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

Dickens looked behind him again, his spectacles shining suddenly in the lamplight, the shadow was gone. He heard a kind of scuttling as though something had darted away in fear then he went on. He did not see the other shadow creeping after them, looking curiously down the alley where a huge man had suddenly turned. He did not see Rogers, but he was there as the superintendent had instructed, and he was armed, his flintlock pistol in his pocket.
    Weazen took them out of the alleys, and into a wider road lit by gas. Outside a rough-looking house, a knot of men lounged. Another man knocked at the door. A thin line of light gleamed for a moment and then he went in, carrying a sack in which something squirmed and yelped. Dickens thought of brave Mrs Browning outside the house of Sam Taylor in Shoreditch where she went to rescue Flush. The brother could not be any worse, surely. Weazen looked up at Zeb.
    ‘This is it,’ he whispered. ‘That’s three bob yer owe me. I brought yer like I sed.’ His rat’s face was eager for the money but his restless stepping from side to side told them that he wanted to be off. Zeb gave him the coins, and he darted away. Zeb gripped his stick tightly.
    ‘I’ll go an’ ask. Wait here, Mr Dickens.’
    ‘No, I’ll come. Two are better than one. Money might talk and I’ve got my stick. I’m stronger than I look, remember.’
    Zeb smiled. Dickens sounded confident, but he could not help thinking that Sam had told him not to get into a fight. And he could feel the twinge of last night’s bruises. Perhaps Rogers was somewhere near. If there was trouble, he could rattle up the beat constables. They crossed the road, passed the group of men whose louring faces looked menacing, and went up to the front door. At their knock, a man came out. Georgie was not yet at home, but they could wait inside if they wanted. He leered as he said it, and Zeb glanced briefly at Dickens with a slight shake of the head which said they should wait outside. Zeb said that they would like to know how much to find the old gentleman’s dog.
    ‘Wait ’ere,’ the leering man ordered. The door shut in their faces. They stepped back, looking round to see where they might escape to if it were necessary. They backed towards the pavement where they stood uncertainly. Perhaps Georgie was really there and talk of money would bring him out.
    The door opened again and a woman came out, a mountainous creature with a fat, doughy face and little, cunning black eyes. She looked them over, assessing their worth. Her eyes lingered on the old gentleman. Yes, ’e’d pay, she thought. No need ter say the price – yet. Yer niver knew ’ow much yer could get till yer found out ’ow desperate a cove woz. Shrewd, Mrs Taylor. Dickens would have been most amused to know that a respectable and pious father had called her Charity.
    ‘My ’usband won’t be long, sir. Should be back in ’alf an hour. ’E’ll tell yer ’ow much when ’e comes.’ She attempted a smile which was more like a snarl, showing long, yellow teeth.
    Husband, thought Dickens, she was his guard dog more likely. Heavens, she was like some great bulldog. He knew a bulldog once who kept a man. Perhaps Mrs Georgie kept Georgie on a tight leash. He hoped she would not come any nearer. He wondered what kind of dog Georgie resembled. Odd, he thought, how people looked like their dogs: Mrs Browning with her long curls exactly like Flush’s silky ears and a well-dressed little terrier he knew who looked just like his master, both sporting white gloves and neat black boots, going to the races in a smart painted dogcart.
    His idle thoughts were interrupted by Zeb apparently declining another invitation to sample the delights of Dog Villa. At that moment a cab drew up on the opposite side of the road. Dickens said they would wait in the cab. Mrs Georgie looked disappointed. Perhaps she had a good tea service which she wanted to show off, or, more likely, she was brewing