A House of Repute

by E M Jones

  A man stood sentinel about two feet from the mummy’s head. He was still and wore dark clothing, like a single mourner. His forehead was wrinkled, and he held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, which moved slightly with his breath, the only movement to show he was not a statue.

  Charlie nodded, and both women walked towards the man. As they moved towards the body and its watchman, they became entirely wrapped in the steady flow of filth that filled the air. Lizzie looked back briefly, and could no longer see the path they had followed, her footsteps dissolved into stinking fog.

  “Ladies, you can’t come down here,” the watchman said through his handkerchief.

  Charlie and Lizzie continued to approach. “Sir, we think we may know the… the… the girl.” She pointed towards the shrouded body.

  “Ladies. Stop. The victim here is about to be collected and taken to the mortuary. Identification will take place there.”

  Charlie’s eyes suddenly took on a sparkle that Lizzie saw even through their grimy surroundings.

  “Mr Taylor, it’s you!” Charlie held out her hand. “We’re Mrs Henry’s girls—do you remember?”

  The watchman slowly lowered his handkerchief, as if his hand was being forced by good manners. He accepted Charlie’s outstretched hand. “I do, I do. What are you both doing here?”

  “We thought we might be able to help.”

  “Thank you, ladies, but the police have the investigation in hand.”

  “Sorry, Detective Taylor, but what’s going on isn’t my idea of being ‘in hand’. Since Dina, our friend, was killed, more and more girls are turning up dead, and I can’t see that anything is being done about it.” Charlie stood still, her legs slightly apart and set in the dirty silt. Though a foot shorter than Taylor, she seemed the best bet in a contest between the two.

  “Well, miss, we are working all avenues, and I can assure you that the deaths of these young women are being taken extremely seriously.”

  “Really? Who is she then? Who are your suspects? Where should we avoid to stay safe? Where does he go to find girls to kill?”

  Taylor returned his white handkerchief to his mouth and nose. “What do you think you might be able to do to help?”

  “We know a lot of girls. We might be able to tell you who she is or where she worked.”

  “Thank you, but you can’t help.”

  Charlie jolted slightly, and Lizzie readied herself to hold her friend back.

  “Just because of our work, it doesn’t mean we can’t think or don’t care about people. We want to help.” Charlie edged closer to Taylor’s face, standing on the tips of her toes. Lizzie’s hand covered Charlie’s forearm like a mother protecting her child’s head from a sharp edge. “We know more about her life than you do—”

  “Miss, it isn’t that.” Taylor dropped his handkerchief. “Miss, you won’t recognise her, because she can’t be recognised. She’s been in the water a very long time. She doesn’t look like she used to; the water has changed her.”

  Charlie rested back on her heels and looked down towards the mummified form.

  “The body will be taken to the morgue, and our experts will see if she can be identified.”

  “How long do you think she’s been dead?”

  “I shouldn’t say. Perhaps a few weeks.”

  The three stood silently, looking at the sheet as if the murderer’s identity was a riddle written in its dirty streaks.

  “Well, if we can help, you know where to find us.”

  Taylor nodded and returned his handkerchief to his face.

  Charlie and Lizzie turned, and Lizzie hooked her arm into Charlie’s.

  “Ladies.”

  The two women turned.

  “I’m sorry about your friend. We are doing everything we can to catch the murderer.”

  “I hope you do before the next one of us is killed,” Charlie said neutrally, and nodded back at the police detective.

  ***

  “Charlie! Lizzie! What have you… What is… Get out of my house!” Mrs Henry chased Lizzie and Charlie into the yard, scolding and huffing in their wake. “How dare you bring that stench into my house of repute! We host aristocracy and a peer of the realm. Where have you been? I don’t want to know. I work my whole life to build up a reputation, to teach you and take care of you, and you repay me by soiling our name! By bringing this stink into my house! Oh, girls!”

  Mrs Henry threw her head into her hands and sat on the metal bucket.

  Charlie crouched beside her. “Mrs Henry.” She moved to place a hand on Mrs Henry’s knee but stopped mid-air as if remembering her own smelliness. “Mrs H, another girl has been found dead.”

  Mrs Henry uncovered her face and looked at Charlie, tears brimming. “Do we know her, Charlie?”

  “No, Mrs H. Lizzie and me went to see if we could find anything out. That’s why we stink—she was in the river.”

  Mrs Henry took Charlie’s smelly hand and held tight. “Oh, Charlie.”

  In the yard, the three women were still.

  “Lizzie and me are going to try to find out more, to see if we can do any more.”

  Mrs Henry shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. All we do is try to give people pleasure, all you lovely girls—why would somebody do that?”

  Charlie stood up and held on to Mrs Henry’s hand. “I don’t know, but we intend to find him. Lizzie, Johnny and me, we won’t let this—let Dina—be forgotten.”

  Mrs Henry squeezed Charlie’s hand and pulled on her to lift herself up. “Well you two had better clean yourselves up. I’ll find some more soap. Lizzie, Sir Glynne has called; he is expecting you this evening. Please do not leave this house until I have checked that every hint of your stench has gone. Charlie, help her, please. If you aren’t quite as prepared, you’re still sure to charm someone, even if you do smell a little off.”

  Mrs Henry trundled back into the house.

  Charlie lifted some of Lizzie’s hair. “Right, let’s get you fit for a king.”

  ***

  Lizzie walked around the edge of the parlour, trying to decipher the shades within the pictures on the walls. The firelight flashed brighter occasionally, and Lizzie made out a shade of red on a jacket or the patchwork coat of an obedient dog. She paused next to a large frame with many dark shades and tried to make out the composition in the flickering light.

  “You like art?”

  Lizzie jumped a little. “Um, yes, I… I haven’t seen much.”

  “This are my favourites from the family collection. Would you like to see them a little better?”

  Before Lizzie could answer, Sir Glynne moved to ring a bell. A footman was at the door in seconds.

  “Could we have some more light in here?”

  “Yes, sir.” The footman bowed, and his quick feet could be heard along the hall.

  Lizzie continued to study the large picture as candles were brought. The colours of the painting emerged in the increasing light. It was a rural scene with animals, a plough, a mill and a fortified farmer.

  “I like to think about the countryside when I’m here, the pastoral peace an extension of my parlour, away from the business of the city. I find it edifying.”

  The farmer looked like a rural version of Sir Glynne himself, which had not been Lizzie’s experience of country life, but she kept quiet.

  “Shall we?”

  Sir Glynne took Lizzie’s arm and began a parade around the room. “Now this, this is my great uncle and his dog, Colonel…”

  The picture seemed less interesting now. Sir Glynne’s explanations blurred into the background as she studied the bright colours in precise forms. They were more dull pictures of relatives and pastoral scenes created to make city dwellers envious of a rural ideal that didn’t exist. Lizzie had preferred the shady smudges that only revealed themselves in part, letting her imagination decide the rest.

  She allowed her arm to be pulled slowly around the room as Sir Glynne outlined each relative, animal and composit
ion in detail.

  “And these two are my most recent acquisitions.” He held his arm up towards two frames, next to each other like an open book. “These are my hounds, painted in oil.”

  Lizzie looked at the two dogs and tried to think of something complimentary to say. “They look strong.”

  “They are. The artist has captured their character. Cronus on the right is fierce, and Minos on the left, ruthless in the hunt.”

  Lizzie looked at the white teeth beneath the dark lips.

  “I may commission a further piece depicting all three of us at the hunt.”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “And there you have my private collection for the parlour, my hidden haven.”

  Sir Glynne turned, but Lizzie’s eye caught on something.

  “May I?” Lizzie turned back to the pictures of Cronus and Minos.

  “Of course. The artistry really is excellent. It cannot be appreciated in one view. Please, take your time.”

  While Sir Glynne admired the dogs, a jolt of fear burned in Lizzie’s stomach and worked its way through her entire body. The fizzle of fright filled her, and she worked hard to remain composed. Beneath the pictures of Cronus and Minos, in the middle of the wooden frame, was a metal plaque bearing their names. And next to each name, soldered with expert care, was a small sculpture of a boar.

  Lizzie waited for a pause in Sir Glynne’s appreciation of his animals and kept her voice calm. “What is the sculpture next to their names, Sir Glynne?”

  He looked puzzled, and she pointed towards the small brass boar next to Cronus’ name.

  “Ah, my ensign. Our family name reaches back for generations, and within our crest, each generation has an animal as their ensign. Mine is a boar.”

  32

  Lizzie swept up the stairs, pushed open Charlie’s bedroom door and plonked herself on the edge of the bed.

  Charlie’s face was scrunched by sleep. She moved slightly in response to Lizzie’s weight on the bed but cradled her head in her arm, still and crumpled once more. She looked younger than Lizzie imagined her.

  Lizzie knelt on the floor and patted Charlie’s arm. Charlie shifted slightly but remained asleep. Lizzie moved her face closer to Charlie’s.

  “Charlie. Charlie.” The whisper was insistent. Lizzie placed her hand on Charlie’s arm once more. “Charlie, it’s me. It’s Lizzie.”

  One of Charlie’s eyes opened slightly, and then widened in surprise, stretching her face back to normal and turning into a wide smile.

  “Lizzie.” Charlie smiled contentedly until she saw Lizzie’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Lizzie inhaled and rose high on her knees.

  “Wait!” Charlie hissed and held out a hand to stop Lizzie speaking. She moved gently from under the blanket and pointed towards the mound that lay still behind her.

  “Sorry!” Lizzie blushed for thinking that Charlie would be alone.

  Charlie waved her arm to indicate that everything was fine, drew on a gown and slid to the floor at the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry!”

  “Don’t worry—it’s fine. She sleeps like the dead.”

  “Beatrix?”

  Charlie nodded, and the two women continued in intense whispers.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie leant towards Lizzie, her face scrunched in concern, the lines of sleep darkened by worry.

  “I… I think I’ve found something out. About the killer.”

  Charlie raised her eyebrows. “Are you OK? Are you hurt? I thought you were with Sir Glynne.”

  “I’m fine. I was. I think it’s him, Charlie.”

  Charlie’s eyes grew like clay spinning on a wheel. “Sir Glynne? But he can have anyone he wants—why would he kill anyone?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Just listen. I was looking at his paintings in his private parlour, and he was very proudly showing me two new pictures of his dogs. I wasn’t very interested, but then, as I turned away, something caught my eye. There was a shape of a boar worked into the metal next to each dog’s name. I panicked but worked up to asking him about it. He said it was his animal, his animal in the family crest.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I tried not to think about it and got on with things as usual—”

  “Good morning!” Beatrix’s head popped over the edge of the bed, her face puffed with sleep and contentment. “Are you two planning a surprise for me—all three of us in the bedroom together?” Her eyes gleamed as she took her time admiring Lizzie and Charlie sat against the bed. “Well, are you going to join me?” She smiled mischievously and expectantly.

  “Right, let me sort this out.” Charlie rose and began to adopt a gentlemanly stance, only to be pulled onto the bed and disappear into a knot of blankets and Beatrix.

  ***

  “What do we do now?”

  “You two need to be careful.”

  “We are careful.”

  Charlie’s determined stare defied Ted, and eventually he looked down into the dark liquid in his cup.

  “I think we need to find out more.” Johnny’s bulk was balanced on a stool made for a human being far smaller than him.

  Everything at Taylor’s was too small for Johnny: his knees were pushed against the top of the table, his fingers masked his cup entirely, and his coffee seemed enough to quench the thirst of his little finger. His usual reticence was compounded by his discomfort in the too small surroundings, as if Taylor’s was an entertainer’s miniature coffee house, or he a giant who had taken a wrong turn. He pressed his toes against the floor to balance himself and looked towards his companions.

  “All we know for certain is that Sir Glynne has some pigs on his pictures.” As he talked, Lizzie, Charlie and Ted turned their attention to Johnny like toddlers to a nurse. “And we know is that Dina went off in a carriage with a picture of a boar and then she was killed. Just because the boar is his animal doesn’t mean that he is the killer. And we all thought, and Dina thought, that he’s been away. So we don’t know that it’s him. But, this is also the first thing we’ve found out in a long time that might mean something. So, as Charlie said, we need to find out more.”

  Johnny exhaled after his long speech, pushed his feet against the floor and held his coffee cup as if he might crush it. He sipped the dark liquid and looked at the others. He squirmed on his stool and almost toppled off balance before steadying himself again. “The question is, how are we going to do that?”

  Three sets of eyes turned to Lizzie. She looked around at her friends, and past them to the huddles around other tables. A young woman, younger than Lizzie, laughed as a young man whispered in her ear. Her eyes danced, and she turned to sip from her cup again. An older man sat alone, reading the paper and sipping his coffee rhythmically. There was a clattering noise from the bar, like a hundred pots being thrown about in a wagon at once.

  Lizzie returned her gaze to her friends, who were silent and still in the middle of the clatter. “Well, I’ll do it. I’ll have to be the one who finds out more.”

  Charlie, Ted and Johnny nodded into their cups.

  “But I’m going to need your help.”

  Lizzie took a sip as the other three lifted their heads, as if she had pressed a button to activate their neck muscles and call them to attention.

  Lizzie walked to the counter whilst the others stared at her. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Charlie, who shrugged her shoulders.

  Lizzie returned, a piece of paper scrolled under her arm. She sat and spread the paper over the table. “We need a plan. So let’s begin.”

  All four heads were bowed diligently over the table as they worked. The coffee grew cold.

  “Are you sure?” Ted raised his head.

  Lizzie twisted her head so that she looked in the same direction as Ted, even though they sat on opposite sides of the table. “Yes, as sure as I can be.”

  Charlie and Johnny joined her, their necks twisting into a row. Before them, in Ted’s careful and precise in
k, lay a plan of Sir Glynne’s home.

  “Walk through the house in your mind one more time,” said Ted.

  Lizzie closed her eyes and recited. “I go in and there’s the drawing room to the right. I follow a long, panelled corridor and then turn right into the private parlour; it seems to be behind all the posh rooms, tucked away at the back. There’s one window but I don’t know what it looks out onto—I’ve never been there during the day. There are two doors in the parlour, the one onto the long corridor and one opposite, next to the fireplace. I don’t know where that one goes.”

  Ted studied his plan as Lizzie spoke. “And you always go to the parlour?” He pointed towards it.

  “Yes. I mean, I’ve not been there many times, but each time I have been, I’ve been taken there to meet him.”

  Ted nodded, and Johnny and Charlie’s eyes hopped between Lizzie, Ted and the plan in silent support.

  “Alright, I think that’s the best we can do.” Ted nodded again, Charlie and Johnny joining him this time. “I’m certain that the private parlour is at the back of the house. The chimney will join the kitchen chimney, and the door by the fireplace will lead to the back hall and then a door out into the grounds. The window looks over the grounds, which is why there’s nothing that Lizzie can see when it’s dark.”

  Charlie and Johnny nodded vigorously.

  Ted continued to study his work. “So what now?”

  Everyone turned to Lizzie.

  “We can’t turn up on the doorstep, given Mrs Henry’s blessing or not. You can’t all come with me the next time he calls for me. I don’t think even Charlie would be welcome—he’s not that kind. So what do we do?”

  Ted coughed quietly and began to speak, his eyes grazing over the plan. “The next time he calls, get a message to all of us as quickly as you can. You continue as normal, let the carriage fetch you, go to the parlour. Then try to get him to talk as much as you can. Perhaps ask for some wine to share. Just talk to him. About his past, other women he’s known. Where he’s been this summer. See if he says anything else that connects him with the murdered girls. We already know that he knew Dina and Marie. Maybe he knew the others too. Don’t ask him anything directly about the murders—it’s too dangerous.”