The Black Book of Secrets

  ‘I will take this elsewhere,’ she said, still tugging. ‘To someone with integrity.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I cried, close to tears. ‘A moment’s weakness. After all, I am only human. I can be tempted.’ I was still holding on to the book. I couldn’t bear to let it go.

  ‘Pshaw,’ she spat. ‘I have heard enough.’

  We struggled across the desktop. First she would hold sway, then I, until finally I gave one mighty wrench and the book came free. The old lady fell backwards and I watched in horror as her head cracked on the arm of the chair and she crashed to the floor in a crumpled pile of skin and bone. I ran to her and dropped to my knees at her side leaning close to see if she was still breathing.

  She hissed in my ear, ‘yadnuS a no peehs ym raehs ot dekil I,’ and then expired, her final breath fogging my spectacles.

  ‘Oh, Lord above,’ I muttered. ‘Now what do I do?’ It was not usual for a customer to die in the shop and I was unsure of the correct procedure. And while I dithered the voice of the devil, surely it could only be he, piped up in my ear.

  ‘Take the book,’ he whispered. ‘Take the book. Who will know?’

  I should like to say that I argued, that I engaged in a debate about the immoral nature of his suggestion, but that would be untrue. Instead I picked it up from where I had dropped it and stuffed it behind Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall’ on a high shelf above the desk. When I turned around I was startled to see Jeremiah Ratchet standing in the open doorway. I had no idea how long he had been there.

  ‘My dear Perigoe,’ he asked, ‘what on this miserable earth are you doing?’

  ‘She has died in my shop,’ I wailed. ‘She just collapsed.’

  ‘So I see,’ he said.

  Dr Mouldered arrived and Ratchet stood to one side eyeing the scene. His presence made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘Heart attack,’ pronounced Mouldered after the briefest of examinations. Ratchet gave one of his loud snorts and Mouldered closed his bag and hurried away. To my intense relief the undertakers arrived not long after, the body was removed and Jeremiah left.

  That night after dark I came up with a plan. I wanted to sell the book but I had to be careful. I couldn’t be sure who else knew the old lady owned it. I had heard of someone in the City who would pay me a good price for such a book and who could be trusted not to reveal my identity. Of course, there would be no celebrity, no fame, but it was a small sacrifice. If I went now, I could be back before dawn and no one would be the wiser. I hid the book in my cloak and stepped outside straight into Jeremiah Ratchet.

  ‘My dear Perigoe,’ he said in that loathsome way of his, ‘I wonder what business has you leaving Pagus Parvus at this time of night.’

  ‘My own business,’ I replied sharply. ‘Now step away and allow me to pass.’

  He stayed where he was. ‘I have been thinking over the events of this evening: the death of that poor unfortunate woman, the book . . .’

  ‘The book?’

  ‘There is a price for keeping secrets,’ he said.

  His tone frightened me. ‘What you are suggesting, Mr Ratchet?’

  ‘I think that you are on your way to the City to dispose of the book, the very one you stole from the old lady this afternoon, for a rather large sum of money that you will keep all to yourself.’

  ‘There is no book, Mr Ratchet.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jeremiah, ‘then we have a problem. You see, if you do not find the book, which I know is here, then I will be forced to tell the magistrate that I witnessed that woman’s death at your hands. The penalty is hanging, you know, for murder.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘I saw everything,’ said Jeremiah. ‘I watched you attack that old lady and then push her to the ground, only to wrest the book from her dying hand.’

  ‘That is not how it happened,’ I protested, but Jeremiah merely laughed.

  ‘Consider what I have said carefully, Mrs Leafbinder. I am sure you will come round to my way of thinking.’

  I am ashamed to say that I cursed the duplicitous scoundrel for a full minute but I knew when I was beaten.

  ‘Tell me what you want, Mr Ratchet,’ I said finally.

  ‘It’s q uite simple, my dear. I wish to have the pick of your shelves whenever I choose and a small payment, shall we say five shillings, on a weekly basis.’

  ‘And what of the book?’

  He pretended to give the matter some consideration. ‘Well, I could take it to the City of course, but I think I shall wait. Perhaps after a few years I will sell it for its full value. Meanwhile, if you would be so kind as to hand it over, I shall keep it safe.’

  What a heartless, sadistic man stood in front of me. I had no choice but to take his terms. I knew Ratchet would not hesitate to go straight to the magistrate, whom I did not doubt could be persuaded with money to believe anything Ratchet wanted, and I would be hanged for murder.

  ‘I’ll be back on Friday for my fee,’ he said and went off with the precious book under his arm.

  Needless to state, he has been as good as his word. Every Friday he collects his money and takes whatever else he pleases. As for ‘The Loneliness of the High Mountain Shepherd’, I lie in bed every night and curse my greed and stupidity a thousand times. Meanwhile Jeremiah is bringing my business to its knees.

  I cannot change what I have done, Mr Zabbidou, and I am sorry for it. All I want is to sleep again, to forget.

  Ludlow put down his quill, laid a sheet of blotting paper between the pages and closed the book.

  Joe took Perigoe’s cold hand.

  ‘You will sleep,’ he said, ‘now your secret is safe.’

  ‘But what of Ratchet?’ asked Perigoe, a tremor in her voice. ‘He still has the book.’

  ‘Be patient, Perigoe. He will pay for what he has done. That is all I can say. Now, take this,’ he handed her a bag of coins, ‘and go home to get some rest.’

  Joe watched as Perigoe walked back to the bookshop. He saw her go in and waited for the lights to go out. Then he went to bed smiling. Joe Zabbidou had no trouble sleeping.

  Chapter Thirty

  Fragment from

  The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch

  Perigoe’s secret was the last one I wrote in the Black Book. The morning after her visit Joe sent me out for some bread. I greeted the bakers as usual, but their response was icy. Elias served me in silence and his eyes were shooting daggers. The oldest boy, who was behind the counter, couldn’t even look at me. I bade them goodbye and left, wondering what I had done to offend them. As I stepped out of the door I saw the other two Sourdough brothers across the street. Usually they liked to walk with me, but today they ran away and watched from further down the hill. One of them threw a snowball. It hit the side of my head and stung sharply. When I put my hand to the wound it came away bloody and I saw a small stone lying at my feet.

  Suddenly the window above me opened and the next second a pail of freezing dirty water drenched me from head to foot. ‘That’s right,’ came a jeering voice. ‘Get back up the hill to your devil friend. We don’t want you around here.’ It was Ruby.

  I broke into a run and raced back up to the shop, bursting through the door. I slammed it behind me and threw across the bolt.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Joe, noticing the blood on my face.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said, ‘but Elias wouldn’t talk to me and Ruby threw a pail of water over my head.’

  Joe looked puzzled. ‘For what reason?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I spluttered. ‘All I wanted was a loaf of bread.’

  I peeled off my cloak and hung it in front of the fire. Joe was sitting, leaning forward with his hands clasped under his chin. I shook my dripping head and drops of water turned to steam on the burning logs.

  ‘Did you know this was going to happen?’ I asked. ‘Is it because of Jeremiah?’

  ‘I don’t know about Jeremiah,’ said Joe slowly, ‘but I must say I expected something like this.’


  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there is a fine line between gratitude and resentment. Everyone is happy to accept my money – they smile and say thank you, and go away and forget how badly off they were before I arrived. Then they come back looking for more.’

  I was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. This wasn’t the Joe I knew, who harboured no resentment, no ill-feeling, who took it all in his stride. It unsettled me to see this side to him.

  ‘You sound as if this has happened before,’ I said.

  ‘It has, but usually I know why.’

  ‘Well, whatever the reason, I think it’s unfair,’ I began, but at the same time Saluki suddenly started to croak loudly in the shop and the peace and quiet of the morning was violently interrupted by the sound of a riotous altercation in the street.

  Joe leaped up and ran to the door, I followed him and together we hurried down the hill. The sight that greeted us, were it not for the seriousness of it, would have been quite ridiculous and more suited to the theatre. Jeremiah Ratchet and Horatio Cleaver were arguing, actually grappling with each other, in the middle of the street. And the cause of their disagreement? A turkey.

  Joe’s eyes sparkled. ‘It has begun,’ he said.

  As we approached the affray it became apparent what was going on.

  ‘You’ll not take any more of my meat, you thieving windbag!’ shouted Horatio and the onlookers cheered. It seemed that the whole village had come out to watch: the Sourdoughs, Perigoe, Obadiah, Benjamin Tup, Job Wright, Lily Weaver, Dr Mouldered, Polly and even a few faces that were unfamiliar to me.

  Ratchet said nothing, just planted his feet more firmly on the ground and pulled with all his might. He held the turkey’s legs, Horatio had its head, and the poor dead creature was near torn in two. Jeremiah was purple with the effort and Horatio’s cheeks were a similar shade.

  The men were well matched: both stout and solid on the ground. Horatio was slightly taller, but whether this was an advantage or not on the icy street was debatable. The air was filled with cursing and swearing, spit and clouds of breath.

  ‘It’s my turkey!’ shouted Jeremiah. ‘You owe me, Horatio.’

  With one huge tug he managed to unbalance the butcher, who let go of the bird rather than fall over. Jeremiah, of course, fell instead and to have the turkey was no consolation for his loss of dignity as he spun on the ice three times before coming to a stop at Joe’s feet.

  The crowd cheered and laughed and clapped as Jeremiah struggled to stand. Only Joe held out his hand to help, but Jeremiah ignored it and took off home, still holding the limp bird.

  ‘Good riddance,’ shouted Elias Sourdough.

  Jeremiah didn’t look back. I was surprised. He was not the sort of man to let someone else have the last word.

  Horatio came up to Joe in a state of great excitement about what he had just done. I had never thought to see this quiet man so elated.

  ‘Did you see that, Joe?’ He was breathing heavily and he was shaking. ‘I stood up to him. I told him he could take no more of my meat. Just like you said.’

  He seemed to have forgotten that Jeremiah had the turkey.

  He waited for Joe to answer, to pat him on the back, to congratulate him, but Joe said nothing. His face turned from grey to white and, for an instant only, anger flared in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t say that at all.’

  Job Wright, the blacksmith, stepped forward and his mouth was curled in a snarl.

  ‘So,’ he said, and his voice was brimming with sarcasm, ‘you’ve finally come to help us.’

  ‘Ratchet’s time will come,’ said Joe simply. ‘All you have to do is wait. For now, can’t you all be happy that your fortunes have changed?’

  ‘But how long must we wait?’ asked Obadiah. ‘You told me Jeremiah would feel the force of your justice.’

  Horatio looked towards the crowd. ‘And he told me he’d give him what was coming to him.’

  Then it was Perigoe’s turn. ‘I’ve been to him too,’ she said as loudly as she could, ‘and he said he’d make Jeremiah pay.’

  ‘That’s what he told me,’ came another voice.

  ‘And me,’ said someone else. ‘But I thought I was the only one!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked another and his neighbour (who had recently sold his own secret) immediately turned to him and began to tell him all about Joe’s midnight confessional and the Black Book.

  Suddenly everyone was talking at once as they realized exactly how many of their fellow villagers had secretly visited Joe Zabbidou at the stroke of twelve. Those who had been personally invited to the back room now felt cheated that it wasn’t an exclusive service – Joe really did know how to make people feel special – and those who hadn’t been invited felt cheated that they had not been considered worthy of the service. Whatever the individual’s circumstances, the disgruntled crowd, who only moments ago were laughing at Jeremiah, turned united to Joe Zabbidou and fixed him with an icy glare. I looked at them all, their faces glowing in the cold, their narrow eyes focused on Joe. My palms were damp with cold sweat. These were no longer friendly faces and I was frightened.

  Job Wright stood with his legs apart and his powerful arms crossed against his chest. In the absence of any other volunteer, he appeared to have taken on the role of village spokesman.

  ‘So, Mr Zabbidou, what have you to say to that?’

  The chattering stopped instantly. Seconds passed and the silence strained at its seams and threatened to explode. I could see the muscles in Joe’s jaw clenching and unclench-ing and he spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘I said none of those things. You have twisted my words, words I offered to comfort you.’

  ‘Then what exactly did you say?’ challenged the blacksmith.

  ‘I said to be patient.’ Joe looked around the scornful faces before settling on Perigoe and Horatio and Obadiah, who stood together in a nervous huddle. ‘Is that not the truth?’

  At first no one answered.

  Then Horatio nodded, shamefaced. ‘I think maybe you did say that,’ he said quietly.

  Perigoe and Obadiah reddened and nodded too, but Job wasn’t so easily appeased.

  ‘What is this nonsense?’ he snorted loudly, slamming his fist into his open palm. ‘First you promise to help and now, when we ask for that help, you hide behind words. You are no better than Jeremiah Ratchet himself. In fact, you are worse. He at least does what he says.’

  He turned around and addressed the mesmerized onlookers. Job had them hanging on his every word in a way Stirling Oliphaunt would never have been able. I could hardly believe how he had changed. He too had been in at midnight, like the rest of them, and taken the money and peace of mind gladly, but now he seemed intent on leading the village against us.

  ‘Jeremiah Ratchet must be punished for what he has done to us,’ Job declared. ‘We’ve waited long enough. We started without Joe Zabbidou and we’ll finish without him.’

  ‘Hear! hear!’ said a voice from the back, and a deep rumble of approval rolled through the crowd.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Joe, trying to make himself heard above the discontented mutterings. But he was wasting his time. No one was listening to him any more. All eyes were on Job. Now I was really scared, for me and for Joe. I could feel how angry they were. I wanted to shout at them, to tell them to listen, but no sound came from my mouth.

  Job turned to Joe. ‘You come here,’ he sneered. ‘You take our secrets and make false promises. Tell us, what are you going to do with those secrets? How many of us are in your debt?’

  ‘I paid you for your secrets,’ insisted Joe. ‘I kept my side of the bargain.’

  Job pounced. ‘Aha, so it is about money. And is it not true you paid so much that even if we wanted them back, we couldn’t afford them?’

  ‘It was a fair exchange,’ shouted Joe, by now weary and exasperated. ‘I never expected the money back.’ Everyone was talking
at once. ‘You know it is my business.’

  Job came right up to him until their noses were almost touching.

  ‘Business?’ he laughed. ‘At last we are getting to the truth. Jeremiah Ratchet says he is a businessman. I see you two are no different.’

  He turned and addressed the restless throng. ‘Maybe we are going after the wrong man. Maybe Jeremiah Ratchet and our good friend Joe Zabbidou here are in this together!’

  I looked at the enraged faces before us and it was hard to believe that these were the same people who had once welcomed Joe with open arms. I could hear the words ‘liar’ and ‘cheat’ and I was incensed. I took a step forward, thinking I might be able to protect him, but Joe held me back.

  ‘It is not like that,’ he said. ‘I have told you no lies. I never promis—’

  But Joe couldn’t finish because the crowd had turned against him. They began to boo and hiss.

  Joe stood there in a daze, his arms hanging loosely by his side. People began to pelt him, with snow and gravel and anything they could find. I grabbed his hand and dragged him away. I knew we were in danger out here in the open. I looked back only once and to my dismay I saw Jeremiah Ratchet standing on his doorstep. His arms were folded across his chest and when he caught my eye he opened his mouth and began to laugh.

  I locked up the shop and pulled down the blinds. We stayed inside for the rest of the day. I couldn’t believe what had happened and I paced between the rooms, going over and over it in my head.

  ‘How could they do this to you? After everything you’ve done for them.’

  Joe sat calmly by the fire. He heard my rantings but didn’t reply. He hardly said a word the entire afternoon, but I could tell that his mind was working furiously. What was he planning? Revenge on the village or revenge on Jeremiah? Surely it had to be one or the other. In my heart though, I knew it was neither. Revenge was not Joe’s way.

  Joe seemed to be talking to himself, reassuring himself that he had done nothing wrong. ‘I have always paid a fair price,’ he muttered. ‘When the deal is done, it is done and no one owes anyone. But still for these people it’s not enough. They accused me of making false promises.’