The Devil's Workshop

Day turned to the fat man with the little hat. “Will you show us the way to St John of God?”

The man nodded, his face bright and eager. He waved the broken umbrella over his head and led the way down the street as if he were at the head of a parade. Day smiled at the tea shop proprietor, motioned to Adrian March, and followed the fat organ player as the crowd began to break up behind them.

28

There were fugitives loose in the city, but Constable Rupert Winthrop was not out there chasing them down. He was stuck in the foyer of a private home on Regent’s Park Road, sitting on an uncomfortable chair and sipping tea. His stomach was growling and he wanted a pastry, but there was no one else in the house except a very pregnant lady, and Rupert didn’t want to bother her.

He had tried watching the door like a hawk, just staring at it. It made him feel diligent and in charge of the situation, but that feeling had passed quickly. There was no situation. Everybody else was out there running down villains, and Rupert had apparently done something wrong because he was doing nothing. He couldn’t figure out why Sergeant Kett should be unhappy with him. He’d spent the last hour thinking over every exchange he’d ever had with the sergeant, but there was nothing. It must have been something personal, something he’d had no idea would offend. The only thing to do was try to get back in Kett’s good graces as soon as he possibly could.

He was puzzling over just how to accomplish that when he heard a woman scream upstairs. He dropped his cup of tea, which broke on the floor. Tea spattered everywhere, and Rupert wasted several seconds by dropping to his knees and trying to gather the shards of china into his palm. A second scream made him drop the shards, some of which split into even tinier sharp bits, and jump back to his feet. He rushed to the steps and stared up into the darkness. He looked back at the door again, the door he was supposed to be guarding, then took a cautious step up. He heard whimpering somewhere above and abandoned caution, taking the stairs three at a time. He didn’t wait at the top of the stairs for his eyes to adjust, and so he ran into a wall and caromed off of it, then oriented himself and walked down the hallway, stopping outside the lady’s bedroom. He rapped on the door, already embarrassed and unsure.

“Ma’am?”

A moment’s silence. Then: “I’m fine.”

Rupert tugged at his earlobe and sniffed. What if someone else was in the bedroom? What if someone had climbed up from the outside and through the window and had a knife to Claire Day’s throat and was whispering in her ear, telling her to say that she was all right?

“Ma’am,” he said, “can I open the door?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But are you really all right?”

“Yes.” Her voice was small and far away, muffled by the thick door. She sounded like a little girl. “I mean, no. I don’t know. Where’s Fiona? I want Fiona.”

Rupert stepped closer to the door and put his lips almost against it. He wanted to push himself through the grain of the wood and be able to see whether Mrs Day needed his help.

“She went to get the doctor for you,” he said.

“She left me?”

“Only for a bit. I’m here, ma’am. Really, anything I can do…”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Are you sure? I could—”

“I said leave me alone!”

Rupert pulled his head back away from the door as if he’d been struck. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He spoke quietly and wasn’t sure she could hear him, but then she answered.

“I’m sorry, too, Constable.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Rupert?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I don’t wish to offend you, but would you please leave me alone?”

“Of course.”

“And please send Fiona to me as soon as she returns?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She is going to return?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Rupert. And I’m terribly sorry. You seem like a nice person.”

“Yes, ma’am. I try. Please don’t hesitate… I mean, if you need anything…”

“Thank you, Rupert.”

He nodded, though of course she couldn’t see him. He retreated to the stairs and down and went to his chair in the foyer, but he didn’t sit. He looked back up at the top of the stairs where they disappeared into shadow and then he looked at the dangerous puddle of tea and china that he had made on the floor. He clucked his tongue and went in search of a broom and dustpan.

There was something useful to do at last.

29

By the time they reached the church, the fat man with the tiny hat had grown nervous. They stopped at the edge of the church grounds and the man pointed across to a rear door.

“Perhaps,” he said, “perhaps it would be a good idea if nobody knew I was involved.”

“You’re not involved,” March said.

“Exactly right,” the fat man said. “What say we keep it just between us?”

“There is no us,” March said. “Here’s the church and we have no further need of you.”

“Just as well,” the man said. “Just as well. But if you could see your way clear to not mention my name. To not mention, I mean to say, my name in connection with any of this.”

“But we don’t know your name,” Day said. “How could we possibly mention it to anyone?”