Though he was aware that her dead mother had been a cunning woman, long confined to bed with dropsy and many other ailments, they had never actually met. Philo had simply heard about her from Susannah, who sometimes spoke – rather eerily – as if her mother was still watching over her.
As Susannah’s slight, shuffling figure disappeared into Lloyd’s Court, Philo found himself wishing that her mother was around; it seemed to him that her sisters weren’t looking after her properly. Reflecting on the shabbiness of her clothes, he pulled a copper coin from his breeches and slipped it into her basket.
‘Aye, send her away,’ a hoarse voice suddenly intoned. ‘Send her far away from all harm and wickedness . . .’
Looking around, Philo saw Simon Edy at his usual post, on the other side of the Resurrection Gate. Simon stood as stiff as a ramrod, his little dog panting beside him. In a city full of bad smells, he repelled even the charitable folk who passed in and out of church; they would cover their noses as they tossed him their coins.
‘She’s devil’s meat,’ Simon continued, staring straight ahead. ‘The devil’s about. He’d take her soon as look at her. We’re none of us safe from the devil.’
Philo grimaced, wondering how Susannah put up with such nonsense. To drown Simon’s rantings, he raised his own voice to cry his wares, copying Susannah as best he could. ‘Rosemary, sweet and dry! Rosemary, penny a bunch!’ The street that fronted St Giles’s church was largely empty, save for a few scurrying figures who had their shoulders hunched against the wind-blown grit in the air. Shutters were banging on the houses opposite. At the mouth of Lloyd’s Court, wet linen was suspended high above the cobbles; it danced and swayed with every gust.
‘The devil will come for you all!’ Simon exclaimed, as loudly as if he were addressing an entire congregation. ‘He’s close! I’ve seen him! He will look you in the eye and freeze the blood in your veins! For every sinner will feel his touch!’
‘Rosemary, sweet and dry!’ Philo bawled, even more loudly. ‘Sweet herbs for clean air! Buy a bunch of the invalid’s friend!’
‘No herbs will drive the devil away!’ Simon warned. ‘Plant ’em by your door and he’ll come for you, betimes!’
Philo felt like punching the mad old fool. ‘Sweet dreams from sweet rosemary! A pinch in the pot for your good health!’ he roared, then spotted a lady hesitating under the Last Judgement. She was a middle-aged woman in black- and-white mourning clothes, who had just left the church through its western door. Philo thought that she was probably from Soho Square – one of the few gentry still living in that neighbourhood.
As he sketched a respectful bow, she grimaced and covered her nose with one hand. Clearly, she had caught a whiff of Simon Edy.
Suddenly Philo realised why Susannah had never shifted her pitch.
‘Rosemary, your ladyship? ’Twill ward off evil vapours,’ he suggested, triggering another harangue from Simon.
‘’Twill not ward off the devil! Old Scratch will take you, sweet or no!’
‘On my honour, your ladyship,’ Philo added, lowering his voice and placing a hand on his heart, ‘this might look like a cheat, but I didn’t put that fellow here to tickle the pennies out o’ your pocket.’
‘’Ware the devil – for he is living among us!’ Simon bellowed. ‘You’ll fall like a stone, and lie like a corpse!’
Hearing this, Philo gasped. Something clicked in his head. He barely noticed as the lady paid him. He was too busy flipping through his mental ledgers.
Didn’t Simon Edy live in Rat’s Castle?
‘Tell me about this devil you saw,’ Philo said at last, when the lady had left them, carrying a bunch of rosemary. ‘Simon? Tell me where it was.’
Simon gaped at Philo, as if
he’d never been addressed by a human being before.
‘Simon!’ Philo spoke more sharply. ‘I need to know. Where is the devil? Does it live in your lodgings? Have you seen it there?’
Simon shrank back, wide-eyed. ‘He’s always been there. ’Tis Hell’s gatehouse.’
‘Is that why folk are leaving Rat’s Castle?’ Philo pressed, drawing closer.
‘They go and they never come back.’
‘Aye, but what’s driving ’em?’
‘The devil.’
‘What devil?’ As soon as Philo grabbed Simon’s arm, the dog started growling. Its hackles rose. It lurched to its feet.
So Philo stepped back again, releasing Simon. ‘What does the devil look like? Simon? Can you remember?’
‘The devil is everywhere. You cannot hide from the devil.’
‘Why not? Tell me!’
But Simon couldn’t tell – or wouldn’t. He raved on about devil’s meat and devil’s claws until Philo gave up. There was no talking to Simon. All he could do was preach.
By the time Susannah arrived back, Philo was at the end of his patience.
As soon as he spotted her emerging from Lloyd’s Court, he ran to intercept her, glad to get away from Simon’s ceaseless drone. ‘How do you endure it?’ he asked, before she could even speak. Glancing back at the beggar, he added, ‘’Twould drive me to Bedlam.’
‘He don’t waste his breath on me,’ Susannah replied. Then her gaze drifted down to the basket in his hand. ‘You made a sale.’
‘Aye.’ Philo was impressed that she’d noticed so small a reduction in her stock. But he didn’t want to waste any time. ‘Did you speak to Bob Crow?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘Where?’ Inwardly, Philo cursed his luck. His plan had been to send Bluff Bob straight to the Fox alehouse, while at the same time discovering from Susannah exactly which room the lamplighter was occupying at the Fountain. Then it would have been a simple matter of finding the right window, climbing up and peering in – if only to see whether any stolen articles were scattered among Bob’s possessions. But Bob was already out, and there was no telling when he might come back.