top two smaller ovals, side by side. Then below the small ovals, close to the bottom, a straight bold line. A man’s face as seen by a child. With much energy, little Catherine now drew a series of circles and lines that with some allowance for exaggeration could be interpreted as a man’s beard.
“Well done, young girl,” Endersby said.
Catherine looked up at him. She had no fear in her eyes. “This is the man you saw last night, did you?” asked Endersby. The girl nodded vigorously. Her left hand reached up and pulled at Endersby’s sleeve. Catherine then stood and pulled again until Endersby’s face was at the same height as hers. She blinked hard and widened her eyes and then clasped her right hand over her mouth.
“What is it Catherine?” Matron Agnes asked. “Be quick, child.”
Catherine slowly moved her right hand from her mouth and guided it with her pointer finger held up. She pressed the finger on Endersby’s right jaw. The tip was icy to the touch but Endersby stood as still as a tree. The finger began to move up and across his right cheek. It climbed, then dragged itself over his nose. The girl took in a breath and concentrated her gaze. Without lifting her finger from Endersby’s face, she continued her cold trail upwards across his left cheek, stopping under his eye. Catherine then turned back to her drawing and picking up the pencil she drew a similar line across the oval face.
“A scar, perhaps, Catherine?” asked Endersby. The girl took her pencil and doubled the line; afterward, she smudged it with the tip of her finger.
“I see, I see. Very clear,” said Endersby. “Catherine,” he then said, “did you know this man?” The girl shook her head. “Did he speak to you?” The girl seemed to freeze in her place. Her eyes looked into the distance and she frowned and fussed and finally bent her head toward the table. “Catherine?” said Matron Agnes. The child sat still and did not respond. “Do not be too hasty to judge her, Inspector. She has tried her best.”
“Thank you Matron. Thank you Catherine, you have been a good girl.”
Matron Agnes subsequently made a small gesture that struck Endersby straight to his heart. Amidst this place of stone and gloom, Matron Agnes put her hand on Catherine’s head and patted it softly. “I thank you for your cooperation and attention, Matron,” Endersby said. As he turned to leave, young Catherine reached out and caught his sleeve a second time. She picked up her pencil and on the other side of the oval portrait, on the clean side, she began to write out a series of letters in an awkward hand. When she was done, she looked into the inspector’s face and pointed to the word.
UNKELBOW.
“Unkelbow?” Endersby asked, pronouncing the last three letters as if they described the limb of a tree.
The girl shook her head. “Do not fool us, Catherine,” said Matron Agnes. “This is a nonsense word.”
The girl stood and opened her little mouth and closed it in imitation of a person talking. She placed her hands on each side of her face, leaned forward, and again mimed the talking mouth. Catherine picked up the paper and shoved it at Endersby’s stomach. He read out the word again. “Unkelbow.” This time he said the word bow as in Bow Street, or as the twist in a ribbon. “What do you make of this, Matron?” Matron Agnes folded her hands in front of her and stilled her face. “I cannot imagine, sir. Children love to make up names and fantastical friends to keep them company. Do not forget the realms of fancy, Inspector.”
“Indeed.”
The child stamped her foot. The inspector obliged and said the word again. “Unkelbow. Unkelbo.” The girl nodded furiously. “Uncle Bow?”
Again, a hearty nod from the girl. The inspector looked up into the matron’s face. “Uncle Bow. A family name?”
Endersby examined both sides of the sheet and as he did so a light knocking at the door of the chamber commenced and within a few seconds a young constable from the Metropolitan Police was standing by Endersby’s right elbow. The constable’s hat and his white gloves caused young Catherine to stare.
“I beg your pardon, Inspector Endersby,” said the constable.
“Come Catherine,” said Matron Agnes, a cold tone returning to her voice.
“Thank you Matron,” Endersby said, still pondering the cryptic letters on the page before him.
“Sir, if I may?” enquired the constable.
“And a good morning to you, young Catherine,” said Endersby as she was led out through the door and into the corridor.
“Inspector Endersby?”
“Ah, Constable.”
The young man stood at attention. Endersby recognized a new recruit from the eager look in his eye.
“Forgive me, Constable. My mind was engrossed in a puzzle,” said Endersby, folding the child’s drawing and putting it in his pocket.
Sergeant Caldwell rushed in, his wool cap slightly askew and his eyes full of concern.
“Sir,” Caldwell began.
“Gentlemen, take your ease,” Endersby said. “One at a time.”
Caldwell, of higher rank, spoke first.
“Most dire, sir. Another body has been found, a body of one of the matrons at the House of Correction in Shoe Lane.”
The constable’s words hit Endersby like a kick from a horse. His gouty limb twanged with such sudden pain he had to lift it from the floor to give relief. Another matron? In a workhouse? The building around him seemed to darken and Endersby wanted to light torches, as if to burn out the plague. Some contagion was spreading through the streets of his beloved city. He dared not raise his eyes for a moment in case he saw a monster in front of him. A smiling creature with bloodied hands. Taking a breath, putting his foot down, Endersby gathered himself, holding the rein tight on his rumbling anger, his hands closing into fists by his side.
“Thank you, Caldwell.” Endersby was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “Now, Constable, what have you to say?”
“Beg your pardon, sir. Most urgent, Inspector. Fleet Lane has instructed me to accompany you to the site described by your sergeant-at-hand. A matron murdered. And a child, sir, who I found by chance by the workhouse gate.”
“Another child?” Endersby shivered. He was haunted by the loss of children. His mind flew to the little grave where his son, Robert, lay. A child once again, abandoned, left as good as dead, he thought. Time and tide wait for no man. Evil was gaining the upper hand. Endersby took but one instant to contract his brow, to concentrate on the sordid information he had been given. He turned to address Sergeant Caldwell.
“Sergeant, the coroner will soon convene his jury and ask for witnesses. This workhouse will be topsy-turvy for a time but the magistrate will want as many clues as we have.” Endersby hunted in his satchel, pulled out the envelope holding the piece of lace and handed it to Sergeant Caldwell. “As befits your rank, sir, as Detective Sergeant of Capital Crime for the Metropolitan, I charge you to stand as my representative before the coroner.”
“Yes, sir.” Caldwell immediately jumped to attention as if he were about to lead a charge of men into battle.
“Be
