by Joan Smith
“I suppose I can let you have until next week,” I said, pulling my hand back. With any other tenant I would not have hesitated, but there was such a raffish air about Mr. Sharkey that I did not trust him an inch.
His pudgy face creased into a smile that displayed a set of small, dim teeth. “I knew you’d be reasonable. Listen,” he continued, grabbing at my sleeve again. “If you need anything in the way of personal gewgaws, come to me before you buy. I can get anything at a bargain. Ask Alger, or Butler. I got Butler a dandy gold watch at sixty percent off. I often come into such items in my line of business.”
“I have very little need for gewgaws.”
“I happen to have a dandy little garnet ring on me at the moment,” he said. His hand went into his pocket and out came a ring with a red stone. He shoved it at me. I took it and examined it. It looked well enough. “I was saving this for my mama,” he said, piercing me with a conning eye to see if I swallowed this unlikely story. “I could let you have this in lieu of the month’s rent, if—”
“I would prefer cash, thank you, Mr. Sharkey.”
He took the ring back and drew out a lady’s watch. “How about this?” he asked, dangling it before my eyes.
It was a handsome thing. I had no need of another watch, but Miss Thackery had lost hers at a whist drive a year ago. When she recovered it the next day, it was smashed beyond repair.
“Where did you get it?” I asked.
“It came with the contents of a private house I bought up in Kent recently. That’s where I have been the past few days, in Kent.”
I took the watch to the lamplight. It was gold, or at least it looked like gold. The hinged lid was engraved with flowers, and the face was white enamel with a tiny wreath of roses hand-painted around the edge.
“This looks valuable, Mr. Sharkey. I fear it is worth more than one month’s rent.”
“Let’s say two months then, and I am paid up in advance.”
“I should warn you, I may not keep the house open for two months. I am thinking of selling.”
“You can pay me the difference if you leave. I trust you,” he said, with a greasy smile. “You’d be doing me a favor, Miss Irving. The fact is, I’m a little tight at the moment.”
“I suppose it would be all right,” I said. I did not feel quite right about it, but could see no actual harm in the transaction.
“We’ll just keep it between ourselves,” he said. “If the others hear, they’ll all be wanting a bargain from me.”
Professor Vivaldi came to inquire about a small table for his bedside, and I left Mr. Sharkey to look over what remained of the furnishings. In the hallway, plans were underway for the removal of the lumber.
Butler and Alger had each taken an end of Mrs. Clarke’s chest of drawers, Miss Lemon carried Jamie, and I offered to help Mrs. Clarke with the hanging shelves. I own I was curious to see the rooms I was renting.
Mrs. Clarke had her parlor done up in a simple but pretty way. The walls were painted a dull mustardy color, and the furniture was shabby, but she had contrived to brighten the room with cushions and pictures and those little touches that an artistic woman without much money can always invent. The old wooden pieces gleamed from assiduous polishing.
She thanked me three or four times and offered me tea, but I wished to oversee the removal of the rest of the lumber and returned below. Mr. Alger and Butler came as well, to carry up the chairs I had managed to palm off on the widow.
We met Professor Vivaldi and Sharkey on the stairs. Sharkey was helping the professor with his loot. Soon Sharkey returned below and began collecting the broken bibelots into a cardboard box.
“Can I have a word with you, Alger?” he called from the saloon, and Mr. Alger joined him.
I took an occasional peek into the saloon while reminding Butler which chairs were to go up to Mrs. Clarke’s flat. I saw Sharkey showing Alger the ring with the red stone, and Mr. Alger shaking his head. Alger did not take the ring, but I believe Sharkey managed to either sell him something else or dun him for a loan, for Alger’s wallet came out of his pocket, and bills changed hands. When Sharkey went bouncing upstairs, he wore a smile on his pudgy face.
‘‘You have done pretty well, Miss Irving,” Alger said, returning to the hallway. “When I get my desk and chairs out of your way, you will have room to swing a very small kitten in here.”
“Make that a cat. Miss Whately has also taken a few pieces. She thought perhaps some of the gentlemen would take them upstairs for her.”
“Out with Colonel Jack, is she?” Alger asked.
“Yes, they are dining at the Clarendon, if you please.”
“Oysters for Renie tonight!”
“I see you are familiar with the routine.”
“Only the early part of the evening,” he said, with a daring little smile.
“I shouldn’t think the colonel is up to any strenuous postprandial pranks. He is scarcely able to walk without help.”
“After a dozen oysters, there is no saying. Which pieces are Renie’s? I shall ask Butler to help me take them up. We can leave them outside her door.”
“I have a key. She said I might unlock her door.”
Butler came back down for another chair, and Alger collared him to help with Miss Whately’s selections. I went up with them to unlock her door.
“There is a lamp and tinderbox just there on the sofa table,” Alger said.
I made note of his familiarity with the room, but said nothing. I rooted in the dim light from the hall and found the lamp and tinderbox. Renie’s parlor was a completely different affair from Mrs. Clarke’s. It was bright and lively, but incredibly messy. The walls held playbills from a decade ago, with Irene Whately’s name prominently displayed. The theaters were not Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but small provincial theaters whose names I did not recognize.
Various bright shawls, bonnets, and gloves littered the sofa. A decanter of wine and some used glasses sat on the sofa table. I thought she must have been reading there, but there was no novel or even magazines anywhere to be seen. I remembered her “leaving her specs behind,” and wondered if it was possible she was illiterate. It seemed odd there was not even a journal or letter in the place. A pair of slippers had been kicked off in the middle of the floor. I moved them aside, so the gentlemen would not trip over them.
“Just leave the dresser there. Miss Whately can put it where she wants it later,” I said.
We returned belowstairs, Butler to get Miss Whately’s chairs, Alger to get his desk. To speed up the removal, I carried up one of Mr. Alger’s chairs, Miss Thackery the other. I was eager to see how Alger had done up his parlor. The other rooms had reflected their owners somewhat. Perhaps I could find a clue to Mr. Alger in his arrangement.
I was disappointed. The room had a sterile look. It was tidy, but very little had been added to the basic minimum my aunt had supplied. There were some books in good leather-and-gilt bindings, a welter of folders and papers on the sofa table, and a few elegant bits and pieces that stood out in contrast to the rest. The wine decanter and glasses, sitting on a silver tray, had the prismatic sparkle of crystal. On a side table there was a chess set, with a board done in squares of dark and light marble. Handsome carved marble pieces were scattered over the board, indicating a game in progress. A crystal ink pot and some desk accessories were also there.
“You see why I required the desk,” Alger said. He had come up behind me. “Sharkey is my usual chess partner. I fear I cannot match him for skill. Did he settle his account, by the by?”
“Yes,” I said, and blushed to remember how I had been talked into taking that valuable watch.
“The ruby ring?” he asked, with a brow lifted in concern.
“Ruby? He said it was garnet.”
“Looked like a ruby to me. I would not advise you to accept anything but cash from him, Miss Irving. One dislikes to speak ill of a man behind his back, but I once bought a watch from him and lived to regret it.”
“A constable came and relieved me of it. I narrowly avoided incarceration myself. ‘Receiving stolen goods,’ I believe was the charge. I managed to convince them of my innocence.”
“You mean he is a thief! He said he bought up bankrupt shops and households.”
“He does that, too, upon occasion.” My distress must have been evident, for he said. “Miss Irving! You haven’t ... ?”
“A watch,” I said, and drew it from my pocket. Now that I knew why he had asked for secrecy, I did not feel guilty about revealing the transaction. “I got it for Miss Thackery’s birthday. She lost her watch. Oh, dear, I must give it back to him at once. I wish you had warned me, Mr. Alger.”
“It was my intention to warn Sharkey off from pulling this stunt on you. I even—” He stopped and just frowned.
“You gave him money to pay his rent! You did, confess it, Mr. Alger. I saw you giving him money.”
“You don’t miss much! It was a loan. He always repays his loans, one way or another.”
“That was very kind of you, but I fear kindness is wasted on Mr. Sharkey. I shall ask him to leave.”
“Oh, I would not be too hasty, Miss Irving,” he said, with an ingratiating smile. “Heaven knows who you would find to replace him. He is having a difficult time making ends meet at the moment, but he always pays eventually. He supports his widowed mother, you see, and four younger sisters.”
“That is kind of him to be sure, but I shall give back his watch all the same.”
We went to Mr. Sharkey’s room and knocked on his door. There was no answer. We ran straight downstairs, only to find that Mr. Sharkey had left. “I shall give it back to him first thing tomorrow,” I said, “and in the meanwhile, I shall hide it in a vase, in case the constable comes to search me.”
“They are not allowed to search your house without a warrant,” Mr. Alger said. I must have looked suspicious, because he felt obliged to explain his knowledge of this fact. “You will not be acquainted with Sharkey for long without learning the rudiments of your legal rights,” he said, with a smile. “It is quite an experience, learning how the other half lives, is it not?”
“ ‘Experience’ is one word for it.”
“You must not let yourself become so upset over these trifles, Miss Irving.”
“Trifles! I am a receiver of stolen goods! I might be locked in the roundhouse before morning.”
“Perhaps he came by the watch legitimately. And in the worst case, I can recommend an excellent lawyer. He will get you off with a couple of years. I am joking, Miss Irving! I think you require a glass of wine.”
He poured a glass of wine and took one himself. I could see Mr. Alger was upset over something. He was silent, and wore a puzzled frown as he sipped his wine. But before he left, he made the effort to be more sociable.
“You have not forgotten we are to visit Somerset House tomorrow?”
“No, I have asked Miss Thackery to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I should have told you to invite her. That was remiss of me.”
It was the gentlemanly thing to say, yet I was a little disappointed that he was not disappointed at her coming. He soon went upstairs, and Miss Thackery joined me. She had made tea and brought a tray to the saloon. We discussed how we would rearrange the room tomorrow, now that we were rid of most of the excess lumber. I would ask Mullard to chop up the few remaining pieces for firewood. Miss Whately could have one of the spare carpets, and no doubt one of the other tenants would be happy to take the other off our hands.
Miss Thackery noticed the wine decanter was empty and asked Mrs. Scudpole to bring a fresh bottle. She brought it and said grimly, “This is the last bottle in the house.”
“Surely my aunt had a wine cellar? Did you look in the cellar?”
“I got this one from the cellar. The last one.” She gave us a dirty look and left.
I did not mention the watch to Miss Thackery. She would want to turn Sharkey off at once, but I kept thinking of the poor man—having to support himself and his mother and four sisters. Another tenant to feel sorry for.
Chapter Seven
It had been arranged that I would take over my aunt’s bedchamber, while Miss Thackery slept in the room we had both used the night before. We retired early, which was a very good thing, for from one o’clock onward, we scarcely got a wink of sleep that night. At one o’clock, Miss Whately came home utterly foxed. The colonel was in a similar condition. We had determined earlier that the tenants each had their own key for the front door, but the job of inserting a key in the lock was beyond the combined talents of the pair of them. They banged on the door, frightening the life out of Miss Thackery and myself. When we tiptoed into the hallway, armed with a poker and a water jug respectively, the giggles and singing on the other side of the door told us what was going forth.
There they stood, leaning against each other for support, smiling like a pair of moonlings. Miss Whately’s bonnet was knocked sadly askew, and her gown looked as if she had slept in it. The colonel’s cravat hung around her neck. He looked excessively rakish with his cravat missing from his toilette.
“Oh Mizz Cummings, I’ve gone and forgot my key,” Miss Whately said, and laughed uproariously. She held the key in her fingers, but it was a key from the colonel’s ring that was wedged partway into the lock.
The colonel smiled blearily when the door opened. “You see I am in deshabille,” he said, slurring the words. “This young miss took my cravat. She could talk a cow out of its heifer.” He looked at his key—and at the open door. “Told you mine would work,” he said to Miss Whately. “Always opens my door.”
“I’m glad something about you works, Jack,” Miss Whately replied, with a lecherous wink in my direction.
She stepped in; the colonel tried to follow. I let Miss Whately pass, but put my arm out to bar him from the door. “Good night, Colonel,” I said firmly.
“Eh? Why, it is the shank of the evening. Renie has asked me up for a glass of wine.”
“You have already had quite enough wine.”
“I have not touched a drop! I have been drinking brandy.”
He tried to barge past me, but his innate breeding prevented him from manhandling a lady. Soon he discovered something else to divert him. My dressing gown had come a bit loose as I worked to keep him out. He peered down it and said, “I say! That’s a bit of all right!”
“Colonel Stone!” I exclaimed, clutching my gown about me.
“Don’t mind him, dearie.” Miss Whately smiled in a fatuous way and slid his cravat around my neck. “He talks a good game but there is no vice in Jack, is there, darling?”
“No, no. I am Simon Pure.” He smiled, reaching to snatch my gown open.
I gave his hand a hard slap. “Go home, Colonel,” I said severely, and closed the door. I set the lock and turned to Miss Whately.
“Jack likes that, you know,” she said, nodding her head wisely. “A bit of slap and tickle is just up his alley.”
“Can you get upstairs by yourself?” I asked.
“We’d best give her a hand or she will rouse the house,” Miss Thackery said. As her flat was on the third floor—and it was fourpence to a groat she would not be able to get her key in her lock anyway—we assisted Miss Whately upstairs. She spoke loudly in her resonant voice all the while, as if she were pitching her lines to the farther row of the balcony.
“A lovely man, the colonel, Mizz Cummings. What a grand meal he bought me.” She stumbled and nearly sent Miss Thackery tumbling downstairs. “Oh, you’re not Mizz Cummings. You’re Mizz Thatr- Miss T.”
When we finally got her up one flight, she burst into song at the top of her lungs. “My Jack’s a Soldier,” was the song, and she sang it lustily.
Mrs. Clarke’s door opened a crack. “Oh, it is only Renie,” she said, stifling a yawn, and closed her door again.
Almost at once, Mr. Alger’s door opened. I was surprised
to see he was still wearing his evening suit. I had thought he would have retired by one o’clock.
“Can I give you a hand, Miss Irving?” he asked, and came to assist us. “Shame on you, Renie,” he scolded, but he scolded tolerantly. “What will Miss Irving think of you?”
“Oh, ho! Miss Irving ain’t as nice as she’s cracked herself up to be, Algie. She was rolling her eyes at my Jack. I saw you flaunting your bosom at him, Miss Irving,” she said, shaking a finger at me. I gasped in dismay.
“I would like to have seen that,” Mr. Alger said, grinning. Then he got a strong arm around Miss Whately and began urging her forth.
Miss Whately fell back in his arms. With her unfocused eyes gazing up at Mr. Alger, she crooned, “ ‘My Jack’s a soldier; he’s gone to war.’ He’s a grand man, is Jack,” she added, not in song. “And you’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Algie. You’ll join me for a wee glass of wine when we get rid of her,” she said, tossing her curls in my direction. “But you must not seduce me, naughty boy.” So saying, she wrapped both her dimpled arms around his neck and attacked him.
Mr. Alger gave an appealing glance, and I went to his assistance. We finally got her in motion again. Miss Thackery and I took her arms; Mr. Alger put his weight behind her; we nudged her upstairs one step at a time, to the accompaniment of yelps and giggles and song. I unlocked her door, and we deposited her on the sofa.
“We should not leave her like this,” Miss Thackery said. “We ought to get her into bed.”
“Oh Miss T”—she smiled—”you are giving Algie ideas.”
“She will have a crick in her neck by morning, rolled up on that little sofa,” Miss Thackery said with a tsk.
“She will have worse than a crick in her neck. Her head will feel like a thundercloud, but that is not our fault,” I said. “Let us leave her. I am sorry we disturbed you, Mr. Alger, but I see you had not retired yet.”
“Happy to help. I was just reading over some correspondence for Dolman,” he replied. “I shall turn in now.”
We left him at his door and went downstairs. It was not easy to recapture sleep after such a disturbing interlude. We discussed whether we should turn Miss Whately off, considering the disruption she caused our other tenants. By two o’clock I was beginning to doze off again. At five past two, there was an infernal pounding on the front door. Of course it roused Miss Thackery, too. She came to my door and said, “Who can that be?”