‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Noah leapt to his feet and held out his hand. ‘My name is Bayliss, I was a friend of Millie’s. Now I’ve been asked to help find Belle Cooper, and as I was told your nephew was her friend I came here to see if he could tell me anything more.’
‘More than what?’ Garth asked sneeringly.
‘More than that she just disappeared while her mother was at Millie’s funeral! I was also hoping you’d come in on our side too, sir.’
‘A pub landlord has to remain impartial,’ Garth said curtly.
‘Of course,’ Noah agreed. ‘But let me tell you the whole story, as Miss Davis told it to me. If you don’t wish to help after that I’ll go about my business.’
Garth remained standing and crossed his arms, a stance that said he wasn’t likely to be swayed.
Words were Noah’s livelihood, and he told the story of Belle hiding under the bed and witnessing Millie’s murder eloquently, adding dramatic and graphic details of things Miss Davis had only hinted at. He knew he was striking home when Garth uncrossed his arms and sat down on a chair, his pale blue eyes wide with shock.
‘I’m sure you can imagine how terrifying such a scene would’ve been to such a young and innocent girl,’ Noah finished up. ‘And she must have been even more shocked that her mother didn’t immediately tell the police the whole truth.’
‘Well, I have some sympathy for Annie in that,’ Garth said, dropping his harsh tone. ‘She’s done her best for the girl all these years; she wouldn’t want her questioned by the police and having to stand witness when they caught the murdering bastard.’
Noah felt more hopeful of the man’s help now his aggression had faded and been replaced by sympathy.
‘But if she’d told the police the truth, they might have caught him right away,’ he said. ‘Or at least they might have posted one of their men to watch the place.’
‘By the looks of you I’d say you ain’t that familiar with criminals,’ Garth said scornfully. ‘Or how useless the police can be.’
‘That’s why I need help from someone like you who knows the area, the people and how things work,’ Noah said.
Garth sucked in his breath. ‘Like I said, a landlord has to be impartial, wouldn’t do my trade no good if people thought I was passing out information.’
‘I’m not sure you can be truly impartial,’ Noah said, looking the big man right in the eye. ‘Not as Belle told Jimmy that she witnessed the murder, and the name of the man who did it. That puts Jimmy in danger too.’
Garth’s eyes widened. ‘Is that so, Jimmy?’ he asked. ‘And if it is, why didn’t you tell me this last night?’
‘I was tempted to, Uncle Garth,’ the lad replied nervously, hanging his head. ‘But I’d promised Belle to keep the secret. It’s only because Noah here thinks it’s the murderer who snatched her that I told him.’
Garth put his fist against his forehead as if in deep thought. ‘The girl knew the murderer?’ he asked eventually.
‘No. She’d never seen him before she saw him kill Millie, but Annie knew him as Mr Kent, he’d been to her place a few times,’ Noah explained. ‘She believes he’s also known as the Falcon.’
Garth’s big ruddy face blanched. ‘Holy damnation!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s an evil one and no mistake, and he’d go to any lengths to save his own neck.’ He took a step nearer to his nephew and put one big hand on his shoulder. ‘From now on, son, I don’t want you setting foot outside the door on yer own.’
‘You know him then?’ Noah’s heart quickened.
‘Only by his reputation, never actually met him. But I know what he’s capable of. Reckon I’ll have to come in with you now, you don’t look capable of taking on that turd on yer own.’
Jimmy looked up at his uncle with an expression of shock and admiration with some delight thrown in. Noah guessed that the lad was more surprised by his uncle’s concern for him than by him offering his help in finding Belle.
‘I was told he wanted to take Millie to his place in Kent,’ Noah said. ‘Have you any idea where in Kent that might be?’
Garth sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. ‘I dunno, but he was a sailor, so I’ve heard tell. Sailors often make their home near the port they used to sail from. Could be Dover.’
‘Could you possibly find out for me?’ Noah asked. ‘Any information would be useful.’
‘I expect it would be,’ Garth said in a dry tone. ‘But before you go off half-cocked asking folk questions and talking wild, remember this cove is a vicious brute. He’ll slit yer throat in a back alley soon as look at yer, and he’ll ’ave my Jimmy too if he thinks he’s in on it.’
‘What would you suggest I do then?’ Noah asked nervously.
‘Start with Annie’s other girls. He’ll have been with one or two of ’em when Millie weren’t free. He may have dropped a pal’s name, mentioned family, places he drinks, or where he lives.’
‘Miss Davis said the girls nicknamed him Bruiser,’ Noah said. ‘She thought that was just because he liked to hurt them, but can’t “bruiser” also mean a prize fighter?’
‘If he was I never heard tell of it,’ Garth said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. ‘But they say he’s a flash geezer, good clothes, handmade shoes, gold watch.’
‘I’ll ask the girls what they know about him,’ Noah responded.
‘Just make sure they don’t start blabbing all around about him,’ Garth said warningly, making a gesture of a knife slitting his throat as he walked out and left Noah with Jimmy.
‘Do you think he’s killed Belle already?’ Jimmy asked, his voice shaky with emotion.
Noah’s heart went out to the young lad. Anyone could see he had been gently brought up, and being made to live and work in a rough place like the Ram’s Head was hardly ideal for a sensitive boy still grieving for his mother. But sadder still in Noah’s view was that he sensed from the way the lad spoke about Belle that she was the best thing that had happened to him since his mother’s death. Now she too had been snatched away from him.
Considering what he’d been told about Kent, and that Belle was the one person who could get him hanged, Noah couldn’t help but think he had probably already killed her. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Jimmy that.
‘What do I know?’ Noah shrugged. ‘I’m not a detective. But it strikes me that if he took her with the intention of killing her, he’d have done it straight off and dumped her body. I’m going down to Bow Street now, to ask if they’ve found a body, but if they haven’t, then we can be hopeful she’s still alive. They do say that the longer a kidnapper keeps his victim, the less likely he is to kill them.’
‘But it ain’t long yet, not even twenty-four hours,’ Jimmy said. ‘And if he has killed her he ain’t likely to leave her body on a street corner in Seven Dials so the police can find her easily, is he?’
Noah gulped and thought fast. ‘No, of course not, but the police keep in touch with the ones from other areas, and we must hope every hour that passes without them finding a body means she’s just that bit safer. But I’ve got to go now. I want you to try and talk to your uncle. Get him to think about everything he’s heard about the Falcon, places he drinks, who his friends are, anything might be useful. Perhaps you could write it all down for me?’
‘I’ll do all I can,’ Jimmy said, fixing his tawny eyes on Noah. ‘You’ll let me know what’s happening, won’t you? I won’t be able to sleep until I know Belle is safe.’
‘You’re sweet on her,’ Noah said teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood.
‘I am,’ Jimmy said with blinding sincerity. ‘She’s the nicest, prettiest girl I’ve ever known. I won’t rest until she’s safe again.’
Chapter Seven
Belle shrieked at the top of her voice, only to be silenced instantly by Kent pressing on her vocal chords with his thumbs and shoving his face so close that his moustache touched her nose.
‘Be silent,’ he snarled at her. ‘Or I’ll kill you here and now.’
&n
bsp; ‘But why do you want me?’ she whimpered when he’d loosened his grip on her. ‘I haven’t done anything to you.’
‘You know who I am, that’s enough,’ he said. With that he forced her face down on to the carriage seat, holding her there while his companion tied her ankles together. Then he jerked her up to a sitting position and tied her wrists together in front of her.
Nothing in Belle’s life had come close to being as terrifying as hurtling through London, the prisoner of these two men. She could hear her heart pounding, she was bathed in cold sweat, and her stomach was churning alarmingly as if she might be sick. Even the way she felt when she saw what the man was doing to Millie wasn’t as bad as this. Yet a small voice inside her told her she mustn’t do or say anything to make the men get angry with her. She’d seen what Kent could do when he was really angry.
As the carriage rattled through the crowded streets she could hear other cabs and carts, along with street vendors calling people to buy their wares. Yet although the familiar sounds encouraged her to hope for rescue, in her heart she knew that the two men wouldn’t have snatched her unless they were determined to silence her permanently. They were probably just waiting until they were clear of the city to do it. Terrified as she was though, she didn’t scream. Instead she cried quietly in the hope they might take pity on her, or at least delay their plans. That way an opportunity to escape might present itself.
It was some little while before it occurred to Belle that they’d merely hobbled her ankles, leaving them far enough apart for her to be able to walk very slowly. This gave her another tiny beam of hope, for surely if they were going to kill her they would have tied her up tightly, then carried her to the place of execution.
But it was only a tiny beam. After all, they might be planning to take her to some deep dark woods or across a marsh, somewhere the carriage couldn’t go.
The two men didn’t speak to each other. Belle was facing the front of the carriage, Kent next to her, though he kept his distance from her, leaning against the window. He lit a pipe, but he appeared very tense, jerking when the carriage hit any bumps in the road.
His companion, sitting opposite her, was much more relaxed. He sat in the centre of the seat, knees wide apart, and seemed to ride with the bumps and swerves. It was too dark in the carriage to make out much detail about him, but she was sure she’d never seen him before. He had a swarthy appearance like a gypsy, with dark, frizzy hair and thick lips. He was wearing a greatcoat, the kind favoured by carriage men, and Belle could smell a strong, musty smell coming from it, as if it had been kept in a damp place.
Belle tried to work out when her mother and Mog would begin to worry about her being missing and how long it would be before they would start to search. She thought they’d just be angry when she wasn’t there when they got back from the funeral, but by eight or nine they would start to think something must have happened to her, and then they would start a search. Belle hoped someone might have noticed her being bundled into the carriage, but she didn’t remember seeing anyone around just before it happened, so that wasn’t likely.
Under the circumstances, would her mother tell the police who killed Millie? Perhaps, but that didn’t mean the police would know where to find him. She glanced sideways, and seeing his face in profile she thought she knew why they called him the Falcon, for his nose was like a hooked beak. She suspected he’d got the name for other reasons too, maybe the speed and ruthlessness he showed in going after his prey.
The journey went on and on and Belle grew so cold she felt she might just die of it even before the men attempted to kill her. All sounds of London had ceased a long while ago and all she could hear was the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the carriage, nothing else. It seemed as if she’d been travelling all night but she clearly hadn’t, for Kent pulled out his pocket watch and told his companion they should be there by nine that evening.
Belle had no idea how many miles it was from London to Kent or any other destination. Even if she had known, she couldn’t possibly have worked out what distance could be covered in four and a half hours by a team of four horses.
She was too frightened to feel hungry, but not only was she icy cold, she desperately needed to urinate. She didn’t dare mention this though, in case that was enough of an excuse for them to kill her and throw her out of the carriage.
Later Kent pulled up the window blind to look out. Belle could see nothing but inky darkness, not even a glimmer of a light to show that they were passing houses. But he appeared to know where they were, for a few minutes later the carriage slowed slightly and swung round sharply to the left on to what sounded like loose stones.
All the way here Belle had been tempted to ask what he was intending to do with her, but she was too scared to speak. Maybe it was best to keep silent anyway; Kent might hit her if she annoyed him.
‘I need to go,’ she finally blurted out in desperation. She didn’t know how ladies were supposed to tell men they needed to go to the lavatory. Back home the girls used the word piss, but Mog said that wasn’t a ladylike word.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ Kent said curtly.
About five minutes later the driver reined in the horses. The gypsyish-looking man got out first and beckoned to Belle that she was next. The rope between her two ankles wasn’t long enough for her to step down from the carriage, but he reached up, caught her by the waist and lifted her down.
Frost lay as thick as a light fall of snow on the ground, sparkling in the light from the carriage lanterns. It was too dark beyond the little pool of golden light to make out the surroundings, but Belle felt it was a farm, for the smell of animal dung was very strong. It looked like a very old place, but then the only light came from one lantern by the front door.
Belle could hear Kent speaking in a low voice to the carriage driver as the gypsy man took her arm and made her hobble along beside him to the house. He didn’t have to unlock the front door, he just pushed it and walked in. It was pitch dark within and he fumbled around, muttering under his breath for a few moments. But then he struck a match and lit a candle, and Belle saw they were in a wide hallway with a stone floor.
Clearly it was a house he was entirely familiar with for even in the gloom of the single candle he found an oil lamp and lit it. Suddenly there was enough light to see an imposing oak staircase before them and several doors on both sides of the hall. To Belle it seemed to be a rich person’s home, but a smell of damp and a film of dust on the huge sideboard spoke of long-term neglect.
Belle was just opening her mouth to ask the gypsy man if she could go to the lavatory when Kent came in through the front door. From behind him Belle could hear the carriage leaving.
‘Through to the kitchen,’ gypsy man said. ‘Tad will have lit the stove and left us something to eat.’
He picked up the oil lamp and carried it down the hall past some very gloomy paintings of horses, leaving them to follow.
The kitchen was warm and there was an appetizing smell of soup or stew, but the room was very dirty. There was a loaf of bread on the table in the centre of the room, and presumably the good smell came from the blackened saucepan on the top of the stove.
Belle plucked up courage to ask if she could go to the lavatory, Kent nodded and told the other man to release her hands, but not her feet, and take her out there.
It was the most stinking privy Belle had ever been in, and as it was pitch dark in there, and the gypsy man pacing around outside, she didn’t linger. He whisked her back indoors quickly but didn’t retie her hands.
Kent ladled out the stew into three bowls and placed them on the table, shoving the smallest one towards Belle. He then poured some wine from a bottle into two glasses for him and his companion and gave Belle a glass of water.
At first Belle was far too scared to eat, then when she cautiously tasted the stew she found it wasn’t very nice, for the meat was fatty. But she forced herself to eat it anyway; if nothing else it warmed her.
The two men ate in silence but now and again Belle felt them glancing at her and then looking at each other as if making a silent comment. It was agony not knowing what was going to happen to her. Part of her thought they wouldn’t bother feeding her if they were going to kill her right away, but the way the gypsyish one kept looking at her, she thought maybe he intended to have his way with her. That thought was almost worse than dying. Her stomach knotted up again, the cold sweat came back and she couldn’t stop tears running down her cheeks.
Seeing Kent now at close quarters, she realized he was older than she had thought back at Annie’s: late thirties, maybe even older. If it hadn’t been for his hooked nose, cold, dark eyes and sullen expression, he would have been handsome. He wasn’t a big man, perhaps only five foot eight, and quite slender, but he looked strong and she remembered that when she saw him undressed his legs had been very muscular. He had dark hair greying at the temples and a dark moustache, all so ordinary, yet his clothes were good ones and he spoke like a gentleman, which was why his brutality seemed even more appalling.
Belle didn’t think he owned this farm. She felt it belonged to the gypsy man. He had mentioned supper and someone called Tad, and he’d taken Kent’s coat and hung it up with his own on the back of the door in the way people did in their own house. He also had a bit of a country burr to his voice. Apart from his greatcoat, which was shabby and smelled musty, all his other clothes were good and well-fitting, in fact his boots, though mud-splattered, were the kind she’d seen stylish gentlemen in Regent Street wearing. She thought he must be a bachelor for it was plain by the dirty kitchen that there was no mistress in this house. She wondered if he was a kinder man than Kent, and if it would be possible to get him on her side.