The Alloy Heart

by Quinn Loftis

  The bobby harrumphed and popped his newspaper.

  Ruth waited for a few more awkward moments, finally realizing that she was not going to be voluntarily acknowledged. Given their exuberance in the back alley of the Fox and Hound, she was a bit surprised that she was being so blatantly ignored. Though prostitution was now technically illegal thanks to the recently passed Brothel Suppression Act, she could always easily escape arrest with a timely delivered “favor” given to the arresting officer, or officers, as was usually the case. Still, dealing with constables in a dark alleyway was one thing. After nightfall, Ruth was in her element. Waltzing into a police station in broad daylight was something else entirely, and Ruth was understandably disconcerted.

  “Excuse me,” she managed to finally squeak out. Though Ruth would have rather been anywhere but where she now stood, she was undeterred. Something terrible had happened to her friend Mary, and she was determined to find out what.

  Another harrumph and another newspaper pop. This time Ruth waited only a few seconds before she found her courage and strode forward, placing herself directly on the other side of the curmudgeon’s newspaper. Light filtering in from the station’s front windows cast a shadow across both man and paper. The loudest harrumph yet greeted Ruth as the man scowled and shifted the paper back into the light.

  “Excuse me,” Ruth said again, this time a little louder, now hovering over the obstinate policeman. “You look very familiar. Have I seen you down at the Fox and Hound? Yep, it was definitely you. I remember you from last week. You came—”

  “What do you want?” The man barked, throwing his paper down on the counter in front of him.

  “I just need to talk to an inspector. My friend Mary’s gone missing.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” replied the constable. “Foster,” he yelled toward the back of the station house. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

  John Foster’s large frame occupied most of the hallway as he marched from the cramped office he shared with Inspector Hill at the rear of the building.

  “What can I do for you, miss?”

  “It’s my friend Mary. She went off last night … with a … friend, and she never came back. That’s not like her. I think something bad might have happened.”

  “Please, right this way, miss. Can I get you a cup ’a tea?” Foster asked as he ushered her into a small interrogation room located across the hall from his own office.

  She sat softly upon one of the four spindle-legged wooden chairs, which were arranged around an empty rectangular table in the middle of the room.

  “Sure, that might ease my nerves a bit. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Not at all, miss, not at all. We are here to protect and serve, after all. Smith!” Foster stood at the doorway and yelled into the hallway. “Get the nice lady some tea. Now!” A few grumbled words reached Ruth’s ears, through the door, most of which she didn’t catch, but she was certain she heard the word harlot muttered at least twice. John scowled toward the foyer and then turned back to Ruth while he took a chair opposite her.

  “Now, miss…” he began.

  “Just Ruth will be fine,” she interrupted.

  “Okay, then, Miss Ruth. I’m Assistant Inspector John Foster. What can I do for ya?”

  “Well, like I said, my friend, Mary, she, uh, went off with a friend and, um, well, we have sort of a rule between us when we get separated.”

  “Ruth,” Foster interjected, “I may not be the brightest copper on the force, but I knows a workin’ girl when I sees one. You needn’t be afraid here. I ain’t gonna throw ya in the clink. Just be straight wit’ me. I know how hard ya’s got it out there. Lord knows I’ve partaken of the services of a fallen woman or two in my day. And I know how rough some men can be wit’ ya. But I ain’t never struck a woman meeself, and I ain’t never thrown a girl in jail for tryin’ to make an honest livin’. And I ain’t gonna start today.”

  Ruth breathed a sigh, and Foster could see her body visibly relax in her chair.

  “Thank you, Mr. Foster,” she said timidly.

  “Now, your friend, Mary. What’s her last name?

  “Knight,” the woman responded.

  “And when did Mary go missing?”

  “Last night around twelve or one in the morning, maybe. Like I said, we have a rule. We always check in with each other at the end of our … shifts. Make sure we’re both okay. Most nights we bed down together anyway, try and keep warm, ya know. We sleep back to back, safer that way. If one of us doesn’t show, we’re supposed to check in with the other’s protectors. We work for different men, see?”

  “Okay, what did her protector say?”

  “Oh, I didn’t go to him. She got a new protector a while back, and I don’t like him none, not none at all. He’s terrible mean, and he smacks her around a lot. Nothing that will mess up her face, of course, but just in places that are always covered. I was too scared to go tell him.”

  “And what’s this bloke’s name?” Foster asked.

  “He’s called Ben. I don’t know his surname. Girls most times call him Big Ben, on account of him being so big. He’s about as big as you are, sir. Maybe not as tall.”

  “Does he do a good job? Protecting, I mean. Does he keep his girls safe and all?”

  “Oh, yes sir. No one messes with Big Ben. Last guy put a hand on Mary ended up with a broken jaw. After that she’s been right safe, she has. From everyone else that is. Now it’s only Big Ben himself that she has to worry about.”

  “You think he might have hurt her?” John asked.

  Ruth could see genuine concern in the inspector’s eyes. She was silent for a long moment before she spoke. “I don’t think so. He’s a monster, sure, but he’s not dumb, even if he looks it. Mary’s one of his best earners. He wouldn’t do nothing to keep her off the streets.”

  “Where can I find Ben?” Foster inquired, pulling out his well-worn notebook and pencil.

  “He mostly stays in the Fox and Hound in the evenings. It’s a pub on Finchley.”

  “Of course. One o’ me own favorites. Piss-poor ale, but great company,” he said, smiling at Ruth.

  This gesture put Ruth further at ease, and she visibly relaxed even more.

  “You said that Mary didn’t check in with you at the end of the night last night. Has she ever done that before?”

  “No, never. She is even more adamant that me about the rule.” Tears began to form in Ruth’s eyes. “Mary was kind of … kind of a teacher to me. She took me under her wing, back … back in the early days.” The girl sniffed. The wall of protection she’d put into place before coming into the station were now crumbling before Foster’s eyes. The large assistant inspector dug in his pockets and produced a grubby handkerchief, passing it over to Ruth.

  “Did you see the johns she was with last night? Did any of them seem strange to you?”

  Ruth blew her nose in the handkerchief before continuing. She nodded her head vigorously.

  “Yes, the last bloke I seen her with. He was … strange.”

  “What do mean?” Foster prompted.

  “Well, the way he was dressed, for a start. Real smart-like. Top hat, frock coat, the works. I mean, we get a few gentlemen, every now and then. But not like this. Most of the rich ones comes stumbling drunk out of the pub and see us standing there. Then it’s just … they kind of take us, all grabby and rude-like. And they love to talk, all flirty-like. And real dirty. It’s almost like … like they get to say everything to us they wish they could say in their everyday lives but can’t. It all just kind of comes out.

  “But this bloke didn’t say a thing. That was also weird. He just walked on by us and stuck his arm out. I mean, I’ve been with guys who don’t say much, especially the new ones, all clammy and nervous. But this man wasn’t like that. It was like he knew exactly what he wanted and didn’t want to waste time with any small talk. His message was clear.”

  “And when this man stuck his arm out, Mary went
with him? How did you know he didn’t want you?”

  “Well, he walked straight toward her, and we both knew. That wasn’t a surprise. If you’d seen Mary, you’d know why. She’s right pretty. Much prettier than me. If me and Mary is standing and a new bloke walks up, well, lay odds two to one that he’s going with Mary. She just has that … I don’t know … that something. She stands there all shy-like, looking like a beautiful flower growing in the gutter begging to be picked. Irresistible, she is.” Fresh tears had formed in Ruth’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the handkerchief.

  John heaved a great sigh, his heart breaking for the young woman. “What’d this bloke look like?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t rightly know. He … he kept his top hat pulled down real low-like. He walked by so quickly that I barely saw his face and it was dark,” she quavered.

  “Anything distinct about him? Was he tall, short?”

  “Oh, tall,” Ruth said quickly, grasping at some straw she thought could help. “Real tall, and skinny-like too. Thin like a lamppost.”

  “Tall, you’re sure?” John popped up from his seat. “Taller than me, even?” He sucked in a breath, raising himself to his full six-foot-two-inch height.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure,” said Ruth, her own voice mimicking John’s excitement.

  “Stand up. Stand up,” Foster commanded. He moved around the table and placed Ruth directly in front of him. “Now you’re about eye level with my chin. How tall was this man compared with you?”

  Ruth hesitated. She could sense the tingling excitement coming off the assistant inspector. She didn’t want to be wrong. Not just because she knew her answer might help the police find Mary, but also because she didn’t want to disappoint Assistant Inspector Foster. The man felt to her like an old friend rather than someone she just met only minutes before.

  “Um … well.” Ruth took a step back and then a step forward. “I don’t know exactly. See, I was standing up on the curb, right? He was walking along the cobblestones. I remember because of the sound his boots were making—clip, clop—like a horse.”

  “The curb, the curb,” Foster said absentmindedly.

  “Come outside,” he commanded. Foster led the woman through the foyer, past Constable Jones, who Foster noticed had made no move to fetch Ruth her tea. Once outside, the inspector had Ruth stand on the curb while he stepped down into the street.

  “Now what say you, lass? Compared to me, how tall was he? Were you looking him eye to eye standing on the curve?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” she replied, looking up slightly at Foster. “This seems about right. Like I said, he was bloody tall, just like you. I think I was still shorter than him even though I was standing on the curb and he wasn’t. He had his head tucked down like this,” she said, pushing her chin down against her chest. “But he was still a little taller than me.”

  “What’s this all about?” interrupted Hill, who poked his head out of station’s front door, his curiosity now piqued.

  “Our man,” said Foster. “The hearts. She’s seen him.”

  “Bring me up to speed, please,” said Hill joining the pair outside.

  “As I was telling Mr. Foster, it was hard to tell what he looked like. He kept his face mostly covered. He was tall, handsome, I think, certainly a gentleman.”

  “Handsome?” asked Inspector Hill. “How so?”

  “Well, he was just … clean, I guess. Dark hair, straight nose, clean shaven. Most men we get aren’t exactly well kept, if you know what I mean. This gentleman was.”

  “What color eyes did he have?”

  Ruth thought for a moment. “Can’t rightly say, sir. Blue, maybe. I didn’t really look him in the eyes. Like I told Mr. Foster, it was clear right up front that he was after Mary, not me. And he walked past so fast, I didn’t see ‘em good.”

  Thomas scribbled furiously in his notebook. “Did you notice anything else unique about him? Anything at all? A limp, a scar, anything?”

  “A scar! Yes,” she said excitedly. “He had a smooth scar on the left-hand side of his face. It was faded white, you know, so it kind of caught the light, I guess. I remember it now, quite clearly.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Saturday, 7th May 1887

  Sometime around mid-morning

  Mary awoke with a gasp, her eyes scanning the room wildly. They fell upon a long slender man, hunched over a work table, his back to where she lay. The man was humming to himself what sounded like a bawdy tavern song. Mary tried to rise but found her arms and legs bound by padded leather straps to the table where she lay. She vaguely sensed some sort of tubing attached to her right arm. A wave of exhaustion overtook her, and she almost relapsed into unconsciousness. She tried to call out to the man, but her voice refused to respond to her commands. A raspy croak was all that emerged, but that was enough to gain the man’s attention. He practically jumped from his chair and rushed to her side.

  “You’re awake. Very good,” the man said cheerfully. “Please, you must be terribly thirsty. You’ve been asleep for about thirty-six hours. Here, have a drink of water.” He grabbed a pitcher from a metal table beside the bed and poured the clear liquid into a small porcelain cup. “Careful now,” he said, gingerly lifting the cup to her lips.

  She took a tiny sip and swallowed with difficulty. Her throat felt as if it had been rubbed vigorously with a rusty file.

  “Are you in any pain?” the man asked, his hand on her arm. He was staring at her with a mixture of fascination and concern, as if she were an old friend who’d suffered some horrible accident. Mary was sure, however, that she’d never seen the man before in her life. She thought long and hard before attempting to answer his question. Her throat was dry, she was exhausted, and there was a dull sensation in her chest, but it wasn’t necessarily painful. Finally, she shook her head no.

  “Great, I’ve got you on some intravenous painkillers. If you do start feeling any pain, please let me know immediately.”

  “Who are you?” she was finally able to manage with some difficulty. Mary’s thoughts were so muddled in her head. She couldn’t, for the life of her, remember where or even who she was.

  “Oh, my name is unimportant, for now,” he replied. “The better question is who are you? Do you remember your name?”

  “I…” she began, but quickly fell silent. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated as hard as she could. “I can’t … it’s biblical.”

  “Biblical?” the man responded, puzzled. “You mean your name comes from the Bible?”

  Mary nodded her head in affirmation.

  “Hmm, well that certainly narrows it down. Let me say some names, and you tell me if you can remember if one of them is yours. How about Eve? That’s the very first one.”

  The woman shook her head. Definitely not.

  “Well, Mary is the most famous, of course. Are you called Mary?”

  Her eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously.

  “Fantastic. Can you remember your last name, Mary?”

  The woman squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s Knight, like a knight in shining armor,” she said finally.

  “Great,” the man responded.

  “Now, can you remember where you live, Mary?”

  The woman thought hard again. She saw a hazy picture of a dark alley, a boarding house of some sort, with other women and small children occupying every piece of available floor space. Soiled mattresses were few and far between, occupied with those women with still suckling newborns. Then a face, friendly, with soft brown eyes, came into view. Her friend Ruth. Where was she? She didn’t check in last night.

  “Where’s Ruth?” the woman asked.

  “Ruth?” the man answered. “Another biblical name. Who is Ruth?”

  “My, my … friend. She was supposed to check in last night. Where is she?”

  “Wait, is this Ruth a … working girl, like yourself? Were you with her the other night? Working outside the Fox and Hound pub?”

  “Ye
s,” Mary responded enthusiastically, more of her memory returning. “There was a man, a customer. We went behind the pub and … I can’t seem to remember anything after that.”

  “Don’t worry, Mary. I’m sure it will come back to you.”

  “Where am I?” she asked. While her body still felt exhausted, her memory was growing stronger by the minute.

  “You’re in a … medical clinic of sorts. I’m afraid you were in an accident, Mary. It was lucky a constable happened to come upon you. It looked like you’d been stabbed. He took you to London Hospital, but they weren’t able to help you. Luckily, I was, but it took some doing. I’m afraid you’re going to be down for some time.”

  “I … I … have to see Ben. He’ll be terribly cross. Oh, no, this is dreadful. I have to work. He’ll kill me.”

  “Don’t worry about your protector, Mary. He can’t get at you here. I’ll take care of you. We’ll get you back to full health in no time.”

  “But if I don’t meet my quota—”

  “Mary, listen to me,” the man said sternly. “Look at me. Look in my eyes.”

  She did so, and the crystal blue eyes seemed to wash over her, putting her at peace. The man was extremely handsome. She noticed then a long scar running alongside his chin on the right side of his face. It was an old scar, faded, and it seemed to enhance his beauty rather than detract from it.

  “The most important thing right now is for you to get well. This man, Ben, cannot hurt you now. I have friends, Mary, in high places, on the police force, in the government. I can keep you safe. Please, trust me now.”

  The conviction she saw in his face convinced her that the man could be trusted. She finally nodded her assent.

  “Now, can I ask you some more questions. After this, I’ll go find your friend Ruth and let her know that you are safe. How does that sound?”

  Again, Mary nodded.

  “Good, now I see no need for these restraints. I don’t think you are going to do anything to hurt yourself,” he said as he unbuckled her the straps from her arms and legs. “Do you know what city you are in?”