Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [86]
There had been dozens of people about. In the narrow, fetid alley they ended up in there had been a gang of men who had all looked at them curiously. Sadly Beth didn’t think that would mean rescue was close at hand, for Fingers wouldn’t have ordered her to be brought here openly if he hadn’t been sure he could count on the locals’ loyalty.
She had no idea what time it was now, but she felt it was still night, for there were no chinks of light coming in anywhere. The thought of rats made her flesh crawl and she hugged her arms tighter around her, trying hard not to think of that. Instead, she tried to work out how long it would be before Sam realized what had happened.
He would of course have known something was wrong when she didn’t turn up to play. But how could he find her? It would be like looking for a particular pebble on an entire beach.
Chapter Seventeen
At six, when Jack arrived at the slaughterhouse to see Sam waiting there, the colour drained from his face even before Sam told him what had happened.
‘Go on, say it,’ Sam said miserably. ‘I should’ve taken more notice of what you told me.’
Jack’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he made an effort to control himself. ‘I guess you couldn’t have watched over her all the time.’ He sighed. ‘No one could, and who would’ve expected them to snatch her as she was leaving Ira’s shop?’
‘What can we do, Jack?’ Sam asked miserably. ‘I can’t see Heaney sending his mob out to find her. He’ll just order them to smash up Fingers’ property and then the war will really start.’
Jack nodded in agreement. ‘I wish I could skip work and stay with you, but I daren’t. I finish at one today, though, so I’ll keep my ear to the ground and meet you at Heaney’s by two.’
Sam walked back home, but with every step his fear for Beth grew. He had been so complacent, believing he was better educated than most, attractive to the ladies and considered a gentleman by all. He lorded it behind the bar at Heaney’s, never lapsing into American slang because he wanted to stand out as an Englishman.
But the truth was that he was a milksop. He had never been in a fight in his life, and he was afraid of violence, and if he was considered honest, that was because he was too scared to be otherwise.
His famous charm wasn’t going to rescue Beth and he had no money to pay a ransom for her either. What was he going to do?
Beth sat shivering on her box watching as faint chinks of light came through the boards of the cellar ceiling. But although this told her that it must be after seven on Saturday morning, there were no other chinks of light anywhere else. Somewhere up there was the trapdoor she’d come down through. There had been some sort of ladder, too, for the man had pushed her on to it, but she’d lost her footing and slithered the rest of the way down to the floor. He’d pulled the ladder up before shutting and locking the door.
She wished she could remember what the room above was like, but she’d been struggling and crying as he pushed her along a narrow dark passage from the alley, so even when he struck a match, she hadn’t noticed anything more than the trapdoor he flung open.
But it struck her that even if she didn’t see anything, she would’ve sensed if the room was lived in. There was no sound coming from there now, nor had there been all night, and if there had been anyone living there, surely her captor would’ve gagged her?
So perhaps it was a storeroom. Maybe there wasn’t anyone else in the entire building?
That seemed very unlikely. Mulberry Bend and its surrounding rabbit warren of alleyways were by repute the most overcrowded part of the city. Anyone owning a building here would press it into service as a five-cents-a-night flop house.
She wanted to cry, from fear, cold and hunger, but she was determined not to. Fingers had snatched her because he considered her valuable. It didn’t make any sense for him to leave her down here to die.
The light through the ceiling cracks was growing a little brighter, which suggested there were windows