The Inquiry Agent
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“You mean this man will lead you to the thieves and then you can make an arrest.” Soames and I exchanged looks. I suppose we could have lied but she would have found out the truth soon enough.
“No -- I will recover your uncle's goods.”
“Why not do both?”
“Because it's most likely a question of one or the other. If I make the arrest the chances of recovering your uncle's money are slim unless we are very, very lucky. If we compound with the thieves there is a good chance that for a fee we will be able to get what was stolen back.”
“For a fee? I thought you were going to find the criminals and arrest them.” Her face had gone pale and she tugged at one hand with the other as if trying to prise them apart. There was anger in her voice and a hint of hysteria that seemed to make Mr Soames very edgy, as if he recognised it as the harbinger of something worse.
His face flushed, and he half rose from his chair, before allowing himself to sink back into it. “Don't upset yourself, my dear. Mr Brodie knows what he's doing.”
Miss Mayhew was not to be fooled by this obvious gambit. “But do you, uncle? How can you bargain with the men who robbed us?”
He looked at her steadily, as if willing her to be quiet but she paid no attention turning her gaze swiftly between the two of us as if she did not know which one to berate next. I suspected that he did not want to speak with me present so I said, “Perhaps I should leave, and come back after you two have discussed this.”
Mr Soames looked panicky, as if he did not dare lose any ally in this confrontation. It seemed that he would rather discuss the business in front of me than be left alone with his upset niece. “The matter is quite simple my dear -- I am not such a wealthy man that I can risk my competence and your inheritance. The bills that Mr Brodie seeks to recover for us represent quite a significant part of my worldly wealth. Without them there is some danger that in the not too distant future I might have to sell the house and move to a smaller place.”
He had the air of a man improvising a tale although I did not doubt there was a strong component of truth in his story. All the best lies contain that. It was not reassuring to hear. If Mr Soames really was short of money I was in some danger of not being able to collect my fee.
Also it put a great deal of pressure on me to succeed, for the old man had placed his future and that of his niece in my hands. I liked the way they lived here, at peace with their servants, who would also most likely lose their livelihoods if Mr Soames lost his money.
I realised now that perhaps Mr Soames had another reason for not seeking to prosecute than simple humanity -- he was simply embarrassed by his financial position and had not wanted to admit it. It was a problem that I could easily sympathise with.
Miss Mayhew stared at him coldly for a moment, as if not quite believing what she was hearing. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then shut it again. She moved towards her uncle, and gave him a hug, and said, “I'm sorry, uncle. I don’t mean to embarrass you in front of Mr Brodie but this is monstrous.”
He flushed and looked pleased at her gesture of affection and I realised then what power she had over him. They lived alone out here, and she was his only living relative and source of comfort in his old age. He was as much in her power as she was in his because of that.
Now Mr Soames looked really embarrassed, and I looked away to spare him. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. I should have told you earlier but I did not want to worry you.”
“That's very sweet of you, uncle, but you should not have worried yourself. Mr Brodie, would you be so kind as to leave me alone with my uncle for a few minutes.”
I looked at Mr Soames and he nodded and I said, “Of course, Miss.”
I stood outside the door for more than a few minutes and listened to the sound of soft argument. At more than one point, Mr Soames raised his voice and so did Amanda. I heard her shout at one stage, “But it's monstrous, uncle, and we should have nothing to do with it.”
When I was summoned back inside, it was clear that the argument had not yet been settled.
“I shall need the money this evening.”
“Meet me at Mr Lassiter's at six o'clock and I shall see that you have it.” Mr Soames glared defiantly at Amanda but there was weakness there too. He did not like being in conflict with her.
“Very well, sir. I shall see you then. Good day to you, sir, and to you to Miss Mayhew.”
I went back outside to where the cab waited. Large black clouds darkened the sky, carrying the threat of a storm.
The rain had well and truly begun by the time I got back to my rooms. Mrs Marshall was inside cleaning. Rachel sat by the fire reading a new book. The fact that she was well enough to do that was one of the few bright spots in the day. I sat down beside her and let her read some selections of the Arabian Nights to me. It was her favourite, Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves. I wondered what it was that made criminals so appealing to my children.
At least she provided me with a distraction from the darkness of my thoughts. I was not best pleased with Miss Amanda Mayhew and her stern morality. She seemed prepared to take the risk of sacrificing her future and her uncle's to do what she thought was the right thing. I suppose I could not really blame her for that. I suppose in its way it was admirable. It was also, for me, terribly inconvenient.
I thought about Rachel and I thought about Sarah. I had just managed to get myself into a truly black mood when there was a knock at the door. Mrs Marshall returned and said, “There's a gentleman here to see you.”
The way she said gentleman made it clear that the caller was no such thing. I rose and went to the door and was very surprised to see Tiny.
I ducked back into the living room and picked up the poker from the fireside and went back to the door, fearing that Bart and Dave would be just behind him with their knives. Much to my surprise, Tiny raised his hands till they were level with his ears and said, “I don't want any trouble, Mr Brodie.”
His voice was surprisingly light and there was a mildness in his tone that I did not associate with the sort of man who gave out the kind of beatings that I had received.
“Then why did you come here?” I raised the poker menacingly and I fully intended to bring it down on its head. With an opponent his size it seemed most sensible to get in the first blow and he seemed willing to allow it.
He stepped back and flinched and raised his hands a bit further. “Don't do it,” he said. There was more pleading than menace in his voice. “I didn't come here to fight. I came here to warn you.”
“I think I got quite enough of your sort of warnings the other night, Tiny. These bruises were warning enough.”
“Look -- I'm sorry about what happened to you. I'm sorry about what happened to the girl, Sarah. Dave should never have done that. And I should never have let him. Things went too far.”
“You discovered that a bit too late, didn't you, Tiny?”
“Better late than never, Mr Brodie.” My first suspicion was that this was some sort of trap but there was something in his manner that told me he was sincere. There was a sadness, and a weariness and something of fear about him that was odd in so huge a man. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not? It's important.”
“Talk! I'll listen.” He glanced around furtively as if he didn't want anyone to overhear us.
“Can I come inside? I promise you there will be no trouble.”
“You're right -- there won't be any trouble. Because if there is, this poker will go right through your eye.” It wasn't a threat I was sure I could carry out but it sounded suitably menacing. He flinched and nodded and came inside. I shut the door and locked it and then followed him through to the kitchen, ready to brain him at the slightest sign of treachery. Mrs Marshall saw him and saw the expression on my face and rose from the scullery table and went into the living room.
“Close the door behind you,” I said and she did
as she was told. Without being asked, Tiny took a seat on the far side of the table, making it look like something from a dolls house compared to his great bulk. I didn't sit. I didn't want to feel at any more of a disadvantage.
“What do you have to tell me?” He knuckled his mouth with one huge hand and then set both of them flat on the table in front of him.
“It's this business with you and Billy. It's bad you know.”
“This is not news to me, Tiny.”
“It is to me, Mr Brodie. Oh, I knew he hated you and I knew he blamed you for what happened to his brother but I did not think that things would go this far. I thought we would simply give you a beating and then get back to more profitable business.”
“What sort of business would that be, Tiny? Housebreaking? Armed robbery?”
“It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's obsessed. He talks about you all the time. He talks about what is going to do to you with that knife of his. He talks about what it was like in Australia and how the only thing that kept him alive in the outback in the sun and the drought was thinking about what he would do to you one day when he got back to this country.”
“Billy doesn't like me. I get the idea, Tiny. You didn't have to come and tell me that.”
“It's not that he doesn't like you, Mr Brodie. It's not that he hates you. It's worse than that. I have never seen a light come into any man's eyes the way it comes into his when he talks about his revenge, revenge for him and for his brother. He's brooded on this for a decade. He blames you for murdering his brother, and for all I know, he's right to do so.”
“He's wrong. I never killed Bobby. He fell.” Tiny shrugged as if that was neither here nor there.
“It doesn't matter. He believes you did it like my old mother believed in the Bible. And that's what's important. There's nothing he wouldn't do to get vengeance. And I mean nothing, Mr Brodie. He wants it the way some men want a woman. He beat me last night and threatened me with his knife for pulling him off you in the Rat's Nest. He would have killed me if I hadn't legged it. He's mad -- Bart Tobin standing there pointing a gun at his head and he was still ready to go for you. He was ready to get us all killed. Surely you must have seen that?”
“I did, Tiny. When will you tell me something I didn't know?”
“This thing won’t be over between you until one of you is dead, Mr Brodie. You know that, don't you?”
I did. I suppose I had always known it; ever since I saw Billy in that bar that night. He wasn't the sort of man who would or could ever back down. “Yes, Tiny, I know. What did you come to tell me?”
“He knows where you live, Mr Brodie. He knows you have children.”
The meaning of his words sank in slowly. Of course, Billy Tucker knew where I lived. The fact that Tiny was here talking to me proved that. That Billy was mad enough, and hate-filled enough, to go after Donald and Rachel had not occurred to me. Tiny must have seen the realisation on my face. “So you see why I had to come here, Mr Brodie. I had to let you know. I had to tell you. I didn't want that on my conscience as well as what happened to the girl.”
“You did the right thing, Tiny. And I'm grateful to you for it. But now you'd better go. I've got things to do.”
I walked him carefully to the door, still not entirely certain that this was not part of some elaborate scheme of Billy's. I let him out and then I turned to Mrs Marshall and said, “I'm going out to collect Donald. Don't let anybody in, and I mean anybody, not Queen Victoria herself, if she comes with the Lord Mayor of London.”
“What is it, sir? What’s wrong?”
“And pack a bag for yourself and the children. It’s time for them to leave London for the sake of their health.”
“What did that man say to you, Mr Brodie?”
“For God’s sake, Mrs Marshall just do what I say! I’ll explain it all when I get back.”
I stood outside until I heard the key turn in the lock and then I made my way through the streets towards Donald's school. The streets were full of people but I felt awkward, vulnerable and exposed. My mind was split by worry. I could not get to where Donald was fast enough and yet every step put distance between myself and Rachel, and both were equally at risk, if Billy Tucker decided to call.
My mouth felt dry and my limbs strangely weak and all the bruises that Billy and his friends have given me ached. I wanted to shove every man who got in my way out of my path and into the gutter. I barged into an old clothes man, upsetting him, and leaving him cursing in my wake. I lengthened my stride till I was almost running and I still was not moving fast enough for my liking.
I imagined Billy waiting for Donald outside the school or even breaking into the class and abducting him. There was nothing an old woman like Donald’s teacher could do to stop someone like Billy Tucker. It was madness, I know -- such an attempt would have roused a hue and cry in an instant, but I was not thinking logically. My only thought was to make sure that Donald was safe.
As I got closer and saw no sign of disturbance, I started to worry about what might be happening back at my home. Images of Billy kicking in the door and taking Rachel away at knifepoint from Mrs Marshall's care danced maddeningly across my mind.
I got to the schoolroom door and banged on it with my fist, and a servant came and showed me in. It wasn’t much of a place, just a couple of rooms that an old spinster had converted so she could earn some money.
I strode right into the classroom and said to the teacher, “I'm afraid I have to take Donald home. Something’s come up.”
All eyes on the classroom were fixed upon me, but I did not care. The teacher nodded and gave Donald permission to go. He gathered up his stuff in a small satchel and came running towards me. I took him by the hand and almost dragged him outside.
“What is it, father?” His face was deathly serious. “Has anything happen to Rachel?”
“No. She's fine. I've decided that she has to go away to the seaside for the good of her health just like the doctor said. And I want you to go with Mrs Marshall and look after her.”
Of course, I did not want to tell him the real reason why I was sending him and his sister away.
“You're not going with us?”
“I have some business here to take care of but I'll join you as soon as I can and we'll all have a nice holiday together.” He smiled as if I was giving him the most pleasant surprise possible, and I had to look away. He was almost skipping as we walked through the street, pleased and surprised to be with me on a day like today. I made a vow then before God that if I came through this thing alive, I would make the effort to spend more time with him.
When we got back to the flat I banged on the door, and shouted Mrs Marshall's name to let her know that it was me. The door creaked open slowly and I was pleased to see her fat old form standing there. She had three small bags packed beside her in the corridor.
“Now will you tell me what's going on?” she said.
“Go and see that your sister is all right,” I told Donald. Once he had gone into the living room I led Mrs Marshall into the kitchen and said, “I am sending you in the children away for the good of Rachel's health.”
She squinted at me, not believing her word. “Where are you sending us?”
“You'll be taking the train to Portsmouth and you can take a room in the Dragon and George. I'll join you there tomorrow if I can, the day after at the latest, and I'll let you know more then.” I counted out most of what was left of Mr Soames's money and added a few coins more from my emergency trove. She accepted them reluctantly.
“Are you going to tell me what is happening or not?”
“Very well then, Mrs Marshall, if I must I must.”
“You must, Mr Brodie.”
“There are some people I need to meet discreetly and this is the only possible venue and I don't want you or the children here to see it.”
“What is wrong with your office?”
“Not discreet enough. It may be being watched.”
“I'm not sure I believe you, Mr Brodie. And I'm not sure I like what you're doing.”
“Will you do what I ask or not? The doctor did say that Rachel needed fresh air.”
“You're up to something, Mr Brodie. You've got that secretive look about you that you get when you're up to no good.”
“Will you do what I ask of you, woman?” There was a note of both pleading and exasperation in my voice and she stared at me long and hard before saying, “The doctor did say that your daughter needs fresh air.”
Both children seemed excited about going away on holiday so suddenly although both were disappointed that I could not go with them. I told them not to worry and that we would be together soon, and then I went out into the street and called a cab. We climbed aboard and made our way to Nine Elms station.
To someone like me, who was born in the age before the railways, there is always something strange and wonderful and rather sad about railway stations. I always feel lost amidst their hugeness and clamour and squalor.
I bought tickets for Rachel and Donald and Mrs Marshall and waited with them on the platform as we watched the great engine come steaming into the station. The children were excited by the size and noise and power of the thing, and even Mrs Marshall stopped making comments about the infernal devices as she prepared to get on board. I hugged the children and lifted them from the platform into the carriage.
I felt almost offended when they went running off along the carriage and then back. Of course, they did not share my sadness or my fear. For them it was all a big adventure. They could not understand what was in my heart, for I had not told them, and at that moment I feared that I might never get the chance to again.
Mrs Marshall understood on some level. She stood with me on the platform and restrained herself from saying anything or asking any questions. We watched porters carrying luggage, and signalman with flags and whistles, trying to bring order from chaos. Hundreds of passengers, carrying their lunches and their luggage and provisions for the journey to the end of the Earth clambered aboard the train.
The children came back and climbed out and stood with us, until finally it was time to put them on board again and standing wave as the train pulled out of the station. They waved back, for as long as they were in sight and I waved too, until I could no longer see the train and eyes stinging from more than the smoke I made my way out of the station, wondering when I would see them again.