A Christmas Revelation Read online

  At last Squeaky went forward, and by the time they turned the corner, the three ahead were only just in sight. Squeaky’s hand still rested heavily on Worm, so he was reduced to an unwilling walk.

  They followed the three of them for so long it seemed as if they were never going to arrive anywhere. Worm was tired and cold, and hungry. But the longer they watched the three people, the more they saw of the relationship between them, and the more puzzled they became.

  The two men clearly wanted the woman to tell them something. They were alternately pleading with her and threatening her. They were almost back on the street where they had started when, finally, the older man actually struck her across the face. It was not very powerful—it did not knock her off balance—but it left a red mark on her cheek.

  Worm started to cry out, but he found himself muffled by Squeaky’s hand over his mouth.

  Worm considered biting him, but apart from the fact that he was held too hard, he really didn’t dare. He thought of kicking, but he didn’t dare do that either.

  The lady swayed a little; then slowly she smiled. Worm could hear her words, even from a distance. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. When I’m sure.” Then she snatched her hand from the older man and turned to walk along the street, going away from him with a very slight swing to her step.

  The two men looked at each other. The older took a step forward, but the younger grabbed his arm and held on to it. He swung round until they were facing each other. “Wait!” he said fiercely, almost threateningly.

  They stayed frozen, face-to-face. Then slowly the tension eased out of both of them and they continued forward, following the woman along the pavement and then back to the house they had come from. They passed her as they reached it.

  Squeaky and Worm were just in time to see them turn in at the doorway, fish for a moment for keys, and let themselves in. They left the lady behind outside, and she stood there in the street.

  Worm made as if to run toward her.

  “Wait!” Squeaky held him by the collar.

  “What for?”

  “Watch. You don’t want to upset them for nothing,” Squeaky said sharply.

  “I don’t care…”

  “They’re closer to her than we are!” Squeaky hissed. “Watch.”

  The lady stood on the pavement only a moment longer, then pushed the door open and went inside. It appeared to close behind her but made no sound.

  Worm turned to Squeaky, frowning. “Why did she go in? She could have run away!”

  “How far would she have got?”

  “She didn’t try!” Worm protested.

  “We don’t know anything about her,” Squeaky pointed out.

  “She was frightened, I know that.” There was absolutely certainty in the set of Worm’s jaw, and in the blazing clarity of his eyes. He was so young—and so sure.

  Squeaky sighed. He had come this far. If he dragged Worm back home, he would only come back here the moment he was let go. Only this time he would be alone, and who knew what kind of trouble he would fall into? The best that could happen would be a cuff around his ear and a warning to mind his own business. The worst Squeaky didn’t even want to think of. Who would miss one river urchin? The thought made him feel ill. “Well, she isn’t frightened now,” he said. “She gone in there and she didn’t have to, so she must have a reason. One that we don’t know about.”

  Worm looked at him, his eyes clouded.

  “So we got to find out, then, don’t we?” Squeaky said in exasperation.

  Worm breathed in and out. “Yes. How do we do that?”

  Squeaky had no idea. “We go and have lunch, and we think about it. We listen. Maybe people know who they are.” He was trying to think as he spoke. If they were villains of some sort, petty thieves, forgers of papers or of money, confidence tricksters, he knew enough people from his past to be able to find out. If they were respectable, he would be very surprised indeed. What troubled him was the fear that the woman was no better than the men. Then what could he do to protect Worm from having his dreams crumble in front of him? Why did he have to be so innocent? He should have known better! Damn it! He was nine years old. Had experience taught him nothing?

  “Do you really want to know?” he asked more sharply than he had meant to.

  But Worm did not hesitate. “ ’Course I do. We got to…to save her! She’s frightened of them!”

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t seem they’ve hurt her yet. She just went inside when she could’ve run away.”

  “D’yer think so?” Worm asked.

  Squeaky bit his tongue. “Are you coming for something to eat or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Come on, then. We passed a peddler with hot pies a quarter of a mile back.”

  “What if she comes out?”

  “If she comes out and offers us hot pies, we’ll take them!” Squeaky snapped, and, grabbing Worm by the shoulder, he half dragged him along the pavement.

  Worm ate three pies and would have eaten a fourth if Squeaky had been willing to buy another, but Squeaky was afraid he’d be sick. When they were finished, Squeaky went to the nearest public house and started asking questions. Then he went to the pawnshop where he had an acquaintance, a very disreputable one that he would rather Worm did not know about—and definitely rather Claudine didn’t.

  He was cross with himself. What did it matter what this nine-year-old urchin thought of him? Worm could see a good woman in distress in what was actually a couple of rough pimps picking up one of their tarts who had got above herself. She might well be afraid of them if she’d taken the whole of her earnings, instead of giving them their cut. And of course she would go back with them. It might be an abusive relationship, one-sided, but she could not do without it. He did not want to explain all this to Worm. Let him keep his dreams a little longer.

  This was not the time for Squeaky to explain to Worm how he knew so much about the business of prostitutes, and the men who looked after them and lived on the proceeds of their trade. Those days were long behind him. It had not been his choice to leave them. It had been Oliver Rathbone’s decision, but Squeaky had made the best of it, and he was just about respectable now. He would never tell Rathbone, but he was secretly grateful.

  So he told Worm to wait outside the pawnbroker’s, and on pain of not being helped anymore, to be there when Squeaky came out. He entered, and the man he expected to find was behind the counter. He paled when he recognized Squeaky.

  “What do you want? I got nothing as is yours.”

  “Information,” Squeaky replied. “Then we’ll call the debt paid.”

  “I got none! I…” Then he looked at Squeaky’s face and thought better of it. “What?”

  “House on Collins Street, number twenty-four.”

  “What about it? It’s not for sale.”

  “Two men and a woman. Who are they?”

  “Dunno. She’s no use to you. She’s not a working girl. Dunno what she is. Con artist of some sort. Got a nasty temper on her. Seen her spitting like a cat in a bucket of water.”

  “They hurt her?”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. “ ’Ow in ’ell do I know? Probably. She looked for it, an’ all.”

  “They new around here?”

  “She is. They ain’t.”

  “But she’s here because she wants to be?”

  “Well, she ain’t chained up! She may not like it, but she knows which side her bread’s buttered.”

  “Right. If that turns out to be true, you don’t owe me any more.”

  “Watch out for those two. Younger one’s violent, but the old man’s a right sod. Stick a knife in your back, quick as look at you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I can be nasty, too,” Squeaky said, although it was actually a long time since he’d even thought of
such a thing. Respectable men in business didn’t carry knives. More’s the pity. “I’ll be back, if you’re wrong!” he threatened at the doorway.

  The man swore at him but very halfheartedly, more out of habit than intent.

  Worm was waiting on the pavement. “What?” he said immediately.

  Squeaky had known he would. It gave him no chance to think what he was going to say. If he embarked on a lie, he would have to follow it all the way. Worm had an awkwardly good memory, and Squeaky was irritatingly unwilling to be caught in a lie. It would only be a lie to protect Worm from a truth he could not possibly understand yet. He did not want him even to imagine what the woman he thought was a lady would do to earn herself a meal and a roof over her head.

  Why did the wretched child have to see moonbeams where there weren’t any? Fairies on Christmas trees, shepherds and angels, and magical babies? It was all asking for trouble.

  “She’s there with them because she has to be,” he said tartly. “She don’t like them, and they don’t like her, but sometimes there’s no way round it.”

  Worm said nothing for a moment or two. Then: “We going back now to have a look?”

  Squeaky was caught—again. Better to get it over with. Bad things put off only get worse. How was he going to explain it to the child? Simply. The more complicated it got, the more Worm would be convinced he was lying. Why did the woman have to look so innocent? It was probably her stock in trade. Damn her! What she did to men was her own affair, but not what she did to a child. Especially one Squeaky was supposed to look after.

  “Are we?” Worm persisted.

  “Yes, but you might not like what you see,” Squeaky replied, hating himself for having to say so; hating the men who treated women that way, the more so because he had been one of them, and he knew he had had a choice, which was more than a lot of women had; and hating this particular woman most of all because Worm cared. She had made him think better of her, and that was close to unforgivable. It was a deep sin to ignite dreams in a child that you could not live up to.

  He knew perfectly well that she had not done it on purpose, but right now that did not justify anything. It made it worse, because she would walk away and leave Squeaky to mend the pieces.

  “Come on, then!” Squeaky said. He leaned forward, as if to take Worm’s hand, then realized how ridiculous that was and scratched his leg instead.

  They walked quickly but silently, until they came back to a place just opposite the house where the lady—he still thought of her as that, to distinguish her from other women he knew—had gone inside with the two men.

  “What do we do now?” Worm asked.

  “You wait here,” Squeaky told him. “I’m going on to see if there’s anyone in. No point in standing here in the freezing wind for an hour, if there isn’t.” And before Worm could argue, he set off.

  This time luck was with him—or not—and he had no choice. When he knocked, the lady opened the door. Squeaky found himself standing there, feet away from her, no fancy windows to blur his view. Or her view of him, a tall, very thin man in an old black frock coat, black hat jamming down much of his long, scruffy white hair.

  She was young, perhaps twenty-three or -four. Her skin was as fair and clear as if she had lived in the country, not one of the dirtiest cities in the world. Her hair was light brown, and the momentary shaft of sunlight showed golden glints in it. Her features were pleasing, unmarked by any petulance or ill-temper.

  “Are there any gentlemen at home?” Squeaky asked with an uncharacteristically uncertain voice.

  “No, I’m sorry. Did you wish to see them?” She looked at him with dark blue eyes that were unusually penetrating.

  He would not care to try lying to her. He had a feeling she knew lies well enough to spot one before it was even finished. She was probably very good at telling them herself.

  Squeaky decided the whole truth was probably the best course. He waved his hand toward Worm, standing watching them from the opposite pavement. “The boy saw you in the street yesterday and was worried the men were a bit rough with you. Nothing would settle him but to see that you are all right.” Without waiting for her answer, he signaled Worm to come over.

  Worm did so immediately. The street was clear of traffic, and in a moment he was standing beside Squeaky. Now that the time was here, he was suddenly shy.

  The lady looked at him and smiled slowly.

  Worm smiled back. It irradiated his face, although it was a little lopsided, because one of his front teeth was bigger than the other. It was his first adult tooth fully through.

  “My name is Eloise,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “Warren, but they call me Worm.”

  “Then I shall call you Worm as well.”

  He smiled, a little awed. He was standing so close that Squeaky could feel a slight pressure against his leg. Suddenly, Squeaky was intensely defensive of this nuisance child, but he had no idea what to do about it.

  Eloise spoke. “I understand you were afraid the men had taken me against my will. I saw you there in the street, just for a moment.” She smiled very slightly. “I don’t like them very much, but I did come with them willingly. Because I need to.”

  Worm leaned even closer to Squeaky and said nothing.

  Eloise stepped back. “It’s freezing in the wind out there. Come in. See that I’m all right.” She pulled the door wide open.

  Squeaky hesitated. Why had she invited them in? Were the two men really somewhere else? He had nothing worth stealing. He knew better than to go walking in the streets of areas like this, carrying more than a few pence, enough for a meal. Not that he couldn’t feel a pickpocket before he drew a second breath. But he was concerned about what else she was going to say to Worm.

  When she turned to lead the way, Worm was ahead of him, following her.

  Squeaky closed the door. She was right about one thing: it was perishing cold outside and beginning to rain.

  Inside, the house was warm, but dirty. She led the way into the kitchen, where the stove was lit. Squeaky glanced around quickly. It was very sparsely furnished. Just a few pots and pans, plates, enough for three on the old wooden dresser. There was a sink in the corner, so at least there was running water. But it was all so grubby, as if people had lived here for weeks, or even months, without ever scrubbing the floor or the surfaces of the table and benches. There was a bowl of water on the table and a scrubbing brush beside it, next to a bar of yellow kitchen soap smelling of carbolic.

  “We interrupted you,” Squeaky observed.

  Eloise smiled ruefully. “Just moved in. Hasn’t been done for weeks. It’ll look a lot better when I’ve finished.”

  Squeaky had no idea whether to believe her or not. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

  Worm looked around. “You really like it here?” he asked.

  Eloise smiled, and her face was full of regret. It made her look suddenly softer, more vulnerable.

  Worm saw it, although he would not have known what to call it. “You don’t have to stay. We can take you away, Squeaky and me. We have a place that’s clean and dry…and warm. You can stay there.” He looked up at Squeaky. “Can’t she?”

  What on earth could he say? He was caught again. What would Claudine say? He was being ridiculous. The place was full of prostitutes. That was what it was for—to help sick and injured women of the street. What was one more or less?

  “ ’Course,” he said between his teeth. “But she said she’s all right.”

  “I am,” Eloise repeated, but she didn’t sound so certain.

  “You’d be safe,” Worm went on.

  A shadow crossed her face. “I’m safe here.”

  Squeaky knew that was a lie, but it was one she wished them to believe. This was more complicated than he had thought. What had they stepped into?

 
“Really,” she assured them. “And it will clean up quite well. After a fourth or fifth scrub, anyway. It’s not forever.”

  “Where will you go then?” Worm asked.

  “None of our concern!” Squeaky said sharply, cutting him off before he could say any more. “She’s all right. She said so.”

  There was a moment’s silence, anything but comfortable.

  “You like them?” Worm asked Eloise.

  “No,” she said, then immediately seemed to regret it. “Not…not very much. But sometimes we have to put up with people we don’t like a lot.” Her lip curled as if she smelled something unpleasant. Then she saw Worm analyzing her. She seemed to struggle with something: dislike, temptation, indecision. “I need to do it,” she said quietly, anger in her face now. “Please…just…thank you, but I am where I wish to be. It was kind of you, but please go now.” The darkness came back into her face. “I don’t want to have to explain to them that you thought I was…in danger. They will think I have been speaking about them behind their backs.”

  Worm looked crushed.

  “Go!” she repeated. She turned to Squeaky. “Mr….?”

  “Robinson,” he supplied.

  “Mr. Robinson. Please don’t come back.” Now her voice was cold, and there was a definite edge to it.

  Worm did not move.

  Squeaky tried one more time. “Are you sure?”

  Before she could answer, the door at the front slammed loudly and there were footsteps in the passage, at least two sets, heavy and determined. The inner door flew open and the older man stood in the entrance, the younger one on his heels.

  “Oh, yes? And who are you?” the older man asked Squeaky. He did not seem at first even to see Worm.

  “They were just going,” Eloise said quickly, her voice full of apology.

  The man remained blocking the doorway. “Oh, yeah? And why are you here at all, eh?”

  “I was inquiring for a friend of mine who keeps a shop around here,” Squeaky said, a sharp edge to his voice. He hoped the man recognized it for anger and did not take it as fear.

  “In my kitchen?” the older man said. “Likely…and all!” He made as if he were going to spit, and then changed his mind.