Julius and the Soulcatcher (4 page)

Julius lifted the peak of his cap. ‘How do you do?' he said.

‘Look, 'e gave me this.' Emily held up the orchid. ‘If 'e calls again, send Nell up to get me, it don't matter when it is or wot I'm doing.'

‘Er, very well,' said Clara, looking at the orchid in confusion, then back at Julius. ‘Higgins? From Higgins' Booksellers?' she said.

‘Yes, do you know it?' said Julius.

Clara's eyes widened. ‘Well, I—'

‘Bye then,' said Emily. ‘Can't stop 'ere nattering all night. Remember, 'iggins,
Emily's available
.'

She closed the door in his face.

CHAPTER 3

Friday 19th January 1838

8:51 AM

The next morning, freezing drizzle fell over London. Julius dragged his feet along Milk Street on his way to the City of London School.

At the age of fifteen, he was in his final year and he hoped to go to Cambridge University to study history while he waited for the call from the Guild of Watchmakers to begin his time traveller apprenticeship. This morning, however, his mind was not on his studies.

He stopped at the school gate, stamping his feet and deliberating.

He had slept fitfully—dreaming of Emily and the Springheel case, of the Guild of Watchmakers lifting their top hats to him in St Paul's Cathedral, of
travelling through time with the giant pocketwatch.

The idea of sitting on the hard school bench until the bell rang at half past three was already calcifying his brain. He thought of the ancient ink stains on his desk, of Mr Crowley's cane thwacking the blackboard, of Crimper McCready jabbing at his shoulder, asking for all the answers.

Then he thought of the events of the previous night—of the strange man in the wide-brimmed hat, the creaking hansom cab, of the diary, and Emily. It was frightening but it had been exciting too, and it left the faint flavour in the air of an adventure about to begin.

‘Got home safe, then?' said Crimper McCready, slapping Julius's back so hard that his teeth nearly shot out of his mouth.

‘Oi! Careful,' said Julius.

‘Sorry,' said Crimper.

‘Halfwit,' replied Julius. ‘Look, I'm having a sick day, Crimper. Tell Mr Crowley I won't be in.'

‘Wot? But I hardly touched you. It was just a pat on the back.'

‘Not because of that, pea-brain. I've got a few things to do. I'm going to see Mr Flynn.'

‘Oh? About those bruisers last night?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tell Mr Flynn, I'd have steamed in there if they'd started anything,' said Crimper.

‘Yes,' said Julius. ‘I'll tell him.' He turned back the way he'd come.

‘I'll see you at the bare-knuckle bout tonight, Higgins?' called out Crimper.

‘Yes, maybe.'

It was a long, damp walk to Mr Flynn's lodgings in Mincing Lane, but Julius didn't mind. He always enjoyed his time with Danny Flynn, time traveller and champion bare-knuckle boxer of all London.

‘Oh, Master 'iggins, come in, come in,' exclaimed Mrs Mottle, Mr Flynn's landlady, as she opened the door. ‘This is indeed h'an h'unexpected h'onour.'

‘Hello, Mrs Mottle. Is Mr Flynn in?' said Julius.

‘Yes, 'e is. 'es up in 'is rooms h'inspecting the morning newspapers. Go on up.'

Julius bounded up the stairs.

‘Would you care for some tea and 'ot crumpets, Master 'iggins?' Mrs Mottle shouted after him. ‘I can 'ave Kitty toast 'em up, can't I Kitty?'

‘You can, Mrs M,' came a reply from the scullery at the end of the hall.

‘Crumpets would be very nice, thank you,' said Julius.

‘You 'ear that, Kitty? Crumpets and tea for h'upstairs,' called out Mrs Mottle, as she bustled
towards the scullery door.

‘Right you are, Mrs M,' came the reply.

Julius raised his hand to knock on Mr Flynn's door, but it opened before his knuckles struck the wood.

‘Julius? I thought I heard your voice,' said Mr Flynn. His large frame and broad shoulders filled the doorway. He held a slice of toast in one hand and a newspaper folded under his arm. ‘Come in. Warm yourself by the fire.'

‘Thank you,' said Julius.

Mr Flynn settled himself in his chair and stretched his stockinged feet towards the fire.

Julius took off his coat and scarf and sat opposite. ‘Mrs Mottle's bringing up tea and crumpets,' he said.

‘Good, good, I could do with a refill.' Mr Flynn drained the last of the tea from the bone-china cup.

The fire crackled and the clock on the mantel ticked resoundingly in the finely furnished room. Mr Flynn flicked his newspaper back into reading shape.

Julius picked up a slice of butter-laden toast from Mr Flynn's plate and bit into it.

‘Not at school today, Julius? Did it burn down or something?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Er, no. I've taken the day off. Something interesting happened at the shop last night, Mr Flynn,' said Julius.

Mr Flynn lowered the newspaper. ‘Oh, yes?'

‘Someone came to the shop to sell a diary. That
someone
left. And not five minutes later that
someone
was brought back to the shop by a very odd fellow and two bruisers. The odd fellow said the diary was his and he wanted it back. They threatened to cut off the thief 's hand unless we returned it.'

‘And did you?'

‘Yes, of course. Then they left with the diary.'

‘Hmm. What did these fellas look like.'

‘The odd fellow carrying the orchid was about five feet tall, he had red hair and badly fitted false teeth. The bruiser with the meat cleaver, was about five foot six, maybe, but powerfully built. The other man was as tall as you.'

‘Did you say “orchid”?'

‘Yes. They were both dressed in brown. Both with billycock hats. There was something very strange about them. It's hard to describe, it was like…like—'

‘Rapple and Baines,' said Mr Flynn.'

‘Who?'

‘Edward Rapple and Benjamin Baines. Merchants of skullduggery. If empty graves could get up and walk they'd look like that pair. They give everyone the collywobbles and not just because of the concealed weapons they carry.'

‘You know them, Mr Flynn?'

‘Our paths have crossed once or twice. They call themselves Resurrectionists.'

‘Resurrectionists?'

‘Yes, a fancy name for body-snatchers. Although, I believe they've retired from that line of work now.

‘Er, I don't follow.'

‘Since the law changed in '29 medical students can dissect executed criminals and deceased paupers from the workhouse, so they don't have to pay the likes of Rapple and Baines to steal fresh corpses from graveyards.'

‘Urgh.'

‘Exactly. Now they rent themselves out for villainous purposes at reasonable rates. But they still exude the stench of the grave. I think their years of manhandling cadavers have turned their minds a little. They think of the likes of you and me as the “not yet dead”.'

A knock at the door made Julius jump. It was Mrs Mottle with a large tray of tea and crumpets.

‘'ere we are, gentlemen,' she said. ‘Will you be requiring h'anything else, Mr Flynn? Kitty could do you some peppered kippers, perhaps, or a nice cheese h'omlette?'

‘No, thank you, Mrs Mottle, this will see us through to elevenses,' said Mr Flynn.

When Mrs Mottle had gone, he continued. ‘Rapple and Baines have been dealing with death and the dead for so long that I think they feel like visitors here—in the land of the living.'

Julius bit into a crumpet. Butter slithered down his chin.

‘You mentioned an orchid?' said Mr Flynn.

‘Yes. The odd fellow left an orchid in a pot, as a gift.'

‘Very obliging,' said Mr Flynn. ‘Listen to this report in
The Times
. I was reading it when you came:

ORCHIDMANIA: THE CAUSE OF MENTAL COLLAPSE?

‘Are you all right, Julius?' said Mr Flynn. ‘You look like you've seen a ghost.'

‘The name on the diary,' said Julius. ‘It was
Darwin.'

Mr Flynn raised an eyebrow. ‘And now he's lost his mind.'

‘From what I saw in the diary, I don't think his mind was that clear to begin with. Do you think there's a connection, Mr Flynn?'

‘Certainly—on Thursday evening a strange fella leaves a gift of an orchid in exchange for Darwin's diary, when only the night before, this Mr Darwin fella loses his mind and accuses one of his orchids of
chasing
him round his room.'

‘Could it be Watchmaker business?' said Julius.

‘Possibly. But this Constable Abberline, he's the one to talk to first. I know him, he's a good man. And I'd also like to examine that orchid of yours.'

‘Ah…'

‘What do you mean, “Ah”?'

‘That might not be possible,' said Julius.

Mr Flynn let the newspaper fall to his lap. ‘How so?'

‘The thief who pickpocketed the diary from Mr Darwin…The thing is, I think you might know her. I promised not to tell, so—'

Mr Flynn scrunched the newspaper into a ball. ‘It was Emily, wasn't it.'

‘I didn't tell you, Mr Flynn. You guessed.'

Mr Flynn let out a long, anguished sigh and looked pleadingly at the ceiling.

Julius waited until he had composed himself.

‘And the orchid?' said Mr Flynn.

‘I think I might have given it to her.'

CHAPTER 4

Friday 19th January 1838

10:37 AM

‘That girl will be the death of me,' said Mr Flynn, as he strode across Blackfriars Bridge. A cold wind blew across their path, flapping the tails of Mr Flynn's winter coat. He pushed his top hat low over his brow to keep it on.

‘You won't tell Emily I told you, will you?' said Julius, running along beside him.

Mr Flynn did not reply.

‘Grandfather gave her a good telling off,' said Julius.

Mr Flynn still did not reply.

By the time they reached Paradise Row, Julius felt as empty as the streets they had travelled.

‘She was sorry for stealing the diary,' said Julius.
‘She won't do it again.'

‘She'd better not,' said Mr Flynn. ‘We'll wait, here. Abberline's beat passes this way.' He dug his hands into his pockets and sheltered in a doorway.

The minutes ticked by. Mr Flynn stared at the wall across the street. Julius shivered.

‘Here he is,' said Julius, when he spied a figure in a police uniform, top hat and cape coming towards them. The man walked with that relaxed, swinging stride adopted by the peelers walking long beats in heavy boots.