by S. E. Smith
From the Testimony of Peter Watkins, Driver to Lord Byrd.
By this point Bullet-Man was behind her. Miss Em must have been able to feel his breath on her neck. But, if she did, she gave no sign. I stopped, waiting; noticing her big Japanese minder did the same. Moving towards the door, until his massive frame blocked the exit.
“You heard Sue, piss off little girl,” Bullet-Man said. “Go back to your uncle and tell him he has no business here. We don’t want the Impereye’s protection.”
I saw the look she gave the mirror. The one that said: Oh God! Is the world full of imbeciles?
From Reports.
“There were a couple of times I nearly lost you in the crowd, Simon Capello.” Emily’s middle-class accent became even more pronounced as she identified him to the crowd. “But standing with your gun like that? Mistake.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. But whether a trick of projection, or excellent acoustics, the words carried. “You should tell the man you work for not to give you such difficult jobs in future. You’re too obvious.”
Capello laughed. “You can piss right off. You know nuffin!”
“Wrong.” Without turning Emily’s left hand jabbed backwards and upwards. The tanto sliced through the man’s coat and side, leaving a trail of blood in its wake before becoming embedded in his arm.
“Bitch!” Dropping the gun, Capello clutched at his side, until realising he lived, he laughed. “Is that the best you can do?” he said as, with his uninjured arm, he grabbed a nearby coat off the back of an empty chair and stuffed it, like a bandage, against the wound.
“Probably not.” Soulless eyes, the mirror of her uncle’s, caused Capello to crumble. “But I couldn’t kill both of you, could I?” Her words owned the room. “Not if I wanted to word to get back to your masters that Uncle is not dying. He is playing a trick with paint. I have his deception with me. Anyone who wishes to inspect it may do so at their leisure. Right here. Right now.” A pause, then: “We are stronger than ever, Simon Capello. Tell that to your masters, before you become a grave man like Shakespeare’s Mercutio.”
Emily pulled the stiletto out of Canton Sue’s neck, and the woman – cigarette holder still in hand – slithered to the floor. Her mouth still open in shock; her sightless eyes, wide in death.
Turning to the stunned clientele, Emily dug into her pocket and removed her Uncle’s hankie, holding its garish red against the darkening wound on the dead woman’s neck.
“As you can see: different.” Her expression lost some of its soulless quality. “I want to know about the lupara. I want to know who removed it from Florence Long’s house and why. And I want to know by morning.” There were nods. A few people slipped out of the bar now the stairs were clear of Akio’s impressive bulk.
“Oh, and Capello, if I discover that the traitor who pays your wages was behind the weapon’s disappearance, tell him I’ll add it to his day of reckoning.” Realising he was dismissed, Capello pivoted on his heels and ran.
When only his memory remained, Emily walked to the only member of staff, other than the old doorkeeper, to remain dry-eyed. A girl maybe eighteen, with jet-black hair and stunted limbs. “What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl stared at her and her Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Little Bet, miss, on account of me shortness.”
“Do you speak Cantonese, Bet?”
“Not really, miss.” Her green eyes grew as big as saucers, as she grasped the magnitude of Emily’s simple statement.
Emily smiled. “Mr Zuan is an excellent teacher and knows the workings of this place. Use him.”
“Yes, miss, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. If you need a hand cleaning up; get word to Ma Chars. They’ll send a team over. I’ll pay.”
Bet opened her mouth to thank her again, but Emily waved her to silence. “Protection’s due on the fifteenth of the month. A Glaswegian by the name of Niall will be here to talk details in the morning.” She turned to the remaining staff and inspected them. “Anyone who does not like this new set up, come visit me at Fournier Street and I’ll settle your wages.” There were some nods of relief - and others of respect. “Whilst I live, this establishment retains its loyalty to the Impereye. If I hear otherwise, I’ll be back ... and I’ll not be so generous.”
Business complete, Emily moved her attention to the clientele and gave them a stare worthy of Victoria. “Get the word out,” she commanded, “there is a reward for the recovery of the lupara. If you don’t want to come to me direct, tell Little Bet, here. Or Mr Zuan.”
She nodded at Zuan, who sprang into action. “In a show of respect for Miss Emily and her uncle,” he announced loudly, “drinks are on the house!”
As the world inhabiting the den cheered, Emily held out her hand to the third man of her team. Without hesitation, Watkins grasped it firmly. “Well done, miss,” he said. “Not been easy, sitting here night after night, hearing that woman have at you, and Mr Gold. I’m glad you took back what’s yours.”
“Even if it was ... illegal?”
Watkins shook his head. “You did what you had to do. No one can argue with that.”
“The earl and CC might disagree, mightn’t they?”
Watkins bit his lip. “They’ve both done the same in the line of duty.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Emily indicated an empty table and they sat watching the bar as the generosity of free drinks worked its magic; restoring equanimity and order to the room. Music played, laughter rang out. All was as it should be. Yet Emily remained wary.
“Mr Watkins. What brings you here? I never had you pegged as a gambler.”
The earl’s driver laughed heartily, relieving her fears. “Oh, I like cards with the best of them, miss - but only when the guv’s footing the bill.”
Amusement sparkled in Emily’s eyes, and she leaned forward on her elbows. “And what does the earl want with a woman like Canton Sue?”
“Oh ‘e don’t want her. He’s investigating a murder of a bloke with a connection to a previous suspicious death. Guv’s client was found on the Southwark shore, miss. Not that we think that’s where he died - if you get my drift.”
Her eyes dulled slightly. “So, he sent you here to discover if another scandal involving the East End needed hushing up?”
Watkins nodded his embarrassment. “Sorry, miss. Trouble is, I hit a brick wall. All silence and long faces. Mind you, now you’ve sorted things out, I might get somewhere.”
Emily stared at the clientele and shook her head. “You won’t find anything here. Too far from the river.” A genuine smile of friendship took any criticism out of her words. “If I were you, I’d pay Jethro a visit. Tell him I sent you. He had a body outside his pub that needed getting rid of.”
“Cheers, miss,” Watkins said as he rose. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell the guv ... or the colonel ... about tonight.” He saluted.
Emily accepted the rare honour - and as Watkins turned sharply on his heels and left, her eye drawn to another empty table.
Except it wasn’t quite empty. In the dead centre sat a carefully folded napkin in the shape of a star. Unable to help herself, Emily picked it up and shivered. There was something unnerving about the piece; something she didn’t like. Something evil.
Aware someone watched her leave Little Bet’s, Emily kept her stiletto close - just in case. But when it became obvious no one followed her, she relaxed her guard and practised her Japanese on Akio as they made their way back to Fournier Street.
Surprised by the bright lights, for of late Gold went to bed early, Emily let herself in and padded her way quietly to her uncle’s office, pausing when she heard conversation. Low. Indecipherable. Until a word, drifted to her and caught in her ears. Smiling in recognition, she opened the door. “Hello, Mohandas, what are you doing here?”
An infinitesimal pause, obvious only to the trained eye, until Doctor Khan, one of her uncle’s oldest friends looked up from the chessboard. “M
ordy was worried about you, Emily. He thought perhaps I would need to patch you up.”
Her laugh was rueful. Her arms spread theatrically in answer. “Nah, mate, I is unscathed.”
Both men laughed. But Gold wasn’t as amused as his comrade. Perhaps it had something to do with the taking of his knight.
“You’re winning, Mohandas?” Emily couldn’t hold on to her incredulity as she eyed the board.
“I thought he deserved a fighting chance, for a change.” Gold’s smile was bright enough, but Emily noticed there was a pale edge to his skin, and his eyes had a dull tinge to them as they decided upon his next move.
“Is everything alright?” She gave her uncle a hard stare.
“It is now, bubbeleh. Now leave two old men to their game,” he said dismissing her concern. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When the distinctive sound of the front door closing reached the two men, Doctor Khan broke his silence. “One day, Mordy, you’ll tell me what this is all about.”
Gold looked at Khan. His face lost all amusement. His voice was hard. “No, my friend, I will not.”
From the Testimony of Peter Watkins, Driver to Lord Byrd.
Monday 4th March.
“You look like the cat that got the cream ...” William Sampson said as we traded stories of last night’s discoveries.
“Somethin’ like that.” I waited till he finished that infernal padding around routine that he did, before saying any more. “I saw Miss Emily,” I said once he was sitting with a cup of tea in his hand.
“Oh?” Sober-sides raised his eyebrow in an attempt to look superior and disinterested. “Where?”
“Canton Sue’s place.”
“And she was?”
“Reasserting her rights as the apprentice.” Keeping my account as succinct as possible, I told Sampson about last night’s happenings.
“I’m glad the major’s shot of her. She’s the devil incarnate.”
I did my best to ignore him. Sampson was one of the few who attended Sunday service because he liked it.
“Did she see you?”
When I didn’t answer, he went to look down the hallway, like he expected the boss to be listening outside. He wouldn’t be! He was still in bed! I had that on good authority. According to a mate, who chauffeured Mrs K about, his lordship spent the previous evening flirting with a pretty piece - until they took themselves off to play ‘billiards’.
I told Sampson about the pretty piece. He didn’t like that either.
“We was fortunate, William. Miss Emily was in a good mood.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Me and one of those sumo wrestlers her uncle employs, gave a bit of moral support, to a situation that might have got sticky. Not that she needed it.”
I explained about her double knife trick, expecting Sampson to object to such violence. But he didn’t. “Least she’s not pining,” he muttered.
“Can’t fathom how ‘e’s pining ... if rumours are true about him playin’ billiards.”
Sampson’s expression told me he wasn’t amused.
I changed the subject. “Forget the woman. Me giving Miss Emily a hand got us a bit of a break.”
“Really?” That bloody eyebrow went up to the sky, and I was hard-pressed not to deck my old comrade one.
“Miss Emily said we’d get answers if we asked Sergeant Jethro.”
From the Casebook of Symington, Earl Byrd.
I wasn’t sleeping it off and I did listen in to the conversation.
Not from behind the door, but like a child, with a glass to the wall of my en suite. I nearly dropped the glass when Sampson swore. My valet never swears.
From Reports.
A successful visit to The Grapes led Watkins to a bedsit not far from Liverpool Street Station. His quarry, a paunchy man with curly red-brown hair, welcomed him suspiciously and was of two minds whether to let him in. But Watkins showed him the beer mat Jethro had given him, and indecision found itself replaced with a welcoming smile.
Listening to what was asked of him, Sam scratched his head as if to aid his memory. “Shot to the stomach? Yeah, I remember that one. Moved it far from the pub so there’d be no comeback.” His face became cunning. “What d’ya wanna know for? He owe ya money?”
Watkins laughed. “No such luck!” He held out a guinea. “My guv, a man with more money than sense – coz I wouldn’t pay you – has been asked to find out who murdered him.” He waved the coin under Sam’s nose, watching with amusement as the paunchy man seemed mesmerised like a snake.
“You didn’t, by any chance help yourself to anything ... Remove anything that might have been valuable?” The coin vanished.
Sam rubbed his neck and blinked. “No. But then I only carried him. Pete went through the pockets.”
“Pete?”
“Me housemate.”
Given the room was barely big enough to swing a cat, let alone house two grown men, Watkins decided there was more to this statement than met the eye. But what people did in the comfort of their own home was none of his business. So, smiling, Watkins reappeared the coin. “And where would this Pete of yours be?” he asked.
“Extra shift down the docks - we need the money. Times are hard, and jobs for Mr Jethro don’t come along every day.”
“I understand, Sam.” Watkins was all smiles. “Now, you can earn another coin by taking me to your Pete or by giving me a detailed description.”
Sam smiled sourly as he looked at Watkins. “No offence, I knows you ain’t a toff, but you ain’t dressed for the docks. But don’t you worry, I can do better than a description.” Sam went to the tallboy and rummaged in one of the drawers. “We had it taken when we were in Southend last year. You’ll bring it back when you’re finished?”
Watkins nodded and, pocketing the photograph, headed not for the docks but for Mayfair.
For the first time in ages, Emily didn’t visit the Fournier Street shop until the sun was high. Those who knew of her visit to Canton Sue’s retreated from her path to whisper and stare. Those who didn’t, noticed the reactions of others and added wonder to their usual demeanour. Emily, still convinced she was being followed, kept her hand on her knife and her head held high.
Letting herself in through the main door, she found her uncle on the shop floor - chatting to customers and stopping every so often to cough into his handkerchief. Emily smiled at the byplay. Word hadn’t reached these people that Uncle was up to something. But it would. And that would only add to the mystique surrounding him.
By the time Uncle arrived in their upstairs parlour, tea was mashing in the pot and, if the faraway look was anything to go by, Emily was brooding.
“Sue needed reminding who you are and what you represent.” He said briskly
Emily turned, showing her uncle dull and lifeless eyes and a face aged by weariness. At once the businessman vanished and the man who rescued her all those years ago took his place. “Oh bubbeleh, you did what you had to do. No more. No less.” The old man pressed a sweet into her hand, and she took it, turning it over and over as she stared unseeingly into the fire.
“I know,” Emily replied in a flat voice. “And she deserved it ... But she ain’t why I’m like this ...” She dashed the sweet into the flames, where it flared like a phoenix and was gone.
“Are you going to tell me, or do I need to play twenty questions?” Old bones creaked as the man knelt before her, taking her hands in his and rubbing them to infuse some warmth.
“There was a witness.”
“You were in the den, at the busiest time of night. There were bound to be witnesses.” It was not said in a derisory kind of way, just a statement of fact to close the conversation, but Emily felt it necessary to elaborate.
“I don’t mean customers or people like us.”
Gold grasped her meaning immediately. “Go on.”
Nothing.
“Emily.” The command brought her face to his for the first time that morni
ng. A hand wiped away her tears, as it had done throughout her childhood.
“Watkins.” A single word falling into the sadness.
Gold hissed and stared at her: “And this scares you because?”
“He’ll tell the earl, and everything you’ve worked for’ll be ruined.”
“Did he say as much?”
Emily shook her head. “No. Actually, he was very helpful.”
“And afterwards?” Gold persisted. “When his help was no longer required?”
“He told me not to worry.”
Relieved, Gold stood and spread his arms. “Bubbeleh! Where is the problem?”
“What if the earl doesn’t approve?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” His free hand slipped into his pocket to retrieve another sweet, which he held out to the young woman.
She eyed it and him angrily. “I shouldn’t have made that deal with Uncle Robert. His stipulation sets us back months.”
Gold shook his head in disagreement. “At the time, it was good business. Besides, things are not desperate yet. You said yourself, the earl’s offer was clumsy, he deserved your anger.” He paused. “Trust me, bubbeleh, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He’ll do better next time.”
The old man pressed another sweet into her hand. “It’s just a toffee, child. What harm can there be in a toffee?” To prove his point the old man popped it in his mouth and sucked ostentatiously until his hacking cough caught up with him, and he fled to the bathroom to retch over and over again.
Emily was reading Lilian Poulter’s diary when Niall knocked on her office door. “Gentleman to see you, Miss Emily.”
Engrossed in the ins and outs of the woman’s life, she didn’t look up. “Send him up.”
