The Candle Man (8 page)

‘I beg your pardon? Jewellery?’

Bill grinned in the dark. He had this man’s full attention. He felt a buzz of nervous excitement and satisfaction at seeing this smug stuck-up bastard lose his cool inbred demeanour, if
only for a fleeting moment.

‘A gift. A keepsake – gold by the look of it – with an interestin’ pattern on it and a proper maker’s mark on the bottom of it. Best bit, though, Mr Jones, the best
bit is a real nice portrait photograph on the inside of it.
Luverly
picture of a gentleman, a woman an’ a nipper. Very much in love, by the looks of it. How’s it go? Very much
the ’appy family.’

Bill hushed now, satisfied that his speech had come out pretty close to the way he’d practised it.

‘I see.’

He wanted desperately to look around, behind himself, to check and see if Mr Jones had brought with him some hired knuckle-heads. But he knew he needed to remain calm, remain in control, remain
businesslike
.

‘If you were to show this particular piece of jewellery to me, Mr Tolly, I might actually believe you.’

This is it, Bill, mate . . . this is where you go very careful.

‘See, I’d be a right fuckin’ fool if I brought it along ’ere tonight, dontcha think, Mr Jones? A right fool.’ He glanced around now. ‘I’d say you mighta
brought a chiv man or two along tonight.’

The gentleman stared at him silently. In the failing twilight, the faint dark patches that hinted at eyes, nose and mouth had merged into one shape now beneath the brim of his hat. ‘You
are playing an exceedingly dangerous game, Mr Tolly. I would strongly advise against that.’

‘I ain’t playing a game. This is a business deal, Mr Jones. I’m a business man.’

The gentleman wheezed a soft, sputtering laugh. ‘No, you are not. You’re a common crook who believes he’s stumbled across something of value.’

‘But, see, I have, ain’t I?’

‘You have a trinket that might – at worst – cause embarrassment to an associate of mine. That is all. You go and fetch it, bring it back here and, if you are quick about it, I
shall be prepared to give you another hundred pounds for the errand and not a penny more.’

Bill shook his head. ‘Nah, that’s all right. It’s safe with me bizness partner. Think it can stay where it is for now.’

‘Partner?’ The word filled the space between them. ‘Now, you
assured
me you work alone, Tolly.’

Bill realised the mention of someone else involved in this deal was deeply unsettling for Mr Jones. Just as unsettling, in fact, as hearing Mr Jones refer to ‘we’.

‘So? I ’ad a little ’elp to do the job. A coupla ’elpers to be sure.’

‘And they . . .’ A long pause. A very long pause. ‘And they
know
about this trinket?’

‘Oh, yes they do, Mr Jones. But don’t worry, they won’t flap their mouths. Not when there’s some decent money to be ’ad out of you.’

Bill realised he was trembling; not out of fear, but sheer damned excitement. He could hear an unsteady warble in this gentleman’s voice and knew this was going perfectly. Far better than
he could ever have imagined.

He’s fucking scared shitless.

‘Please understand, Mr Tolly, that we . . . uh . . . we could find you very easily. And if we decided to do that, you and your colleagues would end up in a very unfortunate way.’ The
gentleman took a step closer, but Bill stood his ground.

Brass it out, Bill. Show ’im who’s boss here.

If Mr Jones had brought along with him a pair of knuckle-heads, then now would be the time he’d beckon them forward, he figured.

‘Mr Jones, you ain’t gonna find this nice little piece and the picture in it, not if you do anything to me. It’s safe with a friend of mine. Anythin’ funny ’appens
to me and it’ll get took to one of ’em penny papers.’

Mr Jones stopped where he was. ‘It would be desirable to have this item back without any more blood being shed.’ He waved a hand. ‘The money is inconsequential. But discretion,
you understand; discretion – that’s something we value far more.’

‘I can un’erstan’ that, Mr Jones. Summin’ like this in the paper would be very embarrassin’.’

‘Hmmm,’ replied the gentleman. He turned to watch the last of the crimson stain disappear from the twilight sky. Silent consideration of the way ahead that lasted long enough for
Bill to prompt him.

‘So . . . Mr Jones?’

‘So, it seems, then, our little matter is not going to be concluded tonight. You and I will require a second meeting. I don’t have that sum of money on me right now.’

Bill shrugged. ‘Of course not. Didn’t expect yer to. But I’ll ’ave me hundred pounds now, Mr Jones, if that’s all the same to yer. And the rest when yer got
it.’

‘I shall need to make some . . . uh . . . arrangements first.’

‘Do what you ’ave to, but you don’t want to keep me waitin’ too long, Mr Jones. I tend to get impatient.’

‘I
s he awake yet this morning?’

The ward matron turned at the sound of her soft voice. ‘Ahh, here she is again! Good morning, Mary,’ she said with a polite nod. ‘Yes, he’s up and about. Had a cup of tea
and making quite a nuisance of himself so far this morning.’

‘Oh, good,’ Mary replied cheerfully, striding along the polished floor of the hallway towards the nurses’ station, a bunch of fresh daffodils under one arm and a basket of
fruit from the market in the other.

‘Good lord! Are those grapes! Goodness, lucky Mr Argyll!’

Mary smiled as she passed by. ‘Yes, I heard tell they were good for a weak constitution,’ she replied, self-conscious that she was over-egging her ‘h’s.

Over the last week, she’d been working so hard on that, and other things. Listening closely to the way more refined ladies than her spoke to each other. This morning, stopping at Covent
Garden on the way in to Saint Bart’s, she’d discreetly followed two well-to-do young ladies all the way around the market, listening to the sounds of the words coming out of their
mouths and the sorts of things they talked about. Mary had all new clothes now. Nice clothes, better than she’d ever worn before. And walking around the market, if she kept her mouth shut and
just practised the measured little steps of a properly
finished
lady, if she didn’t swing her arms like she was used to doing but kept them occupied holding a small purse, she could
almost pass as one of them.

Almost?

No, not almost – she did. Men – the nice gentlemen – tipped their hats, offered polite smiles and stepped aside for her. And the tradesmen and stall owners! Good lord, there
were even faces amongst them she recognised, men who would have crudely wolf-whistled at her only a few days ago, or slapped her behind playfully or even grabbed at her cleavage. Now they doffed
their caps politely and with exaggerated and misplaced ‘h’s enquired
hhhhall hhhabout ’er ’ealth
.

Mary bustled into the ward and instantly spotted John Argyll sitting in striped hospital issue pyjamas, a dressing gown and slippers on his bed, frowning at the morning paper. The dressing on
his head had been replaced a couple of times, on each occasion with somewhat less wadding, so that it looked not quite so comical now.

‘Good morning, John!’

Argyll looked up at her, his tanned face splitting instantly into a broad smile. ‘Am I happy to see you. This damnable word right here is driving me crazy. What is it?’ he said,
pointing to the column of text for an article about domestic sanitation. She leant over his shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the word his finger was hovering over.

‘Basin.’

He squinted and leant closer. ‘Good grief, I think you’re right!’ He shook his head, confounded and annoyed with himself. ‘I kept looking at it, spelling all the letters
out correctly, and yet just couldn’t make sense of the damned thing!’

‘You shouldn’t fret about it, John. You know what Doctor Hart said: that there might be things that don’t make sense to you at first. But they’ll come back to
you.’

He nodded. ‘I know, I know, but it’s the fact I can read all the other words. It’s just so damned irritating. Doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Your damaged mind will get better.’ She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. ‘It will, love.’

But, please, not too quick.

She sat down in the visitor’s chair by his side. ‘You’re remembering things better now, aren’t you? What about the things we talked about yesterday evening? Can you
remember?’

They’d been playing cards – cribbage – and speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the others in the ward. Argyll had been asking about them, what they had meant to each
other before the incident, how they met, where they lived, what he did for work. A million and one questions that Mary had managed to answer cautiously. The surgeon, Dr Hart, had suggested it best
that, at first, she should not tell him the answers to too many things; that she should let him ask the questions, then try and reach for the answers himself. It might be better for his healing
brain to be worked rather than spoon-fed. And at the very least, if he started to learn things about himself that he hadn’t been told, then it would be a sign that some degree of his amnesia
was clearing up.

He nodded proudly. ‘I remember everything from yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘I remember you cheated at crib.’

Her jaw dropped in mock horror. ‘John! How could you say such an awful bad thing? Me? A cheat!’ Her horror dissolved into a polite giggle as she squeezed his hand.

‘I remember how little I know about us,’ he said after a while. Sadly. ‘I wish I could remember how we first met, how we felt . . .’ He shook his head.

‘The doctor said I have to let you see if you can find those things yourself. I’m sorry.’

He stroked his chin, thick with bristles, much in need of a wet shave. ‘But you, Mary, you have it all in your memory. You remember us.’ He looked at her. ‘And . . . and did
you . . . ?’

Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Did I love you?’

He looked desperately hopeful. Puppy-dog pitiful in his pyjamas.

‘Yes . . . yes, I do, John.’

Relief spilled across him. An odd expression on such a mature face. Mary supposed the man must be in his mid- to late-thirties; crow’s feet arcing down across sun-browned skin that she
imagined had seen a lifetime of wonderful and exciting things in America. And yet there was the smile of an innocent child on his craggy cheeks.

‘I’d be so lost without you.’ He looked around at some of the other men, old and young, in the row of beds opposite. Some of them had yet to receive a single visitor, as if
they were entirely alone in this world. Unmissed. Unnoticed. But he was lucky. He had this wonderful young lady. A breath of fresh air, a spoon of sugar in a bowl of oats. Her chirruping voice
lightened the oppressive gloom of the ward, which was otherwise a sea of sighing breaths, moans and sleep-talking threats and curses.

‘Doctor Hart said I may not need to remain in the hospital much longer. A few more days at most to make sure the swelling has gone down and to remove the stitches in my side.’

‘That’s . . .’ Mary smiled. ‘That’s wonderful news.’ Her stomach flipped. So distracted with her daily visits here, dodging the other girls in her lodging
house and their inevitable probing questions as to what the devil she’s been up to these last few days, and pretending to be someone she wasn’t, she’d given little thought as to
what happened next. She wasn’t even sure why she’d been coming to visit John this last week. Surely the prudent thing to do would be to run. Get out of London now, before this sham fell
apart. But she found herself coming here, dutifully, every morning. What was that? Guilt? Concern for this lost soul? Something else?

‘I can’t wait to come home,’ he said quietly. He tossed a conspiratorial nod at the old man in the next bed. ‘The chap over there keeps breaking wind during the
night.’ His face wrinkled. ‘Most awful bloody smell.’

Mary smiled. But her mind was racing. Home. The moment he checked out of the hospital and they asked for a contact address, this little sham was all going to be over.

John squeezed her hand. ‘Can’t wait to come home.’

‘Yes.’ She leant close to him, kissed him tenderly on the cheek. ‘I’m going to take good care of you, my love.’