“Anyways, this gent calls round to Wick’s, says to Janey as he’d like to see the body, polite like. And Janey says, ‘Well, it ain’t here, that there coroner’s still got it and he won’t say as when he’ll give it back,’ and Janey, right, she’s that upset about it, ’cause of the funeral being the next day and she’s got to wash it and dress it and all, and this here chappie – this Easton – tells her not to worry and he’ll see what he can do.
“And Janey’s thinking, ‘My eye you will, all you lot say that but you don’t do nothing, and whyn’t you get home and leave me alone, anyways.’ And blimey, if the next morning a blasted great carriage don’t turn up – nine o’clock of the morning remember – and these two coves bring in Wick’s body, all polite like, saying ‘Yes, Missus Wick,’ and ‘No, Missus Wick,’ and all!”
There was a general ripple of surprise. “Did he say how he done it? Easton, I mean.” This was the man beside Mary, again.
Reid shook his head and took a long pull of beer. “Didn’t say nothing, just left his card and said if she needed aught else to ask him.”
Someone else gave a sly, knowing chuckle. “Got his eye on the widow, hey? Bet she’s paying him back for his trouble right this minute.”
Reid looked round indignantly. “She ain’t doing nothing like that; she’s a good girl, is Janey Wick.” From the looks of suppressed mirth around the table, it was obvious that Reid’s passion for Mrs Wick was an open secret. “That’s why I’m telling you,” he persisted; “that Easton’s a right posh cove. Fancy Harky doing anything like that for a poor little widow, with all his hymn-singing and tea-drinking!”
The conversation moved on, the characters of James Easton and Mrs Wick being of only passing interest to the other men.
But Reid wanted to keep talking and he buttonholed Mary across the table. “You ain’t done building work before.” It wasn’t a question.
“No,” said Mary. She offered him the same explanation she’d given Harkness: orphaned, no money for an apprenticeship, living in lodgings.
“But you been to school,” said Reid, his brow creasing.
She nodded reluctantly. “For a little.”
He ignored this. “’Cause after I seen you yesterday, looking in the window, that Mr Jones – Octavius Jones” – he sounded out the given name with care – “said you’s a right clever little fart, and for to watch myself around you.”
Beer made her bold. Rather than cringing and trying to minimize herself and her story, Mary grinned broadly. “You got so much to watch?” A flash of panic crossed Reid’s face and she added, hastily, “You, like, the ghost of the clock tower, or something?”
He relaxed. “Not me, laddie. But that Mr Jones – I reckon he knows what’s what.”
So he was sounding her out. Trying to work out what she knew. “Suppose he must, writing for the newspaper and all.”
Reid nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. “Keeps a sharp eye on that site.”
“I don’t see him round that much.”
“He’s got his ways.”
It was like a game of cards with high stakes. Each trying to push the other closer to a confession, while both tried to keep their own secrets. “You mean, like paying people to tell him stuff?”
Reid exhaled slightly. “Yeah. Like that.”
“I ain’t told him nothing, yet,” she said candidly. “Does he pay as good as he says?”
“Oh – naw. I dunno. I ain’t got nothing to tell.” But he flushed at this, and unconsciously pushed a hand into his trouser pocket. Presumably, that’s where Jones’s little bonus was tucked. “I got no secrets.” It was the most unconvincing denial Mary had heard in some time – so incompetent it made her wonder anew at Reid’s involvement with crooks like Wick and Keenan. Or whether she was meant to enquire further.
“Keenan does,” she said boldly, draining her tankard.
Reid looked sly – or perhaps that was just the effect of the cut under his eye, which made him appear quite raffish. “Maybe.”
“He talks to Harky like he’s the boss.”
“Mmm.”
“And him and you and Wick, you’re all up to something.”
Reid blushed, half-ashamed, half-defiant. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“’Course you do.” She paused and leaned forward slightly. The other men paid them no attention; this was a perfect opportunity. “Tidy lot of money it pays you, too.”
He gaped at her, his beer-pinked cheeks slack and quivering. Panic