Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  “Do you tell him you don’t want to?”

  She looked away and sighed. “I tried, once. He shrugged and walked away without treating me. I called after him and told him I changed my mind.” She turned back to Graciela. “After all, he’s just one more,” she said in a bitter tone.

  “Are you a prostitute? The nurse indicated they don’t accept them here.”

  “Most of us try to find jobs at the workhouse. Sometimes failing that, you do what you must to eat.”

  “I understand. Someone should tell the nurses what he’s about.”

  “Goodness, you are a thick one. Of course they know. They’ll never speak against him. That’d be daft. They’d never get another Harley Street doctor to come here on his own.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  She was quiet for a long moment as if searching for the right words to explain. At last she said, “I’m tired of people taking things from me I don’t wish to give. I don’t have much but there’s always someone who wants to take that little bit.”

  “Who knows, maybe the doctor will get his just deserts.”

  “No he won’t. Men like him never do. I just wanted someone to know I’m angry. Nothing I can do about it, but I’m angry.”

  “We’ll see.” Graciela left the hospital. Inside the cab she smiled knowing she’d been right and Zachary wrong.

  Wickedness is a stain on a man’s soul and no amount of false altruism can wash it out. You’re still a rapist. The only thing that’s changed is the type of force you exert.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Soft, feminine hands clasped over Ruddy’s eyes. “Guess who?”

  “I’d be in trouble if I didn’t recognize that lovely voice, Miss Flowers.”

  She lowered her hands and came around in front of him and Tony. Both men removed their hats and Ruddy introduced her. “Honeysuckle this is a friend of mine, Tony Critchlow. Tony, this is the delightful Honeysuckle Flowers.”

  She extended a gloved hand that Tony bent and gave an awkward kiss to and then said, “Nice to meet you.”

  “So this is the Boot and Bayonet I’ve heard you speak of,” Honeysuckle said. Ruddy and Tony had just left when they ran into her. “My modiste is down the street. I’ve passed it numerous times but never paid attention.”

  “Mr. Bloodstone was kind enough to get me a job here. It’s a kindness I never expected when we started our boxing lessons,” Tony told her.

  Ruddy had been standing to the side and slightly behind her. He shook his head, willing Tony to glance over and see him signaling not to talk about the lessons.

  To Ruddy’s chagrin, Tony didn’t notice and babbled away. “Mr. Bloodstone’s a quick learner. He’s fast on his feet.”

  Honeysuckle turned. “Rudyard, you never mentioned boxing lessons. What are they for?”

  Ruddy shot Tony a deadly glance defying him to contradict his explanation. “No special reason. I thought it good to know some moves. I have the occasional arrestee who resists.”

  “Rudyard Bloodstone, you’re a terrible liar. I believe I told you so when we first went out, that you shouldn’t play cards. You’ve a face that can’t keep a secret.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I saw the look you gave Tony. I know a keep-your-mouth-shut look when I see one. Something is going on and you don’t want to tell me. You might as well fess up, Rudyard. I’ll find out. I have ways.”

  He was an awful liar, always had been, even as a child. But, no matter. Since she couldn’t prove different, he’d deny any secret intent. “Nothing is going on. Tony, I’ll bid you good evening and see you tomorrow at the appointed time,” Ruddy said.

  “Nice meeting you, Miss Flowers.” Tony put his hat on and mouthed sorry to Ruddy, before he left.

  “Have you eaten?” Ruddy asked Honeysuckle.

  “No, I’m famished. What about you?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Want to eat in my room at the hotel?”

  “Can I bring Winky?”

  “Of course.” She looped her arm through his. “You might want to bring a change of clothes, too.” She tipped her head and looked up at him and batted her dark lashes in a slow, carnal way. The woman could mesmerize a cobra.

  “The detective in me suspects that your invitation will include a ruse using your feminine wiles to discover more about my boxing lessons.”

  Honeysuckle smiled. “A lady must use what weapons she has to get what she wants. Men have the advantage of strength. We must rely on our wiles.”

  “I’m very fond of your wiles. Feel free to apply as many as you wish upon me.”

  ****

  Ruddy and Honeysuckle passed a wonderful evening without one question regarding his boxing. The next morning after the room service waiter had gone, Ruddy poured coffee for the two of them while she tidied up in the bathroom. A complimentary copy of the London Times came with their breakfast. He read an article on the passage of the Children’s Charter. The new law established criminal penalties to deter child abuse. About time, Ruddy thought.

  The article offered a temporary distraction. His main thoughts were on the lovely Honeysuckle. When she finished her morning ablutions the questions were bound to start. Her interest in his boxing wouldn’t go unaddressed and he wondered how she’d broach the topic.

  Honeysuckle came out in a light blue day dress. The only adornments on the gown were an embroidered collar and cuffs. Fashionable and uncomplicated. She hadn’t bothered to pin her hair up. Instead, she’d simply pulled it back and used combs to hold it in place.

  With the waiter’s help, Ruddy had moved the table set for breakfast closer to the French doors leading to the suite’s balcony. He opened the balcony doors so the morning sun shone on the table and bathed the room in light. Honeysuckle hadn’t bothered to powder her face or use any rouge when she joined him. In the sunlight, when she tipped her head to butter her toast, her cheeks and nose had a faint youthful glow.

  “Why won’t you tell me?” she blurted out as she swirled a strip of toast in runny egg yolk.

  “Tell you what?” It was a weak stall that would do little to nothing to put her off.

  Seeing Ruddy slather his toast with jam, Honeysuckle slid her small jam pot over to him. He greedily accepted hers and finished it off layering it thick on another slice. Jam was a precious treat in his home growing up. His mother made a couple dozen jars every summer. But with ten children, by spring the lot was gone.

  The hotel had provided both strawberry and raspberry jams. The thought of his mum’s jam brought a smile and pleasant summer memories.

  “You’re smiling at your toast,” Honeysuckle said.

  “I was reminiscing over family memories when some of us set out on berry picking forays. When the different berries came into season, my sisters and the youngest boys in the family, which happened to be Will and I, had the job of berry picking. Since all but one sister was older than Will and I, we were assigned the nasty task of gathering the blackberries from their thorny bushes.

  “My mum makes the best bramble jelly and fruit tarts in all of Wales, maybe the whole of the Empire.” He bit off a corner of the toast, chewed fast and swallowed. “I see doubt in your eyes. I know everyone says their mum’s cooking is the best but my mum’s truly is. Was your mother a good cook?”

  Honeysuckle said with a light laugh, “No. Not at all. I didn’t grow up in the country like you. We lived in boarding houses and inns close to the theatres where my parents were performing at the time. My mum never had a kitchen of her own. She was a remarkable seamstress though. When she wasn’t performing she was usually backstage working on costumes.”

  Ruddy polished off his bacon rashers and the extras the kitchen sent.

  “When was the last time you saw your family?” Honeysuckle asked.

  “Five years ago when I was promoted to detective.”

  “You should visit them again soon, maybe at Christmas.”


  “Will you come with me? I’d like you to meet them.”

  Honeysuckle’s face flushed pink. She didn’t answer. Instead she took a long sip of tea while avoiding eye contact. She lowered her teacup and showed renewed interest in her eggs, swirling the sautéed mushrooms into the yolks.

  “Honeysuckle, will you come with me?”

  She looked up. The youthful glow that the sunlight had given her freshly washed face was overshadowed now by trenchant worldliness in her eyes. “I don’t think you’ve really thought about the invitation.”

  Ruddy had no idea what to make of the cryptic comment. What was this about? “I don’t have to think on it. I’d like you to come with me and meet my family. They’re not terrible people. I think you’d like them. You like Will.”

  “This isn’t about them, Rudyard. Don’t you understand?”

  There was crisp irritation in her tone. Again, he’d no idea what caused her sudden upset. It couldn’t be the invitation. People invite those they care about to share the holidays the world over. What else troubled her? “No, I don’t understand,” Ruddy said, honestly confused.

  She stared at her plate again but made no effort to eat or play with it like before. “Why must you be so obtuse?”

  “It’s not deliberate.”

  “Most men don’t invite actresses to meet their families. It’s just not done.” Tension continued to color her tone.

  The penny dropped. The reputation issue. She feared his family would disapprove of her. Ruddy reached over and gently lifted her chin so they were eye-to-eye again. “I’m not most men.”

  She gave him a you’re-being-daft-look and pushed his hand away. “Let’s see how you feel in December.”

  “I’ll feel the same but you won’t believe me until then.”

  “Onto a different topic,” Honeysuckle said. “You’re going to engage someone in fisticuffs. I’d like to know with whom and when? The lessons aren’t to help with street ruffians. You’ve been managing them for years and years.”

  “Just years, not years and years. You make me sound like a coot.”

  “Don’t deflect.”

  “Fine. Nobody and nowhere, yet. That’s the truth. I have reason to believe a person I dislike intensely and who feels the same toward me might challenge me. Notice I said might.”

  “That doesn’t explain the lessons. If it comes to a punch-up, you don’t need lessons. He takes a swing then you swing back. One or both of you connect and keep on until one or both of you have had enough.”

  She leaned in to rub a speck of jam from the corner of his mouth. Ruddy grabbed her finger and clamped his lips around the jammy tip, licked the end and let her finger go. “Under normal conditions, the fight would go like that. The other fellow is a champion boxer for the City of London’s Police Department. If we’re to face each other, the only way I stand a chance of not having him tear a piece of my hide off is to develop some of the same skills.”

  “If he does challenge you, I’d like to be there. I can sit with Archie and the other officers from Holborn. I assume they’ll come. How could they resist?”

  “They’ll be there. Men from both agencies will fill the club. Wagers will fly. But you can’t come.”

  Honeysuckle had been sipping her tea, nibbling her toast, and taking the occasional bite of egg. Suddenly, the cup clanked against the saucer. The toast was unceremoniously dropped onto her plate and her soft, sweet sunlit face turned to granite.

  “What?” Ruddy asked.

  “What do you mean, I can’t come? Why not? Do not confuse intimacy with ownership, Rudyard. I won’t be ordered about. I can do whatever I wish.”

  Why must women take the smallest direction so personal? He’d never understand what ticklish trigger they all had within them that resulted in feisty overreaction. “I know I don’t own you. My mild direction is not meant to be interpreted that way. You’re overreacting—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  It served no purpose to belabor the point. Better to clarify. “I didn’t tell you not to come in an effort to boss you around because I thought I could. I did it to spare you exposure to the rough trade that frequents the club. The men there will watch sparring demonstrations in their undershirts or shirtless sometimes. They scratch their man parts, spit, curse, and do all manner of mannish things a lady shouldn’t see or hear. I was trying to be chivalrous.”

  The reason was half true. He also didn’t want her to witness his defeat if Napier trounced him. She was the last person he wanted there.

  “Rudyard, I see men backstage in undershirts or shirtless while changing costumes. I am quite capable of withstanding the sight without falling into a faint. As for the rest, actors scratch and curse and do all that you mention as well. I really don’t see your reasons as a cause for me not to go.”

  They’d had such a lovely time together why did she have to press him on this issue? Why couldn’t she leave things well enough alone? He didn’t want her there. Period.

  He tossed his napkin onto his plate. “Can you just not do something because I asked you not to?” he snapped back, angrier than he meant to. He stood and put Winky’s leash on and grabbed his satchel with his clothes from the previous evening. “I have to leave for the station.”

  Honeysuckle came over and laid her hands on his chest and kissed him. “I’m sorry I angered you. I didn’t realize you were being a dear knight and not trying to bully me.” She kissed him again. “Forgive me?”

  “Not quite. Kissing is a good start. I shall call on you tomorrow after your show, if you’re available.”

  “For you, I am.”

  ****

  Ruddy hung up his jacket and hat and was about to sit at his desk when Jameson came hurrying over. “Where’s Archie?”

  “He’s coming through the door right now,” Ruddy said, pointing.

  “Good. No time to sit. The two of you need to get to a Dr. Finch’s on Harley Street. The desk sergeant has the address. There’s been a murder at the doctor’s.”

  “On our way.”

  Ruddy asked the desk sergeant to send Northam to the scene with his camera. The young constable was in the field and Ruddy didn’t want to wait for him. The desk sergeant only had the sketchiest of details but from what he was told by the responding constables, Finch’s nurse was the victim. That fact conjured a variety of possibilities in Ruddy’s mind. Did the doctor kill the nurse? Maybe a patient? Compared to the randomness of the last two murders, a nurse’s untimely demise at a doctor’s office had limited suspect choices. He liked that. Nice change.

  ****

  As doctor’s offices went, Ruddy thought Finch’s the most pleasant he’d been in, but he’d only been in a handful and those on police business. He didn’t have a personal doctor. He was lucky and never needed one. Other than the occasional cold, the only physical issues that troubled him were his war wounds. The spear scar on his throat had often been rubbed raw when his collars were over starched. He’d gone to the doctor the department used for autopsies. The doctor recommended a salve Ruddy could purchase at any chemist shop. His burn scar hurt if he sat with that side too close to a fireplace. Nothing for the doctor to do about that. Every once in a while it wept a clear fluid. On those occasions, Ruddy kept a light wrap over it until the weeping stopped.

  Flanders and Young had been the first constables on the scene. Flanders met Ruddy and Archie in the reception area while Young stayed with Finch in the examination room. Obviously Finch could’ve tampered with evidence at any time prior to contacting the police. But as a precaution, once they arrived, they’d not leave him alone in case he might tamper further or even accidentally destroy valuable evidence, if this turned out to be a crime.

  “Finch said he arrived at his usual time, half nine. When he entered he discovered Nurse Keating as you see her, lying face down. He checked for vital signs and found none,” Flanders told them.

  “Did you examine the body for wounds or marks?”

  “First thin
g I checked. I couldn’t find anything to indicate foul play.”

  “Any sign of forced entry?” Archie asked.

  “No. I checked for that as well. I noticed the bottle of port and the glass sitting on the desk. From what you can see, there’s only a glass missing from the bottle but I wondered if she hadn’t drunk herself into the afterlife. I thought maybe she had a secret store she tippled from when Finch wasn’t here. The doctor said he’s never seen that bottle before and that Keating wasn’t a souse. Took umbrage to the fact I even asked about her drinking habits.”

  “Let’s bring Finch out here,” Ruddy said. While Flanders went to get the doctor and Young, he knelt over the body and checked if there were any visible marks on her. She was cold. Rigor and lividity had set in but he didn’t find any defensive wounds or unusual marks.

  Young brought the doctor into the room. Archie instructed Young and Flanders to contact the other office residents in the building and ask if they’d seen anyone or any odd activity in or around Finch’s.

  Ruddy stood and sniffed the glass on the desk. A small amount of liquid remained in the bottom that smelled like port. “When did you last see Nurse Keating?” he asked Finch.

  “Last evening. I left at half five to go home and have dinner with my wife.”

  “She could’ve died any time between then and now?” Archie asked.

  Finch shook his head. “No. See that blood smear on her apron? That happened yesterday afternoon. She’d never wear a dirty apron to work. She was murdered sometime last night.”

  “Why do you think she was murdered?” Ruddy asked. “Isn’t it possible she simply had a heart attack?”

  Finch gestured toward the nurse as though Ruddy and Archie were morons. “Look at her. She’s a young healthy woman.”

  “Doctor, young healthy people do die, every day. It might be uncommon but it is not impossible,” Archie interjected.

  Finch shot a withering glance Archie’s way and then turned back to Ruddy. “I’ve examined her myself. She’s never been sick a day since I’ve known her. She’s not one to overindulge in a sinner’s ways in private. She might’ve enjoyed a nip of port or sherry now and then, who doesn’t? But Miss Keating was not one to lead a lifestyle that would result in an early death. I don’t have to be a detective to know that wine is tainted.”