Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  “Just wondered,” Ruddy said.

  “It’s too late for inclusion in the evening edition but I can have the story and the rendering of the suspect in the early edition tomorrow. We’ll run them throughout the week,” Marsden said and handed the drawing to one of the paper’s runners.

  He opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet scotch whiskey, a glass and two teacups. “I realize you’d rather jab a bayonet into your thigh than join me for a proper drink in a pub,” he said, looking at Ruddy. He poured three fingers of whiskey into the glass and cups. “So, we can drink to our conspiracy here.

  Wanting to get the ugly business of using Marsden as a mole out of the way, Ruddy discussed that matter with him first. Some part of him hoped Marsden would say no, but he also recognized the advantage and hoped he’d agree.

  “How desperate you must be to have sunk to requesting my assistance.” Marsden smirked in an oily, smarmy way, as though he knew what your sister looked like naked.

  Ruddy stood. “Forget it. I don’t need to listen to this blather and boast. Our deal is off.”

  Marsden flapped his hand, gesturing for Ruddy to sit. “Don’t get in a twist, detective. You had to know I’d have a bit of fun at your expense after all our squabbles. I won’t ask why you want me to be your operative or why this club. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t deeply curious.” He took a sip of the liquor. “I especially wish to hear, one day down the road of course, why the detailed sleuthing of this Mr. Napier is desired.”

  Wish in one hand, spit in the other, see which you get first, Marsden. Ruddy sat again, brought the cup to his lips and then set it down without drinking while he crafted a diplomatic lie. “Perhaps. Suffice it to say that I am grateful you’re willing to do this for me. I’ll find a way to compensate you.” Not a good lie at all.

  “Don’t worry about compensation.”

  He threw the comment out like he was talking about the weather and not something that already burned like hot coal in Ruddy’s chest. “I want to know exactly what you want in return before this agreement is sealed.”

  “You know how important exclusives are in this competitive business, which is why I appreciate you came to me first with this stocking thief story. I’m sure that there will be a case in your future that I will be in dire need of being the first to break, so to speak. Quid, pro, quo.” Marsden relaxed back in his chair and smiled that sly cat smile again.

  “We won’t do anything that jeopardizes an investigation.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to. It’s information like this, letting us be the first to run a story on a thief running loose. A quick word dashed off to me when you have someone in custody. I’d like to be the first reporter on the scene. That sort of access.”

  Archie leaned over and whispered to Ruddy, “The deal’s not for long. Once you have the details you need on Napier, you’ll be done with it.”

  Ruddy brought the teacup to his lips and threw the whiskey back in one swallow. “Deal.”

  ****

  By the time Ruddy and Archie returned to the station and finished their paperwork on the new crime, their shift ended.

  “Is Will still here?” Archie asked, tidying his desk.

  “No. He left on the midday train today.”

  “He seemed to be enjoying his visit every time I saw him. Think he’ll come back soon?”

  “He did have a good time.” Ruddy had missed his brother more than he realized. His visit reminded him how much Will made him laugh. “I doubt he’ll return before he retires. It’s such a long journey from India.”

  “Too bad.” Archie jabbed Ruddy in the ribs. “You’re seeing that fancy singer Miss Flowers tonight, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Where will you take her? Your usual source of entertainment is music halls and that’s rather redundant in her case.”

  The same question plagued Ruddy since the night they met and she agreed to go out with him. Choosing a nice restaurant for dinner was easy. He thought she might like to go dancing. Before she left for America, he and Evangeline had gone several times. She enjoyed it but that didn’t mean Honeysuckle did. Desperate for suggestions, he’d sought help.

  “I asked the widow at my boarding house where she likes to go for entertainment other than music halls, which I can’t picture her going to anyway. She and her widow friend love the ballet when it’s in town. She said there’s a famous Russian company here now.”

  “The bell-lay.” Archie’s Yorkshire accent often crept into his conversation when mockery was his goal. “Have you ever been?”

  “Don’t be daft. Who knows? Maybe it will be fun. I bought tickets for their program, something called, The Pharaoh’s Daughter.”

  “Maybe.”

  ****

  At home Ruddy washed up, shaved again, and put on a freshly cleaned and pressed shirt. Quality tailored suits were a small luxury he allowed himself. The one he’d worn to work would’ve been fine for the evening but he changed into his newest suit. He added a garnet red tie for a splash of color. It was too bold a color to wear for work but perfect for a night on the town. He took one last look in the mirror and headed downstairs.

  The aroma of roast beef, onions, and fresh baked bread hit him like a wall of deliciousness as he entered the ground floor. Mrs. Goodge was preparing dinner for the boarders. An excellent cook, he’d have to say his landlady was as talented as his own mother in the kitchen. And his mother worked miracles managing to feed ten children and a husband from a slim pantry where meat was a luxury.

  “Mr. Bloodstone, aren’t you the dashing one tonight?” Mrs. Goodge caught him in the foyer on his way out.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Goodge. I’m always flattered by the attention of your lovely self.”

  The stout, older landlady blushed bright pink from her shiny cheeks to her forehead damp with kitchen perspiration. She giggled and fanned her face with the tail of her apron. “Where are you off to? From the look of you, I’d say there’s a new lady waiting somewhere.”

  “Yes, there’s a lady waiting this evening.”

  “Good. We want this one to stay. Get her a nice bouquet. I’m sure you’ll make a fine impression just being yourself, but flowers can only help.”

  Mrs. Goodge had met Evangeline and brought her tea on the few occasions she visited Ruddy at home. Goodge ran a strictly proper boarding house. Visitors of the opposite sex were restricted to sitting in the garden or the parlor. At her New Year’s luncheon for the boarders, Goodge asked why she hadn’t seen Evangeline during the holidays. Ruddy explained they’d parted company when Evangeline sought greener pastures.

  “I’ll do that.” He gave her a light buss on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  Ruddy didn’t get over to Leicester Square terribly often. He wasn’t familiar with the St. Martin’s Hotel where Honeysuckle said she had a suite.

  The main entrance to the hotel was located one door down from Charing Cross Road. White stone, with a dual-pillared elegant Georgian façade, Palladian windows, and the name on a bronze sign attached to one pillar, it wasn’t at all what he pictured. In Ruddy’s mind, he assumed it would be more like other women-only residence hotels, plain brick with a few oblong windows.

  He stepped inside to another surprise. Blue and gold paisley wallpaper decorated the lobby. Normally he wouldn’t know the name of the pattern but Margaret Holbrook’s dining room had a similar pattern. She said it was the height of current fashion. Oxblood leather wingback chairs were set around tables throughout the room. To the right was a service bar where tuxedoed waiters came and went with trays of drinks for patrons in the lobby. To his greater surprise, men and women were coming and going up and down the stairs. The hotel was clearly open to both genders.

  Ruddy stepped up to the desk clerk who was unobtrusively tucked away between two large potted palms. “I’m to meet Miss Flowers. Do you have a runner who can let her know Mr. Bloodstone has arrived?”

  “We do have a porter to at
tend to such things when needed but that won’t be necessary. You may go straight to her suite. It’s on the third floor. That’s our residential floor. She’s in Number 333.”

  As he climbed the stairs, the advantage of seeing a woman who lived in a hotel crossed his mind.

  The third floor kept the residents on the quietest level. Noise from busy Charing Cross Road that drifted into the lobby and second floor was reduced to a low muffle. The rooms were laid out in a hopscotch pattern with even ones on the right and odd numbers on the left. Honeysuckle’s room was two in from the staircase.

  Ruddy knocked and she answered the door with a bright smile and cheery, “Come in.” She closed the door and taking his hand led him into the sitting room.

  “These are for you.” Ruddy handed her the bouquet. He bought the largest and most colorful one the flower vendor had. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you. How kind. Please have a seat. Would you like a drink while I put these in water?”

  “Yes, please.” Ruddy sat in the nearest chair.

  She looked better than lovely. She wore a peach-colored silk dress with a lace overlay. Compared to the music hall, the better lighting of her suite showed how bright green her eyes were. Her complexion was smooth and pink as a cameo.

  Her suite appeared to be laid out similar to his rooms at the boarding house. The parlor was the main room with a bedroom and bath off to the side. He liked the way her sitting room was decorated-not as flamboyant as the lobby. Showy rooms with fancy wallpaper and fussy, uncomfortable furniture didn’t appeal to him.

  Honeysuckle went to a built-in cupboard with leaded glass front and opened it. Inside were decanters of various liquors and glassware. She poured him a drink from one decanter and handed it to him. “Irish whiskey. I noticed you were drinking it the other night.” Then, she poured a second drink from a different decanter. “I prefer scotch whiskey.”

  She pulled a vase from the other side of the cupboard and put the bouquet in it, touching it up here and there before setting it on the table. “Very pretty.”

  “The policeman in me can’t resist mentioning concern over the lack of security at the hotel. I came up to your room no questions asked. I worry that any sort of rogue might wander the halls,” Ruddy said.

  “I’ve lived here for several weeks with no problem. There’s a desk clerk on duty twenty-four hours a day. You may not have seen him, but there’s a security officer here twenty-four hours a day too. They stop anyone who looks suspicious, or so I’ve been told.”

  “The neighborhood isn’t dodgy so that’s good.” He’d contact the Metro detectives that handled this district and check on criminal activity in the area and problems at the hotel. If he discovered any issues, he’d suggest she relocate.

  “Where are we going this evening?” she asked.

  “I made reservations at the Criterion for dinner and I have tickets for the ballet after.”

  “The ballet,” she repeated with a surprised lilt to her voice, which he took as a good sign. “I’ve never been. What a wonderful evening you’ve planned.”

  ****

  Five Hours Later

  They weren’t nearly as embarrassed as they should’ve been and began laughing before they hit the exit doors of the theatre. They continued to snicker on the carriage ride back to Honeysuckle’s hotel.

  Neither Honeysuckle nor Ruddy knew for certain which of them fell asleep first during the performance. The last thing Ruddy remembered were mummies coming to life on stage.

  “What’s the last thing you remember before dozing off?” Ruddy asked, helping her out of the carriage.

  “A lion chasing the daughter. I’d say I’m sorry for falling asleep but since you did too, I don’t feel too awfully bad. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you choose to go to the ballet tonight? You said you’d never been before so you’re not a patron of the art.”

  “My favorite form of entertainment is music hall but I thought that’s the last place you’d want to spend your evening off. I asked a lady in my boarding house where she liked to go and she said the ballet. Who knew it was a cure for insomnia?”

  Honeysuckle laid her hands on his chest in a familiar way that pleased him but he wasn’t certain how to interpret. “How sweet of you to go to such lengths to impress me. I’m flattered. Honestly, I love music hall entertainment as well. I enjoy nothing more than seeing other performers. I also like dancing and the occasional play.”

  “What a relief. Next time, music hall it is then.” Ruddy slipped her arm through his and escorted her to her room.

  “Would you like to come in for a late night cognac?” she asked when they got to her door.

  He really didn’t know what to make of that. All sorts of hope shot through him. “I’d love to.”

  Optimism must’ve shown on his face, since she quickly added, “It’s cognac only, Rudyard. For now.”

  “Did I give myself away? Was there a gleam in my eye or something?”

  “Something like that. You shouldn’t play cards.”

  “Fortunately, cards aren’t for me, not like lovely ladies are,” he said with a wink and a smile. He found both went a long way with women.

  Chapter Twelve

  The night had finally arrived. For sixteen years Graciela longed for revenge but never dared to hope for it. Now she’d see her wish fulfilled. She’d been patient. She spent her nights off for the last month spying on Cross. She made sure of his habit to drink late into the wee hours of the morning, well after his staff had gone to bed.

  Graciela brought the valise with the newsboy’s clothes into the house. She waited until Zachary’s staff had retired for the night to change into the outfit. Then she pulled a box from the bottom of her dresser drawer where she kept it tucked away. She hadn’t looked at the contents for years, not until that day she’d seen Cross.

  She sat on the bed, opened the box and removed the stained cotton bloomers, bloomers stained with the evidence of her loss of innocence. She cut a small square brown with old blood and slid it into her pocket. “A little something for you to take to hell with you, Bartholomew.”

  She didn’t want to risk discovery and questioning by any other staff members so she skipped lighting a candle. Instead, she crept downstairs by feeling her way along the walls into the kitchen. That was the trickiest room as she never knew what chairs or other equipment cook left out. She bumped into a utility table hard enough to leave a nasty bruise on her thigh but kept from crying out.

  Outside, she avoided the circles of light from the streetlamps and stayed close to the buildings. At this late hour, most of the people out on foot were likely lamplighters or night-watchmen. But there’d also be coppers and you could never predict when a curious one would want to stop and question a person. Worse than running into a copper were the robbers, footpads and others who presented all types of dangerous encounters. All reasons to keep out of sight as much as possible. She could’ve gotten to Cross’s much faster had she not had to keep to the shadows.

  Midway the full impact of what she was about to do struck her. Momentarily reeling, she eased round the next corner and rested against the building, breathing as though she’d been running. She fingered the flask of poison in her pocket, stroked it around in between her thumb and forefinger, brought it out and stared at it in the faint light from the streetlamp. Over the years, she’d planned a thousand different ways, ten-thousand ways to find revenge. How she wanted him to suffer the way she suffered. Could she actually watch the life leave his body? She’d never seen anyone die.

  The stench from the night soil man’s wagon drove her back into the doorway of the building where she’d stopped and rested. The wagon passed and she stepped out into the street. She paused. To the left led to Cross’s home. To the right back to Zachary’s.

  I’ve waited too long for this. I’ve come too far to surrender. She took a deep breath. Let it out, took another and let it out. Then, she turned left.

  When she reached his ho
use, she lay in wait watching. If Cross followed his routine, he’d make one last trip to the privy in the rear yard before retiring to his library for cognac. He didn’t disappoint. As soon as he left out the kitchen door, Graciela hurried to the front and onto the portico. She worked the lock the way Addy taught her and had it defeated with a barely heard couple of clicks.

  She eased inside and into the library where she poured the vial of arsenic into the decanter of cognac. The butler had already drawn the heavy draperies across the larger windows for the night. It was a risk but she wagered Cross, like Zachary, was a creature of habit and always used the same small window to call to the wild birds he liked to feed. She hid behind the larger set of windows and used their draperies for cover and waited. Not long after Cross returned and the butler poured him a snifter of cognac.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes, Desmond. You may go.”

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  She’d guessed correctly. Cross went to the same window to call to the birds the night she rescued Me-Too. He opened it and began his trilling thing, calling to his little birds.

  Ugh, it’s too early for your birds, you buffoon. Just drink your cognac already. Graciela ventured a one-eyed peek around the drapery. It looked like he hadn’t touched his drink.

  He burped and finally gave up and sat down again.

  Thank you, God. She smiled at her unintentional blasphemy of thanking the Lord for hurrying a man to his murderous death at her hands.

  Minutes passed when she assumed he was enjoying his drink. Arsenic acted fast. She wouldn’t have long to wait once he drank enough and she’d added a healthy dose of poison to the decanter.

  Finally, she heard him choke and groan. Again, she peered around the curtain. He held his hand to his stomach and had his head tipped back, groaning in pain. Sweat beaded his forehead. All signs of arsenic poisoning.

  She stepped from behind the drape. “Good evening, Bartholomew.”