The Kingdom of Bones

EIGHTEEN

Sebastian was woken early by an urgent knocking elsewhere in the house, followed by the sound of voices in the street just under his window. When he climbed out of his unfamiliar bed and looked down through the curtains, he had a partial view of two uniformed men on the doorstep in conversation with his host. Letting the curtain fall, he reached for his trousers and quickly stepped into them.

Within a minute or two, he was on his way downstairs, dressed as well as any man whose tailor is a pawnbroker. He was in the house of Thomas Bertorelli, an officer of the Detective Department upon whom he’d been billeted. The Bertorellis were between lodgers, and happy to have a contribution to their rent. Their second bed was lumpy, its covers heavy, the room oppressive; Mrs. Bertorelli was very young, and a terrible cook. Sebastian had felt very much at home.

Bertorelli looked back as Sebastian descended the stairs. The house was too small to have a hallway. The stairs came down the middle of the building between the front and back rooms, their width creating a short passageway between the two. The Bertorellis’ front door opened directly onto the street outside.

Bertorelli waited until Sebastian was close enough for him to speak in a lowered voice.

He said, “One of the actresses didn’t return to the lodgings last night. It seems that Sayers picked her up in a stolen cab.”

“What about our man at the theater?”

“He failed to recognize him.”

Sebastian managed to restrain himself from emitting an oath.

“There is more,” Bertorelli said, and indicated the waiting men with a movement of his head. “We’re assembling a raiding party. The two of them have been located.”

“Where?”

“Just outside of town, in the waiting room of a branchline station. Sayers thinks he can go on fooling us by crossing boundaries. But we’ll have them before the county bobbies get their boots on.”

“This actress,” Sebastian said. “Did she go willingly or not? What I mean to say is, is the woman his victim or his accomplice?”

“According to her employer, Sayers looked upon her with an affection that she did not return. Imagine that, Sebastian. Her situation is not good.”

It was the work of a few seconds for Sebastian to be ready to run. Bertorelli shrugged into his coat and had his necktie in his hand, to fiddle with later. Before Sebastian left the hallway, Bertorelli’s young wife appeared from the kitchen and pressed something into his hand; he looked down and saw that it was a slice of bread, folded over generous dollops of butter and jam.

“Thank you,” he said in genuine appreciation, and then he and her husband set off up the street after the uniformed men.

It was a wide cobbled street with terraced housing down either side. Fifty years before, this had been an area of fields and meadows, but after the building of the local cotton mill and printing works a good seven acres of it had disappeared under brick and stone. At the end of this street, another one ran across. On every corner stood a shop or a pub.

A police transport wagon was drawing into view as they hastened across. Its rear doors were thrown open, and those already inside shouted and beckoned as the four came toward it. The wagon slowed, but didn’t come to a complete stop. Sebastian and the others had to board it on the move. Hands grabbed his shoulders and sped him inside. There was no waiting to get everyone seated; the horses were urged to a trot as soon as all were off the street, and Sebastian had to grab a man’s shoulder or fall. Everyone shifted around to make room on the benches, and he dropped into a seat with his breakfast still miraculously intact in his hand.

Now that all were on board, the officer in charge of the so-called raiding party began to explain what would be required of them. Besides himself and Bertorelli, Sebastian counted ten men in the wagon. One had a shiner of a black eye, and at least two of them bore other signs of battery. All but the officer in charge had turned out with an untidy, unshaven look that would have been frowned upon were they on normal duty. Their officer had a full, dark beard and a center parting.

He said, “A signalman was cycling from his cottage to his work in the early hours of this morning. He passed an unattended horse and hansom in the lane behind the station. The cab was empty and the horse had been set to grazing among the weeds at the roadside.

“He found this unusual. A private carriage left abandoned would be odd enough, but a city cab, so far out of town…When he reached his signal box, he telegraphed up the line to report it.

“When the news reached us, we had him go back to check the number on the carriage license. It was then that the stationmaster told him a man and a woman were in the station’s waiting room, and had been there when he’d arrived. The carriage license matches the cab that Sayers stole.”

Sebastian said, “Are they in hiding? Or do they intend to travel?”

“No one can say.” The officer took out his pocket watch and checked the time. “The first train on the Sunday timetable is due to pass through around now. I’ve ordered the signalman to hold it back until we get there.”

They traveled west, out toward the mill towns and coal-digging communities that marked the spreading edge of the urban sprawl. Here, the future was arriving all of a piece, the canals and the railways, the factories and houses, rising from the green earth like some invader’s machinery of war. It was as if two very different lands occupied the same space. A person could live in a slum, and walk to his twelve hours of labor through fields of grazing cows.

During the last part of their journey, Sebastian shared the breakfast with Bertorelli, and took care not to get jam on his new clothes. His own had been ruined in the canal basin. They’d checked the property store for him but found nothing to fit, which was how he came to be wearing some stranger’s Sunday suit from Uncle’s around the corner. Appropriate, really, as it was now Sunday morning and soon the church bells would start to ring.

The man with the spectacular black eye caught Sebastian’s look, and grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “This time he’ll get as good as he gave.”

“I don’t understand,” Sebastian said.

The officer in charge, who was sitting in the opposite corner of the wagon with his arms folded, said drily, “I’ve heard it suggested that some of these lads may have had it in mind to take Sayers out into the yard and try their luck in a pugilistic contest,” he said. “And that they got a little more competition than they bargained for.”

One of the others, seeing Sebastian’s expression, said, “Our visitor doesn’t approve.”

“Our visitor should remember that he’s a bloody long way from home,” muttered another.

The signalman was waiting for them at the end of the lane. He’d left his apprentice in the box to watch the operating levers and to listen out for messages. Now he stood here with his bicycle, guarding the way. As the men climbed down from the police transport, the officer in charge had a brief consultation with the railwayman before turning and calling Bertorelli forward.

“Take four men and follow the signalman,” he said. “He’ll show you a pathway that crosses the line to the other side of the station. Once you’re in place, spread out so we’ll have Sayers encircled. Whatever happens, we’ve got him now. So let’s not take any chances with the woman’s safety.”

Then he turned to Sebastian.

“You stay close to me,” he said.

Bertorelli and his men crossed the tracks and disappeared into the woodland on the opposite side. The uniformed policemen produced truncheons and the officer in charge took out a small revolver, which he checked and cocked. Sebastian had no weapon.

Cautioned to silence, they fell into single file and started down the lane—the officer in front, Sebastian behind him, and the uniformed men following. The only sound was that of birdsong.

After two hundred yards, they came to the abandoned cab and the grazing horse. The horse paid them no attention. It had been released from the traces, but had not wandered. The morning sun was shining down through the overhanging branches and the scene was one of complete rural tranquillity.

A white picket fence ran down past the station. The station was a small country halt in painted wood, looking vaguely Alpine with all the gingerbread edging along its roof and platform awnings. A single long building incorporated waiting rooms and a ticket office, and an iron footbridge ran over to a second platform on the far side of the tracks.

While the officer and the remaining men carried on to enter by the gateway at the far end, Sebastian hung back. Nothing was set to happen just yet; they had to allow time for Bertorelli and his men to get into place, in case Sayers should try to cross the tracks and disappear into the fields and woodlands beyond.

He was less than happy with what he’d heard on the journey out here. Summary justice, making sport with a prisoner…what next? Public lynchings, and trials by ordeal?

It was positively medieval, and he’d have no part of it. No matter that he was a long way from home. If he could put an arresting hand on Sayers before any of the others got to him, he would.

Left alone now, Sebastian climbed over the picket fence, taking awkward care and making no noise. He stepped through a flower bed to reach a point where he could peer around the building to see what was happening on the platform. When he reached the corner, he positioned himself to lean out and then froze at the sound of nearby voices.

“It’s running late,” he heard Sayers say.

Sebastian risked a look, leaning out an inch or so and holding himself ready to pull back.

The prizefighter was at the platform’s edge, looking up the track. It curved off into deep countryside past the signal box about a quarter of a mile away. The young actress was right beside Sayers; he had his hand on her arm and was holding her close, as if she might otherwise flee. Sebastian thought that he recognized her from the lodging house, but he could not be sure. All he could see for certain was that she was ghastly pale.

Her words were a surprise to him.

“Please, Tom,” he heard her say. “Let me speak for you. I can tell your story to the police. Perhaps I can convince them as you convinced me.”

Something from Sayers then, that Sebastian could not hear.

“But I see the truth of it now,” she said. “James Caspar is to blame and has bound our employer to him in some secret pact. I can explain all this. Will you not let me be your advocate?”

“How can I do that?” Sayers said. “Knowing the danger I’d be placing you in? No, Louise. I’d rather see you safe.”

“But now you’ve warned me of the danger,” she said, “I’ll know exactly how to protect myself.”

At that moment, there came a sound from down the line. It was a train whistle. The locomotive’s approach was further signaled by a moving tower of white smoke against the blue of the sky. Almost immediately after, the engine came into view.

They would later learn that the apprentice signalman had taken his master at his word that they were to “hold the train until the police arrived” looking out of the signal-box window and seeing men in uniform gathering at the gateway on the north side of the station, he’d taken that as his cue to raise the signal and let the train through.

For Sebastian, it was an unwelcome complication but not necessarily a disastrous one. They all but had Sayers now. Even if he succeeded in boarding the train, they could close in and take him from it. But Sebastian had no intention of allowing him to board.

Sayers had his back to him. He was watching the engine as it came into the station. Sebastian grew bold, and started to emerge from his hiding place.

If he could get up behind Sayers without being seen, he might be able to pinion his arms. The officer and the others could rush forward then, and all would quickly be over. It could be carried off without violence or bloodshed.

“Please, Tom,” the woman said. Sayers looked at her.

“You truly believe I am sincere?” he said.

“Tom,” she said. “I know of no more sincere man in this world.”

Sayers seemed to realize that he had been gripping her arm hard enough to cause her pain. Sebastian was out in the open now, but Sayers had not yet seen him.

“Forgive me,” Sayers said to Louise, and released his grip on her.

Whereupon, without any warning, she shoved him hard. He stumbled back. He was close to the edge, and missed his step.

Her action sent him tumbling from the platform, right in front of the moving train.