Chapter 3 #3
Before we reached Blackfriars Bridge, Daniel steered me south to Upper Thames Street. He pulled me along this road, which was filled with carts and drays trundling goods from the river to warehouses and shops that lined our way.
As church clocks began striking eleven, the deep bong from St. Paul’s cathedral overpowering them all, Daniel halted in front of a public house called the Friar and Hound.
Its hanging sign depicted a black-cowled man, presumably a Dominican friar, which was what the area of Blackfriars was named for, hurrying after a large, loping dog.
“I told him to meet us in the snug,” Daniel said. “Shall we?”
His hand shook as he gestured me forward.
This pub was nowhere I’d go on my own, even in the snug, where women could sit and enjoy a half-pint of ale or a cup of tea.
The short corridor was musty, the floor muddy, mold snaking up from the base of the walls.
So near the river, damp would be a constant problem.
A pervading fishy and fetid odor did not add to the ambience.
The snug was small, with only a few tables and benches. Three other ladies were there, housewives stealing a moment for themselves. A young man sat far from them, against the wall, but I recognized him.
James didn’t look up or greet us, only kept his head down over his ale. Daniel said nothing to him either, and I checked my own impulse to call out. I assumed Daniel had asked him to come along to keep a surreptitious eye on Mr. Banks.
Mr. Banks himself was not there. Daniel led me to a table away from the ladies and James, and we settled ourselves like a couple coming to take our morning refreshment.
The sullen barmaid who popped in perked up when she beheld Daniel’s smile and simpered as she sashayed away to fulfill his order.
She smiled openly at Daniel again when she set a pint of ale in front of him and a half next to it. She took up the coin Daniel laid on the table and coquettishly slid it into her pocket before sidling away. Me, she utterly ignored.
We waited. Daniel was restless, slurping at his ale and then pushing it away as though reminding himself to keep a clear head.
After a quarter of an hour of this, Daniel was on his feet again. “I’ll just see if he’s coming.”
I was not about to be left behind, and quickly followed him out. James popped his head up, but I made a minute gesture to tell him to stay behind. If Mr. Banks turned up, James could tell him to wait.
Daniel had stepped into the taproom by the time I caught up to him. Ladies were not allowed inside, so I watched from the doorway while the landlord, who seemed to know Daniel by name, told him he hadn’t noted anyone asking for him.
I backed out of the way when Daniel emerged. He did not admonish me for leaving the snug, and said not a word as I followed him out into the road.
Upper Thames Street was no less busy than before. Drivers and porters hurried about their tasks in an effort to be finished before their one o’clock meal.
Daniel looked up and down the road, frowning, while I pulled my coat closer against the wind. I also studied the passersby, searching for a man who matched how Daniel had described Mr. Banks.
I’d fixed my gaze on a tall man with a trim beard touched with gray when I became aware that Daniel had moved.
I swung around to see him striding purposefully westward, as though something had caught his attention.
I abandoned the bearded man, who moved briskly past the Friar and Hound without looking at it, and trotted after Daniel.
Blackfriars Bridge and its railway counterpart loomed over the end of the road, a black giant against the cloudy sky. A train clattered across the Thames, heading north, wheels on iron rails loud in the cold air. Behind us, church clocks tolled the half hour. Eleven thirty.
Daniel abruptly turned down one of the narrow lanes that led to the river. I followed him between warehouses that rose sharply on either side of us, overshadowing the street.
Puddle Dock lay at the end of this lane, if I remembered aright. I always did my best to avoid the area, which wasn’t safe for anyone on their own, so I wasn’t certain. A barge lay moored at whatever dock it was, men trundling goods from it into wagons.
Before we reached the activity at the dock, Daniel turned into a debris-choked passageway that ran between two warehouses. He halted so suddenly I almost ran into him.
Between us and the rear wall of another warehouse was Mr. Grimes. He rose from bending over what I first thought was a bundle of cloth on the ground.
Abruptly, I realized it was a figure stretched there, stiff and motionless. He was a bearded man, the coat over his chest caked with blood.
I gasped, and Mr. Grimes glared at us in alarm.
“No,” he said sharply. “Leg it.”
The sound of booted feet rushing toward us had my heart pounding. I knew who was coming—police constables hurrying to find whoever was standing over this dead man.
“Take her out,” Daniel countermanded. “Go.”
Mr. Grimes gazed at him stubbornly for a moment, then he nodded and charged at me.
I bleated a protest, but Mr. Grimes put his very strong hand under my arm and half pushed, half carried me away. We ducked behind another wall an instant before a half dozen constables streamed into the alleyway and surrounded Daniel and the dead body.