by Evelyn James
“Please call me Clara, all my friends do,” Clara was suddenly feeling very amenable.
“Then you must call me Sarah,” Sarah Butler replied. “And can we agree that there is room for both of us in Brighton?”
“I believe we can,” Clara said. “I would much prefer to have you as a friend than an enemy. After all, us independent girls need to stick together. There aren’t that many of us and fighting between ourselves would only be counterproductive.”
Sarah seemed to expel the tension that had been hanging over her. Her shoulders went down and she no longer had that hard scowl on her face.
“Can I offer you tea?” she said.
“I would like that,” Clara nodded. “And then I must discuss the other reason I came here.”
“Another reason?” Sarah was surprised.
“I have some information that will be useful to you,” Clara explained. “I have my own case to work on, but while I was doing so I came across a snippet of news that would benefit you. I will admit it took me a while to decide whether I should tell you or not.”
Sarah looked uncertain again, she seemed to hesitate to get up and fetch the tea. Her trust was easily broken.
“I have no intention of interfering in your case,” Clara promptly said. “But it seemed churlish to withhold this information from you. I won’t even advise you what to do with it. I shall purely impart it.”
“Now I am curious,” Sarah said, rising to deal with the kettle and start the process of making tea. “I only have one case at the moment, that of the missing Mr Butterworth. I imagine you have information concerning him?”
“I do,” Clara admitted.
“I am trying to decide if I want to hear it,” Sarah Butler fussed with the teapot. “I can’t make my mind up if letting you tell me something is not somehow cheating.”
“No different to asking a witness for information,” Clara pointed out. “I always take my information where I can get it. I can assure you this information came to me quite by chance.”
Sarah Butler had that look on her face, the one that meant she was thinking hard and close to refusing Clara’s offer of help simply because she felt it rejected her own independence.
“You should never refuse an offer of information,” Clara reminded her. “No matter the source. What you do with it afterwards is your own decision.”
“All right,” Sarah said carefully. “I’ll hear you out, but let’s go into the back room where it is more comfortable. And it is my decision how I use the information.”
“Absolutely,” Clara promised. “Independence is assured.”
Sarah gave one final nod, then she filled the teapot and showed Clara through to the back room.
Chapter Fourteen
The back room was furnished with a small old sofa. It had the time-worn look of most of the furniture Mr Dunholm put in his properties. There was a hint of mouse about it. Sarah Butler had draped a woollen rug over it to mask most of its failings. Clara and she sat side-by-side on the threadbare seat.
“Now, what have you to tell me?” Sarah asked, offering tea to Clara.
“I know where Mr Butterworth is, unless he has moved again,” Clara said, deciding not to beat about the bush. “I was in the police station archives, researching my own case, when Inspector Park-Coombs came to have a word with me about the complaint you had made against me.”
“Oh,” Sarah Butler said, though she did not apologise for her actions.
“I briefly filled in the inspector on the circumstances surrounding my unfortunate probing into your affairs. In the process I mentioned Mrs Butterworth. You see, that is how I learned of your name in the first place. He was somewhat amused by it all,” Clara sighed. “I imagine he thinks I have been terribly silly.”
“You should not worry what a man thinks,” Sarah declared stoutly. “They like to make us feel silly.”
Clara was not sure if that had been the inspector’s intention, but she did not counter her new friend.
“Anyway, I think he was partly amused because, for him, the Butterworth case was done and dusted. Mrs Butterworth reported her husband missing to the police first and they not only followed up the mystery but solved it, at least to their satisfaction,” Clara slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. “The inspector gave me Mr Butterworth’s new address. The police have been to see him and report that he does not want to see his wife anymore and, for them, that is that. They have no interest in pursuing the matter further.”
Clara gave Sarah the address.
“The police don’t like domestic affairs like this,” she said, feeling the need to defend the inspector’s indifference. “They are more interested in actual crimes.”
Sarah took the piece of paper and read the address.
“Thank you,” she said cautiously.
“I leave it up to you to decide what best to do with it,” Clara told her. “I know nothing about the Butterworth situation, except for a few things I have been told by a certain person who thought they were being helpful towards me.”
Sarah stared at the writing on the paper for several moments.
“I feel I have misjudged you Clara,” she said thoughtfully. “I imagined you arrogant and someone who would do all they could to hurt a rival. I suppose that was why I mimicked your advertisement. Going on the attack, rather than waiting for you to strike.”
“I misjudged you too,” Clara answered. “I hope we can move past this now?”
“I believe so,” Sarah stood and tucked the piece of paper under a small tin on the mantelpiece. “There are enough cases in town to keep us both busy, and I am not so attracted to the publicity that accompanies some of them. I prefer to keep my name and face out of the papers, other than for my advertisement.”
“That is how I began,” Clara smiled. “Somehow I found myself solving a murder and everything changed. Though I can’t say I court publicity, I much prefer to just get on with my work.”
“Why did you decide to become a detective?” Sarah suddenly asked.
Clara almost laughed. The decision seemed a lifetime ago, almost as if it was made by a different person. She had learned a lot along the way, changed a lot, but the reason she became a detective still remained vividly in her mind.
“I lost both parents in the war, and my brother was badly injured. He could not possibly work to provide for us when he came home and my father’s investments only covered the bare basics of life. I wanted to employ a nurse for my brother, so I started to cast around for ideas for making money. I didn’t want to work away from the house all day, because I had to keep an eye on Tommy. He was quite shaken when he first came home.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Sarah sympathised.
“I rather fell into detective work. Someone was missing a cat and there was a reward for finding the creature. I rather fancied I could find it, and I did, though it took some effort. The person was so delighted they doubled the reward. The next thing I knew someone heard of what I had done and asked if I could find their missing pet tortoise. After that I realised I was rather good at solving little mysteries and thought I could make a living by it,” Clara laughed to herself, it seemed such a minor thing now. She had never envisioned at the time that she would be solving murders and high stakes robberies. “Now it is your turn. What made you decide to pursue this detective lark?”
Sarah Butler was still standing by the fireplace. She was looking at the small tin box on the mantelpiece. It was the only thing in the room that hinted at personalisation. Clara guessed the box meant something to her.
“It is not easy to hide that I am Scottish,” she remarked. “I was born and raised a fisherman’s daughter in Aberdeen. My mother died when I was a wee girl and I felt it necessary to look after my father. His grief at her loss near enough destroyed him. I took charge of him, dropped out of school, cleaned the house, cooked his meals and worked when I could at the fishmarket. When I grew older I would travel on a train along the
coast with other girls, we would follow the fishing fleets and gut the herring that they would catch. Sometimes I would come to Brighton. I liked the town, it felt homely, but I never gave it much more thought than that.
“I was not inclined to be married. I had offers when I was younger, but I always said I had to look after father. In any case, I did not want to be a fisherman’s wife. It was hard enough being a fisherman’s daughter. Fishermen go to sea and you have no knowing if they will come back. I know girls widowed before they are twenty-five, with three or four bairns to raise up alone. That sort of life terrified me. I didn’t want to be trapped like that.”
“I can understand,” Clara nodded along. She could well imagine the hardship Sarah was referring to.
“So I carried on as I was,” Sarah shrugged. “Some people thought it was sad, that I was trapped with my father and had no future. As if the only future a woman can have is to be a wife and mother. I always had plans, even then. I might have left school, but I kept up my learning. I read books from the library, not novels, but educational books. I had a friend who was a schoolteacher and would give me exercises in maths and English to practice. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it all, but I knew I would do something.
“And then father…”
Sarah stopped talking. She picked up the little tin box and cradled it in her hand. It was a tobacco tin, battered about the edges, the image on the lid half worn off. She clutched it tight.
“The thing that everyone related to a fisherman dreads happened,” Sarah said softly. “Father went to sea and didn’t come back. None of the men on his trawler did. All at once I was truly alone and I had to make a decision as to what I would do with my life.
“Father had paid into a benevolent fund all his years and they provided me with some compensation when he died. I gave up the cottage and I took out all my savings. I couldn’t stay in Aberdeen, too many things reminded me of my father. So I moved to the place I had always been enamoured with – Brighton. I thought I would get some shop work at first, but I didn’t like the idea of being beholden to anyone. While I was wondering what to do I picked up the newspaper and read about a case you had just solved. And I sat there, thinking to myself ‘I could do that.’ And that was when I decided to give it a go.”
Sarah came to a halt again. She walked across the room and handed the worn tin to Clara.
“Father’s tobacco tin,” she said. “There wasn’t much in way of mementoes to keep of him. I have a picture in my lodging rooms. But I like to keep him close.”
Clara turned the tin carefully in her hands and smiled.
“I have a painting of my father in my office,” she said. “I like to look up at him and think about what he would do in my situation.”
Sarah was amused.
“You were right, we are very similar.”
The box was restored to its place on the mantelpiece and the women finished their tea.
“There is a rumour going about that you are investigating a burglary,” Sarah said when they were done and she was gathering up their empty teacups.
“That is true,” Clara replied. “And it is taking me into some difficult territory.”
“Difficult?”
“Dangerous might be the better word,” Clara grimaced. “I need to investigate some London criminals. Whether I can get the thing back they stole is another matter.”
Sarah frowned.
“I think I will stick with missing husbands,” she concluded.
“I would,” Clara agreed. “Though even then you never know what trouble you will find yourself in.”
Clara made her farewells to Sarah Butler and headed for home, her heart lightened and a weight off her conscience. Clara was glad she had made the trip, she actually rather liked Sarah. She was barely back in her own front door when Annie accosted her.
“The inspector rang, said he had been talking with his colleague in London and had a list of names and addresses for you,” Annie was pulling a face that suggested she was not best pleased at having to impart this news. “He says he can’t guarantee the men are still at these addresses, but they are the last known locations for them. I don’t like the look of this list Clara, the names are dubious to say the least.”
“I thought Ugly Dickson a rather amusing nickname,” Clara replied lightly. “As long as one has a good sense of humour, that is.”
“These are all criminals, aren’t they?” Annie demanded.
Clara noted that Tommy and Captain O’Harris were hovering just inside the dining room door and listening to every word.
“I believe they are,” Clara said. “Their names have been given as potential suspects in the burglary of Mr Jacobs’ house.”
“And you intend to go and interview them?” Annie persisted.
Clara gave a small groan and hung up her coat.
“What else am I supposed to do? I have been hired to restore the green jade dragon to its rightful owner and these men are my best lead.”
“It was bad enough you going to that awful pub last night,” Annie was looking quite worried now. Clara had accidentally let slip where she had been the night before within Annie’s hearing range. “I don’t like you doing these things Clara. These people are dangerous.”
Clara put aside her casual comments to take her friend’s concerns seriously. Annie might be the Fitzgeralds’ housekeeper, but she was far more than just that. She was the best friend Clara had, the one who would see her through whatever mischief she got herself into. The one who worried when Clara was late home or went off on one of her wild adventures. Clara stepped towards her and put a consoling arm around Annie’s shoulder.
“I am going to be sensible,” she promised. “I will be taking Bob with me.”
“You’ll be taking us too,” Tommy appeared from the doorway of the dining room, looking sheepish for having been caught eavesdropping. “We are both agreed that we shall accompany you and keep you safe.”
Clara managed not to sigh at this new complication. While she appreciated Tommy and O’Harris’ honourable intentions, it would be more troublesome to travel about London with three men in tow, rather than just Bob. Clara was well aware that it would be foolish to go alone, but she was satisfied that between her and Bob, they could keep themselves safe.
“We both agreed,” Captain O’Harris appeared by Tommy. “That we would insist on joining you.”
“To interview three thieves?” Clara appealed to them.
“You will be wandering into dangerous territory. Criminal districts. We insist,” Tommy crossed his arms and looked immoveable.
“Well, there you have it Annie. I am in perfectly safe hands,” Clara said with amusement.
Annie gave a wan smile. There was the hint of a tear in her eye. She had churned herself up over the thought of Clara deliberately putting herself into such danger.
“You mustn’t worry about me so,” Clara whispered in her ear. “I am not such a big fool as to run into danger. Besides, I am handy enough with a poker if I am in trouble.”
Annie properly smiled this time as Clara reminded her of an incident from the previous year when she had had to defend herself against a dangerous criminal. She had clobbered him over the head with a fireplace poker and scared him so badly that he had demanded that the police be called to arrest her. Annie looked relieved.
“Now, I suppose I ought to make the arrangements for another trip to London,” Clara looked at them all. “Poor Bob will wonder why he ever agreed to help me. He only gets one day off a week and I insist on dragging him to London during it. Oh well, perhaps I ought to bake him a cake as a thank you?”
“I’ll bake him a cake,” Annie said firmly. “We don’t want to kill him off.”
Clara pretended to be offended, though her cookery skills were not to be remarked upon. She was just glad to see the smile restored to her friend’s face. They agreed not to talk about London criminals anymore and to enjoy dinner when they were, for once, all together. Rest
oring the green jade dragon to its rightful owner could wait for a little while longer as yet.
Chapter Fifteen
The following Saturday Clara, along with her three protectors, clambered aboard the train from Brighton to London. It was, unsurprisingly, quite crowded, with a lot of people intending to spend their day off in the capital. Clara squeezed between neatly dressed mothers and their overexcited offspring. The odd businessman looked appalled at being forced into the stuffy compartments with day visitors and clearly regretted going to work on a Saturday. Clara was lucky enough to find a compartment where there was room for them all to sit. Captain O’Harris opened a window at once, the autumnal sun making the small space feel like the hot public baths.
“We have names and addresses,” Clara addressed her little party, the only other person in the carriage was a gentleman hidden behind a newspaper who was clearly endeavouring to ignore them. Clara still picked her words carefully. “I brought a map and marked the streets we need to go to. I think we should get to them all within the day.”
“And when we find the right man?” Tommy asked, looking dubious about the whole affair.
“We ask politely what happened to the dragon,” Clara answered, the cynicism in her voice overriding the word ‘politely’. They would find their man and extract an answer, one way or another.
The train chugged into London. The sun made the city look more amenable; the grime less grimy, the dust less dusty, the smoke less smoky. They had to catch an omnibus to take them to their first location – walking would simply take too long. They bundled onto the first ‘bus they came across and asked how close it would take them to their destination. Clara was delighted to find the omnibus route took them nearly all the way.
The omnibus deposited them in a road crowded with mean terrace houses, the sort where two or three families shared space to try and save money. Clara could imagine Mr Dunholm owning places like these and squeezing every penny he could from the occupants. They walked along the road, avoiding heaps of rags and broken belongings piled in the gutter. A man with one leg and one eye sat huddled on the pavement, rocking himself back and forth. Tommy grimaced to see the man’s war medals pinned proudly to his chest. He dug into his pocket and produced a shilling, but when he tried to give it to the man he seemed not to be aware of their presence. He just continued to rock himself back and forth. Tommy slipped the shilling into the man’s jacket pocket and hoped he would notice it later.
