SV - 05 - Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob. (8 page)

'Sir,'
he said smartly, 'there's one thing I gotta say, sir. With respect, sir.'

But Croaker was surveying the
room with eyes which seemed blinded by his own interior humiliation. Suddenly
aware of the sergeant's voice he brought his gaze into focus on Verity's smug
red face. And then his agony became insupportable.

'Get out!' he
cried. 'This minute! Get out! Get out!’

Above
the glitter of the afternoon sea, the dry summer turf of the downland was
covered by fairground tents and canvas booths. Banners fluttered from their
tops and a great painted placard in red and blue announced 'Newsome's Alhambra
Palace Circus! A Brilliant Assemblage of Equestrian Novelties! Lessons in the
Polite Art of Equitation Given Daily by Madame Pauline Newsome!'

Elsewhere, the same
information streamed from long strips of printed bills. A single flag
proclaiming 'Newsome's Equestrian Novelties!' drooped in the warm air. Newsome
himself stood in a wooden box by the entrance, like a saint in a niche, his
leather purse ready to receive the coppers. From within a small braying band of
brass instruments was playing 'All Among the Barley'.

Verity
stood before the entrance with Miss Jolly a few paces behind him. She had
equipped herself for whatever might occur, the pink crinoline concealing the
riding trousers, in which she could move with improbable speed. Verity
surveyed the other young women outside the tent with a red-faced scowl. Jolly
watched with an occasional flash of her eyes to right or left, eager for her
prey.

Newsome
with his broad-brimmed farmer's hat and hoarse voice was haranguing the crowds.

'This
way, ladies and gents, for the equestrian novelties, incorporating for the
first time in this town Rowley's medieval tournaments! See two fair damsels
joust for the love of the same knight! See the winner in her bride attire. . .'

Verity's
eyes narrowed. He knew something of Rowley's medieval tournaments and the girls
who made up its retinue. A troupe of light-fingered young sluts, he thought.
Far and away the most likely to make the bogus Lavengro's prediction come true.
He was watching the rear entrance of the tent, where Newsome's 'artistes'
assembled. A deep satisfaction filled his heart.

The girl was no more than
fifteen years old, but he knew her well enough. She was a sturdy tomboy, one of
Newsome's jousting maids. The fair hair was combed from its central parting to
lie loose on her shoulders, the snub nose, narrow eyes and thin mouth giving an
impression of wilful insolence. Her figure was tightly cased in a white singlet
and riding trousers of a smooth lavender blue cotton.

'Who's she, then?'

He was aware of Miss Jolly's high-pitched voice.

'A young person known as Miss
Elaine. Made trouble for me and Mr Samson once. Don't take your eyes off her.'

Jolly
at once joined the little band of admirers, upon whom the young suspect had
turned her back. A tight broad belt at the waist drew in the smooth trousers,
so that the robust seat and the swell of Elaine's young hips seemed to form an
almost perfect circle. The little knot of men, now realising that a girl had
joined them, looked quizzically at Miss Jolly. They were answered by a sharp
glare from dark brows and then her profile turned away in sphinx-like
imperturbability.

Verity walked in a slow circle
round the tent without seeing any of Newsome's other girls. It was absurd, of
course. How could the Great Lavengro himself, let alone an imposter, know that
a girl would pick a man's pocket at the fairground on this particular
afternoon? Trusting Jolly to keep watch on Elaine, he walked slowly among the
other tents and booths. But as the moment came for the circus to begin, the
customers drifted away. Outside the Punch and Judy box, the proprietor vainly
blew his little trumpet to summon public attention. A man with a pair of
dancing dogs stood in the shade of his canvas awning, staring malevolently
towards the marquee in which Newsome's horse-girls performed.

Alone in his grassy space the
Salamander Fire-King was practising his art, dressed in green tights, his green
silk tunic embroidered with a gold lion. With head thrown back, he held the
lighted link in his hand. Verity watched him, fascinated. The flame on the
long wick seemed to dance always an inch or so beyond the man's lips. Yet he
fed it slowly into his mouth, the fire sometimes glowing within his cheeks. He
tucked the black, extinguished cotton into the side of his mouth, like a monkey
storing nuts in his pouch. Suddenly the wick touched the man's moustache and
there was a momentary fizzing sound. He gasped, drew the link away, and turned
with his hand clapped over his face.

'You
got no call to injure yourself for idlers to gape at,' said Verity sternly.
'They only come hoping to see you burnt.'

But he
dropped a penny in the man's hand as he walked away.

There was no one who looked
remotely like a pickpocket as he walked back to the circus tent. Jolly and the
little group of men were still observing Elaine. Presently Elaine tossed back
her hair, looked sullenly round at them and shouted belligerently, 'Seen all
you want? P'raps you'd like to leave your entrance money in the box now!' And
she strode away into the tent, with a final toss of her fair tresses.

Verity glanced about him. The
downland outside the marquee was almost deserted. There was not another young
woman, let alone a pickpocket, in sight. He took Jolly by the arm as Newsome's
trumpeters began a discordant fanfare to announce the commencement of the
riding.

'It's
that young Elaine I fancy for number one,' he said softly. 'S'posing there
is
a number one and I ain't
simply been made a fool of!'

Her
eyes flickered in a silent predatory understanding. Verity led her to the
entrance and deposited two coins in the money-box. They passed into the tent.

A rope
on iron staves marked out the arena, the grass yellow under the canvas shade
and sparse from the hooves of Newsome's ponies. Round the barrier was a crowd
of ribboned bonnets, the pot hats and tall hats of the men, while Newsome in
his red coat and white collar presided in the ring. A wag shouted, 'Evens the
favourite!' above the murmur of the crowd as half a dozen ponies ridden by
Elaine and the other girls cantered in from the far entrance. A man in front of
Verity roared out 'Elaine on the grey! Let him laugh who wins! Hoo-ray, there!
Hoo-ray!' He beat his top-boots with a little whip and clanked his brass spurs.

Verity's
eye passed over the assorted bonnets, searching for the face of a probable
thief under each brim. There were bonnets in crepe, bonnets in straw, or silk
and satin. Some were garnished with fruit or flowers, others with feathers and
beads. But not one of the pretty faces beneath seemed intent upon anything
other than the antics in the ring.

Presently
the first canter was over and the pony riders had withdrawn. Pauline Newsome
herself came out on Rameses, the Dancing Horse, a dappled stallion which pawed
the ground in time to the music of the band. Suddenly, Verity felt Miss Jolly's
hand tighten on his arm and heard the shrill whisper.

'Look at her! What's she doing?'

He
turned to find Elaine, but she was apart from the crowd, standing aggressively
over a smaller girl with whom she was arguing.

'No-o-o!' Jolly's voice rose in protest. There!'

He
followed the direction of her arm and saw the other young woman. She was
seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed like a servant. Her brown hair was
combed loose to her shoulders, falling aslant her forehead. Verity watched the
narrowed quizzical eyes, the pert features, and the thrusting movements of her
robust young figure. The girl was forcing her way through the crowd, as if to
regain the entrance. From time to time the press of spectators obliged her to
push herself tightly against a man or woman in order to make her way.

'Well, I never!' said Verity
contentedly. He made no movement. The girl pushed her way through, coming
closer to them. From time to time she seemed conscious of having thrust herself
too roughly against a man who stood in her path. On these occasions she would
pause and smile an apology. Verity noticed that she was generally forgiven by
an answering smile, dismissive or hopeful as the case might be.

A
moment later she stepped clear of the throng, reaching the more open ground
just within the entrance of the marquee. Verity let her come on, and then he
barred her path.

'Why!'
he said amiably. 'If it ain't young Vicki Hartle! And what's a frisky young
piece like Vicki doing so far from home? You was to pick rope at Mr Dredge's
factory down Ratcliffe Highway for five years. Condition o' your release from
Brixton Reformatory. . .'

Like
Elaine, Vicki was a robust young woman but Verity caught her easily as she
tried to evade him. The metal cuffs clicked shut.

'What was it,
then?' he inquired conversationally. 'Them corns that the hemp do bring out on
the fingers? Being physicked with sulphur by old Ma Dredge? Or just plain friskiness?'

'You've no cause. . .' The voice was high and urgent.

Verity patted the side of the
plain brown dress and heard a dull metallic clatter.

' 'ere!' he said admiringly.
'I’d say you prigged every watch in this bloomin' tent, not to mention
notecases! What with that, and having to go back to the beginning of your first
little penance, you'll be making them other prison ladies happy for ten years
or more.'

The horror of it was reflected
in her eyes. She twisted against the cuffs.

'I’ll be old!' she
wailed imploringly. It'll be the end of me!'

'Old or not don't signify,'
said Verity sternly. 'An honest heart and a clear conscience. That's what you
need. Any case, you'll only be coming out to go back to Mr Dredge. What's it
matter down there if you're old or not? Mr Dredge ain't fussy.'

'You're cruel!'
she sobbed. ‘Hard and cruel!'

'And you're a thief,' he said
philosophically. 'A thief and a whore, Vicki Hartle. There's proper places for
such as you.'

'Two
whole guineas,' said Verity firmly’s quite enough for a young person of your
class.'

Even
in the darkness he was conscious of Jolly's features turned sharply upon him
and the glittering resentment in her eyes.

'They
wanted to give me more!' she shrilled. 'They'd have taken up a subscription but
for you. Two guineas was nothing to what I saved them!'

Verity scowled
down the length of the gas-lit street.

'You're
not here to make your fortune, miss! You got repentance and amendment to show.
That's what.'

Ever
since the afternoon, when the grateful owners of the watches and notecases had
dropped their coins into Jolly's hand, she had complained intermittently of
Verity's meanness. He had insisted that none of Vicki Hartle's victims was to
give a reward greater than two shillings. And when the total reached two
guineas he had forbidden all further contributions.

He and
Jolly now stood in the shadows of Duke Street as a church clock chimed the
quarter before midnight. There was a stillness, broken only by the flaring of
an occasional gas-jet and the more distant rumble of breakers on the shingle.
German Duke. It had not taken him half an hour to find that the only
jeweller's near the Chain Pier which corresponded with these words was the
premises of Mr Germain in Duke Street. It was just the sort of clue which
Lavengro's imposter would use, knowing that Verity could hardly fail to
discover the truth behind it.

By no
means were all the gas lamps lit in Duke Street. He and the girl stood in a
pool of darkness outside a milliner's shop which effectively concealed them
from view. On the far side of the street and a little further up the slope,
there was another patch of shadowy obscurity. It concealed the locked wooden
shutters of Mr Germain's shop-front.

There was no sign of a
burglar, nor did Verity really expect that there would be. To have caught
Vicki Hartle that afternoon was nothing. Female pickpockets abounded in such
places and any policeman who could afford the time would catch one sooner or
later. Had Vicki not been there, he might have caught Elaine half an hour
later. It was clear to him that they hoped to lead him on. Having seen the
first 'prophecy' come true, he was now supposed to waste his time watching Mr
Germain's premises in the hope of witnessing the second. No doubt they wanted
him in Duke Street so that he could not be somewhere else. But this time he was
the unseen watcher, and he had Jolly with him as a witness against stories
which might be fabricated. Perhaps the shop had been burgled already and he was
there to be set up as the dupe of the men who had done it.