The Curse of Christmas (27 page)

The coffin was on the dais but
there was no way to have a peek inside unless one managed to sneak
past Reverend Paterson. His chaunt was in fine fettle once again
and he seemed to be overly fond of hymn 32.

Dr Watson and the Countess
arrived early for the funeral service, but not nearly early enough
for an open coffin viewing. They opted to sit at the back. It
allowed them to keep an eye on those who came and went.

Deacon Throstle, armed with a
handful of hymn books, manned the door. He appeared to be expecting
a big crowd but it was the usual sad and sorry show.

The funeral followed the same
ritual. Joff and Crick transported the plain pine box to Crossbones
Cemetery where a grave had been opened up in advance. The coffin
was tilted sideways and the contents tipped into the grave.
Reverend Paterson muttered a desultory prayer before retreating to
his sanctum, Deacon Throstle hastening after him.

Pennyrose fell to her knees in
the mud and wept. Unable to drag her way, Sukie and Molly looked on
helplessly. The Countess was anxious to speak to Sukie without
betraying that they had already met. She hatched a plan with the
doctor. He gave a handful of shillings to the grave-diggers for
their trouble and watched them hurry to the nearest tavern. He then
offered to look at Molly’s eye which he noticed was inflamed and
causing her some irritation. He collected his medical bag from the
carriage and led her back into the church.

“Tis like I got some dust in my
eye,” she said miserably. “I been washing it morning and night but
I cannot shift it.”

He turned her freckled face to
the light and looked closer. The white of the eye had reddened. The
lid looked swollen from rubbing. “Do your tears feel hot?”

She nodded. “Scalding hot!”

“You have what is called a cold
in the eye. A solution of rhubarb and magnesium washed through two
or three times per day may ease the inflammation. If that doesn’t
work here is some money for the apothecary. Buy yourself a solution
of sulphate of zinc or white vitriol. One grain mixed with three
tablespoons of warm water will do it. Keep your hands clean and
stay out of draughts.”

When Molly rejoined her two
friends in the cemetery she was already feeling better. The three
of them crossed the street and disappeared through the red
door.

Dr Watson caught up to the
Countess by the graveside. “Did you speak to Sukie?”

“Not really. I didn’t have very
long. Pennyrose began wailing like a banshee. I’m meeting Sukie
tomorrow inside St Saviour’s at midday.”

He could see by the twinkle in
her eye that she had something up her sleeve. “What are you
planning?”

“I’ll tell you after we return
here tonight and check inside that grave.”

He groaned. “Not another
midnight vigil!”

“Last one, I promise. Tomorrow
is the night Reverend Paterson bestows a blessing on the outcast
dead. If I haven’t figured out what’s going on by then I never
will.”

“Langdale Pike intends to turn
up tomorrow night. Will that interfere with your plans?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew.
Right now I’m sleepwalking in the dark. I’m trying to figure out
how the fetch fits in with the dead baby inside the bundle of rags
and the death of Miss Quilligan, whether the lights inside the
church have anything to do with the mix-upped bodies, what’s hidden
in that crypt and where the paint can went?” She slipped her arm
through the crook of his elbow and her octaves lost their edginess.
“Come with me to Bonham’s old sale rooms on Montpelier Street.
There’s a sale of Tudor furniture and Elizabethan gimcracks that
might suit The Buttery. It may be the last time I’m able to be seen
out in public. I heard a story recently about a certain lady who
had her face chewed off by a lion. She goes about London with a
veil over her face. When the afternoon newspapers come out I may
have to do the same.”

She made him do all the
bidding.

He bought everything including a
superb Hans Holbein the Younger portrait of Anne Boleyn, whom she
referred to as Anna Volyna, a fine set of hunting tapestries and a
magnificent fire surround that had survived the destruction of
Winchester Palace.

They went back to Mayfair Mews
for a late lunch and a perusal of the day’s newspapers. Langdale
Pike had stayed true to his word. Miss Quilligan was a heroine. The
Prince of Wales was a hero. And Countess Varvara Volodymyrovna was
famous. Her name was on everyone’s lips – provided they could
pronounce it.

Fog was thick on the ground when
Fedir, Dr Watson and the Countess – dressed once again as a vagrant
– concealed themselves in the cemetery this side of midnight. They
didn’t have to wait long for the two grave-diggers to steal through
the creaky gate. Crick began digging while Joff, clutching a bundle
of rags, acted as lookout. As soon as they buried the small bundle
they vanished like phantoms of the night.

That’s when our trio set to
work. Before long they were looking at a dead baby wrapped in
swaddling and a dead woman who did
not
have red hair. The
bodies had to have been swapped inside the church prior to the
funeral. But why? Why substitute one dead female cadaver for
another? And where on earth was the corpse of Mims?

“Hist!”

Dr Watson gave the signal and
the lantern was tossed inside the grave.

Creeping along Redcross Way was
the yellow-haired fetch, ethereal and ghostly in her white
bed-gown. Without speaking, each knew what the other was thinking.
It was time to see where this particular mystery led. Fedir stayed
to recover the lantern and cover the grave. He caught up to the
others just as the fetch turned into the narrow footway that
ushered toward the smaller viaduct where the ladder led to the
train track and the drain led to Borough Market.

They expected the fetch to climb
the ladder and that’s just what she did. They gave her enough time
to choose a direction, knowing they could not lose sight of her on
the railway line; then followed but when they reached the train
track there was no one there. Confused and unsure what to do next
they began to doubt their own eyes when they heard a noise.

“The drain!” said Fedir.

Someone was moving the steel
grid that covered the drain.

“There’s a second ladder on this
side,” said Dr Watson.

The fetch must have spotted them
when they entered the footway. She had scaled the ladder, crossed
the track, climbed down the other side then scarpered for the
drain.

“Let’s go!” urged the Countess.
“Before she gets away!”

They clambered and slid down the
slimy ladder into mouldering darkness, splash-landed in a filthy
puddle of half-frozen water, higher than their ankles, higher than
last time, and struggled to gather their five senses while Fedir
lighted the lantern to at least give their sense of sight a
fighting chance.

Something white flashed up
ahead.

“There!” said Dr Watson, and the
chase was on in earnest.

This was no supernatural being
able to pass between worlds, defy space and time, float among the
living in search of itself and drag them both to hell. This being
was earthly, afraid of being caught, running for her life. They
could hear ragged footsteps splashing through the mire and the
desperate panting of human breath that was gulping to stay
alive.

The fetch ran on and on; a white
flash here, nothing, and then another flash of white.

The icy water was up to mid-calf
in some places. Hailstones which had stayed frozen down in this
sunless place were just starting to melt. And then it started to
rain. A trickle turned into a gush. Rushing water came upon them
from several different directions at once where drains intersected
and converged.

“This is madness! We have to get
out of here!” said the voice of reason, and no one argued.

“Back,” said Fedir. “Back to
last ladder.”

They had passed it a few minutes
ago, or may more. It didn’t seem to be where it should. Had they
taken a wrong turn? They doubled back; the water came up to their
knees. They came to another fork and entered another drain. The
roof seemed lower. The gradient seemed different. The pushed on,
panic rising.

“Here!” called Fedir, pointing
to an opening. He climbed the ladder but there was no hook for the
lantern. It wasn’t the same opening. He tried moving the grid but
it was hard to get a grip with water gushing in, splashing over his
face, blinding him; his fingers slipped and he almost fell
backwards.

This grid was heavier to move.
Something was blocking it. He heaved and heaved again and lifted it
a fraction above the stone lip of the paving stones, and eventually
moved it enough for them to squeeze through. Once they came up they
realized someone had placed a bluestone block on top of the
grid.

“Where are we?” said the
Countess, breathless, exhausted, drenched to the bone and shivering
with cold. “This isn’t Borough Market.”

Dr Watson recognized the
building across the road. “Guy’s! We’re at Guy’s Hospital. We must
have travelled three or four hundred yards east. I know where we
are. We can get a carriage at the hospital. Follow me.”

The Countess slept late. She
failed to arrive at St Saviour’s until almost half past twelve.
Sukie was growing agitated and Fedir felt anxious. He had gone back
to Crossbones to make sure he had covered the grave properly and to
collect his shovel; and he had seen the fetch limping along the
train track before becoming lost in the fog. Too exhausted to give
chase, he had limped home to Winchester Walk and collapsed into
bed.

The first question was directed
at Sukie. “Did you see the body of Mims in the coffin?”

Worry and fear had etched more
lines on the gaunt young face since their last meeting. “Yes,” she
whispered. “We all saw Mims, even Madame Kronski. We took turns
going to the church the day before the funeral to pay our last
respects.”

“Did you see the body on the
morning of the funeral?”

“The coffin was already
closed.”

“Did Pennyrose see it?”

“She tried to look but Pater
caught her. He was cross with her for disturbing the dead. Anyway
the body was wrapped in mummy cloth. Same as the others.” She
twisted her grimy hands in her greasy lap. “It weren’t Mims, was
it?”

“You’re sure Mims had red
hair?”

“Mims was as red as Pennyrose.
They was cousins. What’s going on? I not a ginger but I’m scared.
Is it Joff and Crick? Are they snatching gingers?”

The Countess knew it couldn’t be
Joff and Crick. The swapping of bodies was happening inside the
church. That meant it had to be Reverend Paterson or Deacon
Throstle or both of them in it together. But what were they doing
with the bodies? Were anatomical female specimens with red hair
suddenly in demand for dissection in teaching hospitals like
Guy’s?

“I need your assistance to help
catch whoever is doing this.”

Sukie sprang to her feet, and if
not for being boxed by Fedir and the Countess would have bolted for
the door. “No, fear! I’m not going to get myself killed! Get out of
my way!” She glared at Fedir. “I thought you was different but
you’re just like the rest of them! You want something for
nothing!”

“I’ll pay you. You won’t get
hurt. I promise. Fedir will be there to make sure you’re safe. I
can change your life.”

“You can get me killed, is
what!”

“I can pay for elocution lessons
and you can get a job in a shop. Sit down and listen. That’s all I
ask for now.”

Reluctantly, Sukie parked
herself back on the pew. “What
sort
of lessons?”

“Elocution lessons to help you
speak better. Reading and writing lessons too. And lessons to help
you learn arithmetic. I will buy you a small flat to live in. Molly
can join you. She can help me catch the villain as well.” The
Countess allowed all that to sink in.

Sukie felt relieved she wouldn’t
be on her own. She and Molly always looked out for each other.
“What will Molly and me have to do?”

“Come to the blessing at
Crossbones tonight.”

“Is that it?”

“I want you to dress up - you
and Molly.”

Sukie knew there’d be a catch;
there always was. “Dress up how?”

“You will wear a red wig and a
ghost shroud. Molly will dress as the fetch with yellow hair and a
bed-gown. You won’t get hurt. I promise. Fedir will be there too.
All you have to do is come out when I give the signal.”

“Come out of where?”

“Molly will appear on the train
track and you will come out of a coffin.”

“What! No fear! I’m not getting
into no coffin!” Sukie leapt to her feet gain. “I’m not listening
to no more!”

“You’ll be safe. The coffin will
be resting on the ground. Fedir will stand guard. He will open the
lid and you will come out. You won’t have to say anything or do
anything. Think of it as a lark.”

“A lark?”

“Yes, a lark, a prank on whoever
has been playing around with the dead bodies. The joke will be on
them, you see.”

Sukie was starting to see. “But
who is it?”

“That will remain my secret
until tonight. Does Madame Kronski go to the blessing?”

“Yeah, she is thick with Pater
and Deacon Throstle. Pater visits her in Horselydown Lane. And I
saw her give money to Joff once.”

“Pater goes to the baby farm on
Horselydown Lane?”

“Yeah. I seen him there once.
Molly seen him too. He comes late at night with an apple basket but
it don’t have no apples in it.”

“What do you think is in the
basket?”

Sukie shrugged. “I dunno but
Molly swears opium twists. She saw the Viscount give some to Pater
once and he put them in the basket.”

“Why would the Viscount do
that?”