Belle - Lesley Pearse [106]
‘Bugger off, you little bastards,’ a male voice bellowed from within, and Mog stepped back from the door in fright.
It was flung open by a man wearing only trousers and a dirty vest. His feet were bare and he smelled of drink. ‘If you’re from the church you can bugger off too,’ he snarled at her.
‘I’m not from the church,’ Mog said, indignation at being spoken to so rudely making her bolder. ‘I came to ask you about Nora Toff. Is she your daughter?’
‘And what’s it to you?’ he said.
Mog took that to be confirmation that he at least knew Nora, even if he was not her father.
‘I hope she has nothing to do with me, but my friend’s daughter has disappeared, and also another girl under very similar circumstances. I’d just like to know if Nora is safe at home.’
‘She went off six months ago,’ the man said. ‘What are you saying? What’s happened to those other girls?’
‘We don’t know, they just disappeared,’ Mog said. ‘Both of their mothers know they wouldn’t run off of their own accord, they were good girls.’
‘You’d better come in,’ the man growled. ‘Our Nora weren’t flighty neither, she never done nothing like that afore.’
Mog did not want to go into the man’s home alone; the dank, festering smell wafting out was enough to know it would be even worse inside. He looked a desperate character too; it really wasn’t safe. ‘I’d like to talk about it to you,’ she said carefully, ‘but not here. Could you come to the Ram’s Head in Monmouth Street early this evening? Ask for Mog.’
She slipped away quickly, even as he was calling after her. Once around the corner in Drury Lane she looked at the list of names and addresses and decided that she’d done enough for one day.
When Mog walked into the pub, she found Noah there talking to Jimmy and Garth. They all looked round expectantly as she came in and obviously had been discussing the list of names.
‘Amy Stewart disappeared two years ago,’ Mog said quietly, aware some of the drinkers might be listening. ‘Only thirteen and she’s got very respectable parents.’ She went on then to tell them what had happened when she asked about Nora Toff.
‘I’m not sure if the man was her father,’ she explained. ‘He was a rough sort, and he’d been drinking, but I suggested he came here in the early evening. I don’t feel inclined to try any more today – Lizzie Stewart drained me.’
‘I’ll go and ask about some of the others,’ Noah offered, taking the list from her and looking at it. ‘There’s two from near Ludgate Circus, I’ll check them as I’ve got to go to Fleet Street this afternoon anyway.’
‘What about going to Paris? To check out that Madame Sondheim,’ Jimmy said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘If you go, Noah, can I go with you?’
‘You aren’t going anywhere, son,’ Garth said firmly.
Jimmy stuck out his lip.
‘Your place is here,’ Noah said, reaching out to ruffle the lad’s hair. ‘You’ve done a fine job getting this list, and the address in Paris, but if I take anyone there with me, it will have to be someone who speaks French.’
‘Seems to me,’ Garth said ponderously, ‘that we should double our efforts to find that man called Sly and kick some information out of him.’
‘Oh, Garth!’ Mog exclaimed.
Garth folded his arms defiantly. ‘Look, Jimmy heard him mentioned again, they said he’d turned yellow-bellied, so ask yourself why that is.’
‘Disgusted with what the others were doing?’ Noah suggested.
‘Possibly,’ Garth said. ‘But it’s more likely he found himself in deep water and got scared.’
‘You said no one round here had seen him in ages,’ Jimmy said.
Garth nodded. ‘That’s right, but I know a man I could lean on who might tell me where he hangs out.’
Mog didn’t like it when men spoke of giving people a kicking or leaning on them, and said so. Garth merely grinned. ‘Some folk just don’t respond to being asked nicely,’ he retorted.
Two weeks later Mog, Garth, Noah and Jimmy gathered round the table in the kitchen behind the saloon. It was wet and very windy outside, and at six in the evening