Down Weaver's Lane (49 page)

Another stranger came in, breathless. ‘That bugger Makepeace has been asking around at the alehouse in Northby an’ he’s out searching, so we’d better move her on quick.’

The terror eased just a little as Emmy realised she wouldn’t have to face Marcus Armistead yet. And if people were looking for her, there must be a slight chance of rescue. She had to hold tight to that hope, had to. If only she could leave them a sign. They were whispering to one another, their backs turned to her, so she eased her handkerchief out of her waistband with her fingertips and flicked it to one side. She didn’t even have time to see where it fell.

Gus stepped forward. ‘Come on, you.’

‘Just a minute!’ The old woman stopped to pick something up and wave it at Emmy. ‘You dropped this! Nice little handkerchief that is. Finder’s keepers.’ She stuffed it in her own waistband.

‘Don’t try anything like that again or you’ll regret it,’ Gus snapped.

Emmy swallowed hard and said nothing, but tears welled in her eyes and she thought for a moment she saw a look of shame in his. But if she did it was soon gone and she let out an involuntary grunt as he heaved her over his shoulder and started moving.

They shoved her into a carriage and this time Gus got in with her. The other two climbed up on the box and they set off. The bumping and jolting were so bad that Emmy was tossed about, but Gus did nothing to keep her steady, just continued to stare at her sourly.

Once they stopped and one of the men got down, calling farewell to the others. As the carriage set off again, Gus said abruptly, ‘When we get there you’d be well advised to do as the gentleman asks. It’ll go easier for you that way.’

He slumped down, hating to see the terror on her face, wishing he were anywhere but here. He was getting more than a bit worried about the fate of the other girls he had delivered to Marcus Armistead. One had not been seen again while others had left the district immediately afterwards, refusing to say what had happened to them but vowing never to return.

‘I’ll never do as he asks,’ Emmy said fiercely. ‘And I don’t know how you can live with your conscience, doing something like this. I’ll tell them who captured me.’

‘By the time he’s done with you, you’ll be glad to keep your mouth shut, just like the others were.’ But Gus sighed. He didn’t like this, not at all. It was not his conscience that was worrying him so much as his sense of self-preservation. He didn’t want to be involved in murder - or anything else that weird bugger did!

 

Jack and Isaac sat in silence as the stage coach rumbled along the Manchester road. The other passengers made no attempt to converse. In the flickering light of the single lamp suspended from the ceiling their faces looked weary and drawn.

It seemed to take longer than usual to reach Manchester, and when the coach arrived they had trouble finding a cab. Isaac waited with arms folded while Jack paced up and down near the cab stand, scanning the street. When at last they heard the sound of hooves and a cab came clopping round the corner, Jack heaved a sigh of relief.

Isaac stepped forward to say to the driver, ‘I’m prepared to pay handsomely if you’ll stay with us for the next few hours and, if necessary, lend us a hand. A young woman has been kidnapped and we’re searching for her.’

‘How handsomely, sir?’

‘A guinea for the next four hours.’

The man nodded, giving them a tight smile. ‘I’ll stick with you, sir. As long as it’s legal.’

‘It is indeed.’

There were no lighted windows upstairs at Armistead’s offices and it took a while to attract the attention of the elderly caretaker in the basement.

‘Have you seen Mr Armistead?’ Isaac asked.

‘Ah. Left here about half an hour ago.’

Isaac took out a half-crown piece. ‘Any idea where he might have gone?’

The caretaker stared at it and shifted his feet uneasily. ‘Home, I suppose, sir. He usually does when it’s late. I call a cab for him sometimes. Not tonight, though. He said he was in a hurry and would hail one down at the corner. Do you need his address?’

‘I already have it.’ Isaac handed over the coin.

But the manservant who answered the door at Marcus Armistead’s house said his master had not been there since he’d left for his office that morning, and no amount of promised largesse would make him offer any suggestions about where else they could search.

‘Let’s go back to that caretaker,’ Isaac said as they drove away. ‘He may know something else.’

Jack nodded, containing his impatience only with difficulty.

At first the old man denied knowing anything else, but the sight of a golden sovereign on Isaac’s outstretched palm made him hesitate and lick his lips.

‘You won’t tell Mr Armistead I said owt?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper.

‘No. I’ll not even mention that we’ve seen you, I promise.’

‘Well, he does sometimes visit a brothel. I think it’s called the Red House’ The caretaker sniggered. ‘It’s a place for the gentry, they say.’ He gave them the address in a low voice, looking over his shoulder as he did so.

‘One more favour, my friend,’ Isaac said. ‘If Constable Makepeace turns up, will you tell him what you’ve told us? I’ve no doubt he’ll show his appreciation as well.’

The man nodded.

Jack strode back to the cab, waited for Isaac to get in, then flung himself down next to him. ‘If Armistead’s got my Emmy there . . .’

‘You’ll do nothing. Eli is the man to sort this out.’

Jack looked at him sideways then clamped his lips together. If he had even the slightest hint that Emmy was inside this place, he did not intend to wait for anything or anyone.

The cab drove slowly along the dark streets, but although it was past midnight now, Jack felt alert and ready for action. He looked down at himself, glad of his big, strong body. Clenching his hands into fists he studied them, feeling anger swell his veins.

 

Samuel Rishmore’s coachman stopped at the end of a rough track and leaned down to call to his master, ‘It’ll not do the carriage any good to take it down there.’

‘Never mind the damned carriage, just hurry up!’ his master shouted back.

Muttering under his breath, the man told the horses to walk on.

They bumped down a track that seemed made of potholes towards the dark cottage belonging to Bill Sully. When they arrived a dog somewhere began to bark hysterically and Hercules growled and pawed at the carriage door. There was no sign of the inhabitants of the cottage, although they could not have failed to hear the carriage approaching,

Eli told the coachman to turn the carriage round ready to leave, then looked at the Parson. ‘Perhaps you could bring the dog with you, Mr Bradley? It’ll know if Emmy’s here better than we ever could. Mr Rishmore, I think you should accompany us, as Magistrate.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but went to bang on the front door, rubbing his hands together to warm them as he waited, his breath clouding the air.

It was a long time before it was answered by an old woman who was, as Eli didn’t fail to notice, fully dressed.

‘If you’re lost . . .’ she began.

‘We’re not. We’re searching for a young woman who’s been abducted. We’ve been told that your son is involved.’

‘There’s no young woman here. An’ my Bill wouldn’t do owt like that.’

‘Then you won’t mind if we search the house, will you?’

She scowled and stayed where she was. ‘You’ve no right to do that. No right at all.’ As Samuel Rishmore stepped out of the shadows, however, she gasped and took a quick step backwards.

‘As Magistrate, I have every right to search for a missing person,’ he said curtly. ‘Stand aside if you please, my good woman.’

Even as he was speaking Gerald Bradley felt Hercules began to pull on his lead, his nose down, and as Mrs Sully fell back, the dog dragged him inside the house, moving to and fro, yipping softly. The animal led them to a chair and began barking, looking round at them as if he wanted to tell them something.

Exchanging a quick glance with the Parson, Eli moved forward. ‘Was she here, lad?’ He caught sight of something on the floor under the nearby table and moved forward to pick up a piece of rope. When he held it out to Hercules, the dog began to bark furiously.

Eli turned to the householder. ‘This is the young woman’s dog. He knows her scent. I think she’s been here.’

‘No, she ain’t.’

The dog moved so suddenly he pulled the leash out of the Parson’s hand. He began to leap at the old woman, who struck out at him, trying to keep him away.

As soon as he was sure the dog wasn’t trying to bite her Eli held up one hand to prevent anyone intervening, trying to understand what Hercules was doing. He saw a scrap of white material poking out of the woman’s waistband. The dog seemed to be concentrating on that. Stepping forward, he tweaked it out. ‘Was this what you were looking for, lad?’ he asked gently, holding it out.

Hercules grabbed at it, whining in his throat and looking at them again.

‘It’s a handkerchief,’ Eli said grimly. ‘And it’s got an E embroidered on the corner.’

Gerald took it out of his hand to examine it. ‘My wife teaches girls to embroider like that. I can’t swear to it, but it’s very likely Emmy’s handkerchief.’

‘Found it at the market in Northby,’ the old woman said. ‘Don’t know who it belonged to afore.’

Eli changed tack, utterly certain now that Emmy had been kept prisoner here. ‘Where’s your son?’

‘How should I know?’ She leered at him. ‘Out with a woman, I should think.’

‘Or maybe he’s on the way to Manchester, taking the girl to Marcus Armistead?’

For a moment fear showed on her face, further confirmation that they were on the right track. Eli turned to the others. ‘I’ll just check the rest of the house, but it’s my guess they’ve already left. We’ll follow them to Manchester.’

Samuel Rishmore looked at Mrs Sully as they were leaving. ‘If I think you’re involved I shall not hesitate to charge you with assisting in an abduction.’

She gave him a resentful look, turned her back on them and began to poke the fire. ‘Shut the door after you.’

Outside they found the carriage facing the way they had come, ready to leave. Around them was a stark moonlit landscape of black and white. As the others got into the vehicle Eli gave instructions to the coachman then clambered in after them. Reaching down, he patted Hercules on the head. ‘You’re a good boy.’

The animal whined softly in its throat and settled at his feet as the carriage jolted on through the darkness along the rough moorland tracks. Eli could not see any possibility that they would arrive in time to save Emmy from whatever Armistead had planned, but he didn’t say so. The other men were equally silent, their expressions grim.

As they regained the Manchester road with its more level surface, Samuel opened the window to yell, ‘Drive as fast as you can!’

 

Emmy felt the change in the road surface and later saw through the carriage window the lights that suggested they’d reached Manchester. ‘Where are we going?’ People could just vanish in some parts of the city, she knew from her childhood.

‘Never you mind.’ Gus was still in a sour mood, unhappy with being forced to participate in this evening’s work. ‘Just you remember what I told you an’ do as the gentleman asks.’

‘And just you remember that I’ll never do as Marcus Armistead asks. Never.’ She saw an even more worried expression settle on his face and added, ‘I think he killed my mother. Will you let him kill me as well?’

His mouth fell open. ‘It were a tramp as killed your ma.’

‘I don’t think so, and neither does Mr Makepeace. He’ll find me, you know. He won’t give up. He’ll know who’s arranged all this.’

The thought of the constable pursuing them worried Gus more than anything. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you again!’ he said roughly. But although she didn’t speak she kept her eyes fixed on him and he cursed the day he’d ever got involved with Armistead. If Gus’s cousin had been part of this there might be some hope for the lass, because George wouldn’t let things go too far. But Armistead had made it plain that George was not to know what was going on tonight.

After jolting through the streets for a long time, they came to a halt.

‘Where are we?’ Emmy asked.

‘Shut up, I told you!’ When the carriage door opened, Gus nudged Bill. ‘Keep an eye on her while I check it’s safe to take her inside.’ By which he meant that George wasn’t around.

Emmy could see that they were in a back lane behind a big house that was full of light in spite of the late hour, and this puzzled her still further.

The man on the rear door told Gus that George was out at the front, talking to the customers, so he beckoned urgently and Bill, who was a much smaller man, staggered across carrying Emmy.

‘Give her here!’

As Gus reached out for her, she jerked sideways as hard as she could and although this made her fall to the ground, it also delayed them a little.

‘What did you do that for, you stupid bitch?’ Gus demanded, itching to slap her but not daring to because Mr Armistead liked them unmarked and untouched. He heaved her across his shoulder and carried her into the kitchen, groaning as he saw his cousin had come through to the back.

‘What’s going on here?’ George demanded.

‘Delivery for Mr Armistead,’ Gus told him and started to move on towards the back stairs.

‘George, don’t let them take me!’ Emmy begged. ‘He’ll kill me for sure this time.’

He stared at her in shock. Madge’s girl! What the hell was going on? He rounded on the doorman. ‘How come no one told me she was expected?’ As the man looked uncomfortable, George had a sudden thought and asked, ‘Has this happened before?’

The man avoided his eyes and shrugged. ‘He likes his extra pleasures kept quiet does Mr Armistead. Not for me to tell the owner no, is it?’