The Constant Heart (41 page)

'I've just been to the police court and seen a friend sent down to await trial. He didn't do it, Mr Jamjar. Walter is an innocent man.'

'And you care a great deal for this friend of yours, if I'm not mistaken?'

Rosina nodded. 'I – I do.'

'And what does the good captain say about all this?'

'My papa is a sick man. He had to go to the country to recover from an illness.'

'Then you need someone to give you good advice, my dear.' He shambled off into the darkness and returned seconds later with a slip of paper in his hand. 'Go and see this man. Tell him that old Jamjar sent you. If Septimus Sumption can't help you, no one can.'

She peered at the spidery scrawl; in the dim light it was difficult to make out the address. 'Thank you, Mr Jamjar.' She tried to get up, but he pressed her back onto the seat.

'You're going nowhere until you've had a restorative cup of mint tea. If you go down with a chill, you'll be no use to anyone.' He disappeared once again into the back of the shop.

All around her the birds squawked and uttered shrill cries as they fluttered about in their cages. She was shivering violently now, even though it was hotter in the shop than it was outside. Her teeth chattered against the china mug as she attempted to sip the drink which he handed to her. The clear brown liquid smelt of mint and something much stronger; she coughed as the raw spirit caught the back of her throat.

Jamjar took a swig of his drink and chuckled. 'That's good navy rum, Rosie, my girl. That'll keep the fever at bay.'

She left the shop with a warm glow in her stomach and a muzzy feeling in her head. The mint tea laced with rum had certainly warmed her chilled flesh and had given her the courage to seek out Mr Sumption at his address in Naked Boy Yard, which turned out to be as insalubrious as its name might imply. Picking her way through piles of rotting vegetable matter and excrement, Rosina bunched up her skirts to prevent them from trailing in the filth. A huge rat ran over her feet as she entered the tenement building and the stench of unwashed bodies, urine and stale tobacco smoke made her retch. She covered her nose with her hand and made her way down a narrow passage, checking the numbers scratched on the peeling paintwork of the closed doors. At the very end she found Sumption's room, and she knocked on the cracked panelling. When she received no answer, she gave the door a push and it opened. She went inside.

She had expected that a man of the law would have some sort of office, even in a rundown establishment such as this, but the only furniture in the room was a truckle bed in one corner, a table piled high with books, and a chair by the empty hearth in which a man lay slumped and apparently asleep. Loosely clasped in his hand was an empty glass, which seemed in danger of falling to the floor at any moment.

Rosina cleared her throat. 'Ahem. Mr Sumption?'

He stirred, opened one eye and then appeared to go back to sleep. She went over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr Sumption, I need to speak to you, sir.'

He opened both his eyes this time, staring at her blearily and in an unfocused manner. 'Who the devil are you?'

A miasma of stale alcohol hung around him, and it was making her feel sick. 'Mr Jamjar sent me. He said you might be able to help a friend of mine who is in trouble.'

'Oh, trouble. I'm well acquainted with trouble. You might say that trouble is my middle name, Miss . . . er, what is your name?'

'Rosina May. Will you help me, sir? But first I must tell you that I have no money at present, although I swear on my honour that I will pay your fee as soon as I am able.'

Septimus sat upright, wincing with pain and clasping his hand to his forehead. 'At least you're honest about it. Pass me that bottle.' He nodded in the direction of a bottle, which was just beyond his reach.

Rosina gave it to him. 'Haven't you drunk enough already?'

He took a long draught of the spirit and pulled back his lips in a satisfied sigh. 'Never enough, my dear. Never enough to blot out the tragedy of my talent wasted and my life – a travesty. What did you say you wanted?'

She was not certain how much he was capable of understanding, but she knew that she had no option other than to confide in him. She looked round for a chair, and, finding there was none, she sat down on a pile of leather-bound law books and began her story. He seemed to be taking it in, although he fortified himself at regular intervals with sips from the bottle. When she had finished he was silent for a while, as if mulling it over in his mind.

'Have you any money at all, Miss May? I seem to have drunk the last drop.'

'No, I haven't. And if I had I would not give it to you at this moment. You can't possibly think straight if you're drunk.'

He rubbed his stubbly chin, grinning ruefully. 'I am at my most brilliant best when I'm three sheets to the wind.'

She rose to her feet. 'I can see that I'm wasting your time.'

'No. Stay, please. I'll take the case, even though I'll probably regret it later. Your devotion to your man is most touching. If only all women were as faithful as you, Miss May. I, alas, was not so fortunate as your Walter.'

'Then you will help me?'

He nodded his head. 'It seems to me that your only chance is to persuade the one person who knows the truth to return to London to testify on Walter's behalf.'

'But Roland Rivers has gone to Holland on business and to evade a breach of promise suit brought by the Barnums.'

'Then you must go to Holland and put your case to him.'

She stared at him in horror. 'I can't do that. I haven't any money and I couldn't go all that way on my own.'

'Then your man will go to prison for a very long time, or even worse.'

'You should go to Holland, not I.'

He uttered a snort of derisive laughter. 'Look at me, Miss May. Do you think that a man like Rivers would take any notice of a fellow like me? I think that you are the only person who might persuade him to return to London to bear witness.'

'But I wouldn't know where to begin looking for him.'

Septimus eased himself out of his chair and stood up, swaying slightly. He lurched over to the table and riffled through a pile of books, tossing the discarded ones on the floor. 'Aha, this is the one.' He flipped through the pages. 'It is a directory of London companies and their foreign holdings. Here you are. Rivers and Son, Import and Export Company, trading with – et cetera, et cetera. And their address in Rotterdam is . . .' He tore the page out of the book and handed it to her. 'Go there and doubtless they will know where to find Mr Roland Rivers. The rest is up to you.'

She took the paper, staring at the print until it danced about in front of her eyes like tadpoles. 'I've never been further than Gravesend.'

'My dear girl. This then is your chance to travel. And while you are gone, I will use my contacts within the police to discover if there is any evidence that Walter was involved in piracy. From what you told me, I doubt that they could prove anything, but you never know.' He brushed an unruly lock of mouse-brown hair back from his forehead. 'Now, I really need a drink.' He staggered to the door and opened it. 'Let yourself out, Miss May. I'll see you on your return from Rotterdam.'

'Rotterdam?' Caddie's eyes opened wide. 'You can't go there.'

Rosina continued to pull garments out of the clothes press in her room, tossing them onto her bed in a brightly coloured heap. 'I have no choice. Roland Rivers is the only person who knows the truth about the ring, and he alone can clear Walter's name.'

'But, Rosie, we ain't got no money. How are you going to get there?'

'I don't know how I'm going to get there, not yet anyway. But things are desperate, Caddie. I'm going to the pawnbroker's shop to see what I can get for my clothes and anything else we have that is of the slightest value.'

'Your lovely clothes,' Caddie said, eyeing the growing pile sadly. 'You was always turned out like you was fresh out of a bandbox. I can't bear to think of you going about like a drudge.'

Rosina tossed a pillowcase to her. 'You don't understand. We'll lose the house as well if I don't do something quickly. Now don't argue, there's a good girl, Caddie. Put everything in the pillowcase while I go down to the parlour and see what I can find there.' She went to the chest of drawers and emptied her jewellery box. The only items of any value were the silver bracelet that Sukey had given her for her last birthday and Walter's gold breastpin. She fingered the locket at her throat, but it contained her most precious possession – the medallion – her only tangible link with Will. She would rather die than part with it. With a heartfelt sigh, she handed the bracelet and breastpin to Caddie, followed by her musical box and Dorcas, her beautiful doll with the wax face and glossy silk hair.

An hour later, Caddie returned from the pawnbroker's shop in the High Street with a purse that felt reassuringly heavy. It was not a fortune but there was enough for Rosina to leave Caddie with money for food and other necessities, and what was left would go towards Rosina's fare to Rotterdam. After a tearful parting with Caddie and the children, Rosina set off in the direction of Albion Wharf. If anyone could help her then Captain Morgan was her man. He had been her father's apprentice many years ago and was now master of the
River Pearl
, trading to Rotterdam with general cargo and returning with spices for Travers's grinding mill. After a brief respite between showers, the sky had darkened again and there were rumblings of thunder in the distance. Undeterred, she quickened her pace, passing through the white haze of flour dust on Crown Mill Wharf and sidestepping the barrels of beer that were being unloaded from a lighter. She kept her fingers crossed, scanning the water for a sign of Captain Morgan's barge as she came to Albion Wharf: she could have cried with relief when she saw that it was tied up alongside. It seemed as though she was just in time, as the last of the cargo was being lowered into the hold.

She could see him standing on deck. Captain Morgan was an unmistakeable figure, with his flame-red mop of hair barely concealed by his peaked cap, and his thick red beard standing out proud against the dark blue of his pea jacket. She cupped her hands round her lips. 'Captain Morgan. Ahoy there!'

He turned his head, saw her and grinned. 'Rosie! Well now, this is a surprise. Come aboard, lass.'

She hitched up her skirt and climbed nimbly down the wooden ladder to the deck.

'I heard about your father,' Captain Morgan said, tugging at his beard and frowning. 'Bad business, my dear. How is he going on?'

'He's quite poorly, sir. He had to leave London for the country. Doctor's orders.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. But what can I do for you, missy? I don't suppose you come a-visiting me on the
River Pearl
just to pass the time of day.'

'I need your help, Captain. Please hear me out before you say no to what I have to ask you.'

He listened attentively, tweaking and pulling at his beard until it stuck out in small spikes. When she had finished he shook his head. 'I don't know, Rosie. I'm not sure what your dad would make of this. A sailing barge is no place for a young woman such as you.'

'I promise that I won't get in the way. I was practically raised on a barge, Captain. I can make myself useful.'

'Can you cook, lass?'

'Well, er – no.'

'Can you trim a sail or steer a straight course?'

'No, but I could learn. My pa never let me do anything except watch him and Artie, but I'm sure I could pick it up as I went along.'

He threw back his head and laughed, calling to his mate who was busy stowing the last of the crates and closing the hatches. 'D'you hear that, Barney? Miss Rosie thinks she can become a sailor in one easy lesson.'