Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  Cross’s backyard wasn’t fenced. The light was on in the kitchen, which was expected. At this hour, only the cook preparing the servants’ breakfast and the maid lighting the morning fires would be up. The same as Zachary’s household. Graciela stayed close to the tall hedges that had been planted for privacy. Light from the kitchen window shone on the doorknob and it was easy to see the knobs were the same as Zachary’s only his were shiny brass and hers were pewter.

  She hurried through the gangway to the edge of the house and peered both ways to see if the lamplighter had left. Behind her a first floor window was thrown open and someone, a man, began to make a trilling sound.

  Trilling? Graciela shrank into the hedgerow and watched the window.

  Small birds began to land on the windowsill as a man’s hand, a man she couldn’t see yet, sprinkled bread crumbs. The trilling crumb man began to mix his birdsong with a variety of light sounds. Then she saw him. Cross. What the devil was he doing up at this hour?

  A white scrawny cat with black ears and eyes like a furry masked highwayman slunk out of the shrubbery. The skinny animal pounced, nearly catching a sparrow on the ground eating fallen crumbs.

  “Beast.” Cross threw an expensive crystal snifter at it, striking it hard in the shoulder. “Get. I’ll have you poisoned.”

  The cat hissed and leapt toward its hiding spot.

  “Bastard,” Graciela whispered.

  “Ugh.” Cross rocked back and forth a few times as he spread his crumbs and twice clasped the window frame to steady himself.

  Graciela thought he might fall out the window. He’s foxed. There’s good information. He likes his drink.

  He stepped away and Graciela took advantage of his absence to run to the front. From there she had a decent view of the entry door locks. As she suspected, they were the same as those on Zachary’s house. Satisfied, she started for home but stopped after a few feet. She couldn’t help wondering how badly hurt the poor cat was. The animal’s backbone had stuck out and looked full grown but tiny; probably small from malnourishment. It wouldn’t last long on the street. The last thing she needed was a pet. Would Mrs. Zachary even let her keep the wee one? She did have a cat of her own, Shadow, a sweet grey.

  She snuck back and dropped to her knees at the end of the hedgerow and whispered, “Puss, puss.” To her surprise, the little thing trusted another human and limped out of the shrubbery.

  She turned the cat over. “Good, you’re a girl. So is Shadow. All Zachary can do is say no,” Graciela told the hurt kitten as she walked. She bundled the cat into the crook of her arm. When it purred, instead of sounding like meow, it sounded like me-too. Graciela stroked her foundling. “I shall call you Me-too.”

  She talked to Me-too as she walked through the park. No one was around to think her mad or ask if the cat spoke the Queen’s English. They were mid-conversation when Graciela paused, kissed its furry head and said, “Thank you, Me-too. You’ve given me an elegant idea.”

  Poison. I shall use poison.

  Chapter Seven

  Graciela wasn’t ashamed to admit the rough looking patrons at Addy’s no-name pub made her leery. He told her to wait for him outside the entrance but she said no and demanded he meet her at the south end of Oxford Circus.

  “They’re not as dangerous as you think,” he said, joining her.

  “Please, I’ve never laid eyes on a scruffier, shabbier lot. I’m sure most would sell their mothers for a bottle of gin and pair of new boots.”

  “The vast majority of them are laborers from the immediate area. They’re chimney sweeps, window washers, stone masons and the like. You’ve seen men like them a hundred times. You just never got that close to them. Don’t want to have that skin-to-skin contact with the working class, eh?” He stepped back and eyed her up and down. “Although looking at you, I don’t see why you’d be so toffee-nosed acting, clearly you’re far from upper class.”

  “No, I’m not a toff. I’ve a job.”

  “What kind of job? Let me guess, you’re a governess?”

  “No. I’d rather not say. Can we leave off the subject?”

  “I don’t want to...Molly, who’s name that really isn’t. I’ve the five quid it cost to bail me so I can repay you. You won’t have that saber to rattle over my head. If you want my help, you’ll tell me more about yourself. I’m curious. What’s your job?”

  Graciela hadn’t expected rebellion. Where in the world had Addy come up with the money? She quickly answered her own question. He burglarized someplace and fenced the loot. With no leverage over Addy, it came down to how much was Cross worth to her? The questions wouldn’t stop with this one and now Addy had the advantage. She needed his expertise.

  She sighed and chose to surrender. “I’m a lady’s companion.”

  “You poor creature.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You walk in two worlds with a foot in neither. You sit in the parlor and play cards with the old lady, I assume it’s an old lady, it usually is. Or, you engage in some other entertainment with her so she puts you up in the main part of the house, close at hand and not below the stairs with the maids and such. You can sleep upstairs, but you can’t eat in the dining room with the family because you’re not family. Nor can you eat with staff because you’re not truly one of them. When you travel with her, you go in First Class like she does, not in the third class carriage like staff. You’re living luggage that keeps her from being lonely or bored. You’re of her world but not part of it and you’re not part of theirs.”

  “It’s a good position, I would never complain.” Both were true but Addy was right. She was neither fish nor fowl. She ate in her room every morning and night. The staff treated her with courtesy but none were friendly. She wasn’t invited to their private celebrations. She wasn’t part of their gift exchanges at the holidays. Only she and Mrs. Zachary gave each other one gift. When the old woman died, she’d be out of a job. The prospect terrified her.

  “We’re here. Time to hold your nose, Molly.” Addy opened the pub door for her.

  “Thank you.” She took two steps and stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. Then the stink hit her. The warm weather and their hard-labor sweat were a knock-back punch to the senses. “Ugh.”

  “Breathe through your mouth. There’s a table in the corner. Follow me,” Addy said.

  Graciela took a gulp of air, hiked her skirt up a couple of inches, not trusting when or if the floors were last cleaned, and trailed behind him as he cleared a path through the crowd of men. On the way, he grabbed the elbow of a passing barmaid. “Two tankards of beer. We’ll be at that table.”

  They sat in silence until the beer came. After the barmaid left, Graciela asked, “Are you familiar with the townhouses in Belgrave Square, Mayfair, and Regent’s Park?”

  “Of course. No point in my burglarizing poor neighborhoods now, is there?”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She was smarter than the common burglar and should’ve known better than to ask such a silly question. “I want you to show me how to break into one of those locks. I notice they tend to be similar.”

  “They are. I’ve yet to see one that’s extraordinary beyond the standard means of unlocking with simple tools.”

  “Is it hard to learn?”

  He shrugged. “Are you stupid?”

  “No.”

  “Then no. When do you want me to show you?”

  She hadn’t thought her timeframe all the way through. She wouldn’t admit it to Addy but she was a little afraid of having too much time between learning how to break into the lock and choosing her poison. She hadn’t decided which poison to use yet. She needed to research which one served her best.

  “Molly?”

  “I’m thinking. I have to do some research first.”

  “Research?”

  “There’s more to my plan than just breaking into a townhouse.”

  “Still don’t want to share your plan?” He took a long pull of b
eer, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. I’d rather not share the scaffold with you. A Peeler catching me out as a burglar gets me Newgate Prison. I don’t fancy getting caught doing anything more.”

  “You assume I’m up to something worse.”

  “Drink your beer. When you’re ready to learn about locks, you know how to get in touch. We’ll meet somewhere else, somewhere we won’t be seen and where you can practice on a few.”

  She finished her beer and he led her through the throng of drinkers and out of the pub where they said their goodbyes. “Have any idea when you think you’ll want to meet?” he asked as she started away.

  “A week or so.”

  “Good. Till then.”

  She started off again when he called out. “Molly.”

  Graciela turned. “Whatever you’re planning, think hard. I’ve seen men hang. It’s a gruesome business. If they don’t do it right, you’ll kick and twist in the wind and piss yourself. There’ll be no forgiveness for your sex. The government doesn’t care if you’re a woman.”

  What gave this criminal the right to speak so boldly to her? “Why are you telling me this? Who are you to speak to me about such things? You’re not family. You’re not even a friend.”

  “I’m not a fool either. I know you plan to break into a rich man’s home and it’s not to steal anything. You don’t ask about how to fence goods or what items carry the most value. No, you’re going in for another nefarious reason. I fear, Molly that you’ll get yourself caught. If that happens, I worry you’ll resort to a terrible drastic action to defend yourself and that may get you hanged.”

  “Shut your mouth. What I do has nothing to do with you.” She whirled around and rushed down the alley toward Oxford Street.

  You’ll kick and twist in the wind.

  A wretched keening came from somewhere close. She stopped and slumped against a building wall, realizing it came from her.

  You’ll piss yourself.

  Beer and what was left in her stomach from breakfast spewed from her. She moved away from the offensive leavings, grateful she hadn’t embarrassed herself on Oxford Street. She looked behind her to see if Addy had seen. Thankfully, he was gone. Back inside the pub no doubt.

  She wiped her mouth with a handkerchief she kept in her reticule and took a moment to compose herself. A spray of vomit dotted the hem of her dress. Her other everyday dress was in the laundry. She’d have to wash this one tonight and hang it out the window and hope it dried by morning. “Drat.”

  When she felt calm enough to continue on she made her way to a tram for home. One thought stayed with her all the way.

  I’m not going to hang because I’m not going to get caught. And I will not let any man terrorize me again, not you Mr. Addy, and certainly not you again, Mr. Cross.

  Chapter Eight

  “Let’s take a tram. A sunny day like this is perfect for sitting on the top deck,” Ruddy said to Archie.

  After a short wait, the tram they needed came by and he and Archie boarded.

  “You want a face-to-face because you think Napier will lie to us?” Archie asked once they were seated.

  “I think he might, yes.”

  “I’m not defending him, but it is understandable from his point of view considering the way we cut him out of the Everhard case.”

  “Sounds like you’re defending him. Be honest, you know we did the right thing. He’d have made a cake of the whole thing. If we brought him along, he’d have turned the whole arrest into a tangle involving protocol because of Everhard’s status. Lord knows what he’d have done once the shooting started.”

  Two young boys with fishing poles followed by an older man climbed to the top deck. Once the tram passed Whitehall it would stop at the Thames crossing. They were probably headed there. The threesome brought a smile and memory of home to Ruddy. On Sundays, after church when the weather was good, his father took him and his brothers fishing. In a family of ten children, any catch was mighty welcome.

  “That’s our stop up ahead,” Ruddy said.

  Archie tugged the wire, signaling the conductor.

  “Good fishing, boys,” Ruddy said as he passed them.

  City of London police headquarters was located in one of the city’s large old guildhalls. What was originally a big meeting hall for workers, had easily been walled off into sections. The largest area was for the lobby where citizens were met by several desk officers and a supervising sergeant. This was also where constables brought arrestees past and into the lockup and booking area. Similar to Holborn Station, the detective bureau adjoined the lobby but had a partition that was half-wall and half-glass. Unlike Holborn, the guildhall’s high ceiling allowed for an upper floor with wrought iron railings and leaded glass windows that provided storage for case files. At Holborn, storage was down in a damp, rat infested basement.

  “I can’t help being envious when we come here,” Archie said. “They have so much room.”

  “I know.” Ruddy shared his envy. At Holborn, they were packed in tight. Here each detective unit had their own tea cart and coat tree. “Better hurry. It looks like Napier is getting ready to leave.” Napier was a senior Detective Inspector and Ruddy’s counterpart with the City. He started with the City shortly after Ruddy signed on with London Metropolitan Police.

  “If it isn’t Bloody Ruddy Bloodstone, what brings you here?” Napier asked, buttoning and smoothing the front of his frock coat. “You can’t possibly want information from me.”

  Ruddy expected the supercilious “Bloody Ruddy Bloodstone” greeting from Napier. They’d disliked each other from the first. The Bloody part was a snide reference to Ruddy’s military past.

  “Not exactly. We’re here to share information.” Ruddy laid his leather folio on Napier’s desk and removed two of the drawings he made of the stocking suspect. He explained about the two crimes that occurred in Holborn’s jurisdiction. “This is a drawing we made from the victim’s description. We don’t think these are the first attacks for this suspect. But we haven’t any other reports from Metropolitan districts. We thought to ask if you had any similiars.”

  “You do want information from me. If we did have similar crimes, what good would it do for us to share what we know with you? Last time I got tossed aside after you were ordered to keep me included in all your activities.”

  “The crimes were our jurisdiction and as we explained then, we had to act fast. We had reason to believe Everhard might leave the country.” Ruddy pushed a drawing closer to Napier. “Now, can we return to the topic at hand? Does this man fit the suspect description for any sexual crime you have?”

  Another detective came over. “Hey, that looks—”

  Napier looked up and loudly cleared his throat. The other detective glanced at Napier then said. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

  Napier’s boss, Chief Superintendent Effingham came out of his office and over to Napier’s desk. The ranking system between the two agencies had only slight differences. As a Chief Superintendent, Effingham held a higher position than Jameson. An advantage he’d wielded in the past.

  “Detective Bloodstone, Detective Holbrook, what brings you here?” Effingham asked.

  “We wanted to drop off a drawing of a sex criminal who’s been working our district and might cross over into your jurisdiction,” Archie explained.

  Effingham looked down briefly, sniffed and paid no more attention to the drawing. Opening a tin of sweets he had in his hand, he removed a candy and popped it in his mouth. He extended the tin to Ruddy and Archie. “Lemon drop?”

  “No, thank you,” they both declined.

  Effingham shrugged and turned to Napier. “Are you ready, Nathaniel?”

  “I am.”

  “Perhaps you should invite the Metro lads here to watch you work out in the ring.” He turned and gave Ruddy the thin-lipped smile usually reserved for snake oil salesmen. “Might do you good, Bloodstone, to see how a fight s
hould go when done properly by the rules.”

  “No offense, sir, but you think these bludgers and footpads we get into it with in the street fight by the rules?” Ruddy asked, making an effort to temper his tone.

  Effingham drew on his candy with a wet obscene sucking that ended in a series of quick tongue clicks. He shot Napier an oily smile that Napier returned in kind. “Don’t be ridiculous. One does whatever is necessary with street ruffians. I am thinking down the road we might have a competition between our departments. It wouldn’t be fair unless everyone knew and fought by the rules.”

  The penny dropped for Ruddy. He’s itching for a fight because he had a certain winner in his toadie, Napier. Napier was the City of London’s department boxing champion three years running. The hostility between Napier and Ruddy was common knowledge and Effingham’s comment about a competition between agencies was a cover for what he intended. The penny had dropped for Archie as well, judging from his expression. From the smug exchange between Effingham and Napier, neither thought Ruddy and Archie knew of Napier’s status as boxing champion. That distinction wasn’t news shared among the two agencies. Ruddy only heard through a source at Scotland Yard when he happened to be there on a routine matter.

  “Well, you coming to my practice or not?” Napier asked.

  “Now you mean?” Ruddy assumed the invitation was meant for a future visit.

  Napier nodded.

  Ruddy thought why not? “Sure. We’ve some time to spare.” He laid two copies of his drawings on Napier’s desk. “I’ll leave a couple drawings of our suspect. I’d appreciate it if you’d show them to some of your patrol officers.”

  Effingham had his own carriage and driver, which he ordered brought round. The boxing ring was walking distance to the station but according to Napier they rode to avoid a sweaty and unpleasant return walk.

  Never a boxing enthusiast, Ruddy had only heard the gossip that they drew a rough crowd. No surprise there. The rings were dirty and often located in back alleys and stunk of sweat, blood and vomit from injured combatants. Nothing about watching the business of two men beating the snot out of each other appealed to him. When they entered Kelly’s Athletic Club, Ruddy expected the worst sort of place.