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3: Not Quite The Gentleman

In the opinion of Sir John Ruispidge, Mr Brunel was not quite the gentleman. But it would be churlish to deny that he had been kindness itself after the distressing theft of the Breguet watch on Temple Meads Station. He had summoned police officers and urged them to prosecute their enquiries with the utmost vigour. He had ordered advertisements to be placed in the Bristol papers, offering a reward of twenty guineas for the watch's safe return.

鈥淣ot for the world, my dear sir,鈥� he had said, 鈥渨ould I have had such an incident occur.鈥�

Sir John could well believe it. The long and the short of it was that Brunel had every reason to keep him sweet.

That evening he dined in Queen Square with two men who might become fellow directors if he decided to accept Brunel's overtures. Still shaken by his experience, he drank deep and left early. The loss of his watch had been a double blow 鈥� first the watch itself, which he cherished, and second the circumstances of its theft. As an old soldier, Sir John considered himself to be a man of action, always prepared for the unexpected. But he had not even tried to apprehend the young person. He had behaved, in short, like a milksop.

But he would not be caught unprepared again. As the carriage whirled him back to his hotel near the Cathedral, Sir John patted the pocket of his overcoat and felt the reassuring outline of his Adams revolver. Only recently patented, it was a double action model enabling rapid fire; according to his gunsmith its bullet would stop a charging tiger.

The carriage drew up outside the hotel. A servant let down the steps and opened the door. As he climbed down, Sir John stumbled, and would have fallen if the man had not steadied him. He was perhaps a trifle bosky, but he prided himself on being a man who could hold his liquor. There might even be a case for a little brandy to aid digestion before he retired.

His apartments were on the first floor. He opened the sitting-room door and discovered that the people of the house had forgotten to bring lights and make up the fire. He marched towards the fireplace, intending to ring for a servant.

But something stopped him in his tracks, something amiss. There was a perfume in the air, clearly identifiable despite the underlying smell of his cigars. He acted without conscious thought. He pulled the heavy revolver from his pocket. Simultaneously he glimpsed a shadow shifting on the far side of the room.

The revolver went off with a crash that stunned him, the echoes almost masking the sound of scuffling and a cry and the closing of the door to the bedroom next to the sitting room. He was so surprised he nearly dropped the gun. He had not intended to shoot; he had forgotten that the Adams revolver was self-cocking and lacked a safety catch.

鈥淪top, thief!鈥� Sir John cried, and the words came out little better than a whimper.

He moved unsteadily to the connecting door and flung it open. The bedroom appeared to be empty.听 A second door, leading directly to the corridor, stood open; the corridor was empty too.

Trembling, Sir John returned to the bedroom and tugged the bell-rope so hard it came away in his hand. As he looked about him for the brandy decanter, a piece of material on the carpet caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it under the light.

It was a scrap of yellow silk.
*
During the following day, Robbie earned a few coppers helping a stall holder at the market. Everyone was talking about the burglar at the Royal Western Hotel, and how an old gent had put a bullet in him. When Robbie got back to his lodgings, the cobbler called out to him from his workshop.

鈥淭here's a woman asking after you. That nurse, Mrs Allardyce. She said you was to go over to Mrs Linnet's. But first things first. I need a dozen tallow candles from Hornby's. If you look sharp you'll catch them before they close.鈥�

Robbie ignored the order, just as he ignored the shout that pursued him up the street. He ran all the way to Hotwells. The house where the Linnets lodged was full of lights and noise but their window was dark. He climbed the stairs and tapped on the door. There was no answer. He turned the handle and went inside the room. The air made him gag.

鈥淢rs Linnet? Mary?鈥�

鈥淩obbie?鈥� Mary's mother whispered from the alcove near the fireplace. 鈥淚s that you?鈥�

鈥淵es. Shall I light the lamp?鈥�

He blundered through the darkness and found the oil lamp and a box of matches on the mantel.听 Mrs Linnet's face appeared in the wavering light. She was lying on her pallet, huddled under a mound of blankets.

鈥淲hat's happened? Where's Mary?鈥�

鈥淪he didn't come back last night. Mrs Allardyce stayed till morning but then she had to go.鈥�

鈥淚s she coming to sit with you tonight?鈥�

The head rolled on the pillow. 鈥淣o. I can't pay her. Mary said she'd bring some money. Where is she, Robbie? I'm worried.鈥�

鈥淚'll find her. Did she go out again last night?鈥�

鈥淎gain? What do you mean? She went out once and she never came back.鈥�
*
Mary Linnet was on fire. Her lips were chapped and she felt as though her skin was flaking away. Her tongue lay, huge and dry, in her mouth. She was aware of the pain in her left shoulder. There was moisture too, dark and thick and tasting of iron.

She did not know how long she had lain in this dark place, drifting in and out of consciousness. Once, in the glow of a candle, the Reverend Mr Fanmole loomed over her like a great grey slug in a dressing gown. She remembered Mr Fanmole waiting for her with a closed carriage when she had stumbled through the side door of the hotel. She remembered his hot breath on her cheek, and how he had made her lie on the carriage floor as they jolted up the hill to Clifton.

鈥淒on't sit on the seat, you stupid child, you'll bleed on the leather.鈥�

Now Mary was lying on a thin layer of straw spread over a flagged floor with a mound of logs in the corner. A barred window was set high in a wall. Sometimes there was natural light on the other side of it 鈥� not much, but enough to see the outlines of her prison.

But perhaps that was a hallucination too. She could no longer distinguish between what was inside her mind and what was without. Once she saw the Breguet watch swinging like a pendulum before her eyes, measuring away her life.

Another time she saw as clear as day Robbie's face framed by the little window. He tapped on the glass with fingers that were pale as bones; and she opened her mouth to call him, but she could no more speak than she could move.