“Mr. Constantine! Is something wrong?”
“I need to talk to Inspector Thatcher. Who are you?”
“Juliet Chickering. His secretary?” She gestured to her name plate. “You’ve always recalled me before.”
“Where’s Ms. Adams? Did he change secretaries so quickly? She was here yesterday.”
“Er, no. I’ve been working here for three years, sir.”
“Is Thatcher in?” His voice rang hollow.
“Yes. Just knock before entering.” Juliet picked up a stack of papers and rushed off in a huff.
He moved past the desk and knocked without another word.
“Enter.”
Byron rubbed the back of his neck and took a few deep breaths before opening the door. The chief inspector glanced up from his paperwork as they came in.
“Good morning, Constantine. Good morning, Miss Blayse.”
“You know her?” Byron whirled back towards her.
“She’s your secretary. Did you not read your journal this morning?”
“We couldn’t find it, Inspector. It’s nowhere to be found.” Mira took a seat and rubbed at her temples.
“That is a problem. I assume she has filled you in on the situation?”
“She has.” Byron paced behind her.
“Do you believe her?”
“I think now I have to.” He threw up his hands and sat down.
Thatcher softened. “I hoped I’d never have to see you like this again, Byron.”
“Again?”
“I was the one who found you. The first person you saw when you woke up the day you didn’t remember. I’ve seen you this way many times over.”
“Exactly how long have I had this problem? This girl says it’s been years.” Byron gestured to Mira. She didn’t like being called “this girl.” The little hope she built up continued to fracture as she lost her composure. She turned away from them.
“It’s been about four,” Thatcher said.
“Four years? I have forgotten four entire years?” Byron stood again, running a hand through his hair and walking off his nervous energy.
“You’ve written all of them down. In fact, you’ve managed to solve nearly forty-two cases on just the facts from your journals. Miss Blayse has helped immensely with this last one. But if you’ve misplaced your most recent journal there could be a problem.”
“Could be? I don’t know anything about this case except for what she has told me. How can I deduce anything from that?”
“Maybe you can start by trusting me.” She stood to face him. Tears threatened to fall again, but she didn’t care. Her voice resonated with an unyielding determination as she approached him.
“You’ve trusted me in the past, Byron. You’ve helped me through deductions. You’ve listened to my perspective on things. Every day I come, and I don’t know what you are going to do. You’ve pulled a gun on me before. You’ve threatened me. But I still come. You could trust me as much as I trust you.”
He swallowed and looked away from her. A tear rolled down her cheek. The Inspector looked between them both and offered her a handkerchief. She didn’t take it.
“I didn’t know if you would come when I was kidnapped by Circe’s smugglers. I was certain that you would forget.” Byron looked back at her, eyes widening. She continued. “And so, I found my own way out. But you still came.” Another tear followed the first. “Byron, I won’t let you forget. Even if you don’t believe me, I will always come. So, just trust me.” Her eyes met his, and his resolve cracked.
“I’m sorry Miss. But I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
“That’s alright Byron. You never do.” She sat down.
He nodded and looked down for a moment in silence. Then he moved over and knelt next to her chair.
“But you remember me. And more importantly, you remember the case.”
She nodded. “I have all the things we need right here.” She pulled out her costume and handed the bag over to him.
“Ah. Disguises. One of my favorite ways to go about detective work.” He hid the guilt in his eyes with a smile.
The real tears came as soon as Mira entered the spare offices at Scotland Yard. She could only be grateful that she hid them until she was alone. Or at least out of sight of Byron. “It’s not his fault,” she reminded herself. If anything, it was her fault for letting herself fall in love with someone who would never truly remember her. She laughed a bit through her tears. This couldn’t be love. It was silly. Ridiculous.
Her shoulders shook as she took another breath and took the ragged dress in her hands. She didn’t have time to focus on her feelings now. She slipped on the grubby garments and tightened the corset, keeping her heart in its place.
Today, she could be a different person. She would have to be. She knelt by the fireplace and gently lifted some soot, the particles soft and fine between her fingertips. The soot mixed with her tears as she smudged it on her face and down her neckline, then sprinkled some in her hair. Hopefully that would be enough to disguise her. She came back into the chief inspector’s office and he did a double take.
“Miss Blayse! I could hardly recognize you.”
“I believe that’s the desired outcome of this.” She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she set her own clothes down in a chair.
“I’m sorry about Constantine. It really is hard to see him like that.”
“At least he remembers you.”
“Ah, yes. That would make things more difficult.”
“I’m convinced he quite nearly brought me to a mental institution this morning.”
“He distrusted you that much?”
“I still think he doesn’t trust me. I’m starting to believe he never has.” She felt another round of sobs bubbling beneath the surface and she turned away.
“I think he trusts you more than you realize. Just give him some time to warm up to you today.”
“I just wish I knew where he had left the journal. It truly was nowhere to be found.”
The door opened, and Byron strode in. She could only tell it was him by the way he walked, he was so well disguised.
“Well?” He turned for inspection.
“Unrecognizable, save your voice my friend.” The chief inspector smiled.
“Excellent. That means we can get going.” He paused and acknowledged Mira for the first time. His eyes widened.
“Goodness! Your transformation is incredible.” He walked around her. The layer of soot hid her blush as he looked her over.
“Good enough?”
“More than good enough! No one will recognize you.”
She smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“Now to free our jailbird.”
They drew several odd looks from people as they walked through the police station. Officer Wensley escorted them.
“Byron, my good chap, I hate to say it, but you’ve been letting yourself go,” he teased.
“It’s been a rough few weeks, so I’ve been told.” Byron glanced at her. She looked away.
“You’re wanting access to the cat burglar, correct?” Wensley fiddled with his keys.
“Indeed, we are.”
They came to where the cells were, and Fred unlocked Selene’s door. She stretched and walked out, graceful as always. She wore her original clothing again.
“Hello again, Detective.” She smiled sweetly. “You are the detective, right? I almost can’t tell under your disguise.”
“You’ve guessed correctly. Now I believe you were going to lead us to Miss…” He stopped and drew a breath through his teeth, looking to Fred for the name.
“Bridges. Molly Bridges, or MB. The Shadow,” Officer Wensley said.
“Yes. Her.” Byron looked back at Selene.
“Having memory troubles again?” the cat sneered.
“Just ensuring I have the correct information. Now I assume that you were able to get correspondence with her. Do you have a meeting time?”
&
nbsp; “Yes. At noon. It’s, what? Ten o’clock now?”
Byron checked his pocket watch and nodded.
“That should give us enough time to get into the Pit. That is if your secretary shows up any time soon. Or is she not coming?” the cat said.
“I’m already here.” Mira folded her arms. The cat grinned.
“Oh! How dreadful! Look at you. You are practically common.”
Mira narrowed her eyes. Selene was almost too comfortable with her freedom. Byron cleared his throat.
“Shall we?”
They must have made quite the spectacle coming out of Scotland Yard. The ever-graceful cat burglar, the grisly old man, and the wretched beggar woman. Byron signaled for a carriage, but none would stop. With a simple change of clothes, they looked, and now were treated, like the working class. Selene led the way down backstreets heading east, and eventually south. The buildings became more decrepit as they walked deeper into almost unrecognizable territory. They passed Schwarz and Son’s Butchery and Mira shivered. She did not like this part of town. Byron barely noticed her discomfort.
Soon enough, residential buildings replaced the shops and marketplaces, although the houses looked barely livable, even for rats. Haggard faces stared out from cracked windows. She tripped over an old woman dressed similarly to herself.
“Oh! I’m so very sorry.”
Byron pulled her by the wrist, and away, his voice a harsh whisper. “You’re one of them now. Don’t you dare speak like an aristocrat. If you can’t manage then don’t speak at all.” He let go of her wrist. Mira silenced herself but walked closer to him being more aware of her surroundings.
A putrid stench of rotting food and meat with stale urine and fecal matter surrounded them. At first, she found it hard to not grimace, but eventually her senses gained immunity to it. The sounds of crying babies and wet coughing filled the air. The buildings closed in on either side, the walls so close to each other that Mira could reach out and touch both sides of the alley at the same time. Her breath became rapid as claustrophobia entered her mind. Selene led on.
Farther down the alleyway, a large animal lay still on the side of the street. Mira stepped to the side so as not to trip on it, as she had the old woman. As they approached, she realized something was wrong. The squalid air brought on a new scent, which grew unbearable. The animal was unrecognizable, the chest cavity open, and face disfigured and rotting. Rats gnawed at the decaying flesh, and maggots crawled under what was left of the skin. Bile crept up Mira’s throat, and they walked deeper into the Pit.
After about two hours of walking, Selene stopped them just before they reached a tunnel and pulled them into an alcove.
“The meeting place is down there. It’s a small club, and you need to have the password. I’ll go in first so as not to arouse suspicion,” she purred.
“Seems like you’ve done this before.” Byron raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve had some time to think about this since you first offered me my freedom, Detective.”
“What is the password?”
“Ordered Chaos. Say that and they’ll let you right in. No questions asked.”
Byron nodded, and Selene nodded back before heading down the tunnel. Mira squinted trying to see through the darkness. Then a small shaft of light appeared. She could faintly make out Selene’s face. She heard muffled voices, and then a larger shaft of light illuminated her whole body. Then it went dark again. She took a step forward and then Byron stopped her with his hand.
“We need to wait a minute or so before going in.”
Mira nodded and leaned up against the cold, brick wall. Byron looked at her, studying her features.
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Miss Blayse.”
“Please. Call me Mira.”
“Of course. Mira. It would seem you were right about everything.”
“I don’t blame you. If I were in your same situation, it would be rather hard to believe.” She looked up at him and realized how close they were to one another. He was less than a foot away from her and staring deeply into her eyes. Her heart threatened to burst from her corset.
“I do have to say, despite not remembering you, there is something familiar.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and she held her breath.
“There is?”
He took a small step closer, and she felt his warmth. “It’s less of a memory and more of a feeling. I can’t really explain it.” He shook his head and looked back towards the tunnel. Mira opened her mouth to speak and then thought otherwise. They stood for several minutes; the silence punctuated by the sounds of rats scurrying in the darkness. He cleared his throat, and she jumped, startled.
“It’s time to meet with Selene and the evasive Molly Bridges.”
He stepped away from her and out of the alcove, starting down into the tunnel. Mira’s breath returned, and she followed him, hoping she knew what she was getting into. The tunnel turned out to be a larger alcove with a brick wall blocking any passage to the other side. A door was placed in the center of that brick wall. Byron knocked on it. A slot in the door opened and a blinding light shot through. Mira blinked a few times and tried to make out the figure standing at the door. Just two slanted brown eyes.
“Password?”
Mira frowned at the familiar voice.
Byron slipped into his cockney accent. “Ordered Chaos.” The man with the slanted eyes nodded and closed the slot in the door. The door opened, and the man stepped to the side. Mira swallowed. Broad shoulders, tall stature, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal a rippling tattooed forearm: Joe the smuggler. She ducked her head hoping he wouldn’t recognize her and followed Byron into the club.
Concentrated fumes from cigars, pipes, and hookahs bathed the room in a hazy fog. A mixture of perfumes added themselves to the air, creating a distinct floral note amidst the stale putridity of smoke. Mira found herself gasping for air.
The room bled shades of crimson which drenched carpets, crept up walls, and slipped through female lips. At first glance it seemed to be nice, but once Mira’s eyes adjusted to the haze, she found bare spots in the carpet, drooping wallpaper, and stuffing spilling out of the mismatched chairs. An unsettling yellow light flickered out of the gas lamps on the walls.
A large bar with many types of alcohol, cheap and otherwise, stood at one side. A case full of glass needles and vials of multicolored liquids sat next to it. A rickety staircase led to a door, presumably an office. She could just make out the inside through the window that looked out onto the club floor. Someone would always be watching. Another staircase robed in red carpet led up to another unknown door. Laughter could be heard coming from it. Couches and overstuffed pillows lay on one side of the room, the occupants seeming to not be aware that the world even existed. Another room towards the back contained tables surrounded by men. She couldn’t quite make out what they were doing.
The people varied as much as the types of smoke. Some dressed like Byron and Mira, but those were few and far between. A few people looked like Selene, only they had knives strapped to their legs and pistols at their belts. Women in varying degrees of nakedness roamed through the joint, talking to anyone who would give them time. Men in expensive suits sat at enclosed booths and whispered to one another.
Byron spotted Selene sitting alone at a table with a small glass of alcohol. She seemed perfectly at ease. A booth sat empty near the table. He ushered Mira in that direction, let her slip in before him, and then sat down next to her. They had a perfect view of the door. They waited, listening to the din of people talking and laughing.
He subtly pulled out his pocket watch and Mira looked over his shoulder. Ten minutes to noon. Molly Bridges would be here any moment. Mira’s eyes drifted over to the door. Joe stood threateningly in front of it, the only path to freedom blocked by the smuggler who had kidnapped her. She looked up at Byron. He wouldn’t know that. His eyes carefully catalogued everyone in the room. Silently calculating. She looked back towards Joe, wh
ose back was turned to her now. He opened the slot, and then the door. Molly Bridges strolled through as if she owned the place.
At least Mira thought it was Molly. Her face was the same, but her entire demeanor changed. The crying lover persona was a thing of the past. Her hair cascaded in waves of brown instead of red. She wore a black dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves, and carried a fan. A necklace prominently shone from her alabaster neck, a triangle enclosed in a circle. At each point of the triangle was a small gem. She looked around the establishment, saw Selene, smiled sweetly, and made her way over. Mira lost sight of her behind the booth.
“Selene Vermielle! So, it seems that you were telling the truth. Look at you! Free again.”
“Cut the sweet act, Shadow. You owe me payment,” Selene hissed.
“Do I?”
“We previously agreed that if I burglarized a specific set of rooms that you would compensate me.”
“I specifically remember telling you that the things you found in the apartment would be your compensation.”
“Even if that were true, there was nothing worth stealing.”
“Perhaps you didn’t look hard enough.”
“I’ve heard tell through the grapevine that you used my burglary to kill someone. I really don’t appreciate being a scapegoat. I’d like to be compensated.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that.” There was the sound of muffled coins crashing onto the table, and a shuffling and clinking as Selene picked them up and counted them.
“This is barely enough.” There was a pause before a nervous, “but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Your gratitude is inspiring.”
“So, is it true?”
“Is what true, kitty?”
“You killed the man that lived there?”
“And if I did? What do you care? I’ve killed plenty of people.”
“I’m just curious.”
“And curiosity killed the cat. I’d consider the consequences before asking questions. Anything else you wanted?”
“No, that’s all.” Selene’s voice trembled.
“Good. I have places to be.” Chair legs slid across the carpet and then the Shadow was visible once again. She directed herself towards the door, then she stopped and turned back towards the table that Mira and Byron sat at. She smiled, and Mira felt the bile returning. Selene practically ran to the door and escaped past Joe.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 24
