by Skye Knizley
Chastity favored Price with her best pout and asked, “Are you certain I cannot stay and observe? I’m sure my readers would love to hear about an American Scotland Yard Inspector.”
Price looked down at her with hard eyes. “I'm certain, Miss MacLeod. Do not let me detain you further.”
The threat in Price’s words was clear. He had no problem arresting her if she didn’t leave his crime scene. Chastity returned the inspector’s smile and turned to leave, walking slowly back up the hill, chewing over what she’d learned. It was obvious the inspector didn’t believe the officers rummaging through the trash would find anything; rather he was examining the river’s flow at the edge of the wharf in an effort to determine where the bag had come from. This put Inspector Price firmly in the ‘interesting’ column as far as she was concerned. It was an unfortunate truth that many of the Yard’s so-called finest were in their positions due to who they knew, and not what. An intelligent Inspector was a valuable commodity. The fact he had an American accent and dressed like something from what they called their Wild West made him that much more intriguing. And exciting.
Smiling to herself and looking forward to her next meeting with Inspector Price, Chastity waited at the curb for a coach to arrive. When one did, she directed the driver toward St. Michael’s Alley, where she hoped to pick up another clue. By the time the coach dropped her off at the end of the short street the sky had clouded over as was typical of the time of year.
Chastity glanced at the sky, her eyes almost begging the rain to hold off until she could return to Newgate. Not much was worse than a wet silk dress clinging to her legs, it was like being covered in slime.
She said a silent prayer that the weather would hold and moved through the crowds to the Jamaica and Madeira coffeehouse situated within the labyrinth of crooked streets. The red stone building had an odd shape, looking somewhat like a tri-corn hat with a wide open door where the brow would be. Large glass windows opened out onto the street and a passerby could purchase small cups of the dark brew from the openings or enter the establishment to enjoy their beverage at one of the eatery’s tables. Chastity could see several swarthy men lined up inside to savor the rich brew she could smell even on the street. Though she preferred tea, the delicious aroma wafting down the alley made her stomach sit up and beg.
She passed through the entrance and moved across the dim interior to the counter, where she waved for the clerk’s attention. A dark-skinned man toward the head of the queue leaned down and growled, “Wait yer turn, lass, there be enough brew fer everyone.”
Chastity turned and favored the man with a winning smile. “Do excuse me, sir. I’m not here for the coffee, though it smells delicious. I’m looking for the owner, would you be able to point him out?”
The man nodded and waved toward the back of the small dining room.
“You’ll find ‘im back there, countin’ ’is bloody coins like any other day,” the man said. “’is name is Rosee and he’ll be in the corner. Ye can’t miss ‘im, he’s as big as a ’ouse.”
Chastity dug in her purse for a pair of coins. “Thank you, let me pay for your coffee.”
She placed the coins on the counter and left, passing through the crowd toward the back of the dining area. It took only a minute to spot the owner; a tall man with dusky skin and a wide physique was seated in the gloom, fingering coins and sorting them into a tray. He did not look up when Chastity paused near his table; he simply waved her away with one thick hand.
Ignoring his dismissal, Chastity took the seat opposite and extended a hand in greeting.
“Mr. Rosee? May I have a minute of your time?”
Rosee looked up and Chastity could see the annoyance in his face.
“I’m busy, lady,” he growled. “If you want coffee, talk to Lucas or Donovan. If you’ve a complaint, tell it to the gutter outside.”
Chastity pulled her hand back. “You are quite rude, Mr. Rosee. I am here neither for your coffee nor a complaint, I was wondering if any of your burlap sacks had gone missing in the last few weeks.”
Rosee’s dark face clouded even further and he hunched in his chair. “How did you know?”
“It was just a guess, Mr. Rosee,” Chastity replied. “Can you tell me what was taken?”
“A pretty good guess, lady. What’s your interest? Has the Yard done some damn-fool thing and hired women inspectors?”
Ignoring the jibe at her sex, Chastity instead smiled and reached for her notebook.
“No, Mr. Rosee, I am with the London Dispatch. I was going to include a plea for the return of your property in my article about your establishment.”
Rosee paused, then his face split into a wide smile that only a mother could love. His black tombstone teeth and worm-like tongue wouldn’t please anyone else.
“An article in the Dispatch about my coffee house? Why, that might double my business. What else do you need to know? Make it good, now, girl!”
Chastity opened her notebook and made a theatrical show of reviewing her notes before raising her eyes again.
“I have most of what I need already, sir. I just had some further questions about the theft. What was taken, just a bag or two?”
“As I told that flash new inspector, an entire wagon-load of coffee vanished from right under a clerk’s nose three or four weeks ago,” Rosee said. “The Yard hasn’t turned up any hints and it will be months before my next shipment arrives. I’m using leftover stores and that will be gone soon. But don’t put that in your article!”
“An entire wagonload? And the beans were wrapped in burlap bags with the markings J and M on the outside?” Chastity asked.
Rosee nodded and scratched at a scar on his cheek. “Aye, that’s correct. They should be easy enough to spot, I daresay. If the Yard were not so incompetent, they would have found my wagon by now. Probably keeping it for themselves.”
Chastity jotted down the amount and circled Flash Inspector. “You said a clerk was there the night the wagon was stolen, may I speak with him?”
Rosee shrugged. “You’ll have to find him, first. I sacked him the same night he let my goods be stolen. He must have been sleeping or dallying with a young woman instead of unloading the coffee like he was paid to.”
“Might I inquire as to the clerk’s name?” Chastity asked.
“You may, but I do not wish his name to be associated with my establishment, d’you hear? His name is Jacob Lancaster.”
Chastity stood and pushed away from the table. “I will not mention him in my article, I assure you. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Rosee, I won’t trouble you further. The article should be in the paper before endweek.”
Rosee remained seated and went back to his coins. “I look forward to it.”
Chastity shook her head at his rudeness and left, again fighting her way through the crowd. She stepped into the street and almost fell into the arms of Inspector Price, who was just turning the corner to enter. He stood her on her feet and tipped his hat.
“Miss MacLeod! It's a pleasure to see you again. Came for a cup of hot java, did you?”
Chastity returned the inspector’s smile, feeling her face flush under his steady gaze. She flourished her notebook and said, “Not quite, inspector. There is more than one way for a woman to get a story in this town. And you?”
Price laughed and stepped aside to allow another patron to enter the coffee house. When the patron was gone he leaned down. “Following up on the same lead you are. There are only a few businesses in the area with the initials J and M that would have a use for burlap sacks. This is one of them.”
“Indeed?” Chastity asked. “I wouldn’t know, I was referring to an article I’m writing on public houses and I heard the coffee here was quite good.”
“And give up so easily on the juicy tale of a headless maid?” Price asked. “That doesn't seem like you, Miss MacLeod. Coffee doesn’t hold a candle to murder.”
“Perhaps, inspector,” Chastity said. “We shall see.
In the meantime, I have an appointment and will leave you to your investigation.”
Price dipped his hat again. “Of course, Miss MacLeod. Until we meet again.”
Chastity opened her parasol against the drizzle that was beginning to fall and smiled up at Price. “I look forward to our next encounter, Inspector. Good day.”
Without another glance, Chastity turned and retraced her steps to the main roadway. She could feel Price’s gaze on her and wasn’t certain of she should be annoyed or flattered.
A COLD, THICK fog was blanketing the city by the time the coach dropped Chastity at the entrance to Newgate Church. She stepped out and paid the driver a generous fare before sending him on his way into the darkness, hoping he made it home safely in the God-awful thunderstorm that was rolling in off the ocean. She waited until his single lantern had faded into the gloom then hurried through the churchyard and into the church.
She adjourned first to her rooms to dry her hair and change out of her sodden dress. She undressed by candlelight and changed into what she referred to as her work clothes; a pair of leather pants that laced up the sides, a loose blouse of grey silk, a black corset that accentuated her waist and a matching bolero jacket of the same black leather. At her hip she buckled on her gun belt, tying the holsters down to her thighs in the manner of an American shootist. She finished the look with her matching silver revolvers before leaving to find Herbert, who would no doubt be found working away in his laboratory. Along the way, she stopped in to see the telegraph operator Asok. She woke him by the simple expedient of knocking his boots off the desk, causing him to sit bolt upright and yell, “I’m awake, sor!” in a cockney accent. His bleary eyes focused on Chastity and the merry grin on her face and he scowled.
“Now lass, is that any way to wake your dear ol’ friend? I might have been having a dream about…well, never mind. What is it ye be wanting?”
“I need to have some of the runners track down the home of one Jacob Lancaster who used to work at Jamaica and Mediera coffee house in St. James Alley,” Chastity said. “I have some questions to ask and don’t have time to go traipsing around the city looking for him.”
Asok nodded and wrote the information down on a grubby piece of paper.
“Do ye want the urchins to ask the questions or just find the address?” he asked.
“I just need the address. You know how I feel about the runners being involved in investigations.”
Asok smiled widely showing a mouth full of yellowed teeth.
“I do, lass, but ye know it’s something I have to ask. I will get three or four of the lads on it right away.”
Chastity dropped four shillings on to the counter. “Thank you, Asok. Please give these to them with my compliments. I find we get better service when they’ve full bellies.”
Asok took the coins and placed them in his pocket with a click of his tongue.
“Lass, you spoil the lads. You have to be careful or they’ll have a belly full of rotgut!”
Chastity smiled and leaned close to say, “Then they will have to face one of Father William’s sermons on the wickedness of alcohol, and you know no one wants that.”
She kissed her old friend on the cheek and left, turning down the corridor toward the laboratory. As always, the large underground chamber was full of the noises usually attributed to industrial areas; the rattle of chains, the ear-splitting rumble of distant explosions and shrill whistles from steam pipes were only a sample of the sounds that assailed the investigator when she passed through the sound-proofed double doors. She paused in the doorway and leaned against the railing.
She stood on a high metal platform above the underground laboratory that had been carved and blasted from the living rock beneath the city. A variety of experiments were going on throughout the huge chamber, from electricity to gunpowder to strange mechanized objects that Chastity didn’t dare dwell on. She preferred to utilize the scientist’s inventions as she saw fit and had little use for devices until they were perfected.
After a few moments, she spotted Herbert working closely with a very young scientist named Nikola; it looked as if they were trying to assemble yet another of Nikola’s useless electric generators. Chastity sighed and trotted to the stair. She made her way down the spiral and across the pit to where Herbert was wrestling with Nikola’s latest invention. She waited until the two young men had finished tightening the last bolt before tapping Herbert on the shoulder. He spun in surprise, turning this way and that before he focused on her.
“Chastity!” he said with a broad smile. “What brings you down to our humble establishment?”
Chastity grinned and pointed at her empty sword belt.
“I need a new broadsword,” she said. “Mine is somewhere in the sewers beneath High Street and I’ve no desire to plumb the depths looking for it when I know you have a wide variety of cutlery on hand.”
Herbert frowned and beckoned Chastity to follow him, pausing only to wipe his hands with a nearby rag and clap Nikola on the back in passing. They reached the smithy at the rear of the laboratory and Herbert unlocked the door with a key he kept on his person at all times.
“You have to stop losing my swords, Chastity,” he admonished. “The enchanting process takes weeks, why the etching of the sigils alone takes nearly a fortnight.”
Chastity leaned against the desk and watched him rummage through the racks. “I didn’t mean to lose this one. It slipped while I was escaping an underground explosion.”
“Yes, and the last one you left atop Buckingham Palace, and the one before that was broken when you tried to use it as a grappling hook—” Herbert said, his voice trailing off as he pulled a black-edged broadsword from the rack.
“Ah, just the one I was looking for.”
Chastity straightened and moved closer to Herbert. He was holding a beautiful Scottish sword the likes of which she’d never seen. The blade was single edged and slightly tapered with an intricate guard exquisitely shaped into a web of silver and gold. The hilt was wrapped in blue silk over black leather and the pommel bore a stylized cross.
“It’s beautiful!” she said. “This one has to be some of your best work, Herbert.”
Herbert nodded and hefted the blade in one hand before handing it over carefully.
“I actually made this for you,” he said softly. “See that you don’t lose it anywhere!”
Chastity held the sword in both hands for a moment and said, “I promise, Herbert,” in a solemn voice before sheathing the magnificent weapon.
“Thank you,” Herbert said. “I will hold you to that promise. If you lose it, you are going back after it.”
“I promise I won’t lose this one,” Chastity said again. “Besides, tonight I am only breaking into Scotland Yard, nothing major.”
“A knight-knapping, eh?” Herbert asked. “I think I know some items that might come in handy on such an endeavor. Come with me.”
Herbert turned and exited the small smithy, leaving a bemused Chastity to follow in his wake. He stopped first at a small upside-down jug in which a spigot had been installed. A variety of dynamite and gunpowder sat around the jug on various tables and Chastity didn’t feel at all at ease when Herbert filled a flask with the fluid and handed it to her.
“Nitroglycerin in a gelatinous base,” he said casually. “It’s perfectly stable within the flask, but expose it to air and ten seconds later the world goes boom.”
Chastity held the flask in front of her like it was a dead snake and looked at Herbert suspiciously. “Isn’t this the concoction that blew up a factory not far from here?”
Herbert shook his head and continued through the laboratory. “Not exactly. This one is much safer. It will only knock down the walls you want it to, I assure you.”
Not feeling at all reassured, Chastity slid the vial into one of the pouches on her belt and followed Herbert to another work area where a tall, thin man was working with a minute piece of equipment. The glasses he wore made his eyes look ten
times larger than usual, but he didn’t seem to mind as he soldered connections together inside the tiny device. When Chastity looked at Herbert curiously he said, “Portable telegraph device. When it is perfected you will be able to tap into any line and send your own messages.”
Herbert sorted through the equipment on a nearby table and handed Chastity a small pouch of tools.
“Your new investigator’s kit,” he said simply. “Richard finished it last night. You have a magnifying lens, scalpel, forceps, scissors, some sample paper and a vial of alchemical powder that will identify almost any substance by changing colors. Quite ingenious, if I do say so myself.”
Chastity hefted them gratefully and slid them into the empty pouch that had contained her old, now mislaid, kit. “Thank you, Herbert. What about cartridges? I am running low on ammunition.”
Herbert nodded and guided Chastity to a final location where several small boxes had been placed next to a curious pistol-like device. Herbert slipped a selection of the small boxes into a sack for Chastity to sort through at her leisure, muttering, “Experimental hollow point, aged oak, silver, iron, and holy-water…that should be enough,” and then picked up the odd pistol. A small three-pointed hook protruded from the barrel and Chastity could see that the spool at the back was wound tight with several hundred feet of extremely thin cord.
“This is a grapple line that Nikola and I have been working on,” he said, hefting the device. “It ejects the hook at incredible speed, allowing you to send the line from ground level to say, three hundred feet and you can then use the cable to scale a wall or a mountain.”
Chastity took the device from Herbert’s hands and tried to aim down the barrel. The weight of the device caused her arm to sag and she looked at Herbert, arching one eyebrow.
“And I’m to carry this, am I? Or did you design it for Sampson?”
Herbert rolled his eyes and took the grapple back. Setting it on the table behind him he said, “Of course not! That is just the prototype!”
