Langdon St. Ives: Beneath London Part 7

He stuffed the purse into his pocket without looking into it. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, walking away from her backwards, not wanting to be impolite, but thinking of Clara still, the girl's face clear in his mind. He would do whatever was needed to find her that he knew but he was burning daylight, and Clara was further along the London road with every pa.s.sing moment.

Mother Laswell waved him on, shouting, "Don't stint!" And then, "Take the chaise, Finn! Shadwell will be driving a coach or so we must a.s.sume, a black brougham with a white squiggle. Send the doctor back to Hereafter if you find him at home!"

Finn was halfway to the stile now, waving his fishing pole in the air to acknowledge her final shouted entreaty. He went through the gate in the hedge and loped up past the oast house and into the woods along the path to the farm, where he saw spilled blood and broken flowerpots on the paving stones near the back door. He set his pole against the wall he would want his creel and he knocked hard on the door. He opened it without waiting and shouted a greeting before walking in, where he found Mr. and Mrs. Tully standing next to the day-bed in the parlor. Kraken lay on his side, breathing heavily, his eyes shut. Finn begged their pardon for his hurry and ask Mr. Tully about the chaise.

But there was no chaise. Simonides had already taken it to fetch the doctor. The boy had gone off half an hour ago, Mr. Tully said, when Bill Kraken had staggered into the house and collapsed. It would be another half hour before the boy's return, and who knew how long it would take him if the doctor were away from home? They feared for Mother Laswell and Clara, Mrs. Tully put in, to which Finn replied that Mother Laswell was quite all right, and would be here soon, but what about the wagon could he borrow the wagon? It was no living good to anyone at the moment, Mr. Tully told him. This morning a wheel had seen fit to separate from its axle and fling itself into a stone, breaking two spokes, and wasn't yet repaired. Two hours would put it right, if Finn could lend a hand.

Out the window the evening gloom was descending. Real night was half an hour away, and Mother Laswell would arrive shortly with more advice for him, very good advice, no doubt, but...

"Is there a saddle for Ned Ludd?" Finn asked, and as soon as Mr. Tully said, "Oh, aye," and began to nod, Finn set out for the barn, through the French window, happy to see through the open top half of the Dutch door that a lantern was lit within. "Where are you taking him?" Mr. Tully called after him.

"London!" Finn shouted back, and didn't wait to hear the reply.

There stood the wagon, with the wheel off but supported by blocks. The broken spokes lay on the ground, the new spokes waiting to be knocked into the hub. There were three saddles on a rail, and Finn looked at each carefully. A mule saddle hadn't much rocker, a mule being flatter in the withers than a horse. Having ridden all sorts, from zebras to camels to elephants, he quickly found it and hoisted it off the rail. He draped a blanket over the creature, stroking his cheek and whispering into his ear. He had cared for mules during his days in Duffy's Circus, and he had a way with them and their stubborn notions. Keeping them happy was the salient thing.

Dr. Johnson came into his mind as he was saddling the mule, specifically that he was making ready to abandon the elephant. He wished he hadn't said out loud that he would top off Johnson's food bins in the morning, because he was certain that the elephant not only had a long memory, but that he understood human talk fairly well, especially as regards food. He hoped that Mr. Binger would look in on him as soon as he returned.

Finn filled a bag with oats now, collected a nosebag, checked to see that the saddle was cinched tight, and walked Ned Ludd to the swing-gate that barred the open barn door. The mule stood looking out into the dusk when Finn drew the gate back, and for a moment Finn thought that he would refuse to leave the barn. But it wasn't so. As soon as Finn was settled into the saddle, Ned Ludd set out at a steady pace, as if he knew that they hadn't any time to waste, and within minutes Hereafter Farm had disappeared behind them. They soon pa.s.sed through the village and came out onto the London road, where a sign told him that it was six miles into Wrotham Heath. Finn felt the freedom of it, of the open s.p.a.ce fore and aft and to either side, and of having no one to answer to but himself and his duty to Clara.

The missing chaise from Hereafter soon hurried past in the opposite direction, Simonides driving, apparently having come from Doctor Pullman's house. The Doctor and Constable Brooke rattled along behind in the Constable's wagon. Simonides looked at Finn in surprise as they pa.s.sed each other, and Finn shouted, "It's Clara!" although the message would not convey any meaning either to Simonides or Constable Brooke until they had reached Hereafter and heard the story from Mother Laswell. Finn wondered briefly whether he should return to the farm in order to borrow the chaise, but he would lose most of an hour doing so, and in any event he couldn't abide further waiting.

Clara returned to his mind now that he was settled and moving and had time to think. She was quite the most beautiful girl he had known, and he was certain that she fancied him at least a little bit, he thought, not wanting to press his luck. He thought then of what had been done to her mother what he had been told by Tommy earlier today at Hereafter but he set the thought aside.

There wasn't room enough in his mind for that sort of darkness, which took up an outsized amount of s.p.a.ce and cast its pall over common sense and muddled the immediate present. And as for the immediate present, Finn wished that he'd had time to bring a warmer coat. It would be a cold night, and his right shoe was still damp from plunging into the stream. Then he remembered that he had an unknown quant.i.ty of Mother Laswell's money in his pocket, although unless he happened upon a coat for sale, little good it would do him now. Better to have yesterday's newspaper to stuff under his shirt against the wind.

In due time the moon rose above the trees, for which he was thankful; several times now a coach or chaise had driven past, and only one of them the mail coach with headlights. He wanted to see and be seen, not edged off into the ca.n.a.l that ran alongside the road. Ned Ludd was happy with the ca.n.a.l, however, having stopped to drink deeply from it a short time back. If the villain Shadwell were driving a chaise or the brougham that he had driven yesterday, surely the vehicle would carry him and Clara into London long before Finn would arrive, and then the both of them would simply disappear into the great city. Finn would seek out the Professor at the Half Toad, as they had planned, but he would arrive in a state of shameful ignorance, merely a bearer of bad tidings. And of course there was no certainty that Shadwell and Clara were ahead of him at all, no certainty that they were bound for London, now that he thought of it.

His mind ran uselessly on various uncertainties until he recalled something his mother had once told him: "With enough ifs one could put all Paris in a bottle." And so he compelled himself to put the ifs aside. His destination was London until the destination changed for good reason. But what then? He would discover it in due time as was always the case, for good or ill.

He fed Ned Ludd oats out of the nosebag when they arrived in Wrotham Heath, where he bought a meat pie for himself at the Queen's Rest. Sitting beneath the gaslight that illuminated the road in front of the inn, he opened the purse that Mother Laswell had given him, feeling the weight of the several coins and looking through the banknotes, which would have seen him through six months back in the days when he was living hard. He unfolded the paper that was slid in among the banknotes and was startled to see that the likeness of Dr. Narbondo was drawn upon it.

This was very puzzling indeed something he could not have antic.i.p.ated even if he had put his mind to it. Mother Laswell had told him that a quant.i.ty of the handbills had belonged to the men who had taken Clara, and that had an ominous air, implying secret connections, perhaps real wickedness. The address was near the Temple. He knew the area well enough, grand houses, which made this all the more puzzling. What did a rich man want with the likes of Dr. Narbondo? All the money in the world, however, could not resurrect Narbondo from where he had gone, so it was all one.

An hour later Finn was well out into the countryside, with a line of trees on either side. Pastures stretched away in the moonlight, visible now and then through the trees. He came to the peak of a hill and saw that a farmhouse lay off to the right-hand side. It was brightly lit, comfortable looking, with smoke rising from the chimney. The sight of it made him aware of the lonesome night and of the long odds against him. He bent forward to have an encouraging chat with Ned Ludd, reminding him of their sacred duty to Clara. The mule's ears twitched, as if he were attending to every word. A mule had no concern with hopelessness, thank G.o.d.

A lantern appeared a hundred yards ahead, someone just then coming around a bend in the road a boy, Finn saw after a moment, about his own age, holding the lantern out in front of him so as to illuminate as much of the road as possible. The light showed his face clearly, and Finn saw that he carried a brace of rabbits and had a rifle tilted against his shoulder. He also wore a heavy wool coat.

"h.e.l.lo to you," Finn said, reining the mule in when they drew abreast.

"h.e.l.lo to you, too, friend," the boy said. "Are you off to the races, then?" He wore a smile on his face, as if he thought that Ned Ludd looked droll, or more likely that Finn looked droll, riding upon the mule.

"Aye, racing into London," Finn said. "Dinner, is it, that you've got there? Are you from the farmhouse, then?" Finn saw that the boy's coat, although heavy, was worn ragged in places, and was stained with what might have been blood his hunting coat, no doubt.

"Yes and yes," the boy said. "And you?"

"From Aylesford. Can I ask you whether you saw a coach driven by a man in a green felt hat, a low, flat topper. If he wore no hat then he was bald atop. A girl might have been with him, riding inside, a blind girl with smoked spectacles."

"I did, an hour back along the road, with its lamps lit, which is how I know it was your man. It was the girl caught my eye, looking out through the window. The coach lamp lit her face, do you see? She wore the spectacles like you said, although she looked square at me and pressed her elbow to the window, so I don't know as she was blind. I couldn't see her eyes through the spectacles."

"An hour, do you say? Moving right along?"

"Aye. You'll not catch them between here and London, not astride a mule you won't, unless she can run like a thoroughbred. If you'd like supper, come along with me. You'll travel snug on a full stomach."

"There's nothing in life I'd like better, but I cannot. But it'll be right cold before dawn, and if you'd part with your coat, I'd pay you double for it."

"Would you now? How much?"

"Would a crown do it?"

"It would," said the boy, and he divested himself of the coat and handed it up to Finn, who took out his purse and found the coin, which he handed over before pulling on the coat and putting his purse away inside it. "Good luck to you, then," the boy said, going on his way.

Finn set out again at a settled, steady pace, grateful for the coat. Now he knew where he stood. Catching up with the coach was impossible, unless it stopped along the way, which was unlikely. Perhaps it had put in at the Queen's Rest for a time, which would explain how it had been hereabouts so recently. He must pin his hopes on the address near the river, and if that came to nothing, then he would do what came next, which was unavoidable what came next was what one always did.

He let his mind wander as it would, and he looked up now and then at the moon in order to calculate the pa.s.sing of time. He held further conversations with Ned Ludd, who listened with great interest. For a time he fell asleep, awakening and catching himself as he was falling out of the saddle, and realizing that he was on top of a hill, and that there were the scattered lights of a great city ahead. Greenwich, he thought, and the Thames twinkling beyond, tall ships moving downriver with the tide. Ned Ludd had found his own way while Finn slept, like Black Bess when she carried d.i.c.k Turpin two hundred miles from London to York in a single long night.

Gray Ned, he thought, An Heroic Mule. A mule could certainly be made heroic in a poem. He had never tried his hand at poetry, and so it was high time that he did. As a test he undertook to find a rhyme for "Clara," which seemed easy enough. But nothing came to him at first except Sarah, which, being her mother's name, would not do. Sahara, he thought with some satisfaction the great desert wasteland. But what would Clara be doing in the Arabian Desert, after all? Would she need rescuing?

He thought of George of Merrie England, astride the horse Bayard, riding into Egypt, and considered Finn Conrad, astride Gray Ned, riding into London Town to slay the dragon Shadwell. He tried his hand again at rhyming dragon, flagon, wagon saying sentences out loud in order to keep Ned Ludd amused. And so the time pa.s.sed, Finn trying to fix the better flourishes in his mind so that he could recall them later when circ.u.mstances lent themselves more readily to writing in his notebook.

It was still well before dawn when he pa.s.sed beyond Greenwich, traveling now among a growing throng of people going into London, many with full carts and wagons, bound for Covent Garden or Brick Lane or Portobello Road. When the western sky was pale and the stars faint, he rode along Borough High Street, past the church of St. George the Martyr, to which he tipped his cap. He turned into the courtyard of the George Inn where there worked a stableman that he knew, an ancient Welshman named Arwyn who had been stableman in Duffy's Circus, shortly before the death of Finn's mother, when Finn had left the circus for good and all.

There was a fire burning cheerfully in the yard, where he found Arwyn dressing the leather seat of a hea.r.s.e, the red-trimmed black paint glowing in the firelight. "Well, Finn, you've come into London again," Arwyn said to him. "Last I heard you was oystering with Square Davey."

"I'm in Aylesford now, living among good people. I've got an elephant to care for."

"I've always liked an elephant," Arwyn said, "when they was treated right."

"Strange carriage," Finn said. "Is Death putting up at the George?"

"So to say, but at St. George Church up the way. I put a polish on it before the day starts. Who is this fellow, now?"

"Ned Ludd. He'd have been the favorite of Duffy's Circus, Arwyn. A better mule never drew breath. Can you keep him for two days?"

"That I can. Put your money away, Finn."

Finn shook Arwyn's hand, and a.s.sured Ned that he would return for him. As the mule was led away toward the stable, Finn pitched the handbill that he carried into the flames. It wouldn't do to be caught with such a thing about his person. He went into the inn, and ten minutes later set out across London Bridge, eating a breakfast of bread and cheese out of his hand.

FOURTEEN.

THE VIEW FROM THE RIVER.

"There it lies Aladdin's cave," Gilbert Frobisher said to St. Ives, the two of them standing atop a makeshift staging platform over the dried mud and rock of the sink-hole. The debris from the collapse building rubble, rock, and mud that had flowed in from the Thames ran steeply downward from where they stood. St. Ives could make out broken furniture, shattered lumber, pieces of brick wall and chimney a disaster that could not be put right, but must simply be buried and forgotten. A set of stairs leading to a wooden causeway angled out over the debris, the causeway extending thirty feet farther.

Rearing up behind the two men stood the shoring along the Thames: oaken beams six-inches thick affixed to deeply sunk posts, the river swirling past beyond. The tide was making, and rills of water ran out from between the planks, so the platform was dank and slippery. The odor of the place was indescribable fetid water, wet lumber, and the rising smell of the bodies that would remain interred beneath the amalgam of sand, crushed rock, and tar that would very soon fill the hole. The quarried granite pavers of the restored embankment would serve as gravestones.

Due to the death of James Harrow, the Board of Works had foreshortened their expedition. They were to be in and out in six hours. St. Ives and Gilbert Frobisher would carry their own gear in knapsacks, enough for an afternoon jaunt, but not for real scientific work. A lantern hanging on a post at the end of the causeway illuminated Tubby Frobisher and Hasbro, who had shuttled out the last of the gear a Ruhmkorff lamp with its attendant induction coil and battery, compa.s.ses, a coil of rope, and other odds and ends chosen hastily from the ma.s.s of equipment that Gilbert had hoped to take along. The lamp, with its delicate Geissler tube, was packed away in a basket and padded on all sides by pine needles stuffed into cloth bags. St. Ives's multifarious knapsack contained the induction coil and battery together, which filled the central pocket. It was surrounded by further pockets that were accessible from the outside some of them coated with India rubber to serve as collecting bags so that he could add or remove what he needed without disturbing the machinery within.

St. Ives heartily wished that Tubby and Hasbro were going along, for although he had a high regard for Gilbert Frobisher as a generous, decent man, it had to be admitted that Gilbert was getting on in years and was sometimes dangerously spontaneous. He weighed something in the vicinity of eighteen stone and was easily winded. Early this morning Gilbert had been warned by a Mr. Lewis his 'agent' inside the Board of Works that the Board was threatening to disallow the expedition altogether, what with the unfortunate death of poor Harrow. There were rumblings of disapproval from James MacNaghten Hogg himself, the Board's Chairman, who was sensitive to any hint of scandal or misjudgment after recent accusations of corruption. The sink-hole had taken a mort of lives, and the expedition had an ill-fated air to it. Lewis had suggested that they set out early in order to avoid being done out of their adventure entirely if they waited.

"If the sun would rise above these infernal clouds," Gilbert said, removing his pith helmet and wiping his brow with his kerchief, "you could make out what appears to be the very slightly arched roof of a small gallery down and to the left, far down the slope a natural gallery, I believe, narrow at the opening. It was there that the auk was discovered, remarkably preserved and couched in a bed of foul-smelling fungi that had affixed themselves to the creature, perhaps slowly devouring it, or so Harrow speculated when Lewis gave him the creature. What lies beyond that dark portal, no man knows, although the two of us soon will, by G.o.d."

"The fungus must have been devouring the auk very slowly," St. Ives said, "unless the bird had recently died, which would mean, of course, that the auk isn't extinct at all, but was somehow living happily underground. The bird was not recovered, then, after Harrow's debacle?"

"No, sir. Like as not it's far down the Thames. I mourn the loss of that bird, I can tell you, and of course the loss of the man."

"Was there anything... amiss when they found his body?"

Gilbert looked askance at him. "Amiss?" he asked. "Why, the man's brains were dashed out, or so I was told. The imprint of the horse's shoe was visible on his forehead. That's amiss enough for most of us, I should think."

"Did the police allude to any sign that he might have been misused, I mean to say, any deviltry? You say that the body had already been removed?"

"Deviltry?" Gilbert gave him a long look now, evidently not having considered the idea. "If you're suggesting murder...?" He shook his head. "The body had been taken away, like I said, and so I can confirm nothing. The police had no suspicion of foul play, however, unless they were keeping it to themselves. No, sir, it doesn't stand to reason. Harrow had no enemies. It's a simple business to my mind. The fates played James Harrow a fiendish trick on the very eve of what would have been his greatest adventure."

"Indeed they did," St. Ives said. "Let's pray that they are kinder to us."

"Here's our sunlight now! Do you see it, the mouth of the gallery?"

"I do," said St. Ives. He could just make it out impossible to say what lay beyond. Still and all, the dark archway was full of promise and mystery, and St. Ives found that he was abruptly as anxious as Gilbert to be underway. It would be a d.a.m.ned shame if they were cheated of their chance through no fault of their own.

Tubby and Hasbro loomed up alongside them now, having ascended the stairs, Tubby looking anxious. "I wonder if this is a good idea, Uncle," he said. "I'm leery of the two of you going down into the darkness alone. If one of you is injured, there's d.a.m.n-all that the other can do to get the injured man out."

"In that case the uninjured man will hurry topside in order to summon help from the two of you," Gilbert said. "This is a grand opportunity, Tubby. Its like will never come again in my lifetime. Surely you don't begrudge me this chance?"

"Of course not, Uncle. I..."

"Then let us hear no more about it," Gilbert said in a rising pa.s.sion. "You've been curiously insistent on nurse-maiding me, Tubby, for reasons that are clear to me. If you want to do me a real service, join Miss Bracken aboard my yacht and make friends with her. She's likely to be your aunt one day, you know Aunt Cecilia. Have you considered that?"

Tubby was apparently struck dumb by the statement. Before he could answer, a trio of noisy gulls landed on the bulwark behind them, perched for a moment, and then flew straight through the sink-hole and into the mouth of the cavern, caught in the sunlight for a moment before they disappeared in the darkness beyond, off on their own expedition. St. Ives shook hands with Hasbro and then turned away and headed down into the darkness, Hasbro going off in the other direction, leaving the two Frobishers alone.

St. Ives heard Tubby remonstrating with his uncle now, angry and placating in equal measure. He closed his ears to their exchange. It was none of his business, he told himself, but he was aware that there was a brother's keeper element to it that gnawed at him, as well as the problem of the troubled state of Gilbert's mind. Gilbert was an excitable man, much at odds within himself when he was upset, which might further complicate their trek underground. Better, he thought, that he was going on alone.

The landing at the end of the wooden causeway lay beyond most of the collapsed rubble, and from that vantage point St. Ives had a clear view of the fairly steep, uneven ground that they would traverse on their way to reach their immediate goal. Two more gulls flew past on a cool wind off the river, one of them defecating copiously on the shoulder of his coat before flying into the cave a good omen, if one believed in omens. He slipped his knapsack onto his back, slung the coil of rope over his soiled shoulder, and hung the basket containing the Ruhmkorff lamp from the crook of his elbow. He looked back up the pier, where Tubby and Gilbert had finally parted company, the old man walking slowly down into the darkness as if under a great weight.

Gilbert Frobisher's steam yacht, the whimsically named Hedge-pig, was a Scottish-built, side-wheeled craft that he had brought down from Dundee to its moorings in Eastbourne two years past. It was now anch.o.r.ed fore and aft along the Thames sh.o.r.e, a biscuit-toss from the great sink-hole. The yacht was a lavish affair, sixty feet long and built for idle pleasure, most of the deck being a saloon and galley, with sleeping quarters below. Alice stood under a party-colored awning, the long saloon shielding her from the south wind that had recently arisen. It was a cold wind that promised rain.

The tide was at its peak, and she had a high, clear view over the bulwark of stone and wood that dammed the edge of the collapse. From that elevated vantage point Alice could see into the reaches of the dark void itself. She watched Langdon and Gilbert apparently chatting, pointing out marvels. Alice felt strangely distant from her husband, regarding him through opera gla.s.ses, which made the entire undertaking seem like a piece of theater.

The notion of the women remaining aboard the yacht was Gilbert's idea very festive, a view of the proceedings without mud and turmoil. Alice would just as soon explore the sink-hole cavern along with her husband, taking James Harrow's place. But it wasn't to be. She was plagued by an indeterminate but ominous dread that had settled in her chest last night when they'd heard of Harrow's unfortunate accident. The smell of the bodies buried in the sink-hole added to the weight of her doubts. The feeling of dread wasn't entirely rational, of course, but the knowledge didn't dissipate it in the least.

Barlow, Gilbert's butler, came out through the saloon door carrying a silver platter and a cylindrical silver coffee pot. The coffee had been roasted and ground that very morning by Madame Leseur, Gilbert's French cook, whom Gilbert took along with him on his travels, Gilbert being a slave to his stomach. Barlow poured the coffee into a large china cup decorated with the Frobisher crest: two bright stars above a rampant hedgehog, a flailing red devil in its teeth. Alice took the coffee gratefully, foregoing sugar or milk, and went back to her post. Tubby and Hasbro had just disappeared into the sink-hole carrying knapsacks and a coil of rope.

She saw now that a man was crouching among the boulders some few feet above the river, partially hidden by the stone bulwark thrown up in the first days after the collapse. He had a sneaking air to him. She wondered how long he had been there. She had been so intent upon watching Gilbert and Langdon that she had seen little of what was going on roundabout them.

The man crept closer now, as if anxious to see into the cavern itself, but equally anxious not to be seen. He was a small man with a narrow, weasely face, what she could see of it, and he wore a uniform of some sort. It came to her that he might be a man from the Board of Works, although what he meant by hovering about in such a way was a puzzle.

Alice suddenly wished that she had company, another pair of eyes, so to speak. Miss Bracken sat in the saloon, out of the weather, and Alice turned toward the window, raising her hand to knock on the gla.s.s in order to summon her, but at just that moment she was shocked to see the woman slip three silver coffee spoons into her embroidered bag, which she instantly clasped shut.

It was a recklessly bold theft, for Barlow would certainly discover that the spoons were missing. Except that Barlow might easily be constrained from telling Gilbert, especially given Gilbert's open sparring with Tubby on the issue of Miss Bracken. The woman knew very well what she could get away with. What was the point of stealing Gilbert's spoons, however mere trifles if she antic.i.p.ated marrying the man? Perhaps she did not antic.i.p.ate any such thing. Perhaps what she wanted was a free pa.s.sage to London, a bag of stolen silver, and an opportunity to disappear.

Alice turned toward the sink-hole once again and looked through the gla.s.ses. Hasbro and Tubby had come topside, and Langdon was making his way down into the darkness, very quickly pa.s.sing out of sight, still some few yards from the lantern light at the end of the dock. Gilbert and Tubby appeared to be carrying on an impa.s.sioned argument. After a moment Tubby threw up his hands and walked away. But he paused suddenly, turned, and grasped his uncle's shoulder as if to bid him farewell. Gilbert, however, shrugged away and followed along behind Langdon without looking back. The whole business was both sad and troubling, and Alice's feelings of general unhappiness increased.

The lurking man along the bank had climbed up toward the top of the embankment by now, perhaps to get a better view of the two men below. He bent over, meddling with something hidden within the rocks. Who are you? Alice whispered, hearing Miss Bracken come out through the saloon door now, having donned her bird hat. Alice beckoned to her, but just as she called Miss Bracken's attention to the lurking man there was the sound of a m.u.f.fled explosion, and the man scurried away across the rocks.

For a moment all was still, and then, as Alice watched in horror, the roof of the cavern slowly collapsed. A great heap of stone and embankment and barricades fell like a piecemeal curtain, blowing a shower of dust and debris out of the void.

Miss Bracken screamed, but Alice's throat was closed, her breath stopped. It began to rain at that moment, wind-driven rain, and the dust quickly cleared away. The dark cavity that had been there only a moment ago was gone, the Thames swirling in through a breach in the wall, lapping against what was now a hillock of broken stone. Tubby and Hasbro climbed down over it, evidently searching fruitlessly for some pa.s.sage into the interior. Unable to look away from the disaster, Alice watched through the opera gla.s.ses until rainwater obscured the lenses.

"Where is Mr. Frobisher?" Miss Bracken asked in a small voice, the wet blackbird leaning over her ear. "I don't mean that Tubby. Where is Gilbert? Where is my Gilbert?"

A double crack of thunder sounded, and the rain redoubled.

"Gone," Alice said to her. "Both of them are gone."

And upon hearing these words Miss Bracken fell to the wet deck in a faint, her hat tumbling off, the rain beating down. Alice looked for the lurking man again, but he was nowhere to be seen.

FIFTEEN.

BENEATH LONDON.

When St. Ives came to his senses he lay sprawled on his back in what at first appeared to be a meadow of glowing clover, but in fact was thick with some variety of mushroom. There was the smell of a filthy horse stable in the air, and he felt the plants beneath him moving like sandworms in a seabed. He sat up, unhappy with this and with the pain in his side a bruised rib, maybe cracked.

He set about moving his hands, arms, legs, and neck in order to take stock of his injuries, discovering in so doing that he had lost his pith helmet. He remembered being cast bodily from the end of the pier as if slammed hard from behind. He had landed upon his feet, toppled forward, and had instantly begun to run, gravity helping him along. The ground was too steep for running, however, and he retained the sensation of hurtling along wildly for a distance, his legs flailing, unable to control his forward flight. He had tumbled for a time, desperately clutching the strap of his knapsack, which he was not clutching now. When he had been knocked unconscious and how far he had fallen he couldn't say.