The Ruby in the Smoke (21 page)

"Put her down," said Frederick Garland. "Put her down at once or I'll kill you."

Mr. Berry stood still. Jim wrenched his head around. Frederick was standing limply, one hand against the wall. His face was terribly marked. An eye was closed, his

mouth was swollen, one cheek was blackened and cut, and he was shaking all over. Mrs. Holland stood and watched comfortably.

"How?" said Mr. Berry.

"Put her down and find out," said Frederick.

"I thought I sorted you out," said Mr. Berry.

"You're losing your touch, Mr. Berry," said Mrs. Holland. "Mind you, he's a game chicken, this one. That makes four times now he's crossed my path. I want him dead, Mr. Berry. Give me the girl."

Adelaide was as limp as a doll. Mr. Berry dropped her and Mrs. Holland seized her at once.

"He'll kill yer, Fred," croaked Jim.

"No, he won't," said Frederick thickly.

Then Mr. Berry ran at him, and Frederick dodged. Jim thought: Never^ never — he'll never live. But he's brave, though.

Frederick took a blow to the head and fell, but twisted out of reach of Mr. Berry's boots. He ain't got his stick, thought Jim; he must've dropped it to pick Adelaide up. And then Frederick reached the wall and pushed sideways, sweeping his leg around to bring the big man down.

He fell like a tree, and Frederick was on him at once, pummeling and punching and gouging and twisting—but he was so slight and so weakened that his blows were like those of a child. Mr. Berry brought up an arm like an oak beam and swept Frederick aside. Jim struggled frantically to get up, and put his weight on the damaged arm for a moment, only to find it collapsing the wrong way under him. He crumpled at once into such a blaze of pain as he had never imagined. His head struck something loose as he fell. The stick, he thought, and fainted.

Another second and he was awake again, to find Frederick on his knees a yard away, shielding himself from a barrage of blows that thundered down on his shoulders and head. He struck out in reply and missed with three blows for every one that landed—but he was so weak now that his punches would hardly have hurt Adelaide. Jim twisted and reached out with his good arm till it found the stick, rm going to die of this pain, he thought. / canh bear it — but look at Fred — he won't stop — nothingll stop him, he's like me, he is — he's a good un —

"Here y'are, Fred," he said, and thrust the stick at him. Frederick felt it in his hands before Mr. Berry saw what was happening, and the feel of it seemed to give him strength. He put both hands around it and jabbed it forward into the big man's stomach. Mr. Berry gasped, and Frederick did it again and scrambled to his feet.

They were a yard or so from the edge of the wharf. Frederick knew this was his last chance. Some ghostly remnant of his fencing came back, and he balanced himself and lashed forward. He could hardly see: both eyes were filled with blood; but he felt the stick connect, and heard Jim's cry—"This way! This way, Fred!"

He struck again and wiped his eyes. Jim hurled himself at the big man's knees and, tangled, Mr. Berry fell—^just at the edge of the wharf. Frederick struck again; Mr. Berry raised himself to his knees and swung his fist at Jim, catching him on the ear. Jim fell, but the big man was off balance. Frederick saw his chance, and with the last of his strength swung the stick.

Mr. Berry disappeared.

Jim was lying still. Frederick fell to his knees and was

sick. Jim pulled himself to the edge and looked over. There was silence.

"Where is he?" said Frederick through thick lips and broken teeth.

"Down there," said Jim.

Frederick crawled to the edge. There was a stone platform a yard or so wide at the foot of the jetty; Mr. Berry lay sprawled half across this and half across the mud. His head was twisted horribly to one side.

"You done it," said Jim. "We done it. We killed him."

"Where's Adelaide?"

They looked around. The wharf was empty. The rain had stopped, and the puddles gleamed in the dim light. Below them on the mud the lowest boats were stirring and slowly righting themselves, as if they were rising from their graves; but it was only the tide coming in. Jim and Frederick were alone. Adelaide had gone.

London Bridge

Much later, sally awoke, the hands of the kitchen clock had advanced to midnight, and the fire had burned low. Trembler was asleep in the armchair. Everything was familiar—except herself; for she had changed, and so the world had changed. She could hardly believe what had happened . . . except that it explained everything.

Trembler woke up with a start.

"Good God, miss! What's the time.^"

"Midnight."

"Have you—oh, no, I didn't fall asleep, did I?"

She nodded. "It doesn't matter."

"You all right, miss.^ I'm awful sorry—"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"You look proper shocked, as if you've seen a ghost. Let me make you a cup o' tea. And I said I'd stay awake. . . . Fat lot o' good I am."

Sally wasn't listening. Trembler got up and touched her shoulder.

"Miss.^"

"I've got to find the ruby. I've got to have it."

203

She stood up and moved to the window, looking distracted, beating her hands together gently. Trembler stood away, alarmed, and gnawed his mustache. Then he spoke again.

"Miss, wait till Mr. Frederick gets back—"

There was a rattle at the door. Trembler sprang to unlock it, and a moment later Rosa was in the kitchen, cold and wet and cross.

"What on earth have you got the door locked for? Ugh—what a night! And the house less than half full, and a miserable bunch they were—Sally, what's the matter? What is it? What's that smell?"

She wrinkled her wet nose and brushed the water out of her eyes as she looked around and saw the ash and the matches on the table.

"What's this? Not opium?"

Trembler came in before Sally could speak. "It was my fault. Miss Rosa," he said quickly. "I let her do it."

"And what's happened to you?" She dropped her cloak on the floor and hurried to look at his bruised eye and cheek. "What in the world has been going on? Where's Fred?"

"Adelaide's gone," said Trembler. "Mrs. Holland come with some great big bruiser and snatched her in the street. Mr. Fred and that young Jim went after 'em."

"When?"

"Hours back."

"Oh my God—but Sally, why the opium?"

"I had to. Now I've got to find the ruby, because I know all about it. Oh, Rosa, I'm—"

Her voice shook, and she put her arms around Rosa and broke into a sudden sobbing. Rosa embraced her and sat her down gently.

"What is it, love? What's the trouble?"

Her cold wet hands soothed Sally's cheeks. In a moment or so Sally shook her head and sat up straight, wiping away the tears with rough fingers.

"I've got to find that ruby. That's the only way I'll ever finish this business off. I've got to work it out . . ."

"Wait there," said Rosa.

She ran upstairs and was back in under a minute. She dropped something on the table—something heavy, wrapped in a handkerchief; something that glinted in the linen folds.

"I don't believe it," said Trembler.

Sally looked at her in pure astonishment.

"It was Jim," Rosa explained. "He—you know these stories he's always reading—I suppose he thinks like a sensational novelist. He worked it out some time ago. It was in a pub in Swaleness, apparently—I can't remember the details—but he kept it away from you because he thought there was a curse on it and he didn't want you hurt. Do you know what he thinks of you, Sally? He worships you. But he brought it to me today because he thought I'd know what to do. He told me the whole story just before I left for the theater, so I didn't have time to tell you earlier on. It's Jim you've got to thank. Anyway . . . There it is."

Sally, speechless, reached out and opened the handkerchief. In the center of the crumpled whiteness was a dome of blood—a stone the size of the top joint of a man's thumb, containing all the redness in the world. It seemed to draw in the light of the nearby lamp and magnify it, and change it, and cast it out again as visible heat; and inside it was that shimmering drugged landscape of caverns, ravines, abysses, which had so mesmerized Major

Marchbanks. Sally felt her head swim and her eyelids droop . . . Then she closed her hand around it. It was hard and small and cold. She stood up.

"Trembler," she said, "take a cab now and go to Hangman's Wharf. Tell Mrs. Holland that I have the ruby, and I will meet her in the middle of Lx)ndon Bridge in an hour's time. That's all."

"But—"

"I'll give you the money. Do it, Trembler. You—you fell asleep while I was in my Nightmare; please do this."

A spasm crossed her face as she said this, as if she hated reminding him of his failure. He bowed his head and shuffled into his greatcoat.

Rosa jumped up.

"Sally—you can't! You mustn't! What are you thinking of?"

"I can't explain now, Rosa. But I will soon. And you'll see I've got to meet her."

"But—"

"Please, Rosa, trust me. This is the most important thing—the only thing that matters now—you can't understand. ... I couldn't understand myself, before . . ."

She indicated the ashes of the opium and shuddered.

"At least let me come with you," said Rosa. "You can't go alone. Tell me on the way."

"No. I want to meet her alone. Trembler, you're not to come there yourself. Just send her."

He looked up guiltily, and then nodded and left.

Rosa went on: "I'll let you go onto the bridge alone but I'm coming as far as there with you. I think you're crazy, Sally."

"You don't know—" Sally began, but shook her head. "All right. But you promise to let me meet her alone.

You've got to promise not to interfere, whatever happens."

Rosa nodded. "All right," she said. 'Tm starving. I'm going to eat a sandwich on the way."

She cut a slice of bread from the loaf on the sideboard and spread it thickly with butter and jam.

"Ready for anything," she said. "And sopping wet. You're mad, you're insane. A lunatic. Come on—it's a long walk."

Sally heard the city clocks chiming the half hour: half past one. She walked slowly back and forth, ignoring the occasional pedestrian and the even more occasional cab or four-wheeler. Once a policeman stopped and asked if she was all right, evidently thinking that here was another of those poor wretches who looked to the river as the answer to all their sorrows; but she smiled and reassured him, and he walked on steadily.

A quarter of an hour passed. A cab rolled up to the bank at the northern end of the bridge, but no one got out. The driver hunched his coat up around his shoulders and dozed, waiting for a passenger. The river moved beneath her; she watched the tide flowing in, lifting the boats tied up at both banks, with their riding lights glowing. Once a police steam-launch chugged down from Southwark Bridge. She watched it come and disappear beneath her feet, and then walked across to see it come out the other side and go down slowly past the dark bulk of the Tower and curve off toward the right. She wondered if that thickly clustered shore on the left was Wapping, and if so, which of those black wharves backed onto Holland's Lodgings.

Time passed; she got colder. The clocks chimed again.

And then a figure appeared under the gasHght at the northern end of the bridge—a squat, dumpy figure in black.

Sally straightened, and a yawn died away in her throat. She stood in the middle of the pavement, clear of the parapet, so as to be seen, and in a moment the figure began to move toward her. It could only be Mrs. Holland; Sally saw her clearly. Even at this distance, the old woman's eyes seemed to glitter. She moved in and out of alternate shadow and light, limping a little, wheezing, holding her side, but never stopping.

She came to within three yards of Sally and stopp)ed. The ancient crooked bonnet she wore obscured the top part of her face so that only her mouth and chin could be seen clearly, her mouth working all the time as if she were chewing something small and resistant; but still the eyes glittered in the darkness.

''Well, dear.^" she said at last.

"You killed my father."

Mrs. Holland's mouth opened a little, exposing the great sheet of teeth. A pointed, leathery tongue crawled slowly across them and withdrew.

"Well," she said. "You can't make accusations of that kind, missy."

"I know all about it. I know that Major Marchbanks— that Major Marchbanks was my father. He was, wasn't he?"

Silence from Mrs. Holland.

"And he sold me, didn't he? He sold me to Captain Lockhart, the man I thought . . . the man I knew as my father. He sold me for the ruby."

Mrs. Holland was perfectly still, perfectly silent.

"Because the maharajah gave the ruby to my—to Captain Lockhart as payment for protecting him during the mutiny. That's right, isn't it?"

Slowly the old woman nodded.

"Because the rebels thought he was helping the British. And my f—and Captain Lockhart left Major Marchbanks guarding the maharajah in—in the dark somewhere—"

"The Residency cellars," said Mrs. Holland. "With the women—some of 'em. And the children—some of 'em."

"And Major Marchbanks had been smoking opium— and he was afraid and ran away and they killed the maharajah and when he came back with my—with Captain Lx)ckhart . . . they quarreled. Major Marchbanks begged for the ruby. He had debts and he couldn't pay them—"

"The opium. Pitiful. It was opium as killed him."

"row killed him!"

"Now, now. I want that ruby, miss. That's what I come for. I got a right to it."

"You can have it—when you tell me the rest of the truth."

"How do I know you got it?"

For answer Sally took the handkerchief out of her bag and set it on the parapet under the gaslight. She unwrapped the ruby so that it sat, red on white, in the very center of the broad stone ledge. Mrs. Holland took an involuntary step toward it.

"One more step and it goes over," said Sally. "The truth. I know enough now to be able to tell if you're lying. I want it all."