high lace collar, and a grim visage chiselled therefrom – in all, a person of some reckoning, even beyond her reputation. I sat, unable to do otherwise.
'Reports have come to my attention.' Her large hands folded themselves on the reticule in her lap. 'Disturbing reports; most disgusting reports, if I may say so.'
'Reports? Of – of what?'
'Of your behaviour, Mr Dower.' Her chin thrust itself towards me, like the sharp prow of a warship. 'Your little… adventures. For far too long, your kind has believed that the night affords you the anonymity to pursue and indulge in the filthiest of practices; well, you may disabuse yourself of that notion as of this moment, Mr Dower. There is no security for the sybarite in the darkness; the Ladies Union has vigilant agents in all corners of the city, and all share my abhorrence at the mischief of your bestial tribe. You may rest assured of that.'
I stared at her in astonishment. 'I have no idea what you're speaking about,' I protested.
'I think you know very well, Mr Dower.' Her eyes narrowed to pinpricks of loathing. 'Will you attempt to deny that you have been heard seeking directions to certain establishments of ill repute, kept by a certain Mollie Maud? Establishments of a nature even more sinister than the usual sinks of vice – were you not intent on seeking dalliance with the infamous green girls?'
For a moment I couldn't remember where I had heard the name she had spat at me; then the voice echoed in my memory, of the cabby that had first agreed to take me to Wetwick. 'No,' I said after the moment's confusion. 'That's entirely untrue…'
'You know nothing of this villainous woman's enterprise?'
I shook my head in mute denial.
'And the green girls – I suppose you maintain ignorance on that distasteful subject as well?'
The phrase had also been spoken by the cabby. 'I've heard the name, but-'
Mrs Trabble snorted in disgust. 'That admission alone bespeaks your guilt. If you had kept to the paths of virtue as diligence and a proper upbringing should have dictated, such a topic would be completely beyond your ken.' She stood up, the stiff bombazine of her dress rustling like distant storm clouds. 'I take it that you are not prepared to confess your intimate knowledge of these matters; that you intend to mask your shame with a brazen charade of innocence. You'll derive scant comfort from it. The members of the Ladies Union for the Suppression of Carnal Vice have striven to our utmost to stamp out these heinous practices of which you're so fond, and I can assure you that your own transgressions will not escape notice.'
I rose to follow her. 'Really – you must be mistaken.'
She turned to glare at me from the head of the stairs. 'Good day, Mr Dower,' she said frostily. 'You shan't have long to wait.'
The veiled threat, delivered with such authority, left me rooted to the spot. Distantly, I heard her curt bark to Creff downstairs, the shop door opening, and her sweeping exit.
This last encounter, on top of all else that had happened, surfeited me to exhaustion. I found my bed and toppled into it, sinking into a blackness more comforting than the moiling thoughts that filled my battered skull.
I was roused into that desolate condition, familiar to anyone who has ever fallen asleep in daylight and woken in darkness; that bleak, entombed feeling somehow tinged with both guilt and self-pity. A stifling dream of falling under black water ebbed away as I sat up and watched the familiar contours of my bedchamber take shape in the gloom. Voices had been shouting in the dream; I could hear them still. As my brain cleared, I realised that the heated words were coming from the shop downstairs. I quickly pulled on my clothes and hastened towards the clamour.
In the shop, I discovered Creff in furious remonstrance with the villainous Scape. Both had grasp of the kitchen broom between them; Scape resisted my assistant's efforts to push him, and his companion Miss McThane, back out the door.
'Call this sonuvabitch off,' cried Scape, catching sight of me at the doorway behind the counter. He wrested the broom away from his opponent and threw it into a corner.
Creff assumed a pugilist's stance, with first circling in front of his face. 'They forced their way in, sir,' he shouted to me. 'Knocked, they did, and before I could recognize the brigands, they was in.' He took an easily dodged poke at Scape.
'I'll handle this,' I said, interposing myself between them. I drew myself up to full height and directed a stern expression at the other's blue spectacles. 'Quit these premises,' I ordered. 'Immediately; you have nothing of interest to relate to me.'
Scape finished straightening his greatcoat, disarrayed by the exertions of his brief combat. A thin smile broke in his angular visage. 'Think so, huh? Well, maybe you better think again, fella. Ol' Bendray asked us to come round and… renew his invitation to you. He wanted to make sure you knew just how much he'd like you to come on out to his place.'
My voice went colder: 'You may tell your employer that I have no desire to accept his hospitality. Not at this time, nor, I doubt, at any point in the future. Convey my regrets however you wish; I would rather return to gaol than set eyes on any of you lot again.'
'Really?' Scape's tongue distorted his cheek as he gazed at me. 'Maybe we could make the invitation seem more interesting to you… you never know…'
A hand lightly touched my shoulder; I turned and saw Miss McThane, eyes half-lidded, smiling at me. 'It'd be really nice if you came,' she said. 'There's a lot just you and I could talk about-'
I pulled away. 'Please remove yourselves; both of you. My mind is completely resolute on the matter. You are wasting your time – nothing will alter my decision.'
'Maybe; maybe not.' Scape stepped over to the window and flung the shutter open. 'How about this for starters?'
Massed torch-flames at the end of the street cast a lurid, flickering glow over my face, as I stepped close to the glass and gaped out at the scene. A mob of people were shouting encouragement to the speaker who addressed them from atop an overturned crate. To my horror, I saw an effigy stuffed with straw, swaying over their heads. It was no Guy Fawkes at the end of the rope; a crudely lettered sign around the figure's neck spelled out DOWER THE JACK.
I staggered back from the window, but not before recognising the upraised speaker as Mrs Trabble. 'My God,' I said hoarsely. 'She's… she's gone and-' I broke off, unable to contemplate with what infamies she could be regaling the riotous assemblage.
Scape surveyed the mob with a calmly critical eye. 'Lot more of 'em now,' he noted. 'Look like a fun-loving bunch, too.' He turned towards me. 'It's probably nothing against you personally – just an excuse to drink a bit… and bash somebody up a bit… and stuff like that, you know…'
The distant torches waved higher; I could hear some sort of chant beginning. 'I've got to flee from here-'
Scape's arms spread wide. 'Hey – that's what I was just saying, man. A country vacation; what could be nicer than that? Especially when you got a whole bunch of people who want to kick your ass right outside your front door. You can just cool out at Bendray's place, you know, wait for things to die down back here… this bunch'll forget about you after a while. And if you and Bendray find something, um… interesting to talk about while you're there – hey, that's a bonus.' His smile returned as he stroked the point of his chin with one long finger. 'So what do you say? Hm?'
The formidable Mrs Trabble, having been the latest terror to appear in my life, perhaps outweighed all other considerations. My resolutions regarding Scape and Bendray, and the entire insane carnival they represented, were washed away in the sudden flood of panic engendered by the sight of the mob being whipped up outside. I turned and shouted towards the rear of the shop: 'Creff! Quickly – my trunk…'
'Screw your luggage, man.' Scape shook his head in disgust as he addressed his companion. 'Can you believe this turkey's just about to get stomped into the pavement, and he's worried about having enough clean socks.'
'Pardon, sir… I took the liberty…' A travelling case, with the sleeves of several of my shirts dangling from under its lid, came bumping down the stairs after Creff. Evidently, his encounter with Mrs Trabble had likewise impressed him, and spurred him to appropriate action. I saw that he had put on his much-patched coat, his cap crammed into its pocket.
