The Sin Eater(44)

‘Catch them knowing anything,’ said Cerise, with a toss of her head. ‘You could try Mr Bullfinch.’

‘Who’s Mr Bullfinch?’

‘Gentleman who helps some of us out of trouble, from time to time.’ Cerise made the gesture of shrugging. ‘I gave Rom his address.’

Within the shabby room, smelling of sex and cheap perfume, the attention of both the boys sharpened. Colm said, sharply, ‘My cousin was in trouble? What kind of trouble?’

‘Lor’ if you don’t know what kind of trouble us girls get into sometimes, you must be green,’ said Cerise, with a little trill of half-pitying laughter. ‘Usual kind of trouble, dear. Either you get a dose of glim – that’s the pox to you – or you find you’re up the duff. A kid. Rom was at least eight weeks gone when she left here. Said she’d prayed for a release from it – something about beads and the Holy Mother.’

‘The rosary,’ said Declan.

‘Whatever it was, it didn’t do no good. Well, I said to her, love, I said, you won’t find beads and praying will help you. You try the gin and hot bath, I said, and if that don’t work – which it didn’t – you go off to Mr Bullfinch. He’ll sort you out quick as a dose of castor oil, I said, and I gave her his address.’

‘Mr Bullfinch is an abortionist,’ said Declan, half-questioningly.

‘Don’t you go calling him that,’ said Cerise at once. ‘Or you’ll land in a different kind of trouble on your own account. He deals in pills for female irregularities, that’s all. And if the pills don’t work—’

‘There are other things he does,’ said Colm.

‘I never said so and nor will he. But if you want him, you’ll find him in Canning Town. Clock Street, down by the old river steps. You can’t miss it. I’d take you there myself if I wasn’t expecting one of my regulars in an hour.’

‘You know him, this Bullfinch?’

‘Blimey, dear, ’course I do. We all do,’ said Cerise, carelessly. ‘And he don’t half charge you, the old miser. Flossie’ll sometimes help with a bit of a loan if we need it, though.’

‘Did she help Romilly?’ Declan heard that this came out too eagerly, but he thought they were both hoping to hear Romilly had been given practical help – money certainly, perhaps assistance with finding somewhere to live. Even just friendship.

But Cerise only said, ‘Flossie didn’t do nothing for Rom. I don’t think she liked Rom, much. She never said so, but I heard her tell somebody Rom should’ve known better’n to get knapped so soon and if she left, it was good riddance to bad rubbish. But Romilly’ll be all right. I sent her to Mr Bullfinch and he’ll see she’s all right.’

As they went down the stairs, Colm stopped at a small half-landing and said quietly, ‘Declan, that girl referred to regulars.’

‘Regular men who come to the house? Would they have that?’

‘It sounded like it. Oh, we’re so bloody ignorant!’ said Colm angrily. ‘You’d think the monks might have taught us a bit about the bad old world and all the wicked evils lying in wait, instead of stuffing us to the gills with Latin and penitence and how not to commit simony or sneeze during Mass.’

‘Anyway, about regular men at the house?’ said Declan, because once Colm got on to the subject of what the monks had taught he would go on for hours and they could not stand here whispering on the stairs.

‘Let’s say Romilly did have regular men,’ said Colm. ‘I hate saying it, but she might. They’d have liked her, wouldn’t they? Maybe find her a bit unusual, and come back a second time and a third. If we could find one of those men, he might know where she went.’

‘Flossie Totteridge would know who the men were,’ said Declan.

‘She would, wouldn’t she? We’ll have to go back after all. Damn, I’d hoped we could vanish into the night like a couple of ghosts, but it’ll have to be faced. Do we toss a coin for it?’

‘We do not,’ said Declan firmly. ‘For one thing it’s clear you’re the one Mrs Totteridge wanted, and for another, any coins we’ve still got are going on tonight’s supper.’

Mrs Totteridge appeared to be waiting for them anyway. She sat next to Colm, who said Cerise had been helpful, but had not known where his cousin was, either.

‘But my cousin would have had regular callers, would she?’

‘She might,’ said Flossie. ‘Yes, I do recall one or two gentlemen who asked for her, special like. One in particular. Looked like a little plucked fowl in a waistcoat, and tried to talk like a toff. Didn’t fool me, I can spot Cheapside a mile off.’

‘You’d remember his name, though, this little plucked fowl?’ said Colm, picking out the sole recognizable reference in this. ‘You’d know who comes and goes here, and how often.’

‘You’d maybe even keep notes,’ put in Declan, and received a cold stare.

‘No notes,’ said Flossie. ‘Never anything written down. Complete discretion, that’s what’s promised.’

‘But you know this little fowl’s name?’

‘Are you thinking you’ll talk to him?’

‘Yes. But we’d be discreet, as well,’ said Declan. ‘Could we go to his place of work?’