10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

F IRE RAGES THROUGH FLEET STREET, DESTROYS BELOVED BAKERY, FIVE DEAD, read the headline in the paper the next morning. Hugh stared at the photograph there in shock. Where only yesterday he had stood inside the Elysium Emporium and spoken to Prudence Wilcox, there was now only a pile of ashes and cinders. He read through the article, which mentioned that the fire seemed to have started in the back of the shop at one of the ovens and spread quickly. Five victims were listed, though their names were not. Hugh wondered if sweet Miss Prudence had been amongst them. It seemed likely.

“I don’t think this was a coincidence,” Depesh said when he and Hugh arrived at The Yard to prepare for their shift. “You identified the location of the gold paper, and that night it goes up in flames?”

“And the fact that it sounds like the family who owned it appears to have perished in the fire as well,” Hugh added.

Depesh nodded, swiping at his nose with his handkerchief. “That poor girl. Do you think she found something that could have given us insight into this investigation?”

Hugh shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“Danbury!” came a call from one of the other constables. “The backyard butchers want a word with you!”

“Thank you,” Hugh said, waving at the man. Depesh looked like he might turn green again, and Hugh gave his friend’s arm a reassuring pat. “I’ll go myself. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Depesh nodded and hurried away. Hugh made his way through the police station to the morgue at the back, stepping inside the building and finding Dr. Ledbetter in front of another blackened corpse. That was starting to become a familiar sight, though this one was not Spring-Heeled Jack’s doing.

“Ah, Hugh,” Ledbetter said, glancing up at him. He motioned to a sheet of paper on his nearby desk. “I received an identification on that boy the viscount was eating.”

He said it with such casual bluntness that Hugh almost laughed. He picked up the sheet. Joseph Cumberland, a known thief and prostitute. He had been arrested several times for soliciting gentlemen in the area near where he had been found, though never caught en flagrante . There was no address listed; Hugh wondered if the young man had had a home to go to or if he simply slept on the streets, as many of London’s poor did.

“Hmm,” Ledbetter said, examining the corpse in front of him curiously.

Hugh glanced up. “What is ‘hmm?’”

“It’s odd,” Ledbetter said. “This corpse was obviously burned in the fire, but there is no sign of smoke inhalation.”

“What does that mean?” Hugh asked with a frown, coming up to stand beside the table. He didn’t know much about anatomy, but the insides of the person currently cut open upon the table did not look burned to him the way he would have expected someone in a blazing inferno to look.

“It means, he was dead before the fire was started,” Ledbetter said, gesturing to the lumps of charcoal that made up the bodies on the tables. “I will have to examine the rest of them to see if it’s the same. Unfortunately, with the state they are in, if they were not killed by the fire, I don’t know that I can determine a cause of death.” He reached up to open the corpse’s mouth, peering inside of it with a lighted lamp. “Hmm. Missing his front teeth, this one.” Hugh followed his gaze. Sure enough, the blackened corpse was missing its top two front teeth. “Yes, no sign of ash or burning in the airway. Definitely was dead before the fire started,” Ledbetter was mumbling to himself.

“Are his teeth being missing recent?” Hugh asked.

Ledbetter shook his head. “No. No blemishes or bruises or anything in the area. Probably was a past incident in his life.”

“Did you receive all five victims here?” Hugh asked, glancing around at the cloth-draped shapes on the tables. One of them looked a little more petite, about the size of Prudence, and his heart gave a sad little drop in his chest.

Ledbetter nodded. “I did. Haven’t had a chance to check out the others yet though.”

“Keep me informed, thank you,” Hugh said, giving him a polite nod, which Ledbetter returned without looking up from the corpse in front of him.

Hugh made his way back inside, sure that the scent of smoke and burned flesh would not be coming out of his nose or his uniform any time soon. Depesh was sitting at his desk and waved him over, holding up a sheaf of paper. “I was able to get the inspector’s notes about what we know about the bakery fire so far.”

“Great work,” Hugh said, sliding into the seat across from him. “The bakery had four employees,” Depesh said, studying the report. “Miss Wilcox, her father, his wife, and another bloke.”

“Four?” Hugh asked. “Who was the fifth body found in the bakery then?”

Depesh shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. All they know is that it was a man.”

That only left several million possibilities. Hugh sighed to himself. Who was the fifth victim in the fire? A friend? A customer? A good Samaritan who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Oh, curious detail though, he had no front teeth,” Depesh said.

“Dr. Ledbetter showed him to me,” Hugh replied. His tongue traced over his own top teeth thoughtfully. Many people, especially those who were not well off, did not have the money to afford proper dental care or to be able to have false teeth made if they lost some. He knew there were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of men in England who might fit that description, but it was still a place to start if he was able to find a way to determine his name and what his body was doing at the bakery. He picked up the newspaper again to study the article and the photographs.

Hugh glanced up as a shadow suddenly fell over both of them. It was an older man, his clothes clean but old and well-worn. He had large, bushy muttonchops, and he held his cap in his hands. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing nervously between them. Hugh thought he looked a bit like an oversized rabbit, quivery and wide-eyed.

“Yes, sir, can we help you?” Depesh asked politely.

“I’d like to report a missing person,” the man said, twisting the brim of his hat with his gnarled fingers.

“Oh.” Hugh glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to be taking much interest in the shabbily-dressed man. “Yes, of course. I can take of that for you.” He nodded at Depesh before he moved over to his own desk, gestured for the man to sit in the chair across from him as he picked up his pen. “What is the name of the missing?”

“John Henries,” the man said.

“And what is your name, sir?”

“Michael Rhodes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. How old is Mr. Henries?”

“I’m not exactly sure, sir, but probably late thirties.”

Hugh wrote down the details. “Do you have a picture of him, by chance?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said, crinkling his hat in his hands again.

“That’s all right. What is your relationship to Mr. Henries?”

“We both work for the same man, sir. The Duke of Westchester.”

Hugh nodded. “What is his position there?”

“He is a gardener, sir, for the orchard at His Grace’s estate. And he also helps me in the stables.”

“You work in the stables at the Duke’s estate?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugh nodded. “I see. How long ago did Mr. Henries disappear?”

“Yesterday afternoon, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said.

“And he did not say where he was going?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said, twisting the hat brim so severely that Hugh worried it would never return to its original shape. “I asked His Grace about it, and he told me that John had left to go deal with a family emergency and probably would not be back for some time.”

Hugh blinked and looked up at him. “And you do not believe this explanation?”

“Well, sir…” Mr. Rhodes swallowed. “I would, except I had been talkin’ to John just minutes before he vanished, and he was going to help me with one of the mares who was expecting a foal any day now. He was very excited about it. And, when I checked his room last night, his things were still there. Nothin’ had been touched. But then this morning, everything was gone. Not a scrap left in it. Which seems mighty odd if he was going to be comin’ back.”

“Can you describe the last conversation you had with Mr. Henries?” Hugh asked.

Mr. Rhodes nodded. “It was very normal, sir. We talked about the mare, and John said to come get him any time of the day or night when she started to labor. He wanted to be there. He loved that horse, sir. Always had a soft spot for animals, he did. This was by the stables, sir. And then he headed for the orchard, and I didn’t see him again.”

“And you do not think that he had to rush away due to a family matter?”

“That’s what I thought, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said. “But all of his things still there, no horses missing from the stable, and no one having seen him go, it just… It didn’t sit right with me, sir. It’s very unlike him. He’s usually very responsible. I can’t see him leavin’ without telling someone. And no one I talked to mentioned a call or a letter arriving for him.”

Hugh frowned as he made notes on the paper. While it was still possible that Mr. Henries had vanished due to a sudden emergency that had called him away, the fact that no one saw him leave was concerning.

“Can you describe him?”

“Hmm, a little taller than me,” the man said, gesturing with his hand. “Pretty slender, brown hair. Not much to look at, a sort of forgettable face, except for his teeth.”

“What about his teeth?” Hugh asked.

“Poor man had no top front teeth,” the man said, pointing to his own yellowed ones in demonstration. “Got kicked in the face by a horse when he was a teenager, swallowed ‘em both, never had the money to get false ones.”

Hugh’s mind immediately went back to the fifth corpse lying in the morgue only a short distance away. A tall, slender man with no front teeth. Could that man, burned beyond recognition, who disappeared the evening of the fire at Elysium, be John Henries, the missing gardener? It could just be a coincidence, but Hugh was getting a sinking feeling in his gut that things were starting to fall into place. “Do you know if John Henries had any connection to the Elysium Bakery and Emporium in Fleet Street?”

“Oh! Yes, sir, that was part of the reason I wanted to report him missing,” Mr. Rhodes said, rubbing at one of his muttonchops uneasily. “You see, he disappeared yesterday, and then that fire happened last night. And his sister, Elizabeth, worked in a bakery, and I thought it was on Fleet Street. I heard there were some poor souls found dead inside. Just curdles my stomach, sir, that it might be John’s family, and he might not know. Or…” Mr. Rhodes’ voice dropped off, giving Hugh a pained look. Hugh could read the unspoken, Or he might be amongst them in those eyes.

“Elizabeth what?” Hugh asked.

“Oh, um… Williams? Willburn?”

“Wilcox?” Hugh suggested, and the man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, that’s it. Elizabeth Wilcox.”

“Did Elizabeth have a daughter?”

“Yes. Miss Prue. Sweet thing, always has a smile on her face.”

“Have you met Mrs. Wilcox or her daughter?”

Mr. Rhodes nodded. “Once or twice, sir, I went with John when he was making a delivery to the bakery. They buy fruit from the Duke’s estate.”

Hugh recalled Prudence telling him that they bought their fruit from a farm outside of the city. “What kind of fruit?”

“Apples, mainly, sir. Some rhubarb and blueberries too.”

“How often were the deliveries?”

“About once a week, depending on the season.”

Hugh swallowed hard before he said, “I do not wish to alarm you, Mr. Rhodes, but we do have a corpse back in the morgue who sounds like it might fit your description of Mr. Henries. Would you be willing to take a look and see if you can identify him? We have not had a positive identification of him yet.”

“Oh.” Mr. Rhodes’ face fell. “Oh, poor fellow… I… Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

Hugh nodded and rose to his feet. Mr. Rhodes followed him up, his hat wadded into a tight ball in his hands. “This way,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. “I will warn you, sir, the bodies are not in good condition due to the fire.”

Mr. Rhodes nodded miserably. “Yes, sir, I understand. But if it’s John, I’d rather know so we can all be at peace.”

Hugh nodded and led him outside and down the short path to the morgue. He knocked on the door as a courtesy to the team inside before opening the door to lead Mr. Rhodes in. Dr. Ledbetter looked up from another corpse he was working on, then quickly pulled a sheet over it. “Hello, Constable Danbury.”

“Good afternoon, doctor,” Hugh said, giving him a polite smile. “This is Mr. Rhodes. Can you show him the man you showed me earlier from the bakery fire? It’s possible it may be someone missing from the estate he works at.”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Ledbetter said, moving a few tables away to another table with a sheet draped over it. Mr. Rhodes followed him to stand by the head. Dr. Ledbetter folded down the sheet enough to expose the man’s face. Empty eye sockets stared blankly at nothing, blackened skin cracked and flaking. The corpse’s lips peeled back from its mouth in a gruesome grimace, revealing the missing top front teeth. Mr. Rhodes clapped a hand to his mouth.

“Yes, that’s John,” he said, sounding a little faint. “That chip there on the sharp tooth, that’s definitely him.”

Dr. Ledbetter quickly flipped the sheet back over the corpse. “I’m so sorry,” Hugh said, gesturing to Mr. Rhodes to follow him out again, giving Dr. Ledbetter a grateful nod that the older man returned.

Mr. Rhodes hurried out of the deadhouse, leaning down with his hands on his knees to suck in air once they were enough away that the smell of decay did not completely permeate the air. Hugh debated patting the man’s back in reassurance but wasn’t sure if his touch would be appreciated at the moment, so he just let the man breathe until he straightened up again. “Thank you, I know that had to be very difficult to see,” he said, giving Mr. Rhodes a kind smile.

Mr. Rhodes sniffed and swiped at his mustache with the back of his hand. “Poor, poor fellow. He was a good soul. Didn’t deserve that.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?” Hugh asked.

Mr. Rhodes kneaded his hat between his hands like he was trying to make it into bread. “No, sir. Didn’t have an enemy in the world, as far as I know. Kind of a quiet fellow but wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Hugh nodded. “Is there anything more you can tell me about the afternoon he disappeared?”

Mr. Rhodes shook his head. “Nothing more comes to mind, sir.”

“That’s all right,” Hugh replied. “Thank you very much for the information, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Do you think it was an accident?” Mr. Rhodes asked suddenly.

“Was what an accident?”

“The fire at the bakery?”

Hugh was silent for a moment. There was too much coincidence for his liking. “I’m not able to comment on it at this time,” he said, feeling guilt wash over him like a tidal wave. “We are still looking into it.”

Mr. Rhodes took a deep breath. “Thank you, Constable. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” Hugh replied, giving the man a polite bow. “Shall I escort you out?”

Mr. Rhodes nodded, and Hugh led him back through the police station lobby to the front entrance, watching as the man put his mangled hat back onto his head, trying to straighten it, before he vanished into the busy London streets.

The tense feeling in Hugh’s stomach had turned into a writhing mass of serpents. There was a connection between the missing gardener and the burned bakery. John Henries had been at the bakery, or had been placed inside the bakery, to be disposed of alongside the bakery employees when the fire consumed it. And, for as much as it was certainly possible the entire thing was an accident, Hugh very much doubted that was the case. He wondered what Jack would think about the whole thing when he told him about it at the end of his patrol.