by S. E. Smith
Whistling tunelessly, I climbed the three stone steps to the door of Ma Char’s and, lifting the doctor’s knocker, wrapped a brief tattoo on the bronze-green door.
Within moments, a small boy whose lean and hungry look bore testament to the fact he’d been brought up in the workhouse, opened the door. Well-dressed now, of course, and judging by the apple in his hand: enjoying the fact that food was plentiful; his hair shone, his face well-scrubbed; his boots new.
“Come in,” the boy said solemnly, before leading me to a waiting room where I found recent copies of The Telegraph and The Times resting on a highly polished table, and four armchairs placed around the room.
Coat and hat given over to the lad for safekeeping, I withdrew a small silver box from my jacket. “My card.”
I turned down one corner before handing it to the boy who nodded, told me to take a seat, and disappeared quickly. I smiled but did not take the boy’s advice. I didn’t need to. Within seconds the lad – who had taken the stairs at some speed if his flushed cheeks were anything to go by – was back. “You’re to go right up, me lud.”
The offices of Misses Templeman and Graves reminded me of a gilded cage. Perhaps because of the bars on the window, or the forbidding picture of Her Majesty, whose eyes followed me around the room. Or maybe, it was the oriental rug directly in front of the roaring fire. Or the brass kettle whistling gently as it came to the boil.
Or possibly it was the ladies before me.
One tall and thin, with a poker for a back and scraped back, raven black hair; the other a more fluttery creature who wore a brown office dress with a black bow.
“Lord Byrd, I cannot say this is a surprise,” the thinner of the two said. “We were told to expect you. I am Miss Templeman, this is Miss Graves. We are to all intents and purposes the owners of this establishment.”
I accepted the proffered cup of tea, noticing the china was Spode, old but well-cared-for, and waited until my hostess regained her seat before speaking.
“I’m here to ask about someone who I believe may be associated with your organisation.”
Miss Templeman smiled. It did not make her any more human. “I’m glad my lord you didn’t say employee. That word would terminate our delightful conversation immediately.”
“You must appreciate, our employer gave us strict instructions on how to conduct this interview,” Miss Graves interrupted as she offered me a biscuit. “And how much we are allowed to impart will be based on the information you give us.”
As she stopped the other continued. “And please remember, we’re not here to listen to your flummery.”
“I understand. I expected as much.” I put the cup on the nearby table and looked at both ladies, waiting until Miss Graves sat, before getting to the point. “You are aware I had the pleasure of a midnight visitor?”
Both ladies nodded.
“She kept my flat under observation for some time, while ostensibly working at the Carrington place.”
Another nod.
“The young lady informed me that I would get no information from any of the girls who would replace her. Thus, I came to you.”
“Directly?”
“No.”
“Where’d you go first?”
“Chubbs.”
The two ladies exchanged glances. “What did Sir George tell you?” Miss Templeman asked.
“That the young lady in question may be McCarthy’s niece.”
“Then why not go to McCarthy?”
“Because McCarthy’s an orphan.” I left the information hanging for a bit before adding, “I’m of the opinion that niece is an honorary title and McCarthy knows my intruder from childhood, which means he cannot help but be very protective. I will learn nothing.” My accompanying smile didn’t reach my eyes.
Miss Graves glanced at her counterpart who inclined her head slightly: “Tell us more about the young lady – this nocturnal visitor of yours. What did you observe?”
I considered my response carefully. “I will not say she was born in the workhouse... but she spent time there as a small child. During that time, her right wrist was broken – deliberately.”
“Children are clumsy.” Miss Graves stated sharply.
“But a parent who loves their child looks after them.” I reminded the ladies. “This wrist was left to heal naturally, hence my deduction it occurred during her time in the workhouse.”
“But to say someone deliberately broke it? How can you be so sure?”
“A child breaks a wrist once maybe, falling while playing, Miss Templeton. My intruder’s wrist was broken several times – the work perhaps of an adult dragging a child.”
My fists clenched as though such an action could transport me to my intruder’s past and save her from the violence inflicted upon her. “Mr Dickens may write fiction, but his description of conditions in those abominations is pretty accurate.”
“Pray continue.” Miss Templeman refused to smile. “What you tell us is intriguing, but insufficient to divulge what you require.”
I calmed my fists and regrouped. “Whoever bought her from the workhouse paid a lot for her. The image on her wrist is very specific: created by a skilled tattooist. I’ve not seen its like before, but my cousin ... ah now that’s a different story. It ensures no one touches her without permission.” I took a breath and chanced my arm. “That said, my intruder’s no slave ... or whore.”
Miss Templeman sucked her teeth at that last word, and I wondered briefly whether I’d shocked or angered her. I stared into her face, hoping for answers. But it was closed, giving nothing away.
“No, the man who bought her thinks the world of her.” I said warming to my narrative. “My young visitor has an education to rival that of any member of the aristocracy. She has a more than passing acquaintance with Shakespeare and the political world. More perhaps than even I can guess at. But – and this is important – possibly the reason the man who bought her holds her in such high regard is that, first and foremost, she’s one of the noticing classes.”
“Explain.”
“Her knowledge of dressmaking and dressmakers is phenomenal, but she’s not a tailor.” I smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from my sleeve to emphasise the point. “At some point, this light-footed daughter of a giant worked as a char. No one merely acting the part handles the tools of that particular trade with such confidence.”
“Go on.”
“In addition, this young lady is a stunning vocal mimic, and, I am very sure, I witnessed her ability to dissemble – on not one but possibly two occasions, prior to her stint as one of your girls.”
Unsure how much more I could offer, I stopped my exposition and looked at the two women.
They smiled – benignly – and relieved I smiled with them. “Have I said enough to convince you to divulge your secrets?”
Miss Templeman reached into a desk draw and lifted out a piece of pink paper.
It was empty save for the picture of a crow, an address on Fournier Street and the legend: Gold: Jeweller and Pawnbroker.
A scorpion danced. My world darkened slightly as it did so. “What does this mean?” I asked in a cracked and broken tone.
Someone, I think it was Miss Templeman, rang a handbell. I was helped to my feet, pushed gently towards the office door.
“As you still don’t know her name,” Miss Graves told me, as staggering with stupidity, I headed down the stairs to where the lad waited with my coat, “you’ll need to pay Jethro a visit. Go to Fournier Street without it, and you’ll be dead before you know it.”
Mayfair.
“The traitor told you nothing, did he?” I asked as I handed my coat to the ever-waiting Sampson. Tired and weary, from travel and the revelations from the ladies of the Ma Char agency, I needed a nap. But alas such luxuries would wait. CC would be on my doorstep before the night was through, demanding answers to the murder; and unlikely to accept the statement: patience, this is complicated as an answer.
“Jethro did n
ot,” my valet confirmed as he mixed a G&T and offered it to me.
“Damn!” Sitting on the sofa, I wasted time by swirling the ice around the glass and staring at the patterns it made as I registered the name. “Jethro ... not Cripps? Now that does surprise me. I thought Jethro more loyal. Still, we all live and learn.”
I stared at my sour-faced factotum and patted the arm of the opposite chair. “Pour yourself a drink, William; pull up a pew; and give me a full report.”
About two minutes into the tale, my eyelids began to droop. Ten minutes later, I was asleep. But Sampson knew better than to stop.
“She certainly inspires loyalty,” I said when he fell silent. “But enough of this relaxation. Be a good chap and lay out my Sunday best with the flat cap.” Opening my eyes, I turned towards a thoughtful looking Sampson. “No, don’t ask,” I snapped. “You heard him. You go and all bets are off. And having wasted enough time on this affair I intend to do as I’m told.”
I could tell Sampson wanted to push the matter but, in light of my stubborn refusal to tell them the threat issued earlier, he plastered a neutral expression to his face and used his tone of voice to infer his disappointment. “Very well, my lord. Your bath is ready.”
“Thank you. I’ll try not to be too long. But just in case, don’t wait up.” With a final smile, I headed in the direction of the bathroom. “Oh … and if my cousin turns up tonight, ply him with scotch; put him in the spare room, and don’t let him eat all the fudge.”
With the sound of nearby church bells still ringing the eighth hour, I entered The Grapes from the Narrow Street entrance and, recognising the barkeep as a corporal in the regiment, ordered the same again for Jethro and a half for myself. “That’ll be thruppunce. ‘E’s expectin’ ya, Major.” Solomon pointed to the backdoor and the terrace which overlooked the waterfront. “You go through, I’ll get Mol’ to bring ‘em out.”
With a smile of thanks, I put my money on the bar, and walked cautiously through the taproom to the back door. A couple of old-timers nodded cheerfully from over the tops of half-empty tankards. Some younger men eyed me suspiciously, though they stopped short of acting upon said suspicions.
I sincerely doubted my safety had anything to do with my trusty blackjack ruining the cut of my coat. Compared to the rest of the pub’s clientele, who by all appearances carried knives and possibly guns, I was woefully unprepared for any ruckus. Nor could I trade on my reputation. In this world, I was a toff – fair game especially as times were tough.
No, I remained unharmed because of the man I came to visit. A man, who until Sampson’s revelations, I trusted with my life.
Putting on my best officer’s face, I opened the door and stepped out onto the terrace.
In the time it took me to walk through the bar, the rain returned. But this time, instead of the driving kind that the histories of the year would comment upon, this was a light mizzle which kept all – but the hardiest – indoors.
Given by Jethro’s sharp intake of breath as he came to attention, my officer’s face did the trick.
“I promise I only said you were a gentleman, Major. Nothing else, Sir.” Jethro was all formality, and – if the way he capitalised and parade ground clipped major and sir were anything to go by – in very obvious distress. I felt sorry for him ... almost.
“Sampson indicated as much.” I nearly said more but the door opened to reveal a girl of about ten – carrying our drinks.
Whilst Jethro thanked her, I pushed a sixpence into her hand – an action which caused her to go wide-eyed. “Put it in your pinny,” I advised. “Best place to keep things safe!” The girl stared at Jethro for guidance; waiting until he nodded before doing as I said.
“Night Mol.” Jethro ruffled the little girl’s hair as she passed him on the way to the pub, and as he did so I caught sight of a tattoo of a crow’s skull on his forearm. “You run along home now. It’s a school night and your Ma’ll blow her stack if you stay out much longer.”
The girl pulled a face of utter disgust, dropped a brief curtsy in my direction, and left with a, “Yeah whateva ... goodnight.”
“One of yours?”
Jethro shook his head. “No, Solomon’s youngest. You remember Solomon?”
“Served me when I came in... Spent more time in the brig for fighting than serving Her Majesty. Hope she doesn’t take after him!”
Jethro gave a brittle laugh that tells a man more than it should. He was nervous, trying not to show it and falling back on flimflammary conversations to buy him time. “No. She’s a good girl. Bright. Don’t see the point of school though, like most of her age. But her mum wants her apprenticed to a tailor, so she’s got to get her letters.”
We stood for a while in silence. Me waiting for Jethro to speak; Jethro summoning up the courage to voice what was clearly troubling him.
“I’m really sorry Major.” He wrung his hands as he spoke.” I didn’t tell her willingly; and I’ll be honest, it wasn’t until after she wheedled the information out of me that I realised what she was up to. I told William the truth. I wouldn’t ever have said anything if I knew her plan.”
“If I caught up with you before Sampson, I’m not sure you’d be walking.” I turned my back on the sergeant and stared out onto the river. Not that I could see much through the rain. But it increased the tension and I wanted Jethro to suffer.
“I’ll take whatever punishment you hand out, Major.” Close to tears, the man’s head rested in his hand.
I ignored him for a few more moments: “Sampson says you two sorted it.”
Jethro didn’t raise his head. “We did.”
“Then that’s good enough for me. But one more indiscretion – about that night, or anything that happened in Sikkim – and there’ll be no such compassion.” I waited until he nodded his agreement before continuing. “She’s a clever girl, isn’t she?”
Jethro nodded. “She is that!” he stated proudly. “Would give you a run for your money, Major.” He stopped and his brows wrinkled as he remembered the reason for my discharge. “No. Not major. It’s me lord, now isn’t it?”
I smiled and changed the subject. “How’d you meet her?”
Jethro wiped his eyes on a dirty cloth and blew his nose loudly before answering. “It was in ‘82. I was home on leave and, in order not to be sleeping rough, doing a few favours for a friend of a friend. Anyways, I was asked to keep an eye on the Beadle that brought Miss Emily from Leytonstone Workhouse. Nasty bit of work that Beadle. Got his comeuppance later. Him and the other blokes that ‘urt her.” Jethro nodded in a manner that suggested he agreed with the punishment.
“I didn’t get to see much of her while she was growing up. Mr Gold didn’t want her around the Haymarket part of his business – worried it would taint her. Make her less valuable. Except by the time Miss Emily was fifteen, it was clear she had her own mind and wasn’t afraid of expressing it.” In control of his emotions, Jethro smiled approvingly. “When Mille became one of my toffers, rather than doing favours for the former apprentice, the boss didn’t want her to continue the friendship.”
“But Emily had other ideas?”
“Exactly, Major. And the boss humoured her. After all if she’s going to take over the Impereye – that’s what the boss calls the business – she can’t be a sheltered thing, can she?”
Scorpions beginning to mass on the fringes of my mind, I waved his tale on with one of my regal expressions and he continued with only a moment’s pause.
“At least, the boss was fine with it until Millie’s brother, Algernon, cut up rough about the deal she struck with the boss. Then Miss Emily had to do what Mr Gold said.”
Questions fought for priority and unwilling to marshal them myself, I left them to my scorpions to order. Which was a mistake.
“Jethro, what’s a toffer?”
“Beg pardon, Major?” My former sergeant looked at me strangely, and I realised this was something I should have easily worked out for myself. I waved a regal pa
w, then gathered, as his eyes grew wide with incredulity, that Jethro never seen my civilian persona. I retreated and retrenched.
“What I mean to say, Sergeant, is: what’s the difference between doing favours and turning toffer?”
This time Jethro found the question acceptable. “Money,” he told me bluntly. “A girl does a ‘favour’, she gets gifts or money off the rent. She goes ‘on the street’, she gets protection in exchange for a cut of her earnings. She turns ‘toffer’... well, depending on how good she is, how pretty... it can be good money.”
My scorpions reeled at the information. As did I. I wanted to rail, point out you couldn’t put a fag paper between the definitions. But I couldn’t. It would be hypocritical of me to get upon my high-horse, when I kept Serena as my mistress.
“But the brother cut up rough?”
“Yes, Major,” he confirmed. “You see Millie turned toffer to service her dad’s debt. Before that, she’d just done the old apprentice the odd favour....”
Jethro stopped suddenly and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Forget I said that, Major! And please ... don’t ... repeat what I said about the apprentice before Miss Emily. I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”
His eyes filled with an emotion I didn’t usually associate with the non commissioned ranks: terror. That was something reserved for raw recruits and fresh faced officers straight from Sandhurst.
Part of me wanted to question him further. Find out what caused such a visceral reaction. But because I wanted more information, I could not.
“How come you know so much about Millie’s family.”
“I help Algernon place bets.” Jethro’s expression became knowing and I got the feeling I was being let in to a big secret. “Afterall, a divvy-man can’t be seen goin’ in and out of bookies, can he?”
