The Shadow in the North Page 14

  He sat there for a while in silence, gazing moodily into the fire and occasionally prodding the coals with his stick.

  "Sally," he said at last, "will you move into Burton Street?"

  She sat up. "We've been through all that, Fred. The answer's no. In any case--"

  "That wasn't the question. I've given up asking you to marry me; you can forget about that. I'm thinking about Nellie Budd. If this is the sort of case where they go about beating women unconscious, I want you close at hand, that's all. You'd be a lot safer at Burton Street, and so would--"

  "I'm quite safe here, thank you," Sally said. "I've got Chaka and I've got my pistol, and I don't need to be shut up in a fortress and guarded."

  She hated herself for that voice - sort of prickly, priggish complacency. As soon as she opened her mouth she knew what would happen, and she dreaded it; she had no idea how to prevent it.

  "Don't be stupid," he said, and sat up too. "I'm not talking about guarding you like a bloody princess in a fairytale, I'm talking about keeping you alive. You can work and go about normally, and of course you've got the dog, and we all know you can shoot a cigarette out of a fly's mouth with your hands tied behind your back--"

  "I'm not interested in listening to sarcasm. If you've got nothing better to say--"

  "All right, then listen to sense. Those men nearly killed Nellie Budd - for all I know, they have killed her. They've destroyed Miss What's-her-name's business. D'you think they'd hesitate, especially after the hiding we gave them, d'you think they'd pause for one moment before setting to work on you? My God, girl, they'd do it with a relish. Bellmann's already threatened you with--"

  "I can defend myself," she said. "And I certainly don't need your permission to go about normally, as you put it--"

  "I didn't put it like that. I don't think that and I didn't say it. If you wilfully misunderstand--"

  "I'm not misunderstanding anything! I know quite well what you meant--"

  "No you don't, or you wouldn't talk in this asinine way!"

  Their rising voices had woken Chaka. He rolled on to his front, lifted his head to look at Frederick and growled softly. Sally reached down automatically to stroke his head.

  "I don't think you realize what it sounds like when you speak like that," she went on more quietly, looking not at him but into the fire, and feeling the bitter stubbornness enclose her. "As if I needed protecting and coddling. I'm not like that. And when you don't seem to see that, I wonder whether you're seeing me at all."

  "You take me for such a fool," he said, and there was real hatred in his voice. "In your heart of hearts you think I'm no different from any other man - no, that's not right. It's not just men. You think I'm no different from anyone, man or woman. There's you and there's the rest of us, and we're all inferior--"

  "Not true!"

  "It is true."

  "Because I take my work seriously, because I'm not flippant and facetious, that means I look down on you, does it?"

  "All the time. All the time. Have you any idea of how unlikeable you are, Sally? At your best you're magnificent, and I loved you for it. At your worst you're nothing but a smooth, self-righteous, patronizing bitch."

  "Me patronizing?"

  "You should hear yourself. I offer you help, as one equal to another, out of concern and respect, yes, and affection; and you throw it back in my face. And if you don't think that's being proud--"

  "You're not talking about me. You're talking about some stupid fantasy of yours. Grow up, Frederick."

  Then she saw his face change. An expression she couldn't read flared in his eyes, and then fell back consumed, so that she thought something had died. She put out a hand to him, but it was too late.

  "We'll finish this case," he said quietly, standing up and taking his stick. "And then I think we'll call it a day."

  She got up too and took a step towards him. But he left without looking at her, without another word.

  That night, while Sally sat by the ashes of her fire and began one letter after another to Frederick, and found the words as hard to put on paper as they were to say, and finally gave up and put her head on her knees and cried; while Frederick covered page after page with speculations and guesses, and tore them all up, and tinkered with his new American camera before losing his temper and flinging it into the corner; while Webster Garland and Charles Bertram sat and smoked and drank whisky and talked light and shade, gelatine, collodion, calotypes, shutter mechanisms and paper negatives; while Jim, alternately scowling with pain and helpless with love, missed cues and pulled wrong ropes and dropped ladders and stood there tamely with lost eyes as the stage-manager showered him with abuse; while Nellie Budd lay unconscious in a narrow bed, with Frederick's flowers on a chair beside her; while Lady Mary sat silent and perfect and miserable throughout an interminable dinner; while Chaka dreamt of Sally and hunting and Sally and rabbits and Sally - a man knocked at a door in Soho, and waited to be let in.

  He was a young man, brisk and smart and vigorous. He wore conventional evening dress, as if he'd just left a dinner or the opera, and he carried a silver-topped cane, with which he tapped the rhythm of a popular tune on the step.

  Presently the door opened.

  "Ah," said Mr Windlesham. "Come in, come in."

  He stood aside and let the visitor through. This was an office that Mr Windlesham used for business he didn't want traced back to Baltic House. He shut the door carefully and followed the young man into a warm, well-lit room where he had been reading a novel.

  "Your cloak and hat, Mr Brown?"

  Mr Brown gave them up and sat down, looking incuriously at the open book. Mr Windlesham saw where he was looking.

  "The Way We Live Now," he said. "By Anthony Trollope. An amusing book about a financial speculator. Do you enjoy novels, Mr Brown?"

  "No, I don't go much on reading," said Mr Brown. He had a strange voice, with an accent that Mr Windlesham couldn't place, since it belonged to no class and no region that he knew. If it belonged anywhere, it belonged to the future: a hundred years from then, voices like Mr Brown's would be common, though Mr Windlesham could hardly be expected to know that. "Don't seem to have much time for books," he went on. "Give me a good music-hall any day."

  "Ah, yes, the music-hall. And now to business: you come to me highly recommended, not least for your discretion. But we can talk quite openly to one another, I hope. I understand that you kill people."

  "That's correct, Mr Windlesham."

  "Tell me, is it more difficult to kill a woman than a man?"

  "No. A woman, in the nature of things, she's not going to be as quick or as strong as a man, is she?"

  "That wasn't quite what I meant. . . Never mind. How many people have you killed, Mr Brown?"

  "Why d'you want to know?"

  "I'm trying to establish your credentials."

  Mr Brown shrugged. "Twenty-one," he said.

  "Quite an expert. And what is your usual method?"

  "It varies. Depends on the circumstances. Given a choice, I'd go for a knife. There's a sort of craftsmanship with a knife."

  "And craftsmanship is important to you?"

  "I take a pride in my work, same as any professional."

  "Quite so. I currently employ two men who are, alas, far from professional in their standards; I could never trust them with a job such as this. Tell me, what are your plans for the future?"

  "Well, I'm ambitious, Mr Windlesham," said the young man. "There's a steady trade in London and on the Continent, but nothing big. I think my future lies across the Atlantic. I'm a great admirer of the Americans; I've been over there a couple of times. I like the people, I like the way they live. I think I'd do well there. I've got a little money saved. My fee for this job'll add to that. Another few jobs, and I'll be off. Why d'you ask? Your - er - firm likely to be in the market for a man with my skills in the near future?"

  "Oh, I think so. I think so," said Mr Windlesham, his gold-rimmed glasses twinkling.

&n
bsp; "Who's the client?" said Mr Brown, taking out a notebook and pencil.

  "A young woman," said Mr Windlesham. "With a large dog."

  Chapter Thirteen

  A GREAT NEW WORK FOR THE BENEFIT OF ALL MANKIND

  Sally woke up oppressed and unhappy. The morning, just to spite her, was more like April than November: bright and clear and warm, with little fleecy clouds in a broad blue sky. She breakfasted with Isabel on bacon, egg and toast, and left her there with Chaka while she went to Muswell Hill.

  Mrs Seddon of Cromwell Gardens was a pleasant lady of forty or so, who invited Sally into her little parlour and seemed delighted to hear that her pupil Miss Lewis was in London.

  "Such a bright little girl she was! I do hope she'll come and see me. . .Well, what can I do for you, Miss Lockhart?"

  Sally sat down. It was just as well she hadn't brought Chaka, because there wouldn't have been room for him. There wasn't room for both women on the sofa, because of the profusion of crocheted cushions, so Mrs Seddon herself sat at the table in the bay window, under a large aspidistra. Every surface in the room was draped; there were three embroidered antimacassars on the sofa, there were two separate cloths on the table, there were doilies on the windowsill, there was a tasselled fringe around the mantelpiece; even the birdcage had a little frilly skirt. On the wall hung a sampler with the text: "Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest: Home-keeping hearts are happiest."

  Sally put down her bag and began to explain.

  "I'm trying to find out about a firm called North Star Castings. Someone I know lost some money investing in a company that I think was connected with North Star, and I'm just trying to piece together everything I can. I understand that your brother used to work for them."

  Mrs Seddon frowned. "Well, in a manner of speaking. . . Is this a matter for lawyers, Miss Lockhart? I mean, are you on your own, or what? Are you representing someone else?"

  "I'm representing my client," said Sally, a little taken aback by Mrs Seddon's suspicion. "I work for myself as a financial consultant."

  Mrs Seddon's expression was troubled. "I don't know, I'm sure," she said. "I've never heard of. . ." She didn't want to finish the sentence, and looked away in confusion.

  "Of a woman financial consultant? Nor have most people. But I can assure you it's true. In fact that's how I met Miss Lewis, your pupil. And the client who lost the money was a woman as well - a teacher like yourself. If you can tell me what you know about North Star Castings, I might be able to help her get it back. Is there something odd about it?"

  "Well. . . I don't know how to begin, really. Odd? Yes, I suppose so. My brother Sidney, Mr Paton, that is, was really quite brought down by it. In fact he's still out of work. . . Look, Miss Lockhart, this is going to be hard to explain. I'm not sure I've got it straight in my own mind. Stop me if I'm rambling, won't you."

  "Just tell me everything that occurs to you. Don't worry if it's not in order."

  "All right. Now my brother - I think this is important - he's a trade unionist. A socialist. A good man, mind, and my husband Mr Seddon agrees with that, though he's always voted Conservative. But Sidney has that particular point of view, and perhaps it influenced him. I don't know.

  "He's a craftsman - a boiler-maker. Well, he was in Walker and Sons' Locomotive Works. But the place wasn't doing well - lack of orders - no new investment - that kind of thing. That was - oh, two or three years back. Anyway, about that time the owners sold the works to another firm. And they sent in a new manager, a Swede, he was, Swedish or Dutch or something, and he started laying off the men by the score. It was a funny business. They didn't seem interested in new orders, only in completing what was on the books and then laying off the men."

  "Did your brother lose his job?"

  "Not at first. He was a fine craftsman - one of the best workers in the firm. He was one of the few they kept on till the end. But he didn't like it, you know. It seemed funny somehow - this young manager had brought in a team of London men, and foreigners too. They'd go round making notes - notes about everything. Who did this, why he did that, what he did next, how long he took to do it - and not only notes about the job. Private stuff too - like where they lived, what church or chapel they attended, clubs or societies they belonged to, family circumstances - all that.

  "Of course, the trade unions didn't like it. But there was nothing they could do about it if the orders weren't there. And yet there was something funny going on, with the manager and his foreign friends coming in every day and making their notes and having their meetings and measuring and drawing and surveying. . . There was a lot of money at the back of it all, they could tell that. But none of it was coming the way of the men.

  "Then one day last May they held a meeting. All the remaining workers were invited to attend - not required, mind; invited. These had been the ones that had been looked at the closest, remember. There wasn't a detail about them - even down to the rent they paid or how many children they had - that hadn't gone into those notebooks.

  "So the men, these last hand-picked hundred or so, all trooped into the hall they'd hired. Not a stand-up meeting in the yard; a proper sit-down meeting with refreshments, if you please. They'd never seen anything like it. Can you imagine? My brother couldn't take it in, it was so extraordinary.

  "Anyway, when they were all assembled, in came the manager and his friends, and started to talk. I remember Sidney telling me about it, and the impression it made. . . They said the firm was on the verge of the most exciting and revolutionary development in its history. I can't remember the details, except that Sidney said it made him kind of wild with excitement, and all the other men were feeling the same. It was almost religious, Sidney said - which is odd, coming from him, as I'll tell you in a moment. It was just like one of Sankey and Moody's revival meetings, he said. At the end there wasn't one of those men who wouldn't have been willing to sign his life away for a chance of working there."

  Mrs Seddon paused for a moment. She was looking into the fireplace, frowning. Sally said, "But what were they going to do? Surely they weren't just going to go on building railway engines, after a speech like that? Didn't they explain what their plans were?"

  "Not just then, no. It was all stuff about the glorious future and peace and prosperity, about a great new work for the benefit of all mankind, and so on. How they'd be guaranteed a lifetime's work, and a pension, if you please, and new company houses as well, if they'd sign up there and then. Oh yes - and in exchange for these benefits (and more - there was some kind of health insurance they offered as well) they had to renounce their union membership and sign an agreement not to strike.

  "Well, most of the men snapped it up at once and signed. There was a pledge of secrecy in there somewhere - I don't know how legal that would have been, but there was a lawyer there who explained it, Sidney said. It was only afterwards that he thought how odd it was.

  "There were a few men who were a bit more cautious. Sidney was one. They asked if they could have a day or so to think about it. Course you can, said the manager. We don't want to force anyone. Free choice all round. Have a week to think, he said - but you're the best men available, and we'd be sorry to lose you. Flattery, you see, Miss Lockhart.

  "So my brother went home and talked to his wife. There were half-a-dozen or so like him who were cautious, but next day they almost all signed up all right. The union tried to argue the case against, but what did they have to offer compared to the management? And then Sidney heard something from a friend of his at the Workingmen'sLiterary and Philosophical Institute. There was a story going round that the new management had taken an interest in another business nearby, known as Furness Castings. And they planned to bring the two firms together, and this was to be the great work that would benefit mankind and bring peace and prosperity to the whole world.

  "Only my brother Sidney's a pacifist, you see, Miss Lockhart. He doesn't hold with fighting or violence of any kind. He was brought up Chapel, like me, but he took an int
erest in the Quakers soon after he married. He never actually became a member - what do they call them - a Friend, and I suppose that's why the managers didn't realize, or else they'd have got rid of him before that.

  "Because Furness Castings might sound innocent enough, but what they make is guns. Cannons. Armaments, in a word.

  "So he said no, thanks, he wouldn't join; and they paid him off, and he hasn't worked since. I send him a little money every now and then, when I can manage it. And that's about all - except that the two firms are amalgamated now, and it isn't Furness Castings or Walker and Sons, it's North Star Castings. And that's all I know."

  Sally felt like clapping her hands. This was the first solid indication of what Bellmann was doing - guns, armaments, cannons. . .

  "Mrs Seddon, you've been a great help," she said. "I can't tell you how useful this is. There's one other thing: I don't suppose your brother ever mentioned something called the Hopkinson Self-Regulator?"

  She looked doubtful. "If he did, I don't recall," she said. "We never talked much about machinery. . . What is it?"

  "I don't know. It's one of the things I want to find out about. I wonder - could I go and talk to your brother? What's his address?"

  "I'll write it down for you. But. . . I don't know, Miss Lockhart, perhaps I shouldn't have told you this. After all, it isn't really my business. . ."

  "No one asked you to sign a pledge of secrecy, Mrs Seddon. And even if they had, I doubt whether it would have been legal. People only do that sort of thing if they're up to no good. I think your brother's reaction was quite right, and I'd like to go up and talk to him about it."

  Mrs Seddon opened the flap of a little bureau, dipped pen in ink, and wrote a name and address on a card.

  "He's in poor circumstances now," she said, hesitatingly. "I'm well off, by comparison. Mr Seddon's a chief clerk with Howson and Tomkins, the timber merchants, so we're well provided for. And my brother's an older man. . .What I'm trying to say, I think, is that I came from the same background, and I haven't forgotten it. We were poor, but there were always books in the house - and magazines - Household Words and so on - so there was a pride, you see, a respect for learning. I've always had that; it was why I did the Sunday School. And what Sidney'd do without the Institute I don't know. . . Oh, I'm just jabbering. The plain fact is, I don't like it, Miss Lockhart. Something's wrong up there, and I don't know what it is. Here's the address. . ."