knee. “His kidneys gave out.”
“True, madam, but another crewman from the Ajax died the night before, also apparently from natural causes. It is suspicious.”
“’Ere now. You two ain’t from the assurance companies, trying to put the screw on my husband’s money, are you?”
“Not at all, madam, I assure you. We’re investigating another case entirely. I only have a few questions.”
She thought, as well as she could while holding the baby, which had begun to whimper. “I dunno. I got on with me life.”
“It is good that you have, madam. But, just a few questions, in his memory?”
I admit, it was an imposition. Who knew what pandemonium was going on behind that door? I fancy she might have been a beauty once, years ago, before the bloom had gone off her, when she’d gone from being Chambers’s best girl to Mother. The years, the poverty, the grind, and, of course, her first husband’s death had all taken their toll.
“Very well,” she told Barker, in the same way she must give in to a child’s request. “But make it quick, please. This un’s ’ungry.”
“When your husband returned from his last trip to China, did he seem at all secretive?”
“Yes, he did. Said some Chinaman on board had died from the ship. I thought he was carrying on a bit, I mean, he worked around ’em alla time, but he never chummed up with one afore. Said he ’ad some business to attend to, oh so important like. ‘Susan, I ’as business to attend to.’ I gave him an earful, out drinking our money away with his mates at night, and now he ’as business in the day, leaving me with a household o’ brats. ‘Maybe I ’as business to attend to myself,’ I says. ‘Y’ever think o’ that?’ But ’e wouldn’t back down this time. That weren’t like my Alf. ’E generally backed down.”
“So, did he transact his business?”
“He did. Then he came back with flowers for me. Musta sold something to have enough for a bit o’ flowers. I’d cleaned ’im out afore ’e left. Never trust a sailor with money, they go through it like water. Anyway-hush, child-I wasn’t gonna let ’im get off with buying me hothouse flowers ’stead o’ tellin’ me where ’e went. It might be dangerous.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t say nothing. That weren’t like ’im, neither. He shut up tight and I couldn’t get nothing out of ’im. Went to bed mad, we did. That was the worse thing. We went to bed mad and ’e never woke up again.”
“Did he make any sound during the night?”
“He cried out in the middle o’ the night and said a word or two in his sleep, but never woke up. I could tell ’e was ill, but I didn’t know what was wrong or what to do. Then ’is kidneys failed ’im, and the blood, oh lands, it was everywhere. Soaked the bed so bad it couldn’t be cleaned. Had to throw it out. Nasty, terrible way for my Alfred to die. No dignity. Hush, you!”
The latter was directed toward the child in her arms, who was alternately wailing and blubbering. Mrs. Chambers-or rather, Mrs. Lynn-seemed to care not a whit that her youngest was crying. Her mind was back on the events surrounding her first husband’s death.
“’Ere now,” she said. “Are you saying there is some connection between Alf’s death and the Chinaman’s?”
“It is possible.”
“Natural causes, they said. You think they’re wrong?”
“That, too, is possible. It’s certainly strange for two men to die of natural causes within twenty-four hours of their arrival in England.”
The woman juggled her baby. “Keep me informed. I may have to speak with my solicitor. Alf didn’t leave me much besides brats. I deserve some compensation. I figure the Blue Funnel can afford it.”
“No doubt.”
By this time, the infant had gone from mewling to full-throated screams. Barker judged he’d gotten what he came for and began to back away. Just then the woman turned the baby around and I was never so shocked in my life. The baby was Oriental.
“Thank you, madam. We’ll let you get back to your bairns.”
We walked a few streets. I tried to keep silent, but I couldn’t. “I thought she said her married name was Lynn.”
“Ling, not Lynn.”
“Why would she marry a Chinaman, sir?”
“They have a reputation among East End women for being good husbands. They work hard, don’t drink, and rarely beat their wives.”
“But socially, sir-”
Barker gave a short cough that passed for a chuckle. “This is the East End, Thomas, not Kensington. People do what they can to survive.”
“All those children and then a little Chinese brother,” I mused.
“I’m sure there are a number of pastors willing to solemnize such a union, but if I may say it, lad, you’re still rather naive. Many of the unions in this area are common law only, and some families have a farrago of children.”
We had passed into West Ferry Road, talking of East-West relations when our minds were suddenly brought forcibly back to the case. A couple of Asian roughs, looking no more than eighteen, came running down the street, chasing each other in high spirits. They barreled into us and would have continued had the Guv not laid hands on the second one. It was one of the oldest dodges in London. The second was a pickpocket, and Barker caught the hand in his coat. That might have been the end of it, but the second snaked his thin leg around his companion and laid a roundhouse kick that caught my employer in the chest. Barker staggered back into a ragged beggar seated against a wall. The latter, in a shapeless coat and hat, put his hands up to ward off my falling employer, but the two men fell over each other. The youths, free again, ran down the street.
“Hey!” I cried. “Come back here!”
“No harm done,” Barker said, rising and dusting himself off, setting the beggar and his cup as they were. I knew what the Guv would ask before he said it, and dropped a shilling into the cup.
“Dratted pickpockets,” I grumbled. “The town is rife with them.”
“That is too much of a coincidence for mere pickpockets, lad,” Barker said. “I think it more likely to be another attempt by Quong’s killer to lay hands upon the text.”
13
Barker blew the steam off a cup of cocoa. The heavens over the waterfront had opened up again and we had taken refuge in a confectioner’s shop. There were no public houses in sight, and the shop afforded some degree of comfort and respectability. The cocoa warmed me better than a pint of bitter could, but the sight of Barker sipping on his cup of Fry’s was certainly a novel one. As a rule, he did not care for sweets.
“What did you think about Poole’s theory that Ho is Mr. K’ing?” I asked.
“It is erroneous but not entirely preposterous. Ho has always run deep. There is an underworld in China of boxers and bodyguards and secret schools of martial training and Ho has always been involved in it.”
“How did you meet Ho, sir, if I may ask?”
Barker put down his mug and wiped his mustache. “It was during the Chinese Civil War. Hong Xiuquan, leader of the rebellion, was out to destroy the monasteries at the time. He believed in a mangled form of Christianity, with himself at the right hand of God. Like most fellows my age, I joined as a soldier. One day, we were marching through a village outside Yangan when we came upon an army of rebels setting fire to a temple and killing the monks. Now, General Gordon was a Christian but he couldn’t stand by and watch a group of monks being slaughtered, even if they were Buddhists. He led us into the fray. What we didn’t know was that there was a second army behind the monastery.
