Read Online Avery & Blake 02 - The Infidel Stain by M. J. Carter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M. J. Carter
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think carefully before you answer and tell me all that you remember?’
She nodded. ‘Can I see it?’
‘What?’
‘Your piece o’ paper says you can ask questions.’
‘Can you read?’
‘Yes.’ With an expression most sceptical, Blake retrieved from yet another of his pockets a small black wallet and took out an official-looking paper.
‘Fingers clean?’ he said.
In answer she wiped them on her dress. He gave it to her, watching her intently. She perused the paper like some old judge, then handed it back to him with such a dainty flourish that I covered my mouth to hide my amusement.
‘All in order?’ he said. She nodded. He sat down opposite her, took out his pocketbook and the special pen he had used before. She glanced at the stumps of his missing fingers.
‘What’s that?’
‘Called a fountain pen. It has a steel nib and a little reservoir inside which stores ink.’
‘Not seen one of them before. Looks pricey. Can I see it?’
‘Maybe. How old are you, Matty?’
She looked him square in the eye. ‘Twelve, sir.’
He stared back. ‘Coster girl, are you?’
‘Wasn’t born to it, no. But I sell a bit of this and that. Run a few errands.’
‘Who takes care of you?’
‘Take care of meself, and my brother, Pen. My ma died when we was little. My pa was a printer. We were up near St Paul’s. I learnt my letters then. I write a good hand. Pa died three years back. He got sick, then he couldn’t work, then he got into debt. When he died, there wasn’t nothing – anything – left. Me and Pen do all right now though,’ she said. ‘We’ve kept out of the pan. We’ve our own place.’
‘That must be hard.’
‘S’all right.’ She spoke matter-of-factly.
‘How do you know the Wedderburns?’
‘When Pa died we was on the street. Ended up down here. Nat and Connie was kind to us when no one else was. Abraham too. Nat didn’t mind if I came in the back of the shop and took a sit-down out of the cold. Sometimes there was still a bit of fire in the grate – late at night or if I started very early, walking out to Hackney Road to get watercress or something. They sell the green stuff cheaper up there than Farringdon market. If I walk further I make a bit more. That was what I was doing the day—’ she stopped. ‘He showed me how to get in round the side. Gave me a key. When things were easier, sometimes I’d watch the littl’uns and then they’d give me a bit of supper.’
‘Things been hard?’
‘Aren’t they for everyone? Food’s scarce, work’s scarce, that’s what they say,’ she said.
‘Was Mr Wedderburn ever robbed?’
‘Not as I recall. Not beyond the usual. He was in the shop all the time, or upstairs.’
‘Did he have anyone work for him?’
‘No one regular. An illustrator or maybe a writer. But no one of late except Daniel – his son. He used to work in the shop.’
‘But not any more.’
She looked down at the hem of her skirt with its odd black stain. ‘Daniel doan speak to me much no more. Got politics and I doanknow what. Argued with Nat about it. Nat said no point getting caught up in all that.’
‘We met him earlier. He seems a very angry fellow,’ I said.
‘Yeah, he’s always angry now.’ She caught herself. ‘But I doan mean—’
Blake interrupted her. ‘How did Nat get on with the other printers and booksellers in Holywell Street?’
‘All right. Not specially friendly. They’re always looking over their shoulders at each other. There’s a few I doan like, but far as I know Nat never had a beef with any of them. Some said he gave hisself airs, thought he was better than them. But he didn’t care much what anyone said. The clothes dealers are more companionable. Maybe it’s because, you know, they’re all Jews. Nat got on all right with Abe. Abe’s all right. But, mister, you mustn’t think Daniel – he’d never do anything …’
Blake nodded. ‘I believe you. What about the printers? Did they
She nodded. ‘Can I see it?’
‘What?’
‘Your piece o’ paper says you can ask questions.’
‘Can you read?’
‘Yes.’ With an expression most sceptical, Blake retrieved from yet another of his pockets a small black wallet and took out an official-looking paper.
‘Fingers clean?’ he said.
In answer she wiped them on her dress. He gave it to her, watching her intently. She perused the paper like some old judge, then handed it back to him with such a dainty flourish that I covered my mouth to hide my amusement.
‘All in order?’ he said. She nodded. He sat down opposite her, took out his pocketbook and the special pen he had used before. She glanced at the stumps of his missing fingers.
‘What’s that?’
‘Called a fountain pen. It has a steel nib and a little reservoir inside which stores ink.’
‘Not seen one of them before. Looks pricey. Can I see it?’
‘Maybe. How old are you, Matty?’
She looked him square in the eye. ‘Twelve, sir.’
He stared back. ‘Coster girl, are you?’
‘Wasn’t born to it, no. But I sell a bit of this and that. Run a few errands.’
‘Who takes care of you?’
‘Take care of meself, and my brother, Pen. My ma died when we was little. My pa was a printer. We were up near St Paul’s. I learnt my letters then. I write a good hand. Pa died three years back. He got sick, then he couldn’t work, then he got into debt. When he died, there wasn’t nothing – anything – left. Me and Pen do all right now though,’ she said. ‘We’ve kept out of the pan. We’ve our own place.’
‘That must be hard.’
‘S’all right.’ She spoke matter-of-factly.
‘How do you know the Wedderburns?’
‘When Pa died we was on the street. Ended up down here. Nat and Connie was kind to us when no one else was. Abraham too. Nat didn’t mind if I came in the back of the shop and took a sit-down out of the cold. Sometimes there was still a bit of fire in the grate – late at night or if I started very early, walking out to Hackney Road to get watercress or something. They sell the green stuff cheaper up there than Farringdon market. If I walk further I make a bit more. That was what I was doing the day—’ she stopped. ‘He showed me how to get in round the side. Gave me a key. When things were easier, sometimes I’d watch the littl’uns and then they’d give me a bit of supper.’
‘Things been hard?’
‘Aren’t they for everyone? Food’s scarce, work’s scarce, that’s what they say,’ she said.
‘Was Mr Wedderburn ever robbed?’
‘Not as I recall. Not beyond the usual. He was in the shop all the time, or upstairs.’
‘Did he have anyone work for him?’
‘No one regular. An illustrator or maybe a writer. But no one of late except Daniel – his son. He used to work in the shop.’
‘But not any more.’
She looked down at the hem of her skirt with its odd black stain. ‘Daniel doan speak to me much no more. Got politics and I doanknow what. Argued with Nat about it. Nat said no point getting caught up in all that.’
‘We met him earlier. He seems a very angry fellow,’ I said.
‘Yeah, he’s always angry now.’ She caught herself. ‘But I doan mean—’
Blake interrupted her. ‘How did Nat get on with the other printers and booksellers in Holywell Street?’
‘All right. Not specially friendly. They’re always looking over their shoulders at each other. There’s a few I doan like, but far as I know Nat never had a beef with any of them. Some said he gave hisself airs, thought he was better than them. But he didn’t care much what anyone said. The clothes dealers are more companionable. Maybe it’s because, you know, they’re all Jews. Nat got on all right with Abe. Abe’s all right. But, mister, you mustn’t think Daniel – he’d never do anything …’
Blake nodded. ‘I believe you. What about the printers? Did they
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