“Peter Newsome?” He looked around, bleary-eyed. “I knows Peter Newsome.”
Chapter 50
Everyone looked at Archie with wonder.
“How do you know Peter Newsome?” asked William.
The boy had gotten to his feet and come to the side of Alice’s bed. He stood there as he often did, waiting for her to pet him and offer him sweets. Katherine had warned that he ought not to be fed so much sugar; it ruined his appetite and would rot his teeth, but Alice explained that the psychological benefits of a piece of candy outweighed any physical harm it might do.
“’E’s a friend of Mr. Sickert and an artist too,” said Archie, eyeing the two chocolates on the little dish next to Alice’s bed.
“And you know him?” Alice asked quietly.
“Well, sure. ’E’s been by when Mr. Sickert was painting, to drop off brushes and such. ’E told Sally she’d make a fine subject for a picture. ’E’s paintin’ ’er now.”
There was a hush in the room.
Sensing that he had said something wrong, Archie spoke quickly, as if to cover his tracks. “I told ’er ’e probly couldn’t draw a pot and sure couldn’t make such pretty things as Mr. Sargent or sing songs like Mr. Sickert, but she says as she don’t care. She wants to ’av ’er portrait painted like the mistress. That’s all.”
He paused and looked around him and, seeing that the faces of the adults remained taut and anxious, added quickly, touching on the subject that he assumed was the source of their concern. “She said takin’ yer clothes off fer an artist ain’t bad. Even the fine ladies does it. So’s I believed ’er.”
“Where did she go, do you know, Archie?” asked Alice. She had taken hold of his arm and was gripping it tightly.
He did not answer but sniffled loudly and squirmed under her grasp.
“Can you tell us where Sally’s gone?” William asked sharply.
The adult behavior must have reminded him of calamitous events in his former life, for his eyes darted about, as if looking for a means of escape. “I hope Sally ain’t come to no ’arm,” he wailed.
Henry interceded. He held out the plate of chocolates and waited calmly for Archie to take one, and then he spoke with stern directness. “We need to find Sally so she won’t come to harm. We need you to help us. Can you do that?”
The boy nodded, though he continued to sob. He forced himself to speak. “I followed ’er once. I knows I’m not supposed to spy. But I did it with my mum, so I do it automatic.” He whimpered in fear.
Henry assured him that in this case they were happy he had spied. “Now, we need you to tell us where you followed her. Is it far?”
“Far enough. It’s near to where me mum died.” Archie whimpered. “I thinks,” he amended.
“Would you be able to find it if we took a hansom cab to your mum’s street?” asked William.
“Dunno,” said Archie. A look of panic crossed his face again. “Don’ want Sally to come to no ’arm!”
“Can you remember how to get there by foot?” asked Henry, realizing that the boy would be best going the way he’d gone before.
Archie nodded, still whimpering.
“Just lead us there, then,” said Henry. “Don’t worry about how far it is. Go the way you went when you followed her. I’m sure you can remember.”
The boy nodded, his face white, as the brothers urged him down the stairs and to the door. William paused only to instruct Katherine, who had been busy in the kitchen, to go immediately to Scotland Yard and alert Abberline. “Tell him to look for the shop of a framer named Peter Newsome in the vicinity of where the poor woman killed herself last week,” he explained. “Tell him to waste no time.”
There was hubbub as hats and coats were hastily put on, the front door noisily opened and shut, and then, silence. Alice was left, propped up in her bed, alone in the flat. As always, it was her fate to stay behind and wait.
Chapter 51
It was strange that Henry was able to keep up. William maintained a daily regimen of exercise and diet and was in shape to make the trek from Mayfair to Whitechapel on foot, but Henry, corpulent and sedentary, would have been expected to lag behind, perhaps to give up the chase altogether. But he did not. Indeed, he continued in the lead, following Archie through the park, up the embankment, and into the winding streets of the East End. As he strode through the various neighborhoods and saw the houses grow shabby and the streets dirty and rubbled, he recalled that awful night when he had been attacked and saved by Walter Sickert. It was perhaps the sense of dread he felt then that made him hurry to the aid of the girl now.
They entered a narrow path in the vicinity of Spitalfields, and Archie began to move more slowly, trying to recall where he had gone the day he had followed Sally. He paused for a moment at the crossroads of two streets, cocking his head, like a dog trying to follow a waning scent, and then moving forward with more certainty. They had arrived at a maze of small muddy paths, and Archie seemed to be surer as he moved into this labyrinth, turning left and right and left again until they found themselves at the end of an alley at which stood a tall, brick structure with the sign that said “Frames, Canvases, Art Supplies” hanging from the cornice. They tried the front door; it was locked. Henry had already gone to the back and returned to say it was locked too.
“We’ve got to get inside,” said William.
Archie looked at the brothers and then took a metal wire from his pocket and poked it into the lock until it clicked open.
“Where did you learn to do that?” asked Henry.
Archie shrugged. “I knows I’m not supposed to, but you says we gotta get in.”
“Yes.” William nodded. “There are exceptions to every rule. Now quiet as we can; we don’t want to scare Sally.”
They entered the shop. It was very still.
“Maybe they’ve left,” said Henry.
“Or we’re too late,” whispered William. “Keep a watch on the boy. I wouldn’t want him to find her if she’s…” He could not complete the thought.
The front room, where the principal operations of the shop were carried on, was a large space lit by high windows. Canvases in the process of being framed were laid out on a long table, and others, not yet framed or already completed, were propped against the wall. There was a great variety of pictures, including some that appeared old and valuable, no doubt the property of wealthy collectors like Asher Abrams.
The space itself was exceptionally neat and well organized. There were separate areas where the frames were cut, carved, and painted, with the necessary tools placed carefully at each station. The frames were stacked in orderly rows, saws and files were kept together, and varnishes and paints were lined up neatly on the shelves.
The three passed to the back of the room, and William tried the door. It was locked, and he nodded to Archie, who took out his piece of wire and again fiddled with the lock until it opened. They entered another room. Here there were no windows, so the area was dim. Henry gripped Archie’s hand, both because he genuinely had trouble seeing and because he feared they might find something from which he would need to shield the boy.
Despite the dim light, the contrast to the front room was immediately apparent. The place was a jumble of disorder. Scores of canvases lay about in unruly heaps, making it difficult to pass. At first it seemed like these might be additional inventory that would eventually make their way to the outer room for framing, but as the brothers moved farther into the space, they could see that what lay there would never be framed. The pictures had been destroyed, cut to tatters, so that the linen hung in strips from the wooden stretchers. They had once been paintings of women. Here and there one could make out an arm, a breast, or a torso that had escaped the knife, although mostly one saw only flesh-toned strips hanging from the wooden supports like flayed skin.