Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  “So, my mysterious lady, what can you tell me about your famous acquaintance, Professor Bell?”

  “Do you usually begin your interrogations before the wine is served, Inspector? A poor gambit, if so.”

  Ethington laughed. “Very well. Bordeaux, I believe? Or will another vintage make you more talkative?”

  “You’ll just have to find out. The 1895 is a good year.” And not expensive. “That is, if the condemned woman may have a last wish.”

  “Ego te absolvo, Miss Harkness, I absolve you of your sins, but confession may still aid your soul.”

  We laughed together in this charming dance of wit. I’d almost forgotten the steps. I felt a slight frisson of pleasure as I realized the inspector was flirting with me. How long had it been?

  “I was hired for a case the professor was working on almost ten years ago. I was living in the East End and served as a guide for him and another gentleman, but our relationship matured, and I became a full-fledged member of the enterprise.”

  Ethington paused as the wine arrived. He and the waiter performed the necessary rituals before the inspector nodded and our glasses were filled. Once we were alone again, he said, “Almost ten years ago in the East End? The only thing that comes to mind is the Ripper affair.” He leaned in, “Do you mean to say . . .?”

  “Your memory serves you well, Inspector. We played a part in that sordid matter, but it is behind us now. I earned a couple of trusted friends. It was a pleasure to work with Professor Bell again, however briefly. Ah, here comes our meal. Bon appétit,, monsieur. Enjoy your spaghetti.”

  The inspector had been in enough real interrogations to know when a subject had closed the book. He accepted his defeat graciously and turned to the topic in all the papers, Queen Victoria’s upcoming Diamond Jubilee. It would be in less than a fortnight: on Tuesday, the twenty-second of June.

  “It will be quite the spectacle. Prime seats along the route are selling for as much as twenty-five guineas.”

  “Will Special Branch have any duties associated with the ceremony?”

  “We’re keeping our eyes on various suspicious elements, but up ’til now the queen’s attackers have been madmen from our own country or Ireland. Our various continental guests may write a lot of revolutionary tripe while in England, but they tend to behave themselves to avoid being sent home, where the authorities await.”

  “What do you do, exactly?”

  “Describe me.”

  “Average height. Slender, though not skinny. Light brown hair with a trace of silver, and brown eyes. Modestly dressed in tweeds. No tattoos or distinguishing marks.”

  “Aye, you got it right with the first word: Average. There is nothing about me that is memorable. I have stood beside a man at a pub, then four hours later sat beside him on a park bench reading a paper, and he was none the wiser. To a foreigner, I am just an average Englishman, neither wealthy nor poor, not possessing anything that might help him to recall me as soon as I pass from sight. Being boring in mannerisms doesn’t hurt, either. I do not laugh loudly, have nervous tics, smile excessively, or smoke a pipe. I am a face in a crowded city. I could scarcely be more invisible.”

  “I disagree in one particular sense, Inspector: You are kind.”

  Ethington snorted. “How could you possibly deduce that?”

  “The photograph of you and your daughter on your desk. It was in a place of pride, in an expensive frame, and professionally done. You are obviously very fond of her. Such affection gentles any man. She is fortunate to have a father like you. After I became an author and journalist, my father was so concerned with what people would think, he tried to marry me off without even consulting me as to the choice of groom.”

  Ethington laughed while signaling the waiter, “I can tell that didn’t work!” Then, to the waiter he said, “Dessert menu, please.”

  “You are merciless, Inspector. I thought my interrogation was concluded.”

  “I thought something might yet slip out if I got you intoxicated on chocolate, though the crème brûlée seems popular among the regulars.”

  Did I just flutter my eyelashes at him? I thought. Good grief, Margaret, don’t be an ass! I winced as I felt the tug of his brown eyes in the candlelight. I must remember this vintage and avoid it like the plague.

  “Margaret, dessert?”

  I flushed, snapping out of my thoughts. “Yes, please. The peach sorbet will do for me. Thank you. Now, tell me about your daughter.”

  “Her name is Elizabeth.” The inspector went at some length to brag about his daughter’s virtues. A good student, a more than decent cook, and a devoted daughter. Though only fifteen, she was every inch the mistress of the household. “Frankly, Margaret,” he continued, “I don’t know how I’d have gotten along without her since Alice died.” He wiped his mouth. “I was in a very dark place, and she was my only light. That’s a terrible burden to put on a girl of thirteen. For a while there, she was more a parent than I was.” He looked away for a moment. “Last week, on the day we met in fact, was the second-year anniversary of Alice’s death. I was so despondent she hid the whiskey after I had a glass with breakfast. That may have been the lowest point in my life. I’ve resolved to do better, since.”

  “I’m sorry, Inspector. It must have been hard on you both.” I recalled my harsh words to Bell that every drunkard had a story. This man was not a habitual drinker, and his story was worthy of more sympathy than I’d been willing to grant it, unheard. It also explained why he’d smelled of whiskey when we’d first met, yet as Bell had noted, he lacked the physical features of an alcoholic.

  “Was her death unexpected? Speaking as a former nurse, I know those can be the hardest.”

  His face clouded over as he stared into his wine. “One morning, Alice complained of stomach pains. I put it down to indigestion and left for work. Elizabeth came home from school to find her feverish and barely conscious. She summoned the neighbors, who got her to hospital, but she died of a ruptured appendix. I didn’t learn of her admission until I got home and found the apartment empty and a neighbor told me what happened.”

  He paused for a long moment, and I was about to say something in response when he continued in a softer voice, “One of our constables was promoted to sergeant that day, and I had a drink or two with him and our fellows at a pub near the office after work. I wasn’t drunk, though I’m certain Elizabeth could smell the ale when I arrived at hospital only to learn Alice was dead.”

  He put down his half-filled glass. “I’ve never had the courage to ask Elizabeth if she blames me, but I’ll never forget the look on her face when I finally arrived at her mother’s deathbed, smelling of drink. I failed both of them. As long as I live, I pray I never again see the look of despair she gave me at that moment.”

  I said nothing but laid my hand on his arm. “She must still love you very much, to care for you like she has. Never forget that.”

  “Aye, there’s love for sure. I’m not so certain about respect. I’ve given her little reason for that since her mother’s death.”

  A young man—probably a student at a nearby conservatory— entered the bistro and began playing a romantic song on the violin. The yearning in the piece, coupled with the wine and companionship, drew my attention so that for a moment there was only candlelight, the music, and us.

  I sighed. “It’s beautiful.”

  “From Schubert’s Serenade. The young man’s technique is excellent, but he’s still too inexperienced to do it justice.”

  “How do you mean? His playing is superb.”

  “True,” Ethington said, “but the music speaks of yearning and loss. Until he’s suffered the things the music is truly about, it is just a pretty piece of music to him. If I were to recite a poem in Japanese, even if my intonation were faultless, it would not impress someone from Japan as the words would just be sounds to me. My pauses, my inflections, would not be quite the same as someone who truly felt the meaning of the poem.

  “It�
�s the same way with this music. An older man who has buried someone he loved would play it differently, because it would speak as much to him as to his audience. A younger artist may play the notes with more verve, but a mature violinist would shape the pauses better, and understand the true meaning lies in the silence between the notes.”

  Glancing at his pocket watch, he said, “I apologize that this hasn’t been the most romantic evening you could hope for, but it’s been good for me to talk with you. Thank you for hearing me out, but I fear it’s time to go. Elizabeth worries if I’m away too late. Let me see you home.”

  “There’s no need. I made it here on my own,” I said.

  “Aye, but it’s late now, and it’s dark. I wouldn’t feel right saying good-bye at the nearest Underground station.”

  “Ah, but how could you know I traveled by Underground?”

  “Your shoes are clean, so you didn’t walk, and your recommended wine is reasonably priced, so you didn’t take a hansom as you are sensitive to cost. What other options are there?”

  I inclined my head. “Bravo, Inspector. I would love to hear how you became assigned to Special Branch. I am certain it wasn’t because you were perceived as average by your superiors.”

  “I was an up-and-comer in those days.” His face darkened. “Before Alice’s death . . . we should be off.”

  As we rose to leave, I noted his glass of wine, his first and only glass of the evening, was still half-full.

  The trip to my flat was a silent though companionable one, and I flattered myself that one reason he’d insisted on accompanying me was to learn where I lived. When we arrived he bowed, I laughed and curtsied, and the evening was done. I can’t remember when I have passed a more pleasant evening, I thought as I walked up to my flat. I sighed. And just when I finally have the funds for Australia.

  I decided to book passage the next day before my resolve weakened. I removed my dress and fingered the glowing fabric a moment before putting it away. I wondered when I would ever wear it again.

  Outside, once the man was out of sight and the woman was indoors, Herman carefully surveyed the surrounding neighborhood. She seemed the right age and build for the image of Miss Harkness in the back of her books, but it was of little consequence at the moment. He noted the light nighttime traffic and predictable thirty-minute intervals between police patrols. Satisfied, he paced to various sites from her apartment entrance where he could wait unobserved, not wanting to leave anything to chance. Rest easy tonight, Miss. This was just a social call.

  Herman did not notice the other eyes that watched the couple at the entranceway and his surveillance after. Once he left, they did too.

  16

  Friday, June 11

  I awoke with a cheerful heart and stiff joints. An evening with a “gentleman caller” had been a pleasant diversion, but my body urged me to seek warmer climes. Soon.

  The payment from the German contract included a fifty-pound bonus as a reward for a job well and swiftly done, so I could afford small indulgences and still secure a second-class cabin to myself and be well-resourced to begin my new life in Australia. With the funds at hand, there was nothing holding me back.

  After my morning rituals, I dressed to go out and headed for the docks. There was still a single cabin available for a ship leaving the following week, but after a moment’s hesitation, I declined it. I couldn’t possibly be ready to depart so soon, I told myself. Instead, I chose a ship leaving the seventh of July. I confess I was still savoring the pleasure of Inspector Ethington’s attentions the night before, and decided to find a reason to visit Special Branch once more to say farewell. It was only proper.

  As I made my way back to my flat, I had a familiar but uncomfortable feeling that I was being followed, and on the spur of the moment I stepped into a café. I chose a corner table and using my teacup as a screen, scanned the establishment, then the street. It was a pleasant June morning, and the passersby strode hither and yon with purpose. All of them, that is, except for a boy of around twelve who was loitering at the corner of the building across from me.

  His hands fidgeted, going into his pockets, then coming out, with his arms held at odd angles or across his body. He was dressed in a flat cap, a clean shirt and vest, and baggy trousers, all made from the same light brown wool and all at least two sizes too big. I noticed his face and hands were clean. Not a beggar, nor a newsboy as he had no papers. He was no threat, but to whom did he report? Who had a reason to follow me?

  Then I felt a chill flow down my back. Who had I harmed recently? The German anarchists. Well, Margaret, I thought, be careful what you wish for. Now you have a valid reason to see Inspector Ethington again.

  I debated whether I should try to shake my shadow before going to Special Branch. Would it be better if he knew I had contacts there, or would keeping this knowledge from him make it easier for James—So it’s James now?—to catch him?

  I left the café striding straight for the nearest Underground, not daring to look behind to see if my ill-dressed tail was loping after. I boarded the first car I found and stood by the door. Sure enough, the lad entered the wagon just behind, so I would be ahead of him when I disembarked. The doors were closing when I leapt out, catching my skirt in the door for a moment before I pulled it free. I headed straight for the station’s exit, shaking my head as though I’d forgotten something. I had just enough self-control not to look back to see whether my shadow had escaped his car.

  I found James in his office studying a calendar. He looked up when I entered, startled, but smiled when he saw it was me. I rather liked that.

  “Ah, Miss Harkness, a pleasure. I had a delightful evening last night and hope you did as well. To what do I owe this pleasant interruption of my day?”

  “I’ve grown a tail,” I said.

  Ethington pinked up, then laughed.

  “A shadow then,” I said. “A follower. Someone is stalking me! You of all people should understand the reference.”

  He stopped laughing, though still struggled to control his smile. “Please forgive me, Miss Harkness, but the image just now . . .” Tears trickled down his face as he fought a losing battle with another outburst, while I tapped my foot, waiting for this bout to pass. Men.

  “I’m glad my situation provides you such merriment, Inspector, but someone is following me, and I’m concerned it may involve my recent adventure in Germany. I thought you might be interested in knowing this.”

  “Excuse me, Margaret,” he said, startling both of us by his use of my first name. “I mean, Miss Harkness. You’re quite right to be concerned. Let me think a moment.”

  “Yes, please do, Inspector.” Then I added, relenting a bit, “Margaret is fine.”

  He blushed again. He would make a terrible spy, I thought, not unkindly. He’s so easy to read.

  “Two things come to mind,” he said. “First, I must contact Herr Adler to request information on the anarchists involved in your affair in Berlin. We need to know what contacts they may have here in London. Second, I would like to set a trap for your devoted follower, to learn who this person’s working for. Are we agreed?”

  “Hardly a romantic stroll . . . James. But, yes, the sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better. I lost the young man on my way here. He’ll probably return to my apartment. I’ll go there now and depart for the market around four. You can be somewhere near to follow us. How you catch him is up to you, but the marketplace is full of stalls and vendors. You should be able to get close without him noticing. Then, when I leave to return home, you can confront him as he leaves the market.”

  “Excellent. I’ll send a telegram to Herr Adler now. I may have a reply before we meet, and we can confront the lad with all we know.”

  I didn’t see my shadow when I left my apartment building, market basket over my arm, but I didn’t need to. I felt his eyes. Or was it James’s eyes? I steeled myself against the impulse to look around for him. No. I had to play the part of an automaton, inte
nt on buying food and nothing else. I wonder what automatons eat? I nearly giggled at the thought. This man is warping your judgment, Margaret. Be careful! I straightened and went forward bravely to buy potatoes and bread.

  As I wandered amongst the vendors, I added a roasted chicken to the basket and a quarter-wheel of cheese as images of a picnic in the park flashed through my mind. Despite my foolish daydreams, I finally noticed the boy dressed as before, pretending to watch a juggler at the market entrance. He looked fit, and I wondered if James could catch him in a footrace. Perhaps a little advantage was called for.

  On the way home I stopped as though to consult an address, then turned through a narrow archway into a courtyard surrounded by tenements on three sides. The courtyard was in the shade of the afternoon sun, and I slipped into the dimness to the right of the entrance and lay in wait. Sure enough, I soon heard slow, light footsteps approach and head for the same shadows I was in. I blame the darkness of the shadows for my missing crucial features as I seized a slender arm and spun my tail against the wall, blocking escape.

  “Let me go!” the youth yelled. “I’ll call for the police!”

  “The police are already here, lad,” Inspector Ethington said, puffing from his sprint. “Now, who are you and what are you about, following this nice lady?”

  The boy’s eyes widened when he saw the jig was up. After a deep sigh, he removed his cap. Light-brown, shoulder-length hair spilled out. “Hello, Father,” Elizabeth Ethington said. “I see I still have a lot to learn.”