by Will Thomas
The Guv nodded, knitting his fingertips together on the glass-topped desk. “Continue.”
“We stopped in Oxford Street and went into a building,” she said. “It was a house, really, built perhaps early this century. At first, I thought it was a residence. I paid the cabman and alighted. Then I waited, walking back and forth as far as I could go in either direction and still view the premises. I reasoned if he left the building and found a cab I could do the same and not lose him.”
“Sensible.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “He was in there an awfully long time, three-quarters of an hour before he left. I saw an Asian man leave and suspected it was a gentleman’s club that catered to foreign guests.”
I could picture him, a single man in a strange city. He gets his hair cut and a shave. He buys a cigar, then has a meal and an ale. Then he stops into a club to read the newspapers. It was a satisfactory way to spend an afternoon off duty.
“He called for another cab and it took him to a second public house, the Cromwell Arms in Exhibition Road.”
“How long was it after his previous meal?”
“An hour and a quarter.”
My partner leaned back in his chair. “Curious.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I dared step into the entrance and looked about. He was shaking hands with a man at one of the tables. It was a meeting. I’d have watched longer but the publican shooed me out the door.”
“A pity,” Barker said, glancing at me. “But you did very well. Could you describe the gentleman he met?”
“He was about thirty or thirty-five, well dressed in a gray cutaway coat and gaiters. Clean-shaven, brown hair.”
“Light or dark?”
“Light, I’d say. Most women would find the man attractive.”
“Did he seem well-bred?” I asked.
“How can one tell?”
“I suppose you can’t. You just know.” I turned to the Guv. “Hesketh Pierce, sir. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
“Interesting,” the Guv said, frowning. He turned to Miss Fletcher. “You did not stay beyond that time?”
“Actually, I followed him back to the palace.”
“Satisfactory.” Barker leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. “Miss Fletcher, I have been told that you are not presently comfortable in your business arrangements, in particular, your office. Is this true?”
“I don’t know how you came by this information, sir,” she replied, coloring.
“And you won’t, Miss Fletcher, I assure you. Answer the question, please.”
She was taken aback. Sarah Fletcher had learned that working for Cyrus Barker is not all beer and skittles.
“I would not malign Mr. Hewitt’s good name, Mr. Barker,” she said after a moment. “He has been very generous to me.”
J. M. Hewitt was a friend of ours, a detective who often took cases that for one reason or another we could not. He was a good fellow, but he did have one weakness. Sarah Fletcher was that weakness. I was concerned that he might take advantage of the situation and had mentioned it to the Guv a few months ago. I had forgotten all about it.
“Does his generosity have restrictions?”
Her nose turned red. She wasn’t comfortable having her private life probed.
“He has only been a gentleman,” she said, smoothing her dress.
“Nevertheless, I understand he is pressing you.”
“He is,” she admitted.
“Have you considered moving offices?” Barker continued, tapping his finger on the desk. “After all, yours is at the very end of the court and few female clients are willing to travel deep into our narrow and dubious street.”
“Of course, sir, but most ‘To-Let’s require a down payment and a month’s rent, which is very dear.”
“You are in a predicament, lass,” he said.
She cleared her throat and looked away.
“I have an office to let of my own,” he stated. “It is vacant and gathering dust. Would you care to see it?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, being cautious. She was already in an uncomfortable situation. “Is it far?”
The Guv rose a finger toward the ceiling overhead. “One floor above us, in fact. Number five.”
She looked up as if the roof would come down. “On what terms, Mr. Barker, sir?”
“Not onerous, I assure you. There is one stipulation, however.”
Her eyes narrowed as she waited for him to continue.
“I like silence,” he said. “You must purchase a large carpet. You are not given to humming, are you?”
“No, sir, I am not. However, I do have a typing service.”
“Thomas bangs away on his typewriting machine every day. I barely notice when he uses it anymore.”
Sarah Fletcher looked down at her shoes and swallowed. Then she looked up again. “And the cost? How much per month?”
Barker looked slightly pained. He is loath to discuss money. “Whatever you were paying before, I suppose. You may discuss terms with Mr. Llewelyn.”
Her eyes went wide, and with good reason. That office nearly facing Whitehall Street was worth a good deal of money. Solicitors, clerks, military leaders, and even MPs would like an office so conveniently located. I didn’t even want to think about how much the Guv could have charged.
“Would you like to see it?” I asked. “I could take you upstairs. I’ll get the key.”
I pulled it from a cubby of my desk. I thought there was a distinct possibility that she might become emotional. She seemed to be just holding it in. Whether from a male or a female, the Guv dislikes an obvious display of emotion. No noise, no discussing money, no sentiment allowed. There is a set of rules one must navigate to live in the orbit of Cyrus Barker.
“Come along, then,” I said, shepherding her out for both their sakes.
I led her out into the waiting room, where Jenkins looked up from the pages of a penny dreadful.
“This door here leads into your stairwell,” I said, “but it remains locked at all times. You enter number five from outside.”
“Why isn’t it seven-A and seven-B?” she asked.
“Barker and I have discussed this. I’ve looked at the earliest records and we have come to the same conclusion. Which is to say, we have no idea. At this point, it is unknowable.”
We stepped outside and I unlocked the outside door, leading her into a very small foyer with barely enough room to turn around.
“It’s a bit dusty,” I admitted. “You might convince Mr. Barker to have it painted.”
We climbed the stairs.
“That’s a clever outfit, by the way,” I remarked. “Did you purchase it in the East End?”
“No, I made it. That is, I dyed the dress and bonnet blue and sewed the cape. The pin I found in the pet—in Middlesex Street.”
She’d nearly said “petticoat” in a man’s presence. It would have been a scandal.
“As I said, clever. Here we are.”
I unlocked the door and led us into a room which was identical to our own. In fact, we had used this one as our office when the one below was damaged in a bombing. It was empty apart from a large desk and chair in the center of the room.
Miss Fletcher stepped in and put both hands to her mouth. “I had not realized how big it would be.”
“It’s bare,” I agreed. “When the bookshelves are filled and furniture put in, it will seem smaller.”
“It’s far too grand,” she said, gesturing at the large room. “My agency is small. I could never use so much space.”
The thought had not occurred to me. I looked about the room with a critical eye.
“There’s another room behind this door, as well,” I said. “I suppose it could be a flat. That’s not a bad idea, in fact. The Guv has mentioned he wished there was someone around in the evenings to watch over the offices. Of course, you realize that there could be an element of danger in taking these rooms.”
She was still ta
king it all in. I could imagine she was planning it all out in her mind’s eye, fancying herself in such a position.
“Here you are,” I said, holding out the keys. “By the way, how much was your rent with Hewitt?”
She named a trifling sum. I resisted the impulse to raise a brow, but I sensed he charged her little rent in order to have her about.
“I’ll work out a contract this week,” I continued. “Payment at the first of the month. We can discuss everything else later. That is, if you want the room.”
“I do.”
I left her there in the center of the room, blinking at her own good fortune.
Coming down the stairwell, it came to me. She had become a project to Barker. He was going to aid her, help her, and rehabilitate her, as he had with me and Mac and Jeremy. Probably Etienne and maybe even Ho. He had been gruff, even rude, to hide the fact that he was being a Good Samaritan. He doesn’t like having his help acknowledged. It embarrasses him.
Although I would not number Miss Fletcher among my favorite people, if the Guv chose her I would do my best to help her.
“The office is very large for one small woman,” I said to Barker when I returned to the office. “The thought occurred to me that it could be used as both an office and a flat. That way we would have someone on the premises at all times. A caretaker, if you will.”
“Would she be safe on the premises at night?” he asked.
“No less so than during the day. The floor was blown out from under us two years ago while we were in the office. She has faced danger before.”
Barker grunted, docketing the information. “Find out if she has any requirements.”
“I noticed the stairwell needs to be painted,” I said. “Female sensibilities and all that. Nor hers, I mean her clients’. We are fortunate that people can walk right into our offices from the street, while her potential clients climb a steep staircase to reach hers.”
“Done. Can you think of anything else?”
“I don’t know how much a caretaker makes per day. It might be simpler to let her the room in exchange for caretaking duties.”
“A free flat and free offices, freshly renovated, in exchange for caretaking duties, which are negligible? Have you become her solicitor?”
I rose both hands. “Miss Fletcher is practically a stranger to me. I was thinking of your reputation. The first floor should be done as professionally as the ground floor, shouldn’t it? You are a landlord now.”
“Of course it should!”
“There you are, then,” I said, nodding. “I’ll find a painting contractor and get an estimate.”
“Do it, lad.”
I stepped outside and climbed the stairwell again. Sarah Fletcher was sitting on the edge of the desk, looking about.
“We’ll hire a painter shortly. I’m to get a bid.”
I turned to go.
“Mr. Llewelyn?” she called after me.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I replied. “It is Mr. Barker’s decision.”
I smiled as I went downstairs. Nothing is so discomfiting as kindness from a rival.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“So,” I said when I had returned to our chambers, “Jim Hercules is conspiring with Hesketh Pierce.”
“So it would appear,” Barker answered. He had lit his largest pipe, the size of a small ham, and was trying to fill the entire chamber with its smoke. I believe it represented Moses, but it’s difficult to tell one biblical patriarch from another.
“What do you intend to do?” I asked.
The Guv opened his desk and took out a sheet of stationery. He scrawled a message, folded it, and handed it to me. “Give this to a messenger boy with a shilling. Have him take it to Kensington Palace.”
“The chances are fifty percent he won’t reach it. He’d be terrified.”
“Tell him I demand he deliver it,” Barker replied. “We’ll see which prospect terrifies him more.”
I stepped out and into Whitehall Street. Finding an urchin is rather like catching a trout with a fly. One looks for the fish, lays out a line for him, and as he passes, you snag him on the hook.
“Ger’ off!” the boy cried as I took hold of his arm. “Lemme go!”
I held up the shilling and he instantly stopped struggling. “Good. Now what’s your name, boy?”
“Dicky Smiff!”
“Very well, Dicky Smiff. This is one to tell your friends about. I want you to take this note to Kensington Palace.”
“G’arn!”
“No, I’m serious. I want you to find a guard and tell him to give this message to Corporal Dinsdale. Repeat that back to me.”
“Um, take it to the palace. Find a redcoat. Tell him to give it to the bloke named Dinsdale. That’ll be a shilling and sixpence.”
“This is a shilling.”
“I’m prolly gonna be socked by a guard. They don’t like rabble like us there. Shilling and six or no.”
I gave him the sixpence, wondering what he would do with the money. It was a large sum for so small a tyke. He could stuff himself with sweets or take it home to feed his family.
“Off with you,” I said as we parted company. I went back inside our chambers and sat down at my desk. “Dinsdale, eh?”
“Indeed,” the Guv answered. “He’ll give it to Jim Hercules. It would be too suspicious to have an Abyssinian Guard receiving the message directly. I invited him for a friendly sparring match at our antagonistics school.”
“How friendly?” I asked.
“That will depend on how forthcoming he is.”
He looked at a slip of paper in his hand, his pipe clenched between his teeth, as he belched smoke. I recognized the paper. Sarah Fletcher had given it to him.
“Get your stoutest stick, Thomas. Miss Fletcher has given us the address of Kazimir Chernov. It is in Woodseer Street.”
I spent a moment looking over a map of London in my head. “Woodseer Street? That’s about as far from the palace as a man can go, and I don’t mean distance.”
“We can’t do anything about the location, lad,” Barker said. “One can only go where the work is.”
Outside, Barker hailed a cab. Normally, that is my duty. I believe he was on the scent and eager to find his prey. He certainly gave the springs in the cab some exercise.
“Brick Lane!” he bawled in my ear.
Cyrus Barker loathes anarchists. Socialists may rally, and Communists protest, but an anarchist simply destroys. It seems to be their only solution. Does the government need reform? Blow it up. Is the tsar intolerant? Assassinate him. Is a church too controlling of its parishioners? Burn it to the ground.
“They don’t do anything by halves, these anarchists,” I said. “It’s all or nothing. Like hiring an assassin to kill a young man who hasn’t done anything yet.”
“It would certainly punish the current tsar, who had Sophia Perovskaya executed for planning his father’s murder.”
“I don’t remember hearing of her before.”
“You’d have been in school at the time. She was a nihilist, though no more than a girl. She was such a zealot that she was arrested numerous times before she was twenty-five. Each time she was released from prison she had become more revolutionary in her opinions. Finally, she planned the assassination of Alexander the Second. Afterward, she was captured, of course. The Okhrana knew her face too well by then, and Perovskaya had done little to hide her feelings. She never denied her role in the tsar’s death as some of her compatriots did. She was the first woman in Russia to be hanged for terrorism.”
“What makes a young woman do such a thing?” I asked.
“A tsar who kills all dissidents and Jewish peasants would do for a start. Saint Petersburg has become a crucible for anarchy, and the Russian government has exported it by expelling its dissidents.”
“Thereby endangering the next generation of tsars,” I remarked. “The spores have been released and now t
hey will choke the heir.”
“Not if we can help it, lad, if only for Jim Hercules’s sake.”
“He’s up to some mischief,” I said.
“Aye, but he’s still our client.”
The warren in Woodseer Street was a row of attached houses of red brick in a poor but respectable neighborhood. The properties had probably belonged to an absentee landlord or one who had no care about the property as long as the money was paid. The brick was chipped and green with mildew, and every bit of wood in the building was warped and cracked. One could grasp it and it would crumble in your hand. The people here were the lowest rung of society: young women without proper teeth, children on crutches, pale men who had one foot in the grave and swarthy ones who preyed upon the rest. It was a web. They were caught in it and they knew the spider was coming eventually. Some had grown weary of waiting.
Barker plunged in and I behind him. My nose protested immediately at the odor of cabbage and spoiled meat. Their bodies and clothes hadn’t seen water in months. At some point the tenants had stopped trying to live. They were merely existing, alcohol and opium their only comfort now.
Barker seized a passing man by the shoulder. He was so shattered I heard the shoulder separate from the socket momentarily.
“Kazimir Chernov,” the Guv growled in his ear.
“Second floor, t’other end,” he replied.
“Have you seen him lately?”
The man shrugged and shook his head. I didn’t know if he was drunk or merely apathetic. We continued down the hall.
“Stay vigilant,” Barker said. “And show no mercy.”
We were about a hundred yards down the length of the corridor on the second floor when a door opened and a man seized the lapel of Barker’s jacket. My partner peeled the man’s fingers off the fabric and then I heard the snap of the man’s wrist. He screamed and dropped something at my feet. It was an open razor. Barker kicked it into a corner and continued onward. The scream was a warning to others to give us a wide berth. I tapped my pocket where I carried my Webley, just in case.