A Very Peculiar Plague (25 page)

Jem realised that they had attracted an audience.

‘Stay there,’ said Alfred, gasping for breath. He was crawling inside. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

‘Come back!’ Jem wailed. ‘Please!’

‘I ain’t going nowhere, lad. Just give me a minute.’

The bogler vanished. Jem began to cry. Silent tears ran down his cheeks; he felt bereft, and so alone. But soon he heard a sharp, ‘Jem?
Jem!
’, and saw that Alfred had moved downstairs, to a third-floor window.

The bogler was already scrambling onto its sill. This time, however, he had company. Watching him rise shakily to his feet, Jem saw that a sturdy arm in dark-blue serge was fastened around the bogler’s waist.

It was Constable Pike’s arm.

‘Jem?’ Alfred exclaimed. ‘You need to come down a little, lad! You need to bounce yer weight about!’

‘N-no . . .’

‘You’ll not fall. You’ll only drop a portion – nowt else. And I’ll catch you.’ As Jem hesitated, Alfred went on quietly, ‘You’re a brave boy. The bravest I know, if pig-headed. How am I to box yer ears if you don’t let me catch you?’

Jem licked his lips. His gaze drifted past Alfred, towards the little circle of spectators on the ground. They seemed so far away.

He shut his eyes.

‘Jem?
Jem!
Can you hear me?’ When Jem gave a nod, Alfred continued, ‘Try to climb up that there gutter, lad. It’s sure to pull loose and bring you down level with us.’

Jem had opened his eyes again. He fixed them on the twisted piece of metal hanging in front of his nose.
One step at a time,
he told himself.
Don’t think about nothing else.
He moved his right hand up the gutter. Then his left. Then he unclamped his knees . . .

Ping!
There was a screech of metal. The drop sent him swinging like a pendulum. Suddenly he was jerked sideways, so abruptly that he collided with something. ‘
Let go!
’ a voice yelled in his ear. He felt a band of pressure across his chest, and hands hauling at his clothes. Alfred said, ‘Hold on to me, Jem. You don’t need that gutter no more.’

For a moment Jem couldn’t unlock his grip. His fingers seemed fused to the metal. But he finally managed to unpeel them, and was dragged across the windowsill with Alfred’s arms laced around him from behind. They sat on the floor together.
Whoomp!
Then Jem found himself staring straight at Constable Pike’s knees.

‘Are you hurt?’ asked the policeman. ‘No? By God, you’re a lucky lad!’

Jem coughed. ‘L-Lubbock,’ he stammered.

‘What?’ Constable Pike leaned down. ‘What did you say?’

‘Mr Lubbock.’ Jem’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Mr Lubbock’s upstairs, locked in a chest. They tried to kill him. They tried to kill
me . . .
’ This time Jem broke down altogether, as Alfred’s arms tightened around him.

‘Who did?’ Alfred demanded. ‘Eunice?’

‘Sarah,’ Jem sobbed.

‘Sarah Pickles?’

‘She escaped down Giltspur Street. I saw her go.’ Jem twisted around to address Alfred. ‘She’s got a bogle in here! It’s bin eating babies! I don’t know how many was fed to it . . .’ When Alfred’s eyes widened in shock, Jem exclaimed, ‘Didn’t you see? Didn’t you look in the cellar?’

‘No.’ Alfred shook his head. ‘We came straight up.’ ‘We saw no one, saving yourself,’ Constable Pike added.

‘Then they must have escaped. They must have run out the back while you was coming in the front.’ Jem wiped his face with a trembling hand. ‘We’ll never get her now,’ he said brokenly. ‘She’s gone. They’re all gone . . .’

‘
Mr Bunce?
’ A faint call suddenly reached their ears from somewhere down below. ‘
Mr Bunce! Are you in here?
’

Jem blinked. The policeman frowned. Alfred said, ‘Is that Birdie McAdam?’

‘
We did it, Mr Bunce! We caught her!
’ The voice was definitely Birdie’s. Jem would have known it anywhere. But he could hardly believe what it was saying.
‘Did you hear me, Mr Bunce?
’ she cried. ‘
Me and Ned – we did it together! We saw her and we stopped her and we fetched the police! It’s true, I swear! We caught her ourselves! WE CAUGHT SARAH PICKLES!
’

30
SAFETY

Red Lion Court had become quite crowded. The old man with the pipe had been joined by at least a dozen more curious spectators. There was also a large, sandy-haired policeman, who greeted Constable Pike with the casual familiarity of an old friend. And Birdie was present, of course, as was Ned Roach.

Birdie didn’t look bedraggled anymore. She had changed into a pearl-grey alpaca dress, trimmed with white satin. She seemed to glow against the grim background of muddy cobbles, sooty bricks and damp stucco.

‘What happened?’ she exclaimed, as Alfred and Jem emerged into the watery afternoon light. Behind them came Constable Pike, who was supporting Josiah Lubbock. After being locked in a sea-chest for so long, Mr Lubbock could barely walk. He was also dazed with shock, and practically speechless. The only phrase he’d managed to utter since being released was a hoarse ‘Thank you!’, after being informed that Jem had picked a lock to get him out. (‘I’ll pretend I didn’t see this,’ Constable Pike had murmured, as Jem fiddled about with a bent wire.)

‘We was heading for the butcher’s shop on Cock Lane, but spied people running in here,’ Birdie declared, after receiving no answer to her first question. ‘So Constable Knowles decided to investigate, and me and Ned had to go with him – and who should we see but Jem Barbary, hanging from a window like wet washing!’ Before Jem could even begin to explain, she repeated, ‘What happened? Why ain’t you in the butcher shop? Where
is
the butcher?’

‘Where’s Sal Pickles?’ Alfred rejoined harshly, still clasping Jem’s arm. ‘You claim you caught her, but
I
don’t see her about.’

‘Why, she’s on her way to West Smithfield.’ The sandy-haired policeman spoke before Birdie could, taking charge in an understated way. ‘My question to you, sir, is this: can you help us with our inquiries? For there’s been talk of housebreaking and kidnapping, but I’ve yet to hear the full facts.’

‘Perhaps we’d best step inside, first.’ Constable Pike glanced at all the surrounding eavesdroppers. ‘I don’t fancy discussing this here matter in public.’

His friend agreed. So they all moved back into Sarah’s house, where they stood at the bottom of the staircase. Then Alfred told the policemen about Sarah Pickles, and Birdie explained how she and Ned had escaped from Miss Eames’s custody (by climbing through a bedroom window), after Birdie had decided that she
must
speak to Alfred. Knowing that the bogler was returning to help Jem, she and Ned had caught a bus to Newgate, then started walking up Giltspur Street – only to spot Sarah Pickles heading straight for them.

‘I yelled “
Stop, thief!
”,’ Birdie revealed, pink-cheeked with excitement. ‘And when Sarah tried to run, Ned brought her down. And Constable Knowles heard me—’

‘And Sarah tried to escape,’ Ned broke in.

‘She did!’ Birdie agreed. ‘And the police didn’t like
that
!’

‘Ahem.’ Constable Knowles cleared his throat. He was so large and barrel-chested, with such rough-hewn features, that everyone respectfully waited for him to speak. Even Birdie fell silent as he turned to Constable Pike and said in a slightly ponderous tone, ‘I saw two respectable-looking children involved in a disturbance with a woman whose general appearance suggested low origins. Then Constable Maybrick, who was with me, said he recalled the name Sarah Pickles and thought it might belong to a fugitive from justice, though he wasn’t sure. The children being clean and well-dressed, I thought it wise to investigate their allegations.’ As Constable Pike nodded, his friend finished, ‘Constable Maybrick took Mrs Pickles directly to the lock-up, but Miss McAdam suggested that I seek out a certain Mr Alfred Bunce, who might be able to clarify matters.’

‘This here is Mr Bunce,’ said Constable Pike, pointing. Everyone promptly turned to look at Alfred.

Alfred, however, was looking at Birdie. ‘What’s so important as couldn’t wait a few hours?’ he rasped. ‘What’s so important as to make you flout the wishes of yer elders, insulting Miss Eames and putting Ned in harm’s way?’

Birdie flushed, then lifted her chin. ‘I wanted to warn you about a notion I had,’ she said. ‘If the butcher’s bin threatening folk hereabouts, then mebbe all the bogles in this neighbourhood is down to him. For if he’s bin luring ’em in, somehow, to scare those as don’t want to pay up—’ ‘It ain’t him,’ Jem interrupted. ‘It ain’t the butcher. It’s Sarah Pickles.’ This possibility had occurred to him almost as soon as he’d had time to think – and the longer he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. As every eye swivelled towards him, he explained dully, ‘Sarah’s bin earning her keep as a baby farmer. She’d take the chink, but instead o’ raising the children, she’d feed every one of ’em to a bogle.’

Ned gasped. Birdie blanched. Constable Knowles raised a puzzled eyebrow at Constable Pike, who kept his gaze locked on Jem.

‘I don’t expect she paid no heed to the consequences,’ Jem continued. ‘I don’t expect she
planned
to draw bogles from every corner o’ London, by giving ’em a feast o’ flesh. But if you ask me, that’s why they’re here. It’s like feeding pigeons. They come and they come and soon they’re nesting in yer eaves.’ With a sidelong glance at Alfred, he finished, ‘And if there’s drains and sewers running beneath us, then Sarah might easily have fed more’n one bogle. Don’t you think?’

Alfred nodded slowly. But Constable Knowles didn’t seem convinced.

‘You ain’t talking about
boggarts
, surely?’ He turned to Constable Pike. ‘In
London
?’

Constable Pike grimaced. ‘I seen one o’ them things, Bert. And whatever you call ’em – bogles or boggarts or fachan – you’d not want to fall foul o’ one, believe me.’

‘Especially if you’re a child,’ said Alfred. Ever since hearing about the babies in the basement, his face had looked drawn and bruised. Turning to Mr Lubbock, he asked, ‘Did
you
hear Sal talk o’ feeding babies to bogles?’

Mr Lubbock shook his head. He had propped himself against the lowest banisters, and was rubbing the angry red marks on his wrists. ‘I no sooner mentioned Sarah’s name to her daughter than I was knocked out,’ he croaked. ‘I assume that someone was hiding behind the door, then attacked me when I came in.’

‘Was that
arter
you threatened to blackmail ’em?’ Jem muttered. But he fell silent as Alfred’s grip tightened on his shoulder.

‘So Jem’s the only witness,’ Alfred rumbled. ‘Pity.’

‘There’s baby clothes in that room over there.’ Ned pointed across the hallway to a half-open door. ‘I don’t expect Sarah paid good money for
them
.’

‘No,’ Jem agreed. ‘She’d sell ’em, though.’

‘Mebbe the clothes came with the babies!’ cried Birdie. ‘Mebbe there’s mothers as could identify the clothes—’

‘I’ll search this place for evidence,’ Constable Pike interrupted. ‘In the meantime, you should all go to the station house with Constable Knowles, and report to the sergeant there. Else Mrs Pickles won’t be charged.’

Jem wanted to ask if anyone had seen Eunice or Salty Jack leave the building. But he realised that no one around him knew what Eunice looked like. As for John Gammon . . .

‘Salty Jack?’ said Constable Pike, when asked. He gave a snort of derision. ‘If Salty Jack was ever here, he’s gone now.’

‘My word, if we could lay our hands on
that
gentleman . . .’ Constable Knowles trailed off, looking wistful.

Constable Pike pulled a sardonic face. ‘Salty Jack’s an eel,’ he told Alfred. ‘You’ll never prove a thing against
him
.’

‘But he were the one as threw me into the bogle-pit!’ Jem exclaimed.

Constable Pike sniffed. ‘We’ve had witnesses stand by while Jack put an axe through a man’s gut,’ he countered. ‘We’ve had ten men watch him set fire to a cellar full o’ gin. He’s bin charged with affray, assault, and passing bad coin. And do you think any of it could ever be proved in a court o’ law?’ He shook his head, gazing at Alfred. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll not tangle with Salty Jack. Not head-on. Bigger men than you have tried and failed, though I shouldn’t be the one to say it.’ Seeing Alfred narrow his eyes suspiciously, the policeman quickly added, ‘Don’t think I’m in that villain’s pocket, neither, for I’d as soon cut off my own arm! I’m telling you this, Mr Bunce, for the sake o’ your lad, who’s as brave a young ’un as I ever saw, and doesn’t deserve to be put in the way o’ John Gammon.’

Jem winced. He found himself edging closer to Alfred.

‘Concentrate your efforts on Sarah Pickles,’ Constable Pike finished. ‘That’s where you’ll get a result – and may see something further come of it, too. For who’s to say she’ll not give up her cronies? Stranger things have happened.’

Before Alfred could reply, the policeman saluted Constable Knowles, turned on his heel, and clattered downstairs to inspect the basement. There was a moment’s pause. Then Mr Lubbock whined, ‘I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I should go to the police station. After all, what can I possibly add? I saw nothing – I was in a box.’

‘You’re coming,’ Alfred said flatly. And Constable Knowles backed him up.

‘We’ll be needing a statement from you, sir. Once it’s given, you’ll be free to leave.’ The policeman began to shepherd everyone out the door, batting the air gently with his big, red, meaty hands. ‘We shan’t keep you long, for it’s not far. Left into Giltspur Street, then a step or two past Hosier Lane . . .’

They all did as they were told, leaving Red Lion Court under a barrage of questions from the crowd. Constable Knowles answered these questions using a standard set of replies (‘Move aside, please!’ ‘Police business!’ ‘There’s nothing to see here!’). It wasn’t until they reached Cock Lane that Birdie finally hissed at Jem, ‘Did you say Sarah’s bogle was in the chimney?’

Jem nodded. He didn’t want to talk about the bogle.

‘It needs to be killed,’ Birdie went on. ‘I wonder if Mr Bunce will come back and kill it?’