Read Online Death at Hungerford Stairs by J C Briggs - Free Book Online

squalid court. It was not long before the creditors pressed in: the butcher and baker were not paid, the books had to be sold, Dickens scurrying to the drunken bookseller; the household shrank as furniture and goods were pawned; then when insolvency proceedings were instituted against his father, Dickens went to the appraiser so that even his own clothes could be valued since a debtor and his dependants must have effects of no more than twenty pounds; finally the Marshalsea where John Dickens was imprisoned for debt, and where Mrs Dickens and the younger children joined him, leaving Dickens an exile in the blacking factory. Oh, it was so easy to fall.
    Effie continued, ‘Then her husband died and left nothing. Mrs Hart took a room off Moor Street, her and the boy and a dozen other families crowded into the house. Terrible for her.’ Effie’s eyes filled as she looked at the woman who might have been carved of stone, who gave no sign, nor ever would again.
    ‘How did she live?’
    ‘She sold nearly everything – you saw her sell the cloak yesterday; she had the one dress left, and the boy a few things. She sold things, one by one, a green glass paperweight, a set of spoons, a brooch – her treasures. It was pitiful. Zeb stopped her going to the pawnbroker’s – gave her more than she would have got there. We haven’t sold any of it. Then she did sewing, and he ran errands – earned a penny or two. Nice boy – honest, you know. People liked him. Who would have killed a boy like that, Mr Dickens? Who would be wicked enough?’ Effie’s kindly face was troubled. ‘Well, I’ll look after her, but, I don’t know what will become of her.’
    Neither did Dickens. She was lost to this world. She would die, he thought. Effie would do her best, but Mrs Hart would not eat or drink; she would simply waste away of longing for her sweet Robin.
    Dickens went into the shop to tell Zeb that he would come back later so that they could go to find Tommy Titfer, and maybe Poll and Scrap. He saw on a shelf the green glass paperweight gleaming with the sea inside it. She would never buy it back now.
    ‘Don’t forget to bring the coat and hat, and your specs,’ said Zeb, smiling at the thought of the old gentleman. Then his face changed. ‘And we’ll do what we can for that poor woman in there.’
    ‘Thank you,Zeb. Would it be possible for me to contribute?’ asked Dickens.
    ‘No need, sir, we have enough. I’ll see you later.’
    Dickens and Jones went out into the street to make their way back to Bow Street, and the superintendent told him what he had learned about the shawl. Mrs Hart’s shawl was still in the shop. Zeb had not sold it; he had thought he would keep it if ever she wanted it back. He knew that she had been given it by her husband. He hoped that she might be able to raise the money though it was unlikely, but, somehow he did not like to sell it and nor did Effie – it did not seem right.
    ‘So, whose shawl is the one we found?’
    ‘Effie said that when Mrs Hart wanted to sell the shawl she told Effie that it had been made by a Frenchwoman, a milliner and dressmaker, and that her husband bought it before he became ill. Effie knew of a Frenchwoman who made clothes and lived in Hanover Street, but she didn’t know if the woman was still there. However, we can look for her and see if she made more than one shawl, and to whom she sold it. In the meantime, I suggest we find some supper before you don your motley and go a-playacting. Remember, Rogers will not be far away – and try to avoid getting into a fight.’

7
GEORGIE TAYLOR
    By eight o’clock Zeb and his old gentleman were entering Rats’ Castle in search of Tommy Titfer. Zeb bought two glasses of brandy and water and they sat at one of the rickety, scuffed tables to wait, but he did not come. Dickens felt a profound disappointment. After all that had happened today, in the back of his mind there had been a pinprick of hope that at least he would