Toby was woken by something furry running over his face. He opened his eyes and stared into the inquisitive ones of the rat for a moment before it scampered off. And then the pain hit. In every part of his body. Whimpering in his throat and in agony he tried to move but it was beyond him. And then he remembered. The men he’d been chatting with in the Horseman’s Hounds, they’d followed him when he’d left to go to Chan’s. They had knocked him to the ground and gone through his pockets, and when he’d tried to get up they’d used their feet on him, kicking and stamping and jumping. The pain brought a red mist in front of his eyes as he tried to take a breath and the metallic smell of blood was in his nostrils.
He must have lost consciousness again because when he next became aware of anything beyond the excruciating pain, it was the rat just inches from his face. His eyes, which seemed to be the only thing he could move without passing out, took in several more browny-grey shapes behind the leader.
The shout he tried to muster was merely a soft gurgle in his tortured throat, and when the big male, bolder than the rest, took a tentative bite from the piece of flesh nearest to it – Toby’s bloody arm – he could see the yellow teeth as they fastened on his body.
Chapter 20
Kane stared at the policeman. ‘You want me to tell her that? Why me? Can’t you or one of the others do it?’
The Inspector shuffled his feet. ‘We thought it might be kinder coming from you, sir. That’s all.’
Kinder? Kane ran a hand through his hair. How did you break the news to a wife – and Sophy was still Toby’s wife, or his widow, to be exact – that her husband had been found beaten to death in a squalid, filthy alley and half-eaten by rats? Moreover, this was the same husband who had virtually sold her to be raped and goodness knows what just days ago. He had been barely able to believe the statements made by the two men George had apprehended; how it had affected Sophy he didn’t dare to imagine. And now all five men involved were in custody.
Kane looked into the Inspector’s eyes. They were world-weary but kind. ‘I suppose you see this sort of thing every day of the week?’
‘Not quite like this, no, sir.’ The Inspector didn’t go on to say that this case had shocked even the most seasoned policeman among them. ‘If you would prefer me to speak to Mrs Shawe . . .’
‘No, I’ll tell her. Does Sadie, the housekeeper, know?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Then I’ll see her first and have her with me when I speak to Mrs Shawe.’
‘As you think best, sir.’
Think best? How could there be any best in this hornet’s nest? It seemed he was forever destined to bring the woman he loved the worst kind of news. When Sadie had sent the note explaining that Sophy had been attacked in her own home four days ago, he had been on the doorstep within the hour. He had still been there when the Inspector and a police constable had arrived bearing the news that the men in custody had confessed to the crime and implicated Toby in the matter of the key. Sophy had listened to what they had to say without uttering a word, and had spoken only in monosyllables after they had left. And that had set the pattern thereafter. As far as Sadie was aware, Sophy hadn’t wept or broken down since the incident, nor mentioned Toby’s name. In fact, she’d barely spoken at all and would see no one besides himself, and George, when the latter had called to see how she was, the day after the attack. It was worrying. In truth, he was worried to death and didn’t know what to do about it, nor how to reach her.
The Inspector cleared his throat and Kane came out of his thoughts, saying quickly, ‘I’ll go and see Sadie now before Mrs Shawe comes down. Thank you, Inspector. Are you going to stay around for a while?’
‘I don’t think so, sir. There’s nothing more we can do at the moment.’
Kane nodded, and once he had shown the policeman out he walked through to the kitchen where Sadie was preparing a breakfast-cum-lunch for Sophy. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. Sadie had confided in him the day before that Sophy stayed up until three or four in the morning since the attack, only going to bed when she was so exhausted she couldn’t keep her eyes open. ‘It’s awful, Mr Gregory,’ Sadie had whispered. ‘She paces.’
‘She does what?’ he’d asked.
‘Paces. You know – walks backwards and forwards, but not just once or twice. It goes on for hours. She sends me to bed, but how can I sleep when I know the state she’s in? I sit on the stairs until I see the drawing-room light go off and then I nip to my room. This can’t go on. Not without her losing her mind. You have to do something.’
He had stared at Sadie, utterly at a loss. He was still at a loss.
Sadie had stopped what she was doing as he walked into the kitchen and was now looking at him with fearful eyes. ‘What did the Inspector say?’
‘They’ve found Mr Shawe’s body.’
‘He’s dead?’ Hearing the relief in her own voice, Sadie quickly added, ‘How? When?’
‘It appears he was flashing a wad of notes around in a public house the night Forester-Smythe and his motley crew came here. That’s what the landlord of the public house told the police anyway. I would imagine a person or persons unknown took note and followed him when he left the Horseman’s Hounds.’ Kane shrugged. ‘What happened then is fairly clear. No money was found on the body so it’s a straightforward case of robbery.’
‘Where – where was he?’