Keeping Bad Company (30 page)

‘I don't care for waiting. Your second objection?'

‘You haven't told me about The Soldier.'

The fists unclenched, but it was an effort.

‘What am I supposed to tell you? I don't even know who he was.'

‘According to Griffiths, you were all there together. The princess was using all three of you, or trying to, in the plot against her brother.'

‘Did Griffiths write that?'

‘Not in so many words, but it's obvious. According to Griffiths, you'd sailed out to India together.'

‘You'll excuse me if I don't put as much trust in what Griffiths wrote as you appear to do.'

‘The Soldier was a captain. There were only four of them with the company. You must have known him.'

‘Yes, and hundreds of other captains at dozens of different places. How am I supposed to know which one would figure as a hero in Griffiths's romancings?'

‘Not a hero exactly. I think he's here, in London. If you didn't set Eckington-Smith to steal his pamphlets . . .'

‘So that was the Eckington-Smith business. No, I didn't set him or anybody else to steal them. Why should I? If you think about it, you'll see that it was in my interest to let that jewel story circulate as much as possible. I'd have paid him to publish the damned things.'

That sounded convincing.

‘Then, as far as I can see, the only person with an interest in suppressing them is the man he called The Soldier.'

‘Possibly. But since I can't help you in that respect, I can only wish you good hunting.' He spoke with sarcastic courtesy. He'd sensed that we'd come near the end of things I knew for certain, which meant I was running out of trading currency. ‘So if you'll kindly permit me to leave you, Miss Lane . . .'

He paused at the door.

‘We have an agreement?'

‘Yes.'

I didn't add that the agreement was conditional still, because I was certain he hadn't told me all he knew.

I lingered in the library for a while, not wanting to face the raised eyebrows of McPherson's hangers-on, who'd probably put the worst interpretation on our seclusion together. A pile of East India Company annual reports stood on one of the tables, for anybody who wanted to take one. I opened a copy and turned to the list of stockholders. The list was starred with asterisks according to the amount of stock each person held. McPherson was at a comparatively modest two stars, which meant over three thousand pounds but less than six thousand. I turned to Eckington-Smith, not expecting anything, and was amazed to find four stars against his name, the maximum possible, denoting an investment of over ten thousand. Four stars carried voting rights that would make Eckington-Smith a considerable power in the Company. It did not go at all with a down-at-heel man who received brothel takings at his back door and scurried to Birmingham and back looking for loans. Something was seriously wrong. I puzzled over it in the cab on the way home, found no answers and decided to talk it over with Tom on Sunday, but he didn't come. On Monday morning, I woke up with an idea in my head. I rushed downstairs to meet Amos, determined on an early morning errand to the other side of the park. And fell over a brick.

N
ot a serious fall, though I caught my toe in the hem of my riding skirt. I put my hands out to protect myself so my gloves took most of the damage from the cobbles. As usually happens when you trip, shock transferred itself to anger against the thing that had caused it. An ordinary household brick, raw and new, left carelessly just where I could be guaranteed to fall over it at the bottom of my staircase. Only it wasn't an ordinary brick because something white was wrapped round it, and it hadn't been left carelessly because the white thing was a small package for me. It was simply addressed
Miss Lane
and tied with a piece of coarse string. Amos had come running in case I needed picking up, reins of both horses in hand. He watched as I untied the package and read the note inside, and he must have moved to catch me when I looked like falling again because I found myself leaning against his shoulder, struggling to speak.

‘Tom. Oh Amos. Tom.'

I gave the note to him and watched his face change as he read.

‘Oh the buggers . . . I'm sorry . . . oh the . . .' Then, recovering a little, ‘What's that came with it?'

I opened my hand to show him the thing that had been in the package: a gentleman's silver watch, small and plain. Even before I opened the cover I knew the inscription inside:
To my son Thomas Fraternity, at the start of his journey. J. Lane.
The watch my father had given him before he sailed away to India.
Tom would never have parted with it willingly.

I took the note back from Amos and read it again:

We have your brother. He will be exchanged for ascertainable information about the location of the jewels. A message may be left at Robinson's print shop. If you do not wish harm to come to him, the message must be received by midday tomorrow.

The writing was clerk's copperplate – a thousand ledgers all over the city could show similar samples – the paper plain white.

‘Robinson's,' I said. ‘Somebody knows I know the place. That takes us back to Eckington-Smith and The Soldier.'

My mind was starting to move again, but slowly.

‘So what are we going to do?' Amos said.

My first reaction was to go with him to Eckington-Smith's house in the City and tear it apart, but they'd expect that so wouldn't be holding him there. If they were holding him anywhere.

‘They may be lying,' I said. ‘The first thing to do is to see he isn't at work or at Mr Tillington's house.'

I didn't believe it, because of the watch, but it might just have been stolen from him. We agreed that Amos should take the horses back to the stables while I took a cab to Holborn, then meet me in two hours at Abel Yard. Before I left, I went to the cabin and roused Tabby.

‘Get dressed and come with me. Don't bring the knife.'

She knew from my voice it was serious and didn't ask questions. In ten minutes we were in a cab together, making for Fleet Street.

‘I'm going to drop you at Tom Huckerby's,' I told her. ‘He'll show you a printer's shop near Ludgate Hill called Robinson's. I want you to watch and remember everybody coming in and out of that shop until I tell you otherwise.'

I took the cab to Mr Tillington's house. I had to wait a long time on the doorstep before he came downstairs and answered the door himself, in his dressing gown and leaning on a stick, an invalid smell of camphorated oil hanging around him.

‘No, my dear. Your brother's not here. I assumed he was staying with you.'

‘How long has he been away?'

‘I haven't seen him since he left for the office on Friday morning. I was becoming worried. It's unlike him not to send a message. Is something wrong? Won't you come in?'

‘No.' I gave him one of my cards. ‘If he comes back, or if you hear anything at all about him, please get word to me here as soon as you can.'

I left him standing at the open door, looking mazed, and took the cab on to East India House. I told the desk clerk in the entrance hall that I needed to speak urgently to my brother. They kept me waiting for a long time before a man who looked like the head clerk came down and told me, with annoyance, that Mr Lane had failed to arrive at work that morning or Saturday morning.

‘Was he here on Friday?'

A frown, as if that were confidential information, then a reluctant nod.

‘Did he stay all day and leave as usual?'

‘To the best of my knowledge, yes.'

‘Would anybody else know more?'

‘If there had been any irregularity in Mr Lane's attendance on Friday, I'm sure it would have been brought to my attention. If you see your brother, I'd be grateful if you'd remind him that absence from duty is entirely unacceptable unless caused by illness or close family bereavement.'

He marched back upstairs, as if every minute away from his ledgers had to be marked down as time wasted.

Amos didn't have to ask if I'd had any success.

‘So where now?'

‘Richmond.'

‘Ascertainable information about the location of the jewels' was what the note demanded. At least not the jewels themselves. But I didn't care about them. I'd give elephant loads of anybody's jewels to have Tom back and glaring at me. The person who must know something about the jewels was the princess. If she was so sure that McPherson had not stolen them, that should mean she knew who had. Surely she could tell me enough to buy Tom's release. I rode pillion behind Amos on his cob, to get to the stables and collect Rancie. We got some odd looks as we went across the park, but I was beyond caring about that. I carried Tom's watch in the pocket of my riding skirt, a reminder of how the hours were draining away. It was ten past twelve when we came to the livery stables, half past by the time we were riding away on Rancie and a fresh cob for Amos. At the pace we rode, even Rancie was tiring when we got to Richmond Green. Amos stayed within calling distance of the cottage, holding the horses, while I went up the path and knocked on the front door. Anil opened it so promptly that somebody must have been watching from inside. The scene in the main room was much as it had been in the tent in the park, except that the Rani was sitting upright in an armchair instead of on piles of cushions. Mr Patwardhan was standing beside her, her daughter Chandrika on a stool in the corner. Chandrika raised her head when I came in, looked over my shoulder and lowered it again when she saw I'd come alone.

The Rani invited me to sit, offered tea.

‘No time for that,' I said. ‘My brother's been kidnapped. Whoever's holding him wants to know where your jewels are.'

A gasp from Chandrika. She was staring at me, wide-eyed. Then she caught a glance from her mother and looked down. Her hands were twisted together so tightly it must have hurt.

‘My jewels were taken a long time ago.' The Rani's voice was calm as her eyes looked unblinkingly at me.

‘But you know who took them. You must do. You told Mr Griffiths it wasn't McPherson.'

‘That does not imply that I know who did.'

‘Perhaps not, but I think you do know. Who is The Soldier?'

‘Soldier. What soldier?' She looked at Mr Patwardhan, as if I were speaking riddles and he might interpret.

‘When you were plotting against your brother,' I said. ‘You were using three of them, Mr Griffiths, McPherson and a captain in the army.'

I was beyond being tactful.

‘Plotting?' She made another appeal to Mr Patwardhan. ‘Was I plotting?'

She was playing with me. I was furious.

‘All I'm asking you for is a name. Or even a guess at where those jewels might be now. Anything. I've got until midday tomorrow to tell them something.'

‘I wish I could help you.'

The way she said it was like a door closing. I tried everything I could think of in the way of appeals, persuasion, but it was like hammering my fists against teak.

‘I hope one day you know what it's like when you love somebody and he's in danger,' I said.

But it was an admission of my defeat. Anil showed me out. At the door he said, under his breath, ‘I hope you find your brother.'

I paused on the step, hoping even at that point that he might have something to tell me, but he only bowed and closed the door.

The ride back to London seemed endless. The horses were tired and the quiet ticking of Tom's watch against my hip seemed to vibrate through my body. Amos didn't have much to say after I reported my failure to him. As we came near the park in the dusk, he asked me what we were going to do next. I tried to drag my mind back from panic.

‘When you've taken the horses back, would you mind going to Robinson's print shop near Ludgate Hill and bringing back Tabby.'

It was twenty past seven by then, with no more comings or goings to be expected at the print shop. There was just the faintest chance that she might have seen something useful. Amos expected to take me back to Abel Yard, but I went with him to the livery stables. It was a short step from there to Kensington. For once, I didn't even stay to see Rancie untacked and fed. I told Amos I'd see him later and went to pay another call on the lady who had been Mrs Eckington-Smith. She was on the point of taking her little girl upstairs to bed and looked alarmed when she saw me at this unconventional hour for callers. No point in burdening her with the worry for Tom. I simply asked her my questions there in the hall, with the child in her nightdress sitting on the stairs.

‘You told me you were going back to your maiden name but Mrs Glass called you Mrs Eckington. Was that a mistake?'

‘No. Eckington is my maiden name. My husband simply added his own name to mine when we were married. They were such snobs, his family, they hated being just Smith.'

‘So your husband's name was Smith?'

‘Yes, does it matter? Has he done something worse?'

‘Does he have a brother?'

She was looking alarmed at my urgency. Even the child sensed it and was chewing her fingernails.

‘Yes, an elder brother.'

‘A soldier?'

‘A long time ago. Long before I knew him.'

‘In India?'

‘I think so. Soldiers go everywhere, don't they? I was never very interested in him.'

‘Where does the brother live?'

‘He has a house somewhere in Buckinghamshire, out in the Chilterns. I only visited once, a horrible gloomy place. I remember that he and my husband talked the whole visit about money. They're obsessed with it.'

‘You don't remember where exactly?'

‘No. It was a long time ago.'

She'd have remembered if she could. She wanted to help me but was scared and bewildered. I apologized for intruding and left. It was dark by the time I came out, but I walked straight home across the park, not caring. Four captains on the list, one named Smith. For what it was worth, I now knew the identity of The Soldier. Captain Smith. Brother to Eckington-Smith. Holder of more than ten thousand pounds worth of shares in the East India Company, using his brother as nominee. A covetous, secretive man who knew about the jewels. If I found him, I might find Tom, but had no idea where to look. Locating a man named Smith somewhere in the Chilterns would take days, and we had sixteen hours left.