Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [100]
Sam thought it over for a moment, but he was not long in his decision. Word spread fast among people who lived on the edge between survival and despair, and he made his own way by judging people. “Yer on,” he agreed. “Follow me.” And at last he straightened up and began to walk with a gait that was a deceptively rapid kind of lope. Pitt was hard pressed to keep up with him; although he was used to being on his feet all day it was with a measured tread, even back when he had been a constable. Now he was accustomed to riding, and the patterer’s speed left him breathless.
Fifteen minutes later they were almost at the far side of Seven Dials and in a more salubrious neighborhood, but still the streets were narrow and a practiced eye could recognize cheap lodging houses, and several that were almost certainly used as brothels. If Cerise were here then she had indeed fallen on hard times since the days of the Lyceum and the hotel where the doorkeeper had remembered her.
The patterer stopped and stood still on the grimy pavement.
“Up them stairs,” Black Sam said smoothly. He might have been on an evening’s stroll for any difference the run had made to him. “Knock on the door at the top an’ ask ter see Fred. ’E’ll tell yer where yer party is. I’ll wait ’ere, and if ’e does, I’ll trust yer ter come back down an’ give the the ’alf crown. Can’t say fairer than that. If ’e don’t, then we’ve ’ad a nice walk fer nuffin.”
Pitt hesitated, but it was hardly worth the haggling. Wordlessly he went across to the steps indicated and climbed them slowly, making as little noise as possible. The door at the top was heavy and closed. He knocked hard, hurting his knuckles. After a moment it opened and a thin youth with a knife scar across his cheek looked at him without interest.
“I want to see Fred,” Pitt said, standing well back.
“Wot fer? I in’t seen you afore!”
“Business,” Pitt replied. “Get him.”
“Fred! Geezer ’ere for yer—says it’s business!” the youth shouted.
Pitt waited for several minutes in silence before Fred appeared. He was rotund, red-faced and surprisingly agreeable. He smiled toothlessly. “Yeah?”
“I’m looking for a woman in a pink dress, very vivid dark pink. Black Sam said you know where I can find her.”
“Yeah, that’s right. She rents a room orf me.”
“Now?”
“Yeah o’ course now! Wot’s the matter wiv yer? Think I’m daft?”
“Is she there now, in this room of yours?”
“Yeah. But I don’t let just anybody in. Mebbe she’ll see yer, an’ mebbe she won’t. She might already ’ave company, like.”
“Naturally. I don’t expect something for nothing. What does she look like, this woman in pink of yours?”
“Wot does she look like?” His pale eyebrows rose up to his nonexistent hairline. “Geez! Wot do you care? You must ’ave a lot more money than yer look like if yer can afford ter care!”
“I care,” Pitt said between his teeth. “That’s what matters to me.” A good lie came to his mind. “I’m an artist. Now, tell me!”
“All right, all right.” He shrugged genially. “If you say so. But I don’t know why yer want ter paint ’er; she’s as thin as a washboard, don’t ’ave no bosom and no ’ips. But she ’as got a face, I’ll give ’er that. She ’as a curious fine face, an’ black ’air. Now make up yer mind an’ don’t stand ’ere on the doorstep like a fool. I ’an’t got the time, even if you ’ave!”
“I’ll see her,” Pitt said instantly. “I owe Black Sam. Let me go and pay him, then I’ll be back to pay you for your trouble.”
“Then get on wiv it!” Fred urged. “I got work ter do.”
Ten minutes later Pitt, debts discharged, stood in a red-carpeted passageway with faded, dirty footmarks along the center and a gas lamp hissing gently on the wall. He knocked on the door at the end of the passage. Nothing happened. He knocked again, more loudly. Fred had assured him she was there, and he had described her too closely not to know who she was. He had spoken of characteristics Pitt had not even mentioned.
A door opened behind him and a large woman with a cascade of blond hair came out, a shawl wrapped round