Isobel wiped her cheeks dry with her coat sleeve.
“Peter’s in there too Jessica.” She wondered if James and Peter had been separated. That the two of them might be together in that horrible place offered her some comfort.
“Peter? Oh yeah. I remember him; very polite. Especially round the ladies. Never caused no trouble. Not like some.” She glanced at Gregor. “Hands everywhere. Comes from being so far from home I guess. A friend I know gets tickets for Bedlam. She does laundry for the Guv’nor.”
“Tickets?” Isobel queried.
“She gets them for nowt.” Jessica winked with slow exaggeration. “If you get my meaning. Nice little earner on the side.”
“You can get in with a ticket?” Isobel pressed. It seemed incredible.
“Yeah, to watch them. Right fun she says it is. Poor devils. Makes me sad to think of them doin’ their looniness, which is like normal to them. Still, I s’pose if you don’t know any different, what does it matter?”
“But Jessica, how can we get hold of one of these tickets?” Her excitement resurfaced and filled her with renewed hope. Might she get into Bedlam as easily as walking into a theatre?
“I’ll ask if you like. See her tonight probably. Cost a bit.” Jessica tapped the side of her nose. “You coming in here most days?”
“Yes, of course.” She wanted to find Jessica’s friend right away. Then a shadow darkened their table as a man took his seat at the next alcove.
Jessica flashed her most winsome smile at the stranger. “Hello dear. Lookin’ for company?”
Isobel glanced sideways. The man wore a long black overcoat and the high collar hid his face.
“Nasty old weather we been havin’ of late, ‘aven’t we?” Jessica pulled her stool round to face him. “You cold dear?” She draped an arm across his shoulders. “Feel a bit chill meself I do.”
Isobel peered at the man’s face, but the high collar and the general gloom made it impossible to see. Something about the way he sat made her wary. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember why.
“I was wonderin’.” Jessica sidled onto his lap. “If you knew of somewhere nice and warm where we might go? Be nice to get warm together.” She stroked his sleeve. “Nice coat. New is it?”
Gregor leant forward and whispered; “We leave now.”
Isobel nodded. She needed air. It would be a relief to get outside.
“I like nice clothes.” Jessica adjusted her blouse a little lower. “Make you feel good don’t they. Now, funny thing, this blouse I got on, that’s new. Lovely and soft to the touch it is.”
The man released the top button on his coat.
“That’s right dearie,” Jessica cooed. “You get nice and comfortable. I can see we’re going to be good friends.”
Then the man stood, and Jessica tumbled to the floor with a loud yelp. He stepped over her, and blocked Isobel’s way.
“I need to talk to you Mistress Isobel.”
Terrington’s eyes glittered, hard as black agate, from behind his collar.
Part Three. Keeping the Diamond Secret and Safe
Chapter Twenty Five
Isobel followed Gregor out of The Cheshire Cheese and into the throng of people hurrying up and down Fleet Street. Terrington walked beside her. Gregor refused to stay in a public place. If Terrington needed to talk to Isobel, than he came along too.
Isobel wished Jessica was with them, she would feel safer with another woman, especially one who was so fearless. She had agreed to meet tomorrow to purchase the tickets for Bedlam. Gregor promised her the money.
They crossed the Fleet River onto Ludgate, and began the climb towards St. Paul’s Cathedral. Then Gregor turned sharp right into a narrow alley. Gas lamps flared at irregular intervals to light the gloom. The uneven flagstones tipped and wobbled underfoot and strange faces peered at them through dark windows as they passed. The alley ended in a steep flight of stone steps that descended to the Thames, and the landing stages where boats waited to ferry them across the river to Southwark.
The slippery steps stank of the filth emptied into the river every day. Isobel ignored the smell and concentrated all her will on where she trod.
She had never frequented this part of London. All along the shoreline, embedded in the mud, thick wooden beams supported the riverside buildings and stopped them from tumbling into the water. The shadows, cast by the fretwork of rafters and props, fell upon the wet and slimy ooze. Dozens of rats hunted in silence, scavenging in the half-light, sifting through the rubbish along the water’s edge. She shuddered. She wasn’t frightened of rats, but she had never seen so many.
Green mould covered the wooden landing stage. She tried not to touch anything, but she had to grasp hold of a post to climb into the waiting rowing boat. She grimaced at its wet soft coldness.
Gregor paid the ferryman one penny for each of them. The ferryman puffed on his clay pipe as he pocketed the money. He unhooked the frayed rope from the post and left it to trail in the water. The boat rocked as he took his seat, and the brown river water sloshed over the side. He took hold of the right oar and rotated it, in and out of the water, until the boat’s prow pointed upstream, away from the shore. He pulled hard on both oars and brought them out into the river.
The current caught them and carried them downstream towards London Bridge, and the wind blew away the city smells. Debris knocked against the wooden hull, and a dead fish drifted by, its white belly gleaming just under the water’s dark surface.
Gregor suddenly shouted a warning. Another ferry, coming from the opposite shore, was headed straight towards them.
The ferryman thrashed the right oar in tight circles, until the water foamed white. The boat revolved so that its stern faced upstream. The second boat passed them with inches to spare.
The ferrymen exchanged harsh words that echoed across the water, but the current drew them apart, and the wind carried away their obscenities.
They drifted downriver stern first, and out of danger.
The landing stage on the south bank was just below Southwark Cathedral. They disembarked in silence. In fact, thought Isobel, nobody had spoken a word since leaving The Cheshire Cheese. They would talk, Gregor said, in a “safe place.” She wished again that Terrington wasn’t with them.
The narrow cobbled alleys on this side of the river were wetter and darker than the ones on the North bank. High tenements blocked out the daylight. Permanent shadow covered the passageways and staircases, especially on overcast days like today.
Isobel’s eyes took time to adjust to the half-light. They passed strange bundles of rags curled up against walls, and in the corners of buildings. She recognised them with a jolt of surprise, men and women, sleeping.
A tiny child, barefoot and streaked with grime, poked out dirt from in between the cobbles with a stick. A woman, who Isobel assumed was the mother, lay sleeping nearby, recovering from the effects of too much cheap gin, the empty bottle clasped against her exposed bosom.
Raw sewage overflowed the gutters, and she covered her nose with her coat sleeve. Where was Gregor taking them? A terrible idea nagged at the fringes of her mind. Did he mean to murder Terrington in some back alley? She didn’t want to witness it. Then another thought pushed aside her worries. Bedlam stood on this side of the river, and the happy image of her reunion with James kept her walking.
A deep rumble boomed like thunder in the distance. They turned a corner and emerged onto a wide road filled with shire horses and carts. A warehouse stood opposite the alley, and great barrels of beer rolled down an iron ramp and landed on a leather mattress that lay in the middle of the road. A band of men, wearing leather aprons, heaved them upright and loaded them onto the waiting carts.