A Thief in the Night (3 page)

‘Tosher! Very fine to see you my young friend … out in God’s own light at last hey? Oh, it’s been such an age!’

The younger man did not smile. He grimaced and declined to shake hands with the other.

‘What’s the matter? What have I done? I thought we were friends … and I have work for you, how’s that? I trust they let you have drawing materials in that hell hole?’

The younger man nodded. ‘Yes … some of the warders were fine with that … and the chaplain allowed me time to paint. That was the only consolation in there. Fact is, Ned, they know how to break a man.’ He bent forward, a sob rising in him; he wept like a child and dropped the bag. ‘Ned … Ned, I’m never going back in there! I’m going right, decent, I am, I swears it.’

‘Well, Tosher, I can reassure you that the work I have for you is no more than painting! Yes … a studio and honest work with your brush. How does that sound?’

‘I’ll believe it when I see it Ned.’

‘Well, we’ll be rich, my young friend … rich. I have not been idle while you languished in that castle of pain! Though you have not been starved I perceive!’

‘I ate more than my share … you have to fight to stay on top in there.’

‘So you can take it my old mate … dog eat dog, eh?’

‘Never, Ned … never back in there. I’ll die else … I’ll leave this world of sorrow.’

Ned Byrne took all this in his stride and led the way to a beer shop to give his friend some courage, in the shape of a glass of porter. His mind was a grinding machine of plans and projections; he was finding a way to bring Tosher Killane back into the fold. Clients were waiting. There was no time for sentiment.

The Green Room at The Savoy was accustomed to visits from Professor Harry Lacey, as he knew Arthur Sullivan, the composer, very well. They had first met at the Beefsteak Club, where their mutual friend, the lawyer turned pianist, Corney Grain, had treated them to his favourite delicacies. On this night, the audience were eagerly anticipating a production of
The Gondoliers
, and Arthur had found time to walk with Lacey to the backstage areas, chatting all the while. Like Lacey, he relished a good meal and invited the professor to a feast the coming weekend.

‘How can I turn you down, Arthur? Though I’m supposed to be losing a few pounds. I promised my doctor, and, bless him, he’s always giving me lectures about surfeits of this and that. The man has no humanity … Now, I’m looking for Miss Cabrelli … I believe she’s playing Casilda?’

Arthur stroked his moustache and gave a sigh. ‘Ah, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Miss Cabrelli wasn’t chosen for that part. No, she had something of a
contretemps
with WSG. I’m afraid she’s helping with the costume and props.’

‘You mean she’s been virtually dismissed?’ Lacey was indignant.

‘No, no, simply in the shadows for a while, until WSG changes his mind. She argued with him over a song. Rather a prodigious error of judgement, Harry. Anyway, you’ll find her in here.’ He opened a door and waved his hand for Harry to enter. ‘I must get to the orchestra now.
À bientôt mon ami
.’

It was drawing close to curtain-up and most of the performers were on their feet, pacing around the place. The air in the room was blue with expletives and the skivvy sitting at the back, hurriedly stitching a few inches of seam on a very full skirt, jumped up, startled into a response by Harry’s approach as he spoke her name. ‘Dear Miss Cabrelli … lovely to meet you again!’ He looked far from bohemian, with his bushy moustache, tousled fair hair and sober black wool top-coat and narrow trousers. ‘You were wonderful at Miss Bellezza’s party last week! Now here you are working with my friend Arthur! Well done indeed.’

Cara, short and raven-haired, was not dressed for the stage. Trying to look every inch the administrator, she wore a blouse and skirt; the blouse, with puffed-up cuffs, encompassed her neck in a high collar and was making her very hot. She stood up and gave Harry a hug as the call came for the stars to move out into the limelight.

‘Oh Mr Lacey, lovely to see you, but as you see, I’m in a spot of bother. I offended Mr Gilbert, but Sullivan thinks he’s only sulking, as men do, and I’ll be back in his good books by next week. But for now I’m backstage … and I hate it.’

‘Well, my dear, it may be that I can offer you a part in a little play for us … for the Septimus Society … when I hinted at some work.’

Cara jumped up, uttering a girlish giggle, and clapped her hands. ‘Oh Harry! How exciting! Tell me more, do!’ Harry straightened his tie, unruffling himself. He was a stranger to the attentions of women and was positively flushed.

‘My dear, there is a whiff of danger about it. It’s not exactly a Savoy part. But I’ve seen you act, and I’ve had excellent reports about you from others … and basically, well, can you meet me at Holborn House auctions at eleven tomorrow? I’ve drawn a map here, and I’ve written an account of who you are – dearest Cara, you are to be an American millionaire’s daughter, so dress for the part. Arthur has told me that you may borrow anything from the wardrobe here.’

‘
Anything
! Oh, joy! Harry, you’re my Fairy Godfather! May I kiss you?’

The professor blushed and stepped back, but he could not avoid Cara’s lunge at him, and her kiss on his lips, in spite of his protest.

‘Oh, I’m quite dizzy with all this, dear Cara. But tomorrow you are not Cara – you are Miss Dora Delancey. Enjoy it! Read my notes carefully … oh, and the essential thing is that you are soft-hearted, but are to be guided by Detective Inspector Carney, who will be with you all day.’

Cara took a sharp intake of breath and said, ‘Detective Inspector Carney … a
real
detective?’

‘Indeed. Now, farewell my dear. We shall meet again at the next Oriental dinner.’ Harry walked briskly off, leaving Cara to recover from the shock.

‘Now we’re all set … if I get someone back here, I have to have some notes from them, some rag, some bees and honey, right Thomas?’

Tosher, who knew that when his real name was used Ned Byrne meant business, and that some danger was afoot, nodded so much that his belly wobbled. Twice the size of Byrne he may have been, but the smaller man had the knack of instilling a deep fear, a chill that reached the bones and the viscera. Byrne reached up and grasped Tosher’s jaw, pulling his face down lower so he could look him in the eye, close and threatening.

‘Right Guv,’ Tosher stammered out. ‘We’ll not come away empty, like.’

‘Not even if I have to call on your skills with the knife and fetchin’ someone a good whack, right?’ Ned growled.

Tosher managed to nod, his face still in Byrne’s grip.

‘So Ned and Thomas do not end today with no shekels in the pocket, right?’ Byrne smiled nastily. ‘Shake on it?’

They shook hands, and Byrne knew from the slight quavering of his big servant that the fight for power had been won.

In the Holborn auction room the main chamber was packed with people. It was a specialist art sale, comprising only works by British artists of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. There was a cluster of aristocratic looking men in one corner, enjoying cigars and brandy, and appearing to find the whole business highly amusing. In the main concourse, the men of business gathered, and most were anxiously consulting their descriptive catalogues, stroking their chins and looking around for familiar faces. Among this crowd a young woman was gently guided around the room by an older man, the couple indulging in small talk. It was Cara,
a la
Dora Delancey, and Detective Inspector Edward Carney looked every inch the distinguished man of culture – a part he found unfamiliar, but he had been tutored by Harry and in his long police career he had seen hundreds of expert swindlers who passed very well as professors, clerics or academic gentlemen.

Cara was dressed in distinctly more gaudy attire than was usual in these circles in the City, having selected an ornate and highly embellished outfit from the costume store at The Savoy. Her dress was, however, very much the current fashion of the nineties, with a scattering of little flowers embroidered across the skirt, and her bodice was tight and shaped. This had been carefully chosen with the prospect of much walking and movement ahead of her. She wore long white gloves and carried a parasol, which she considered to be useful if the need for defence arose.

Eddie’s greatest challenge was to speak as if he were a ‘posh type’ and drop his Cockney accent. But he was used to that, and he somehow managed to adapt his voice and manner to the clothes he was wearing. ‘Dress posh, talk posh,’ he murmured to himself, as they walked into the Holborn rooms.

Cara made sure that her American accent was heard, and her references to some of the art around them made her seem, superficially at least, most informed regarding modern art.

A hush descended as the auctioneer appeared on a dais, gavel in hand. He began to announce the pictures and the bidding went fast and furiously, as lot followed lot. Then he came to a pause and announced, ‘Now, we have a very remarkable landscape by Frederick William Canlon, one of his views of the River Thames, rather than his beloved home county where he lived, close to our dear former laureate, Lord Tennyson …’

As everyone fixed their gaze on the auctioneer, Cara heard the soft voice of a man whisper in her ear. ‘Miss, I see you are here to purchase some of our best British art … well, I have something that may be of interest to you, not here, but in my rooms … I’m talking about a Canlon watercolour. It’s better than this one in fact, and much cheaper.’

Eddie heard this, and tugged Cara away, but the bait was taken, and he looked closely at Ned Byrne, who introduced himself as the bidding stopped. Byrne was at his most dapper, but it was his gaudy necktie that people noticed, and, of course, Eddie made a note of the glass eye and scar, wondering if the man had a record.

Over a cup of tea in the sitting room, Cara nodded encouragingly as Byrne spoke.

‘Miss, the watercolour is for sale for seven hundred pounds … but if you could pay with notes, then five hundred for you, as I have a particular admiration for our American friends.’ His smile almost made Eddie sick, but he managed to look agreeable.

‘Come and see it for yourselves!’ Byrne said, spreading his arms wide and being the genial companion. He, too, could act.