Holmes gave a nod. “You have chosen rightly.”
Harrington stared down at his hands. “I hope so. Nothing can bring Joseph back, so whatever happens...” He withdrew his watch from his waistcoat. “I must go. I have another appointment.” He stood up. “I meant what I said, Mr. Holmes. If I can help, please call upon me.”
“So I shall.”
We followed him to the door. Holmes assisted him with his coat, and then he shook our hands. He seemed embarrassed by the feelings he had shown us. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Holmes closed the door behind him, then gave me an ironic smile. “Mr. Steerford seems to have misjudged Lord Harrington. I also misjudged him. I thought I had heard the last from him after I gave him the note.”
“I do vaguely remember the name coming up at the Wheelwrights’ party.”
Holmes nodded. “Old Wheelwright did not like the smell of Mr. Steerford’s enterprise. One shrewd devil no doubt recognizing another of his kind. Using an alias, I shall let Mr. Steerford know I have a substantial sum of money to invest and try to set up a meeting with him. However, this afternoon I shall visit Miss Ladell. Do you wish to accompany me?”
“I have no firm plans for the afternoon, and I too am curious.”
“Excellent!” Holmes slipped out of his frock coat. “We must dress for the occasion.”
“You are certain Mr. Wheelwright...?”
“We shall, of course, pay our visit in disguise. If you would care to join me in the bedroom.”
“What disguise?”
“Our role will be one which I particularly enjoy and which has served me well in the past. We shall be plumbers.”
“I know absolutely nothing about plumbing.”
“An unfortunate gap in your education, Henry. We will cast you as my ignorant assistant.”
To my way of thinking, Sherlock carries his desire for authenticity in his disguises too far. He produced soiled and foul-smelling clothing, which any true plumber would have been proud to wear. The touch of it made my flesh crawl, but I reassured myself with the thought of a hot bath when our charade was finished. Besides the dirty clothing, Holmes put on a red-haired wig and applied an enormous red mustache to his upper lip. He ruffled up my hair, then gave me a beard, which matched the color of my mustache. After adding a mole to his cheek, he blacked out a few of our teeth, then smeared some grimy black concoction on our hands and faces. When he was finished, we both resembled mangy sewer rats.
He strapped on a leather belt with wrenches dangling and handed me a wooden toolbox. On the way out, he tipped his worn bowler with a tear in the brim to Mrs. Hudson. “Guh’day, ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “You both look absolutely dreadful.”
Holmes laughed. “Excellent, Mrs. Hudson. I shall be home in time for supper.”
We had some difficulty hailing a cab, as the drivers were wary of us. But Holmes finally flagged one down and paid in advance. When he mentioned the street to the driver, I said, “A modest, respectable neighborhood. How did you discover the woman’s name and address?”
“I had a cabby whom I frequently employ wait outside Wheelwright’s offices in the early afternoon. Mr. Wheelwright is impossible to miss. On the second day at his post, my cabby was hired to drive him to the address we are visiting. Once I had the address, I sent one of the Irregulars over to get the name.”
“It is odd to think that... such a woman should be installed in her own house in that neighborhood.”
Holmes’ smile was harsh. “Come, Henry. You are too severe. She has reached the summit of her profession. She bears no more resemblance to the toothless, diseased prostitute who spends the night on the street than an itinerant patent medicine peddler does to the royal surgeon on Harley Street. Mr. Wheelwright, whatever his other faults, is not a stingy man. Miss Ladell may not be respectable, but she leads a comfortable life which would be the envy of most of the women of London.”
“It is disgusting!” I exclaimed. “When I think of the poor women who come to the clinic struggling to get by on a few shillings a week, their families crammed into a single filthy room, half of them married to drunkards or ruffians... They must suffer abuse and see their children half starved and sick. What is the sense of it all?”
Even under the red wig and mustache Holmes looked grim. “I do not know, Henry.”
“That some vile woman...”
“First you were willing to make her the arch-conspirator, and now you portray her as the Whore of Babylon. She may be quite... respectable, in her own way.”
“You are joking!”
“Not at all. Mr. Wheelwright does not strike me as a furtive sensualist. I expect he has found a woman better matched to his plodding intellect and leaden soul. You might also recall the frequently quoted—but rarely followed—exhortation: ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ We shall shortly be meeting Miss Ladell, and I shall reserve judgment until then.”
Holmes had the driver let us out a street away from the house; plumbers must not be seen arriving in a cab. The afternoon was cold and wet, the yellow fog dirty and heavy with the odor of coal smoke. Our coats were none too warm, and the toolbox was so heavy I had to keep switching it from hand to hand.
Irritated, I said, “What on earth is in this box?”
“More wrenches, cast-iron pipe, and a first-class snake.”
“A what?”
“A plumber’s snake, a device of coiled metal used to unplug drains. Henry, I shall do most of the talking. Remember to appear somewhat stupid.”
The house was not large, but appeared pleasant, reminding me of a country cottage. Built of sturdy red brick, smoke billowed from its chimney. The rose bushes had been cut back for winter, and the hedge along the side was neatly trimmed. Holmes and I went to the door around back, and he knocked.
An elderly woman opened the door. She had on a plain black coat and hat and was obviously about to leave. Her eyes took in our filthy apparel and soiled faces, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Yes?”
Holmes tipped his ragged bowler. “Afternoon, ma’am. ’Eard you’ve ’ad some problems with the water closet. Yer landlord sent me and me mate ’ere to ’ave a look.”
The maid still seemed unsure about us. “I was just going out for the afternoon, but the mistress will be here if...”
“Oh, we won’t be no trouble, ma’am. Quiet as mouses, we’ll be.”
“Perhaps if you could come back next week?”
Holmes scowled horribly and shook his head. “No, ma’am, I can’t recommends it. You’d be takin’ a terrible chance, you would. Once a water closet is plugged up, they’ll flood on you fer sure, and then yer done fer! The smell is powerful bad, and the dirty water and stinkin’ muck soaks into yer fine oak floors and carpets. It’s an ’orrible fate, one I wouldn’t wish on me worst enemy. Best let us ’ave a look.”
The maid had grown pale. “I shall ask the mistress.” Her nose wrinkled again. “I guess you can wait inside.”
Holmes held his hat before him, the brim clutched in his filthy hands. “Most kind of you, ma’am. Bitter cold and damp ’tis.” He smiled; his blackened teeth truly appeared to be missing.
We stepped into the kitchen, which was gloriously warm and smelled like fresh bread. Two loaves sat on the table near the big black iron stove. I glanced at Holmes and repressed a shudder. “You do look terrible.”
He smiled. “So do you. Most plumbers are cleaner than we are, but all this filth distracts from the rest of our appearance.”
The maid soon returned with the mistress of the house. I was surprised. Holmes had been correct: I was expecting the Whore of Babylon—some voluptuous, painted creature in scanty garments. Miss Ladell resembled an ordinary woman of a respectable class, the wife of a well-to-do shopkeeper, banker, or merchant. She wore a plain blue muslin dress, and her blonde hair was braided and wound up at the back. She was pretty enough—fair skin tending toward rosin
ess; blue eyes and a small turned-up nose; a tiny mouth—but nowhere near so stunningly beautiful as Violet. Although not corpulent, her looks tended toward plumpness, her corseted waist rather thick. Her neck was short, full, and round; her jaw not well defined; her chin afloat on her fleshy white throat. She gave us a polite smile.
“So you wish to examine the water closet?”
“Yes, ma’am. Yer landlord thought we’d best ’ave a look. As I told yer good woman ’ere, what we want at all cost is to avoid a flood. I’ve seen deluges which would’ve frightened old Noah himself.”
Miss Ladell laughed at this witticism. “We surely do. Your coming seems providential. I have had some difficulties but I hadn’t said anything to Doh—to the landlord.”
“Someone shorly did, ma’am.”
“Well, do come have a look. I do not want to suffer this deluge of yours.”
“Wise, ma’am—very wise.”
The maid’s brow was still wrinkled. “I can remain here until they are finished if...”
“No, no, Philomena—you must have your afternoon off. Baby Gerald will be waiting for you. These men, I am sure, know their profession and can be trusted.”
“Thank you, madam.” She smiled at her mistress, then regarded us suspiciously. “Mind you clean up after yourselves. If you leave a mess, I’ll be after you.”
Holmes gave her a reproachful look. “Ma’am, we’re no sloppy pigs like some inferior plumbers. Part of the job is gettin’ everything back spick and span.” He held up his arms and his filthy sleeves. “We may get a bit on ourselves, but none gets left behind when we be done. Clean enough to eat off’uv, it’ll be, the tile all a-sparklin’.”
The maid nodded. “Make sure it is. Good afternoon.”
“Goodbye, Philomena. The water closet is this way, Mister...?”
“Brownstone, ma’am. And this is my assoshut, Mr. Blackdrop.”
I was holding my hat and bowed my head. “My pleasure, madam.”
She gave me a curious look, and as she was not watching Holmes, he frowned and shook his head at me.
“Uh, nice place you ’ave ’ere, mum,” I said.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackdrop.” She led us out of the kitchen.
As I followed, I noticed that she smelled faintly of lavender. Two small black dogs rushed us, barking loudly, Scottish terriers by the look of them. Their two-foot long bodies were supported by six-inch legs; their fur shaggy; their pointed ears standing upright.
Miss Ladell clapped her hands firmly. “No! Down, Blackie! Down, Reggy!”
One of the little beasts had his paws up on my leg, but at the command from their mistress, they both retreated.
The furniture in the sitting room was solid and well built, if not terribly expensive, and the carpet and drapes were of similar quality. However, every surface was covered with some bric-a-brac or knickknack: tiny glazed figurines of cheerful peasant lads and lasses (many I recognized as German); ornate china plates with patterns or paintings on them, all propped upright on holders, the place of honor going to Queen Victoria, whose dour visage showed alongside the number fifty. On the wall were the mass-produced productions of paintings and etchings which had become generally available: line drawings of trite London scenes; various languishing, voluptuous maidens who owed much to the pre-Raphaelites; and of course, a sweet, bare foot girl of about four, blonde and blue-eyed, with her faithful collie. Adding further to the clutter were the doilies and lacework covering all the furniture.
As Holmes and I glanced about, Miss Ladell smiled, glad to have all her treasures admired. Holmes stopped before the plate of Queen Victoria. “A good likeness of ’er majesty there.” He took another step and glanced down at the cloth covering the round oak table. “But yer lacework is very fine, ma’am, very fine. So many doilies.”
“Thank you, but how did you know it was my work?”
Holmes hesitated only a second. “Well, ma’am, I’m not Sherlock ’Omes.” He gave a hearty laugh. “But I noticed the callous on yer finger. My wife does a good bit o’ crocheting, and she ’as the very same callous. But what really gave you away was yer needles and yer work over there by the chair.”
Miss Ladell laughed, the sound good-natured and lacking the artifice of many ladies. “Of course.” She glanced down at her fingers. “There are those who think callouses are dreadful.”
“But you know better, ma’am, I can tell.”
She had a rather charming smile, which her rosy complexion and plumpness augmented. “I was not raised for idleness, Mr. Brownstone. I truly believe an idle mind is the devil’s workshop. My knitting and crocheting keep me busy, and... I even make a few shillings selling my things.”
Holmes nodded. “I can see ’ow. Fine work, ’tis. Very delicate, like. The missus’s ain’t half so fine, but never tell her so!”
Miss Ladell laughed again. “The water closet is here.”
Holmes opened the door, and then let out a long loud whistle. “Wot a beauty, ma’am!” It was an impressive fixture, all dark oak, shining brass, and gleaming white porcelain. Holmes gave the brass chain a pull, and it flushed with a vigorous swirl of water. He scowled horribly. “Don’t much care for the sound of that.”
Miss Ladell stared at him. “Is it broken?”
“Not yet, but the water don’t sound right. Well, we’ll ’ave ’er good as new in a few minutes. Best to run the snake through ’er, unclog everything down below.”
“I’ll leave you to your work,” said Miss Ladell.
I opened the toolbox. Holmes took out what appeared to be an enormous coil of metal rope, with a nasty-looking spiral of wire at the very end. “You are not really going to use this thing?” I whispered.
“We must earn our keep, Henry.” He began to work the snake around the curve of the bowl and down the hidden drain. “This skill may prove useful to you some day if you cannot find a plumber.”
I spent the next half-hour watching the snake unfurl itself into the depths, shake itself as he attempted to dislodge some obstruction, then slowly wind its way back up. The business was not too unpleasant until the snake re-emerged, soiling the water with black slime. The curled wire actually had some disgusting gook wadded upon it, the stench unbearable.
“I think we may have actually saved her from some trouble,” Holmes said. He wadded the thing up in a rag, stuffing it and the snake back in the toolbox. He used another rag to clean up.
We stepped back into the sitting room, and I allowed myself the pleasure of again breathing through my nose. Holmes smiled proudly. “Good as new, ma’am. You needn’t fear no deluge no more.”
Miss Ladell set down her crochet needles and rose. “Thank you very much, Mr. Brownstone.” She hesitated for a moment. “Would you care for a cup of tea in the kitchen before you leave?’
Holmes nodded. “Shorly, ma’am. That’s most kind of you.”
We started for the kitchen. The two terriers were seated together on a chair, but abruptly they leaped down and barked. Miss Ladell clapped her hands again. “No—stay, Blackie. Stay, Reggy.” Reluctantly the dogs halted and watched us. “They are good dogs, but uncomfortable with strangers in the house.” She closed the door behind us, then gestured at the table with her dainty white hand. “Please sit down.”
The big black iron stove radiated heat, and the kitchen was much warmer than the rest of the house. Humming softy, Miss Ladell opened a canister, then put tea into one half of the tea ball and screwed on the top. She poured hot water from the kettle into a blue-and-white china pot.
“We must let it steep. Would you care for a biscuit?”
Holmes shook his head, but I realized I was hungry. “Yes, please, mum,” I said.
Holmes glanced about the kitchen. The walls were painted yellow, lace curtains hung alongside the windows, the room clean and bright.
“Nice cheerful place y’ave ’ere, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brownstone. I am very proud of my little house.”
“I’d w
ager you’d not trade it fer the biggest mansion in all of London town.”
She gave her head an enthusiastic nod. “You would win your bet. I do not want some enormous house with servants underfoot. Philomena, Blackie, Reggy, and I get along perfectly here.”
“And what about yer mister?” Holmes asked innocently.
Miss Ladell was so fair than any hint of a flush showed immediately; her face went quite pink. “I am not married, Mr. Brownstone.”
Holmes appeared utterly surprised. “No?”
“No. This house is... My uncle was quite well-to-do and left me a bit of money when he died.”
“Ah.” Holmes nodded. “Fortunate for you, but I’m surprised some gent ’asn’t snatched you up, so to speak, a fine young lady like yerself.”
She gave a weak shrug. “There is a gentleman I see occasionally.”
“Well, what’s the matter with the bloke that ’e ain’t married you at once?”
The flush deepened, and she shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know.” She took the pot and began to pour the tea.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you, ma’am. Fergive me if I’ve been rude.”
She set down a blue-and-white cup of tea on a matching saucer before Holmes. “Not at all, Mr. Brownstone. You are very kind. Do you take sugar?” He shook his head. “And you, Mr. Blackdrop?”
“One lump.”
Holmes drank his tea, slurping loudly. I frowned at him, but Miss Ladell hardly seemed to notice. “Fine tea, ma’am. Won’t you join us?”
She hesitated, and then smiled. “Certainly.”
She poured another cup of tea and dropped in three cubes of sugar. Holmes and I slid our chairs to the side, leaving more room for her. She took two digestive biscuits from a tin, then sat down and handed me one.
“Here’s your biscuit, Mr. Blackdrop. I nearly forgot.”
She sipped politely at her tea, ignoring the dreadful slurping Holmes made as he drank. He set down his cup. “I’ll bet a lady like yerself could run yer own shop, all full of lace and doilies and fine things.”
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