Violin music drifted up from the street. The faint strains of a waltz filled the room. “It’s coming from that busker we passed in front of the hotel.”
The suite’s French doors led to a small balcony. Honeysuckle opened them and stepped onto the two-person stone semi-circle. Ruddy joined her.
“Strauss,” she said, swaying to the melody. “Do you dance?”
“I do.” He took her by the hand and led her back inside. He set their glasses on a lamp table and they waltzed.
“Where did you learn to dance? The combination of coppers and dancing doesn’t fit together in my head,” she asked.
“I learned in Africa when I was in the army. When we weren’t in the field, the younger men were requested to attend when balls were given by important officials. Men were in short supply and the ladies of the region needed dance partners. A local nurse taught me.”
“Were you an officer?”
Ruddy chuckled. “I’m the son of a Welsh farrier. Our family had neither the influence nor the money to purchase commissions.”
“Your brother has some rank.”
“Sergeant-Major, yes. He’s risen as far as he can.”
The music stopped.
“Shall we sit?” Honeysuckle asked, retrieving their drinks.
They sat side by side on the sofa. “Why doesn’t he retire and join the force? The two of you could work together.”
“He wants to be a Yeoman Warder. To qualify for recommendation, he needs to have twenty-two years of military service. He has to stay four more.”
“Yeoman Warder. Impressive. I hope he gets it. What about you? Detective Inspector is impressive as well but later on do you want to be a Superintendent or Commissioner? What about Scotland Yard? Don’t all detectives aspire to work there?”
“Many do. I don’t. I like working Holborn Station. I’ve worked that part of London since I started with London Metro. I’m comfortable with the people and the area. It has a certain sensibility that I understand. As for being a Superintendent or higher, that’s not me. I don’t want to be that toffee-nosed fellow ordering lads about from on high. If something is afoot, I want to be in the mix.”
“You’re an interesting man, Rudyard, I like that.” She set both their glasses on the butler’s table and then scooted very close. “Want to canoodle? I—”
He kissed her before she could say another word. Her candor threw him. He’d never met a woman like her—but no worries, he could adjust.
She was the first to break off the kiss but continued to keep her lips a hairsbreadth from his. “I like the way you answer,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I like your question.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning Archie arrived at the station the same time as Ruddy. “Bore da, Arch, and a fine morning it is,” Ruddy said and opened the door for his partner.
“Good morning to you too. You’re grinning like a cat sitting in a bucket of mackerel. It’s unusual for you to dip into your native tongue. Thank you by the way for using one of the easier Welsh phrases as they’re not too many. I can only surmise you had a lovely evening with Miss Flowers.”
“I did indeed. One of the best in memory.”
Archie’s brows nearly disappeared into his hairline with curiosity.
“You’re desperate for details I know, which I’m not going to get into. Suffice it to say, we had a wonderful time together. I hope to see her again soon.”
“Of course I’m curious. We’ve been partners a long time. We’ve shared a lot. I thought today would be no different. You haven’t been this happy since Evangeline left. And no offense, but Miss Flowers being in the entertainment field and...well you know...”
Ruddy pulled Archie into a corner of the lobby out of earshot. “I don’t like your inference. She’s a lady who happens to be a talented singer and dancer.”
Archie raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, again, no offense meant.”
He couldn’t get too angry with Archie, actresses and female entertainers of any kind had unsavory reputations. Most were well deserved. He had made a conscious decision before asking her out that whatever past she had, was just that, the past. What mattered to him was the present.
“I’ll not tolerate any ugly innuendo. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Both detectives walked on but then stopped in the doorway of the detective bureau. Marsden was sitting by Ruddy’s desk, puffing away on his pipe.
“Not the way I want to start the day,” Archie said.
“What can he want this early?” Ruddy continued toward his desk where the reporter had dragged over a chair.
“Good morning, detectives,” Marsden said and took a couple more puffs off his pipe. The smoke and acrid smell from cheap tobacco forming a haze around Ruddy and Archie’s desks. “I’d love a cup of tea. I’d have gotten it myself but don’t want to be pushy. Would one of you be kind enough?”
Ruddy waved the cloud of smoke from in front of his face. “You’ve feet. Get your own tea.”
“I’m getting one for Ruddy and myself. You can shift for yourself,” Archie said.
“Such shabby treatment even though I come with news that will help you,” Marsden said.
“Fine, I’ll bring you one as well,” Archie said with disgust.
“What news, Marsden?” Ruddy asked.
“I’ve been at Kelly’s Athletic Club daily. I really am going to do a story on the ring and the boxers there once this business for you is finished.”
Ruddy expected Marsden to lose interest in spying for him. Or at the very least, offer little to no information of use.
“Go on,” Ruddy said.
“Take no offense to what I’m going to say.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that this morning. I’m offended by the perceived need for the warning. Just tell me what you found out.”
Archie returned. “Did I miss anything?”
Ruddy shook his head. “No.”
Marsden took a sip of tea, then said, “What a scruffy, unwholesome lot who fight and gather there. I’d not like to meet any of them in an alley at night.”
“Yes, they’re a seedy group. Get to the meat of your purpose,” Ruddy urged, cutting a circle in the air with his finger. Everyone and their mother knew the boxing crowd drew a hodge-podge of participants and followers. The majority of them were lowlifes from all over London.
Marsden moved his tea and rested both arms on Ruddy’s desk. The times they were together he’d only seen Marsden in two different frock coats. The one he wore today bore the same frayed cuffs and collars as the other. Ruddy had a split-second’s curiosity about the reporter’s financial state. As he cared little for the man, his interest waned fast as it came.
“I’ve never seen you fight,” Marsden said, leaning in, speaking directly to Ruddy. “You never told me why exactly I was to act as a mole, but I’m not the total fool you take me for. I also overheard that London City detective, Napier, talking to another boxer about possibly fighting you.”
Napier was bound to blab to all and sundry at his station. Ruddy had the slim hope news of any future fight would be kept between only the police agencies. Two coppers fighting, would have every ne’er-do-well and reprobate at Napier’s athletic club would be chomping at the bit to witness that. No matter where it was held half the men from Kelly’s would come and wager.
“Let’s say that’s true. How does you’re not having seen me fight come into the situation?” Ruddy asked.
“I have to speak up for Ruddy here, Marsden,” Archie interjected. “We had our share of fights with street toughs. When the fisticuffs start flying, you can’t ask for a better man to have next to you. Don’t underestimate him.”
Ruddy started to speak but Marsden cut him off to respond to Archie, “Please, let me finish. What you say Holbrook speaks to my point. I’ve no doubt Bloodstone can hold his own with most any back alley ruffian. What Napier and those fell
ows in the club are doing is different.” He turned from Archie to Ruddy. “A street fight has no rules. That boxing business is nothing but rules. I believe those rules, because they’re alien to you, will trip you up. Napier has the advantage because he knows what’s coming and you don’t and what you’re used to countering with won’t work or be allowed.”
“I know the rules are a problem. Why do you think we asked you to be a mole and take note of his weaknesses?” Ruddy asked, irritated with Marsden for saying what he didn’t want to hear, irritated he couldn’t tamp down the nagging worry he might lose.
“I’ve come up with an idea,” Marsden said.
“I’m listening,” Ruddy said.
“I noticed they use several older boxers as sparring partners for the younger men. The older fighters have all the moves.” Marsden mimicked a boxer’s left and right hook. “They have the footwork. They’re just not as agile or fast anymore.”
Ruddy didn’t see the point. “What’s that to do with me?”
“You could use a sparring partner who knows the moves and the rules.”
“That’s a good idea,” Archie said in a surprised tone, looking over at Ruddy who nodded.
“Do you know one?” Ruddy asked. “I can’t use one from there, obviously.”
“I do. I scouted around and found a fellow at a Spitalfields athletic club. To describe the place as dodgy and dirty would be a kindness. I’d be hard put to name a place with a larger group of slippery rascals. That said, there’s a man there, a former boxer about the same height as Napier, older so he’s a tad thinner but close enough to Napier’s girth. I figure you need to practice with someone similar to the man you’ll be facing.”
“Again, you’re spot on, Marsden,” Ruddy said. “Did you ask him if he’d work with me?”
Marsden shook his head. “Thought I’d better talk to you first.”
“Where is the club and who do I ask for?”
“A&E Athletic Club on Brick Lane, ask for Tony Critchlow.” Marsden had it written down already on a card he handed to Ruddy.
From what Marsden said, it was possible the club owners were part of a criminal organization. Ruddy wondered if Napier had ever considered looking into the owner of Kelly’s background. Ruddy didn’t fancy getting associated with known criminals. Although as long as they didn’t know who he worked for, if any unlawful activity was going on there, Napier could track it and build a case while working out. Just because Kelly’s was hoity-toity compared to other athletic clubs didn’t mean the owner wasn’t involved in nefarious activity.
“What’s the A & E stand for?” he asked.
“It’s the initials of the owners of the building and the club. They’re Jewish and don’t want the people they associate with to know they own such a place.”
“This is good. Thank you,” Ruddy told Marsden. “I’m going there today.”
“You can’t miss Critchlow. He’s the one that looks like he was running full speed and didn’t stop in time for the wall,” Marsden said.
Considering the damage that could happen to his face, Ruddy wondered why a preening peacock like Napier had taken up boxing.
Ruddy expected Marsden to leave but he stayed sipping the rest of his tea, which had to have grown cold. When he finished he said, “Let’s not forget our agreement.”
“Agreement?” Archie asked.
“I’m to have an exclusive on the stocking thief case. Is there anything new?”
“Sadly no,” Ruddy told him.
Marsden gave him a skeptical look.
“Honestly. We have two teams working the area. So far nothing. We’ll keep our bargain. If we get someone in custody, we’ll send a runner to your office straightaway.”
“I appreciate it. Let me know what Critchlow says. I’m sure he’ll agree. I’d be surprised if he didn’t need the money.”
“I wonder how much he’ll want,” Archie said.
“From the look of him, I’d say he’d be happy with a jam butty, a pint, and a couple of crowns.”
“We’ll see,” Ruddy said.
****
Marsden was right. Critchlow appeared every bit like a man who’d lost an encounter with a brick wall. With a head square as a shovel, a forehead broad as a man’s palm, a nose which might’ve been hawkish once but now lay flat as possible while still allowing breath, Ruddy wouldn’t attempt to guess how many beatings he’d taken. Critchlow’s hair was a coarse black mass shot with grey that stuck out in all directions. The unkempt thatch did nothing to soften the man’s rough appearance.
“Not to be unkind, but doesn’t it look like a skunk has nested on his head?” Archie asked low.
“It does.”
“He also looks a little touched in the head, if you ask me.”
In Ruddy’s experience, sometimes those folks turned out to be surprisingly gentle. Sometimes. “One way to find out.”
He and Archie had taken the precaution of hiding their shields before entering the club. “Mr. Critchlow.” Ruddy drew the boxer’s attention as they approached. The fighter had been picking up equipment left strewn around.
Critchlow stopped tidying. “What?” He eyed Ruddy and Archie suspiciously. “I don’t owe no money. So whatever you’re here about, you’ve no quarrel with me.”
“I have a possible business proposition and an associate recommended I speak to you regarding the matter,” Ruddy said.
“Business? Me? I don’t know anything about business. I’m just a fighter.”
“It’s regarding a boxing proposition.” Ruddy stepped closer. “Is there a place we can talk in private?”
Critchlow nodded. “This way. I’ve a room here. The owner lets me stay in exchange for my cleaning up.”
They were led past a three-tiered row of benches Ruddy assumed the owners reserved for spectators who bet the highest. Everyone else would crowd around the ring jostling each other for the best view. Kelly’s tried to claim a better class of spectator and had installed two multi-tiered benches and chairs for the richer gamblers.
Critchlow lived in a tiny room in the back off the alley entrance. The space consisted of a narrow bed covered with a shabby wool blanket, a pillow with no cotton cover, a scarred wooden table, one chair, one lamp, and a small two-drawer dresser. Except for the lamp and dresser, Ruddy thought his living quarters were comparable to a cell at Newgate Prison. Sad for a free man. Ruddy thought waking up to it day in and day out had to wear on a man’s soul.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Archie take a deep breath through his mouth when Critchlow’s back was to them. Ruddy had started breathing through his mouth when the boxer first opened the door. The room had the same eye-watering stench of a cell in Newgate: the odor of a resident who doesn’t care anymore.
“Please sit,” Critchlow indicated the bed.
“No thank you. We’re fine standing,” Ruddy said and forced a smile.
“I’ve a bit of tea if you’d like some.”
“We’re good. Let me get right to my purpose. I need coached in boxing, proper boxing, like in the ring. I’ve done my fair share of street fighting. I don’t know how to fight within the rules of the ring. I’d like you to help me learn enough to hold my own. I’m willing to pay you,” Ruddy explained.
“It’s not easy. It’s hard work. Lord knows I can use the dosh, but you can’t learn enough to stay off the ropes with just a lesson or two. Plan on several weeks at least.”
“All right.”
This club, in this location, there was the outside chance Ruddy might run into someone who knew he was a detective. They might not be someone he arrested as this wasn’t part of Holborn’s district. But it might be someone who was in court when he testified or on another routine detail. Just in case, he’d rather not take a chance.
“I’d like to start tomorrow. Is there a time when no one else is here? I prefer to work in private.”
“Early is best. Can you come at 7:00 a.m.?”
“Yes.” That gave Ruddy
time to work out with Critchlow, grab a cab home to cleanup, and be at his desk by 9:00. “You haven’t asked how much I’m willing to pay.”
“Don’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s more than I’ve got in my pocket now.”
“We’ve a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He dug into his waistcoat and retrieved a pound. “Here.” He handed it to the boxer.
“What’s this for? I haven’t earned any money yet.”
“It’s a deposit. I want to make sure you remember.”
Critchlow laughed. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
As they were leaving Ruddy noticed a shadowbox on the dresser with a medal inside. He picked it up for closer inspection. “This is a Kabul to Kandahar Star. You made that devil of a march?”
Critchlow nodded.
“When were you discharged?”
“I was cashiered out in 1882.”
He’d been dishonorably discharged for some offense. “What did you do?”
“Struck an officer.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a lieutenant and a self-righteous, full-of-himself prig.”
Ruddy chuckled at what was common knowledge. “All lieutenants are full of themselves.”
“He was a liar and a bully. One day I just tired of his nonsense and malicious lies so I knocked him on his arse.”
Ruddy set the medal box down and dug out another pound. “Here.”
“What’s this one for?” Critchlow asked but quickly stuffed both pounds in his trouser pocket.
“From all of us who wanted to knock a lieutenant on their arse and didn’t take the opportunity.”
“You’re a veteran?”
“24th Regiment South Wales Borderers.”
“What I did felt good at the time. It came with high consequences.”
“Most things that feel good at the time do.”
“As I’ve discovered,” Critchlow said in the tone of a man who’s given up. He fingered the pound note and then looked up at Ruddy with weary eyes. “I should’ve checked my temper. Worst mistake I ever made, hitting the lieutenant. I liked the army. There was nothing for me in civilian life.” He spread his hands out. “As you can see.”
Snifter of Death Page 13
