The Hidden Man (35 page)

‘I hear you go by the name Barbara in this house,' I said. ‘But what is your real name?'

Her glance darted to each of the faces that confronted her, but she did not reply. There was more of timidity than sulk in her expression and her silence seemed a way of protecting herself rather than a defiance. She ended with a long look of curiosity at Quick while I addressed her as gently as I could.

‘This here is Mr Elijah Quick, from Liverpool. If you truly cannot speak, or prefer not to, he will show you another way in which you can help us.'

With a touch on his arm I invited Quick to enter the conversation.

‘Now, missy,' he said, leaning a little towards her and fixing his eyes upon hers, ‘these are kind gentlemen who mean you no harm. Will you nod your head, please, if you understand me?'

We waited. Again her eyes did the rounds of our faces before returning their gaze to Elijah. He continued watching her carefully.

‘Or if you prefer you could say “no” by shaking your head – like this – if you do not understand me.'

The girl hesitated a moment longer, then seemed to make up her mind that Elijah Quick, at least, was more her friend than her foe. She gave him a slight but distinct nod of the head.

He smiled broadly.

‘That's very good, missy.' He grew immediately more grave. ‘Now we want to know about your Master, Mr Jackson. You understand what has happened to him? That he has been horridly murdered?'

Another nod, a miserable one.

‘Did you see it?'

Yes. Tears flooded her eyes and Quick took out a handkerchief, which he handed to her. His next question was spoken very low, and very seriously.

‘And was you a pal of the one that did that murder?'

A dab of the eyes and a vehement head-shake.

‘We did not think you was, but must ask. You witnessed a terrible thing happening. Was it just one man that did it – attacked Mr Jackson?'

No.

‘Two?'

No again.

‘Show me how many there was. Show me with your fingers.'

She held up three fingers.

Three?
I looked in surprise at Fidelis but he was leaning forward, and concentrating intently on the girl. I was equally enthralled. It was just the same procedure as Fidelis had devised for communicating with Adam Thorn. It was also like a stalking game. You just had to find the right sequence of questions to ask and, finding it, you gradually crept closer to your quarry. Quick, it appeared, was by instinct very good at it.

‘Had you seen any of the three before that night?' went on Quick.

No.

‘Do you know the name of any of them?'

This time she did not move and Quick immediately saw her difficulty. The schoolmaster's manner was skilfully attuned to the circumstances: it was gentle and yet had authority.

‘Might you know the name, but are not sure?'

Yes.

‘And is that name—?'

He looked at me. He must have forgotten the name I'd given him earlier.

‘Zadok Moon,' I whispered.

‘Zadok Moon,' repeated Quick. ‘Yes. Might one of them have been this man, Zadok Moon?'

She had stiffened when she heard the name, and now nodded her head.

‘Did Mr Jackson speak to you about this man?'

Yes.

‘But you never saw him?'

No.

‘Do you think Mr Jackson and Mr Moon were friends?'

She did not.

‘Did Mr Jackson believe that Mr Moon meant him harm?'

Yes.

‘Did he say why?'

He did.

Fidelis, who had continued to watch the girl as a cat sits over a mouse-hole, suddenly intervened.

‘Did he say it was because of what Mr Jackson revealed at the inquest here in Preston?' he asked, sharply.

The girl, still looking steadily at Quick, did not move her head, but her eyes opened a fraction wider. Quick said, more gently,

‘Did he, missy? What the doctor said?'

He did.

I murmured in Quick's ear that I would like to ask her some questions myself, as I wanted to know what had happened on the previous Thursday night.

‘Will you answer the Coroner's questions, missy? You only need to show him your “yes” or your “no”, in the same way as you have shown me.'

She had begun to appear less frightened now and indicated she would answer me. I put my thoughts in order for a moment, and began.

‘You and Mr Jackson were staying at the Lamb and Flag Inn, here in Preston?'

Yes, they were.

‘And late in the evening Mr Jackson went out of the inn.'

Yes.

‘Did you go with him?'

No, she did not.

‘And did he tell you where he was going?'

No

‘Did he tell you to stay in the room and wait for him?'

He did.

‘And did you do that?'

She did not.

‘Because you were concerned for his safety – and didn't want to be left alone?'

Two nods: yes to both.

The process continued until we understood that Jackson had met someone that night in Market Place, and that they had walked out of town. She had followed without being seen, as it was a dark night.

‘Did you follow them to the wild place where Mr Jackson's body was found? The place with the big Stone?' I asked.

No.

I had seen the dip of the head, but I had also seen her lips move, and heard the faintest sibilance. Fidelis had noticed something too, and he made an impatient gesture of the hand, which meant ‘go on'. But now it was Elijah Quick who picked up the thread.

‘What was that, Missy?'

Her voice was barely a whisper, but this time I heard – or believed I heard, ‘Houses.' So did Quick.

‘They went to a place with houses?' he said. ‘A village, was it?'

She shook her head vigorously and whispered again.

‘Houses … houses.'

‘I don't understand. Can you tell me what it was like, this place? How many houses?'

She shook her head even more vigorously. Her voice was beginning to gain strength, but it was still the slightest whisper, as she repeated the word twice more. Suddenly, I heard something about the way she had pronounced it, a difference between the word and the repetition.

‘I think she is saying “horses”,' I broke in. ‘Young lady, are you saying horses, or houses?'

‘Horses,' she said, more distinctly now.

‘They mounted horses?'

She was shaking her head.

‘Horses … houses.'

I could not be sure which she was saying and Quick was equally uncomprehending. But Fidelis had been listening to the exchange with his head tilted up, and eyes closed.

‘Is that where he died?' he interjected, coming awake. ‘Somewhere with houses
and
horses?'

Her voice, though still faint, was stronger now.

‘Hor-ses in … hou-ses.'

‘Good God!' exclaimed Fidelis. ‘That is it. Horses
in
houses! Where do you find horses living in their own houses, Cragg?'

I shrugged.

‘A stable, I suppose.'

‘Precisely. And who has a stable at the edge of the Moor and not far from the Bale Stone?'

Then I saw it too.

‘I'll be damned! John Barton!'

‘Yes. She is speaking of Peel Hall Stables.'

‘But what association is there between John Barton and Zadok Moon? We have never suspected such a thing.'

‘We do now, Titus!' he said. ‘We must go there. We shall ride over at once and this poor girl shall come with us to identify the villains.'

But it was not going to be as easy as that. Mrs Biggs rose from her chair and moved to stand in front of the door. Her face was set in grim determination.

‘My Lord Mayor has committed Barbara to be held in this house, Mr Cragg. She cannot leave.'

‘Madam, Barbara must come with us.'

‘I cannot allow it.'

I adopted a stern but reasonable tone.

‘I'll take the responsibility upon myself but, if it will persuade you to stand away from the door, I'll send for Oswald Mallender and the Parkin brothers to accompany us. The girl will be deemed to be in their custody while absent from your house.'

To this plan, and after a little more argument, Mrs Biggs gave her grudging assent and so I sat down to write a note to Mallender requesting that he assemble his forces. Fidelis, meanwhile, went out to collect transport – horses for himself and me, and Peter Wintly's sprung cart for the girl and Elijah, who had agreed to come along in case of need. When I had sent my note by hand of the Biggses' kitchen boy, I asked Barbara to tell me something of her story, and how she had first become acquainted with Tybalt Jackson.

No start in life could ever have been less promising than hers. In a whisper at first, but with increasing confidence, she told how she had been born on a slave ship amidst the horrors of the Middle Passage and was saved from certain death by the ship's surgeon who had taken her mother out of the slave deck when her labour-pains came on and put her into his quarters to give birth. He had had his eye on a profit, however, since when they arrived at Barbados, he had sold the mother and child to a former sea captain who put the mother to whoring. The child had grown almost into a woman when the captain died of a fever, and she and her mother were sold off again. This time her mother had been bought by a planter and taken away to work in his fields. Then she herself was sold to a ship's bosun that wanted a girl for his bed on his next voyage.

That voyage had been to Liverpool. Once on land she ran away and found shelter in one of the cellar-dwellings in the streets around the dock, where many of the negroes and Irish of the port clustered. But she had no money and before long there was nothing for it but to sell herself on the streets. Tybalt Jackson had picked her up one day and, after taking her to bed at an inn – in a most kindly way, she said – he had questioned her earnestly about her former life.

The story had an extraordinary effect on him. Jackson's lust had quickly given way, it seemed, to the fondest feelings for the girl. As he listened to the shame and indignities of her birth and upbringing, he had been filled equally with outrage and pity. He said he had never realized until now that the Trade was such a cruel abomination, and that he would like to save her, and wished that she stay with him as his companion. If she would agree he asked, for the sake of propriety, that she put on a boy's clothing. And that had been the guise in which she had come with Tybalt Jackson to Preston.

At length the horses and the cart arrived. As we were gathering ourselves to go out to them, the negro girl caught hold of my arm.

‘Amy,' she said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘It's Amy, Sir. My name that I was given from a baby in Barbados. I like it more than Barbara.'

Her voice, which had become free and clear by now, sounded lilting and musical.

‘Very well, Amy,' I replied. ‘You shall be Barbara no more.'

*   *   *

The oppression of the day had intensified, and the air felt dense, as if intermixed with some thickening agent. Only insects thoroughly enjoyed it, buzzing and spinning around our horses and ourselves. I noticed Suez, who had somehow escaped the eye of Matty at my house, sniffing around the churchyard as we jogged past on our way towards the northern road. I called him and running joyously towards us he was soon trotting along at my side.

It was a ride of some twenty-five minutes, during which I entertained Fidelis with the complete story of the hoard of silver, Marmaduke Flitcroft's unflattering appraisal of it and my discovery of where it had come from.

‘Treasure!' I laughed when I had finished. ‘I think the word was invented to make fools of us. The silver was no more than a thief's miscellany.'

But Fidelis did not take the episode as lightly.

‘Well, we were interested in the man he stole from. It follows we must be interested in this thief. I wonder who he is?'

And for the rest of the way, I could not get a word out of him.

*   *   *

The first thing we saw on arrival at Barton's stable yard was a horse standing in the open, saddled and seemingly ready to go on a journey, for there were boxes of leather strapped over its rump and withers. The second thing was John Barton, who darted out of what appeared to be one of the box-stalls at the sound of our cavalcade.

‘What do you want?' he shouted, giving a kick to Suez who had bounded forward impulsively to greet him. ‘Clear off! What the devil are you – sight-seekers? We are conducting business here.'

I dismounted and only then did he recognize me. A moment later he took in the presence of the other horsemen, first Fidelis and, now coming up, the bulky figure in the dirty scarlet coat – Sergeant Mallender astride a sagging palfrey. The black anger on Barton's face paled. He began to look concerned, and then afraid, for now Wintly's cart carrying Elijah and Amy with the Parkin brothers in attendance had rumbled into the yard. Barton backed a short way in the direction of the box from which he had emerged, but quickly thought better of it and commenced a rapid diagonal retreat towards one of the doors on the opposite side of the yard, tracked more cautiously now by Suez.

‘Hey!' cried Mallender, descending from his jade as soon as it came to a halt and stumbling after Barton. ‘We want to have a talk with you. There is a witness here we want to show you to.'

But Barton had disappeared into a horse box, and Mallender was making urgent gestures to the Parkins to follow him. I myself made directly for the box Barton, it seemed to me, had been trying to divert us from. I entered and saw that it served as a tack room, and that a man was standing there in a cowering attitude. In spite of the heat he was dressed in a big travelling coat and riding boots, evidently ready for the journey on which he would ride, I presumed, the waiting horse outside. At once I jumped forward, seized him by the collar and pulled him out into the yard.