The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1) Page 5

  Realizing that the docks in Southampton would undoubtedly be watched, Scott decided that the best way for Kate to get off unnoticed was for her to leave disguised as a member of the ship’s crew. At dusk on the day they arrived, wearing a pair of dirty white linen pants with a dark gray woolen jacket and a cap pulled over her bright-red hair, Kate walked off the ship accompanied by several large sailors. She walked straight into a waiting carriage that Scott had hired to take them to the nearest train station to catch their ride to London that very day.

  With a loud screech from the train’s brakes, the train came to a shuddering halt at the main platform in Charring Cross. Grabbing their meagre few possessions, Scott led Kate to the nearest exit and stepped out onto the stone platform. The noxious smell of trash and burning coal seemed to fill the air. Almost immediately, a pair of children, no more than eight years old, ran towards them wearing ragged clothes, their faces filthy, and as one politely asked if they could carry their bags. Kate obliged, handing her suitcase to a dirty blonde-haired girl who energetically pushed her brother out of the way, as she led them away from the growing cacophony inside the station. With a shrug of his shoulders, Scott let the boy carry his bag, who happily took off after his sister. Scott shook his head. His duffel bag was heavy…even for him, but the boy incredibly did not seem to mind the weight.

  Kate had changed into a light-brown skirt and matching blouse that tied up tightly around her neck. Her hair was once again tied back in a tight bun on the back of her head. Scott was wearing a simple dark-blue suit with a white linen shirt and black tie. It was his only remaining clean suit. He would have to buy another as his other decent suit had been torn during the fight on the ship

  Outside the station, the street was alive with carriage men calling out to the departing passengers trying to get a fare while street merchants jostled with one another.

  Kate bent down, looked at the little girl, and said, “Which driver do you recommend?”

  “That’s easy, ma’am,” said the girl with a flash of her stained teeth, dragging Kate’s suitcase behind her. “My father has a carriage. He’s a good man. He won’t do you no harm,” said the girl, proudly.

  A few seconds later, they arrived by a closed carriage, pulled by one mangy and tired-looking horse. A thin, sickly-looking man dressed from head to toe in black with a tall top hat greeted Kate and Scott. His kids handed him the luggage. Scott smiled and tipped them well. With a loud squeal of delight, they ran off in search of more work.

  “Where to, sir?” said the driver as he stowed away their luggage.

  Scott gave him the address to a boarding house on Brook Street, just off Hyde Park.

  Kate and Scott climbed into the carriage and took a seat on a hard black leather bench that filled the back of the coach. With a light snap of the driver’s whip, the horse neighed, raised its head, and then slowly, almost grudgingly, started away from the station.

  “Mister Scott, I don’t want to trouble you,” said Kate, busy watching the people on the crowded streets as they rode by, “but we haven’t come up with a story as to who we are and what we are doing, should we be asked.”

  Scott took a deep breath. She was right; he had been too focused on other things to think that far ahead. “Ok, let’s say that you’re my cousin, and we’re here in London to see our grandmother before she passes away.”

  Kate scrunched up her face. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “Have you got anything better?”

  Kate sat there for a minute and then reluctantly said, “No…I guess I don’t.”

  They sat there for the next twenty minutes in silence, looking out the open windows of the carriage. The streets were alive with people. Kate was upset to see so many children in bare feet wearing little more than rags as they chased one another through the busy London streets. Things had also been getting worse in Richmond the longer the war went on, but she had never seen such poverty in a major city before in her life. It seemed every corner had a merchant on it calling out as loud as they could trying to drown out their competition. Scott cringed when he saw a sergeant resplendent in his red tunic offer to buy some unsuspecting youths a drink. He knew that once they drank the Queen’s shilling that they would be in the army by morning and off to some stinking disease-ridden garrison at the other end of the world within a month.

  They soon turned down Brook Street, the driver calling out the landmarks as he drove past. As per Scott’s directions, they drove slowly past Professor O’Sullivan’s lodgings and then carried on down the street for a couple of blocks before stopping in front of a reputable looking two-story boarding house. Their driver opened the carriage door, helped Kate down, and then took their luggage inside. Scott tipped the man well and then with a few more shillings added he asked the driver to come by in the morning. With a tip of his hat and a gap-toothed smile, the man readily agreed.

  A short, stern-faced matron with a thick Scottish Brogue met Scott and Kate at the door and quickly laid down the rules in her house. Aside from the rules being stricter than those in the army, with a feigned smile, Scott obligingly agreed to her terms, paid for two night’s lodging, and then helped Kate carry her suitcase to her room on the first floor. His naturally was on the second.

  After freshening up, they met in the sitting room where they were served a pot of piping hot tea. Scott thanked their host, who suspiciously eyed them for a moment before leaving them alone in the room. Kate poured them both a cup.

  “Our host seems none too friendly, Mister Scott,” said Kate barely above a whisper.

  “Kate, if we are going to pull off this charade as relatives travelling together, you had best call me Alexander or Alex, whatever you like, just, please stop being so formal with me,” said Scott with a smile.

  “Ok Alex, why did we drive past by my father’s lodgings and come here?” asked Kate curiously.

  “For the same reason that people knew you were aboard the Victoria. People are watching places where you and your father lived. If we had stopped and gone inside, they would have no doubt recognized you, and then it would all have been for naught. We need to lay low for now and not draw any unwanted attention to ourselves,” explained Scott.

  “I hadn’t thought they would be here as well,” said Kate.

  “It’s probably wise to assume that they are anywhere and everywhere your father is or has been recently. Someone wanted your father badly and most likely now wants you as well.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Kate asked, taking a sip of her tea.

  “For now, we are going to do nothing,” said Scott. “After supper tonight, you are going to stay here, safe and sound while I take a nice leisurely stroll to work off my meal and check out your father’s apartment.”

  Kate went to say something, but was instantly cut off by Scott.

  “If I find anything of value, I will bring it back to you so you can read it here. As you rightly pointed out you are the only one who can read your father’s notes, so I can’t risk you getting hurt or worse, while we are looking for him…now can we?”

  Kate shook her head in defeat. She chaffed inside at being left behind, but deep down, she knew that Scott was right.

  After a delicious meal of mutton stew with warm bread covered in butter and never-ending cups of tea, Scott and Kate left the only other guest at the dinner table, a beefy looking Frenchman, and retired from the dining room. Taking a couple of seats in the drawing room, they sat there for a couple of minutes not saying a word.

  Finally, Kate broke the silence. “Alex, when do you plan on going for your nightly constitutional?”

  Scott took out his golden pocket watch, a gift from his father when he left to join the army, and looked at the time. It was nearing eight in the evening.

  “Oh, probably in the next half hour,” said Scott.

  “In the next half hour you’ll do what,” asked Mrs. Shaw, the matron of the house.

  “I was planning to go for a quick walk to stretch m
y legs after your scrumptious cooking,” said Scott, playfully tapping his stomach.

  “Well, perhaps the streets are safe where you come from, Mister Scott, but I wouldn’t recommend a stranger like yourself being out on the streets of London much-past dark. If it’s a walk you want, you should go now,” said Mrs. Shaw, not so much a suggestion as an order.

  “Very well then,” said Scott, standing. “I’ll just nip upstairs, grab a few things, and be on my way.”

  Two minutes later, after seeing Kate safely to her room, Scott stepped outside into the cool evening air. The smell of coal seemed to linger in the street and smell worse than before. Scott cringed, thinking how bad it would be during a long cold winter in London with so many chimneys spewing out smoke and ash into the air. Crossing the street, Scott walked down the still busy street, minding his business as he made his way to the last place where Professor O’Sullivan had been alive. Scott stopped in his tracks and looked about. He felt that he was being followed. It was an unnerving feeling deep down inside his stomach. Everywhere he looked people seemed to be engaged in talking or just walking along without paying him any heed. He shook his head at his skittishness and carried on past the tall four-story redbrick Queen Anne house where the professor had once kept a room. At a narrow alley, Scott turned sharply and made his way over piles of rotting garbage to the back of the tall home. Gently pushing open the rickety wooden gate at the back of the narrow yard, Scott stepped inside and was happy to see that he was alone. Quickly making his way to the back door of the house, Scott tried the door and with a smile, found that it was unlocked. Turning the brass knob slowly, Scott took a deep breath and then stepped inside the dimly lit entrance. He stopped for a moment and listened. He could hear a man and a woman chatting away in the kitchen. Looking to his right, Scott could see stairs leading to the upstairs of the house. Carefully closing the door behind him, Scott made his way to the stairs and then as quietly as he could, he began to climb the narrow wooden staircase to the third floor, where Professor O’Sullivan’s room was.

  Reaching the third floor, Scott cautiously peered left and right down the darkened corridor to make sure that he was alone. Seeing that there was no one on the floor, Scott headed straight for room number three and tried the door.

  It was locked.

  Scott anticipated this and dug into a jacket pocket. He pulled out a thin blade and then gently placed it into the lock. He jimmied with the lock for a few seconds, before with a creak the door opened. Scott cringed at the noise. He was breaking the law but knew that there was no turning back now. Stepping inside the near pitch-black room, Scott almost tripped over his feet. Looking down, he saw that the floor was littered with torn up books, clothes and destroyed furniture.

  Scott cursed under his breath; someone had beaten him to the room.

  He reached about for a candle, found one on the small dining room table and lit it. As the light flickered, the scale of the destruction in the room came into view. Scott let out a low whistle. It seemed obvious that there probably was nothing of value left anywhere in the room.

  Whoever had been here…had been thorough.

  Carefully making his way around the cluttered room, Scott kept a close eye out for any notes or journals that might have been accidently missed when the thieves ransacked the room.

  The room seemed to close in on Scott. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but his heart started to race, and sweat started to form on his brow. The sooner he was out of there, the happier he would be. Making his way past smashed plates and cups littering the floor, Scott stopped at O’Sullivan’s tossed bed; the sheets had been pulled off and thrown in an untidy heap on the nearest chair. The feather pillows had all been cut open, and their contents unceremoniously dumped all over the shapeless mattress. His heart sank; there was nothing here. Scott was about to turn to leave, when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a piece of white fabric sticking out from under the mattress. It looked to Scott like the same lace Kate had used to tie up her father’s letters. Grabbing the mattress, he flipped it over and found two letters bound together by lace sticking out from between two wooden boards. The other people must have stirred it from its hiding place when they trashed the room, but they had not noticed it in their haste, thought Scott. Quickly grabbing the letters, Scott thrust them inside his inner jacket pocket and then turned around to leave.

  Scott froze. A shape filled the doorway.

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded the person in the doorway.

  Scott slowly made his way towards the entrance. “I was just looking for something Professor O’Sullivan’s daughter gave him before he left Virginia. She asked me to retrieve it,” said Scott, still edging towards the exit.

  “That may be so, but you should have asked before coming up here,” said a fat, balding man standing at the entrance to the room. “You have no bloody right to go barging in here and going through one of my lodger’s rooms.”

  “My apologies, sir, I just didn’t want to bother you,” said Scott, trying to find a way out of the building without the owners alerting the police.

  “I have a good mind to call for the Met to come here and arrest you,” said the man, referring to the city’s Metropolitan Police Service. “Just look at the state of the room, all tore up and wrecked. Somebody will have to pay for that mess, I tell you.”

  Scott began to wonder just how often people came and went from the lodgings. O’Sullivan had been gone for some time, and the owners had not even bothered to check on his room. With a smile, he said, “Well I don’t know who did this but if you’re willing to forget I was ever here. I might be able to pay for some new furniture and the like,” said Scott, reaching into his jacket and producing several gold sovereigns; he began dropping them into the surprised man’s hand.

  “Yes you might,” said the man, eyeing the ten shiny new sovereigns in his meaty hand.

  “Well, I should be going,” said Scott as he inched his way past the enormous man smelling of body odor and fried onions. From his supper, no doubt thought Scott.

  “Aye, but before you go, you said you were looking for something,” said the man, pocketing the coins.

  “Yes, a small brooch for his daughter…it’s a family heirloom,” said Scott, lying again.

  “We have a small package for her downstairs. Her father left it with us and forgot to give us the money to mail it to America. I was hoping he would come back so he could take it or give us the money,” said the man.

  Scott could not believe his ears. Perhaps his streak of good luck was holding. He followed the man down the stairs and into the kitchen. A few seconds later, the man’s equally large wife appeared. They talked for a minute, and then the woman came back with a brown paper wrapped package in her hands. With a smile and a few more sovereigns as a tip, Scott took the package, shoved it in his jacket, and quickly stepped outside into the shadowy alleyway. He took a quick look around, saw that he wasn’t being followed, and then as fast as he could he made his way back out onto the main street and started to walk back towards the boarding house.

  His apprehension seemed to melt away the further he got away from Professor O’Sullivan’s old apartment. He was almost home when he saw the other lodger of the boarding house, the tough-looking Frenchman, walking towards him. The hair on the back of Scott’s neck went up…something wasn’t right. He thought about crossing the street, when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a sharp blade pushed up against his back.

  “Down here,” said a threatening voice from behind as the unseen man guided Scott down a darkened alley. Scott wasn’t sure of the accent, but it sounded vaguely Russian to him. They walked for a few seconds until they were far enough from the main street that they could not be seen, when Scott was pushed hard from behind.

  He staggered forward a few steps and then stopped.

  “Turn around slowly and raise your hands,” said the Russian.

  Scott did what he was told. It was dark in the alley, but S
cott could see two men standing there; the Russian had a knife in his hand and the Frenchman had a pistol in his.

  “Please do not lie to me, Mister Scott. I know that you have been to Professor O’Sullivan’s room tonight,” said the Frenchman. “I will take from you whatever you have taken from there, Mister Scott.”

  “There was nothing there,” said Scott, trying to bluff his way out. “Your people trashed Professor O’Sullivan’s room the last time they were there. I swear there was nothing of value left in that room.”

  “Yes, they also said that they found nothing of value. So please don’t make this any harder on yourself than it has to be. My associate here saw you skulking about behind the building,” said the Frenchman, nodding at his partner in crime. “He said he saw you put something in your coat pocket when you left the building. So no more games, Mister Scott…give it to me.”

  Scott bit his lip and slowly moved his hand to get the parcel from his jacket.

  “Don’t move another inch,” ordered the Frenchman. “Yuri, get whatever he has and bring it to me.”

  With a big grin on his face, Yuri walked over, snatched the small bundle out of Scott’s pocket, and then obligingly gave it to his boss.

  “One thing,” asked Scott, playing for time.

  “What is it?” said the Frenchman as he placed the packet away in his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

  “The big Russian goon I understand,” said Scott condescendingly, “he’s probably been watching the house for weeks. It’s you I don’t understand. How did you know we would turn up in the exact same boarding house as you?”

  “Dumb luck Mister Scott, pure dumb luck, I was in London to tie up a few loose ends for my employers and took a room near O’Sullivan’s old room, so I could check on my people watching the place,” said the Frenchman with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.