The Door That Led to Where Page 15

  ‘No, think about Dr Jinx.’

  ‘If I think about Dr Jinx, I think I should have killed the motherfucker.’

  ‘The thing is, no one will recognise you because they would never imagine seeing you dressed as a teddy boy.’

  The clothes that hadn’t fitted AJ made Leon look like a film star.

  They both burst out laughing.

  AJ left a note on the fridge next to Elsie’s. He didn’t say anything specific about where they were going, just that he would be back in the New Year and she wasn’t to worry. Leon said he’d written her a letter and pinned it to the inside of the wardrobe.

  The stairwell smelled of over-boiled cabbage and music wafted from the flats but they saw no one. It occurred to AJ that going on the bus was not the best idea. They were near the bottle banks at the gates when Leon saw two Boris bikes, abandoned and unlocked.

  ‘You up for this?’ he asked.

  ‘Is there a choice?’

  Avoiding all the main roads they cycled through the back streets of Islington and down to Exmouth Market. The car park had emptied out by the time they reached it and AJ’s leg and ribs were hurting worse than ever. He looked at the fence with a sinking heart.

  ‘I don’t know how I’m going to do this.’

  Leon considered the problem. There was no other way to get in.

  ‘You have to,’ he said. ‘Otherwise … ’

  ‘There is no otherwise,’ said AJ.

  Leon helped him up onto his shoulders and with one mighty and painful effort AJ heaved himself over the fence, trying not to scream in agony as he landed, breathless, on the other side.

  ‘What now?’ said Leon, brushing down Jim Tapper’s best suit as he joined AJ.

  AJ hobbled over to the wall with the lintel. Nothing happened. They stood for an age in the orange darkness as a soft, drizzly rain began to fall. Perhaps, he thought, this time there would be no fog, no door, and they would be stuck in this car park, sitting ducks for the lens of the CCTV camera. It would only take someone to report them and it would all be over for Leon.

  Leon didn’t say a word.

  Slowly it began. So slowly that at first neither of them was aware of the fog. Then it was there. Jobey’s Door. The stone face stared down at them.

  Inside, the hall was gloomy. They heard voices from the room on the first floor. Leon froze. He hadn’t spoken since the fog descended.

  AJ called, ‘Mr Ingleby? Mr Ingleby, is that you?’

  A candle flickered, light reluctantly spilt down the stairs and a cat padded slowly towards them, rubbing its back against the banisters. Ingleby’s mother appeared.

  ‘Mr Jobey.’ Her voice was firmer than before. ‘Your friend cannot go about town dressed like that. It would never do.’ The cat curled round her skirts. ‘Would it, my beloved?’ she cooed at it.

  ‘Where is Mr Ingleby?’ asked AJ.

  ‘Where nearly all of London has gone to stretch its ears and find out if Mr Dalton was poisoned. He’s attending the inquest at the Crown Tavern.’ She picked up the cat. ‘You have a visitor, anxious to talk to you.

  ‘Me?’ said AJ.

  ‘Well, it isn’t the Queen of Sheba he wants to speak with.’

  AJ climbed slowly up the rickety staircase.

  ‘You know,’ said Leon who was behind him, ‘I don’t think this property is all that sound.’

  ‘Just remember it’s my house you’re slagging off,’ said AJ.

  In Ingleby’s chamber a man was standing with his back to them, warming his hands at the fire.

  Nonsuch spun round. He stared at Leon.

  ‘I’m half Jamaican,’ Leon said defensively. ‘Do you have a problem, mate?’

  ‘No,’ said Nonsuch. ‘It’s just … ’

  ‘Annie Sorrell was Esme Dalton’s mother, wasn’t she?’ asked AJ quickly.

  ‘Yes. Who told you?’

  ‘You. You just confirmed what I suspected,’ said AJ.

  ‘You’re a smart one.’ Nonsuch sat down, defeated. ‘What the hell. I’ve made a right mess of things.’ With a ball and chain of a sigh he began. ‘Yes, Annie was Esme’s mother. When I saw her brought to the gallows, I lost it. I tried to stop the hanging, attacked some officials, wanted to fight the world for what they were going to do to my Annie. After that I remember nothing until I woke up in prison. I was sentenced to deportation for seven years and I swore that once I’d done my time I would come back and find my little girl, tell her that her mother was innocent. Annie couldn’t have killed the Jobey family.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Annie couldn’t read or write – she was bright but uneducated. She knew nothing about poisons, and whoever killed the Jobeys did. Lucas was my best friend. If for one moment I believed Annie was guilty then I would have said justice had been done that day, regardless of my love for her. She never did it. There were footprints in that room that didn’t belong to the family but no one was interested and for all Ingleby’s efforts and Mr Stone’s, she went to the gallows. She was buried in Newgate Prison and I was sent to Australia.’

  ‘How did you get back?’ asked AJ.

  ‘I did my time and then worked hard to earn the money for my passage home. When we docked I was broke and needed to make some dough. I fell in with a bad crowd, did a few things I’m not proud of and now I’m a wanted man. I had no one to turn to except Ingleby. All I want to do is to take my daughter home.’

  His gaze fixed on Leon again.

  ‘Where is home?’ asked Leon.

  And then it struck AJ that it wasn’t Leon Nonsuch was staring at but the clothes he was wearing. Jim Tapper’s jacket was a tad on the bright side – chemical blue with black velvet pockets and collar, AJ could see it might appear weird in any age – but the spinners in the pinball machine of AJ’s mind began to light up, to make connections.

  It was obvious. How could he have been so thick? The twinkle in Nonsuch’s eyes might have been extinguished but nevertheless they were Elsie’s eyes.

  ‘I would guess home is the twenty-first century,’ said AJ. ‘And you’re on the wrong side of the door.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Nonsuch wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

  ‘Those clothes – they belonged to my dad. Mum kept them in a suitcase on top of her wardrobe.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ said Leon. ‘You’re Norris Tapper.’

  ‘My mum … I can’t bring myself to ask … is she … ’

  ‘Auntie Elsie, as we call her,’ said Leon, ‘is all dolled up and sitting in the Rose and Crown doing the Christmas Quiz.’

  ‘Trust my old mum to be still going strong,’ said Norris, sniffing. ‘And Debbie?’

  ‘Coincidentally,’ said AJ, ‘she buggered off to Australia. She’s not great at keeping in touch. But she sent Elsie a Sydney Opera House fridge magnet for Christmas.’

  ‘Nothing changes,’ said Norris, a flicker of a long-extinguished smile crossing his face.

  Downstairs the front door closed. Norris jumped.

  ‘It’s me,’ shouted Ingleby, his step on the stairs rattling the walls.

  He appeared in the chamber, out of breath, followed by His Honour.

  ‘You must leave now,’ Ingleby said to Norris. ‘That rat of a man at the Red Lion – I knew he was not to be trusted. The police raided the Red Lion this morning, searching for you.’

  ‘You mean the man we met at the inn near the Fleet?’ asked AJ.

  ‘The very same and if I see him again he will be joining the shit at the bottom of the Fleet. The reward on Nonsuch’s head was too tempting for vermin like that.’ Ingleby noticed Leon. ‘The last of your friends I hope, Mr Jobey?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Ingleby, this is Leon.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ said Ingleby. ‘Excuse my manners but we have a pressing problem on our hands and if some solution isn’t found Nonsuch here will be arrested.’

  ‘What does it matter now?’ said Norris. ‘It’s all over.’

  ‘It matters a
lot to your mum,’ said AJ. ‘She’s never given up hope. She’s kept your bedroom just as it was, believing one day you’d come home. I don’t want to have to tell her that I saw you hang at Newgate.’

  ‘So you’ve told them?’ said Ingleby.

  ‘I want to see Esme, just once,’ said Norris.

  ‘The beadle is snooping about,’ said Ingleby. ‘That means the police won’t be far behind.’

  It was Leon who took charge of the situation. To AJ’s astonishment, he stripped off to his boxers.

  ‘Give me your clothes,’ he said to Norris, ‘and put your dad’s on.’

  ‘I won’t go without seeing her.’

  ‘You have no choice,’ said Ingleby. The room, the house and all began to echo to the sound of someone banging at the back door.

  Reluctantly Norris did as he was told.

  They could hear Ingleby’s mother in the hallway.

  ‘What is all the fuss about? Is London on fire?’

  ‘Come on, mate,’ said Leon. ‘And watch out for the CCTV cameras.’

  He and AJ took one of Norris’s arms each and bundled him downstairs.

  AJ opened the door and for a moment caught a glimpse of the twenty-first century as Norris Tapper stepped out into his future.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The beadle, all puffed up, a stuffed turkey of pompous authority, warmed himself by the fire.

  ‘There has been a report,’ he said to Ingleby, ‘that a certain wanted man is hiding in these premises.’ He looked at AJ and then at Leon. Norris’s worn clothes did him no favours.

  ‘My name is Jobey, sir. We met at Mrs Furby’s over a plum pudding,’ said AJ.

  The beadle, a man whose stomach had more intellect than his brain, sighed.

  ‘An exceedingly good plum pudding. One of the finest I have had the pleasure of tasting.’ He turned to Leon. ‘Who might this be?’

  ‘This is Mr Leon Grant,’ said AJ. ‘A highly educated young man who has been travelling. He has just arrived in London.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the beadle. ‘That would, I suppose, explain the condition of your attire.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leon. He said it as if it was final, no more questions necessary.

  The beadle, unsatisfied with the lean answer he had been given, was working up to fattening it with more questions when Ingleby’s mother appeared, surrounded by cats and bringing with her the pungent smell of cats’ piss.

  ‘Mother,’ said Ingleby angrily. ‘What have I said about your felines and their proximity to His Honour?’

  The magpie spread its wings in agreement.

  The beadle sneezed.

  ‘I cannot … ’ he said and sneezed again. ‘Cats,’ he managed to say, despite watery eyes and a runny nose. Then, giving up all notions of searching the premises, said he must be gone.

  Leon waited until Ingleby and the beadle had left the room and Ingleby’s mother had disappeared down the back staircase.

  ‘This is awesome,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but there’s no bog, no internet, no mobile,’ AJ reminded him. ‘And no skateboards.’

  ‘Your point?’ said Leon.

  ‘You won’t like it here. There’s terrible poverty. And slavery.’

  ‘What? And you think there isn’t where we’ve just come from? It’s the same, bro, only hidden by better drains and deodorants. But underneath there’s not much difference. And I have an advantage – I have seen the future.’

  Ingleby was in the doorway, listening.

  ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘I would not live in your world, Mr Jobey. It smells of something far worse than unwashed bodies; it stinks of loneliness.’ He went to a cabinet and poured them each a glass of wine. ‘Welcome to 1830, Leon Grant, Esquire. Mother,’ he called. ‘We cannot have Mr Grant dressed like this.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said coming back upstairs, without the cats.

  AJ had believed that mother and son couldn’t stand one another. It was only now that he saw how wrong he was.

  ‘I’ve brought His Honour his dinner. The beadle left.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, dear. How clever of you to remember his dislike of cats. The minute he sniffed them he was gone. But we have a small problem that could trip us up and send us flying. The solution comes in the shape of a suit of clothes for this young man.’

  Mrs Ingleby sized up Leon.

  ‘You had better come with me,’ she said to him.

  When Leon reappeared, the transformation was surprising. He was the most handsome dandy in London town.

  Mrs Ingleby giggled. ‘The young man was made for this century. Sir, you will have half the ladies in the metropolis swooning at your feet.’

  ‘Mother, please,’ said Ingleby.

  Leon was grinning as if Arsenal had just won the FA Cup.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Iron Duke himself might have arrived at Mrs Furby’s for all the fuss that was made of Leon. It was hard for AJ and Slim to keep a straight face especially when Ingleby solemnly announced that they where honoured to have such a well-educated gentleman come to stay.

  Mrs Furby, holding on to the back of an upright chair, said, ‘My word – and a friend of yours, Tom?’

  There followed a prologue of apologies about the humbleness of her boarding house and its virtue lying in it being clean.

  ‘Humble but clean,’ Mrs Furby kept repeating, still gripping the chair for support.

  AJ supposed she was in fear of being overcome completely by the presence of such a fine young man.

  Even Mrs Downie and her daughter Flora, who both found putting more than one word in front of another somewhat tricky, suddenly discovered their fledgling voices and started chirping together, wondering if the gentleman shouldn’t be given their rooms. They were more than happy to move upstairs. Leon listened to all this nonsense, unable to believe it. Seeing that it wasn’t going to stop anywhere short of New Year he made an attempt to pop all their balloons of high expectations.

  ‘Mrs Furby,’ he said flatly. ‘I have returned from a long and difficult journey and … ’

  ‘Highwaymen?’ she interrupted.

  Leon shook his head. ‘I have been abroad,’ he said.

  ‘Oh – you have been overseas,’ said Mrs Furby with relief.

  Slim warmed to the idea that Leon had returned from a voyage to distant lands.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and my friend lost everything when his ship was sunk by pirates. All his belongings and, worse still, his mother, who he did his best to save.’

  A glare from Leon stopped Slim from further flights of fancy but to Mrs Furby and the boarders Leon appeared as the best kind of hero, one who had tried and failed.

  Slim began to regret advertising Leon’s bravery. Dora appeared quite overcome by all that had befallen him.

  ‘That is truly terrible,’ she said as she rang the bell for refreshments.

  Nellie entered with the tea tray and promptly turned bright red when she saw Leon. She even made a little curtsy as she put the tray on a side table.

  Slim, whose nose was definitely out of joint, touched the teapot and said, ‘Did you boil the water?’

  ‘As good as near, sir,’ said the maid.

  ‘It has to boil. How many times must I tell you? And did you filter the water?’

  ‘I forgot, sir, in the excitement.’

  Slim handed the tray back to the maid. She looked at Mrs Furby.

  ‘Nellie,’ said Mrs Furby firmly. ‘You will do as Mr Slim asks. The water must be filtered, then boiled for two minutes or longer. Preferably longer.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said Nellie.

  ‘Let us have wine instead. A celebration,’ suggested Mrs Furby.

  As Nellie went to fetch wine and glasses, Mr Flint explained Tom’s extraordinary system of filtering water.

  ‘You saw the bottom off a glass bottle, then stuff the neck with cotton rag and add charcoal. I tell you, it’s a miracle. Even the brown water from the River Fleet becomes as
clear as glass. A magician couldn’t perform a better trick.’ He clapped his hands together and lowered his voice. ‘I am thinking of finding a way to market it. Since we have been using Tom’s “water purifying method” as he calls it, not one of us has been ill – quite a feat in this metropolis.’

  Mrs Downie, having taken one glass of wine, found her tongue to be positively sailing away with her.

  ‘It’s a terrible business, would you not agree, Mr Flint? Cholera has reached St Petersburg. I am frightened that it will not be long before London succumbs to this terrible disease and that we will all be brought to our deaths by it.’

  ‘Not if you purify the water and boil it,’ said Slim.

  ‘Mr Slim, that is not what I have heard. You catch it through a miasma.’

  ‘A smell?’ said Leon and burst out laughing. ‘You are joking!’

  ‘It is no laughing matter,’ said Mrs Downie.

  She brought out a handkerchief and dabbed at invisible tears.

  ‘There, there,’ said Mr Flint kindly.

  ‘Keep drinking Mr Flint’s teas,’ Slim added, ‘and you’ll stay in the rudest of health.’

  Flora was thrilled by the turn in the conversation. All things morbid interested her greatly.

  ‘I have heard a rumour that the daughter of a Mr Dalton of St John Street is quite mad and poisoned her father.’

  ‘Flora,’ said Mrs Downie, ‘that is nothing more than gossip.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Flora, bringing out a cheap pamphlet.

  This was Flora’s moment in the spotlight. She read out loud: ‘”To think of the awful suffering of the housekeeper, living in fear that she will be the next to be given arsenic.’”

  ‘That is just the kind of nonsense that appears in those publications,’ said Ingleby.

  ‘’’Doctor Seagrave,”’ continued Flora, ‘”is to go to the house in St John Street tomorrow to have Miss Dalton committed to an asylum.’”

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Ingleby. ‘There was no mention of that today at the inquest.’

  This is all to do with that bloody will, thought AJ.

  Flora was annoyed at not being taken seriously and changed the subject.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ Flora asked Leon.