Chapter 8 #2
They had reached Wild Street and paused to cross.
‘I’m not sure it has anything to do with it,’ she conceded.
‘But if Mr Evans’ men are to be believed then it seems obvious to me that something else was going on during the renovation of 50 Berkeley Square.
The tools did not move themselves. Perhaps they were being put to other uses overnight. ’
Oliver cocked his head. ‘Uses like digging a tunnel between houses?’
‘Possibly,’ Harry said, and frowned. ‘I don’t see how that was done without anyone at number 50 noticing, however. I wonder if Inspector Wells has made any progress in finding out where it leads.’
A car chugged past, leaving the road clear. Harry stepped off the pavement and was immediately jostled by someone. She felt a tug at the pocket of her coat and looked down to see a ragged girl at her side. ‘Sorry, missus,’ she mumbled, head down. ‘I slipped.’
She made to skip away but Harry was too quick. ‘Not so fast,’ she said, shooting out a hand to grip the girl’s bony wrist.
The child looked up in alarm and began to wriggle. ‘Get off! Get off me!’
Her fearful shriek almost made Harry let go, just as a memory surfaced in her mind. ‘Wait a minute, I’ve seen you before,’ she said, tightening her fingers. ‘A few nights ago, near the Garston Club. You were trying to work out how to pick my pocket.’
‘Wasn’t,’ the girl said defiantly, but the wriggling lessened and Harry thought her eyes were slightly less wary.
‘You were,’ she said. ‘I left a coin on the bench. Did you find it?’
With obvious reluctance, the girl shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
Oliver glowered at her. ‘And you decided to repay this generosity by picking her pocket again.’
This elicited another shrug. ‘Didn’t know it was her.’
Harry studied her thoughtfully. ‘I think you did. I think you realised I had money to spare and decided to help yourself to some more.’ She paused. ‘Unfortunately for you, the pocket you chose is empty.’
‘I know that,’ the girl snapped sullenly. ‘So you can’t hand me over to the police. I ain’t stole nothing.’
‘You tried,’ Oliver pointed out. ‘That’s illegal too.’
The wriggling resumed. ‘Let me go! My mum lives just over there – she’ll flay you alive if she hears me yelling.’
Harry hesitated. The girl was even thinner than she had suspected from their last encounter, and younger too – perhaps only seven or eight.
Her cheeks were gaunt beneath their layer of dirt and there was a sunken look to her eyes.
Was she really about to hand such a poor creature over to the police?
What good would it do? She gnawed at the inside of her lip, weighing the decision up.
Perhaps there was another way. ‘I have a shilling for you if you promise not to run.’
Instantly, the girl’s wriggling stopped. She eyed Harry with evident distrust; a shilling was a lot of money to a child who had very little and she had done nothing to earn it. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I want to ask you a question,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing that will get you into trouble.’
The girl scowled. ‘That’s what they all say.’
It was probably best not to think too much about that, Harry decided. With slow deliberation, she released the girl’s wrist. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you,’ she said, watching her rub the skin. ‘I’m going to reach into my bag now, and get the money. See?’
She held up the silver coin. The girl stared back at it, suddenly mesmerised. ‘What’s the question?’
Harry held up a hand. ‘A few preliminaries first. What’s your name?’
This was met with another ferocious scowl but the girl kept her attention on the prize. ‘They call me Midge.’
‘Midge,’ Harry repeated, and thought it suited her somehow. ‘How old are you?’
‘Eight.’ There was a truculent pause. ‘Almost nine.’
‘Thank you,’ Harry said. ‘And do you really live around here?’
Midge jerked her head. ‘Yeah. That’s my school, just over there. Wild Street School.’
Both Harry and Oliver looked up and saw an austere, red-bricked building that looked more like a prison than a place of education. ‘I see,’ Harry replied. She did not want to consider the kind of education that the pupils of such an establishment might receive.
‘That’s three questions,’ Midge said, and snatched at the coin. ‘Can I go now?’
Harry jerked her hand out of reach. ‘One last matter. You look like a clever girl who knows all kind of interesting things. The kind of things they don’t always teach you in school. Am I right?’
Midge appeared torn between wanting to agree and the instinct to grab the money and run. ‘Depends. I ain’t much good at sums.’
Harry fought the urge to smile. ‘I’m not going to ask you to add anything up,’ she said, and lowered her voice. ‘But I do want to ask you this. If I wanted to find the best safe-cracker in London, where would I start looking?’
‘A peterman? What do you want one of them for?’ The girl’s expression grew wary again. ‘Are you coppers?’
‘Not at all,’ Harry said, guessing the word peterman was slang for a safe-cracker. ‘But if you don’t know the answer then that’s fine.’
‘Of course I know,’ Midge scoffed. ‘You want Middlesex Street. Solomon Pole, the pawnbroker.’
The name meant nothing to Harry, but the street rang a faint bell. Where had she heard it before? ‘Middlesex Street. Where’s that?’
‘Petticoat Lane,’ Midge said. ‘Over east. That’s where I’d go, anyway.’
Of course, Harry recalled. That was where Beth had gone to procure her outfit for the Hot Spot; presumably the area was home to much more than just good-value seamstresses.
She smiled at Midge. ‘Thank you, that’s very helpful.
’ She was about to hand over the coin when another thought occurred to her.
From time to time, Holmes had made use of street children to convey messages and find out information he couldn’t.
Perhaps this was another opportunity for life to imitate art.
‘Is this your patch, Midge?’ she asked. ‘Where you… work, I mean?’
The girl did not reply, and Harry supposed she could hardly blame her. ‘What I’m getting at is, can I find you here if there’s ever anything else I want to ask you?’ She flashed the coin. ‘There could be more of this on offer, if you’re able to help.’
Midge stared at her for a long time, as though taking her measure, then nodded. ‘Yeah. Around here or in Covent Garden.’
Harry held out the shilling. ‘In that case, you may well see me again. As long as you promise not to pick my pocket next time.’
Grabbing the coin, Midge bit the edge to check it was real. ‘I’ll try not to.’ The shilling vanished into the grubby recesses of her clothing as she squinted up at Harry. ‘One other thing. Solomon Pole is bad news. Don’t mess with him, or them that works for him. It won’t go well if you do.’
With that, she whirled around and tore off along the street, disappearing around a corner before either Harry or Oliver could say another word.
‘Why do I have the feeling you’re already planning a trip to Petticoat Lane, in spite of our new friend’s warning?
’ Oliver rumbled as they began to walk again.
‘Of course I am,’ Harry said, tutting. ‘But if it makes you feel any better, I won’t go alone. Beth is familiar with the neighbourhood, she’ll make sure I don’t stumble into anywhere I shouldn’t.’
Turning the corner into Long Acre, Oliver looked very much as though he were about to argue, but the words appeared to die in his throat as they were confronted by a newspaper stand. ‘Read all about it – murder in Mayfair! Body found in Berkeley Square. Read all about it!’
Harry stopped dead, her hands flying to her mouth in dismay. Oliver strode forward, thrusting some money at the seller and snatching the evening edition from the stand. He brought it back to Harry and they both stared at the headline.
THEFT TAKES A DEADLY TURN
BODY FOUND IN MAYFAIR MANSION
‘It’s number 50,’ Harry said numbly, scanning the tiny newsprint beneath the awful heading and absorbing what little detail there was. ‘My God, Oliver, what does it mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, his tone grim. ‘It could just be a terrible coincidence.’
Harry searched his face, her stomach swooping with anxiety. ‘You don’t believe that.’
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ Oliver said, and folded the newspaper under his arm. ‘Come on. I need to talk to Inspector Wells.’