Dear Laura

by Jean Stubbs

  The prostitute is the most efficient guardian of virtue. But for her, the unchallenged purity of countless happy homes would be polluted.

  History of European Morals – W. E. H. Lecky

  ‘MRS MOLLY FLYNN? My name is Inspector Lintott of Scotland Yard. Is it convenient to come in, my dear, or shall I come back?’

  ‘I was expecting a friend in about an hour,’ said Mrs Flynn delicately, ‘but come in, pray. Always delighted to assist the police in their duties.’

  She pinched her vowels and held on to the consonants as though they were intimate friends, but Lintott detected a native Cockney striving to get out. Furthermore, though her dark red dress was of good quality and fitted well, it fell short of elegance. Mrs Flynn’s fondness for pleated frills rose from hem to bodice, and the bodice was something lower than a lady would have worn in the afternoon. Her waistline had been achieved at the cost of extremely tight lacing, and combined to a volatile nature tended to render her slightly breathless. She rouged a little, powdered more, used patchouli lavishly, but set her fancy free on jewellery.

  ‘You’d be worth knocking down and robbing, Mrs Flynn,’ said Lintott waggishly, placing his hard hat on one of the several little tables scattered about the room. It rocked gently.

  ‘I’d like to see anybody try!’ cried his hostess, forgetting herself. ‘Take a look at that!’

  Whereupon she flexed a plump white arm. The muscles stood out ripely.

  ‘Now I do like a woman of spirit. Shall I sit here, my dear? You make yourself very comfortable, don’t you?’

  The chair was over-stuffed, like all the furniture, and bore a curious resemblance to its owner. She had been making up her mind about him. Now she smiled frankly and good-naturedly, and he grinned back.

  ‘I’ve done nothink wrong, dear,’ she said, doffing the acquired accent. ‘And you know I haven’t. This is a private house. I pay my rates and taxes. I don’t have no trouble with the police nor my neighbours. Nobody’s ever complained about me.’

  ‘Well, they won’t, will they, Molly? I can call you Molly, can’t I? They’re on the same dodge as yourself.’

  ‘Have a lush, do!’ she coaxed, ignoring the remark.

  ‘Not while I’m on duty, Molly. But don’t let me stop you having your drop, my dear.’

  She threw back her head and laughed, showing a fine strong throat. Given another twenty years and her present prosperity, she could retire to some respectable place and set herself up as a respectable citizen, and probably would.

  ‘Shall I read your mind, Molly?’ Lintott asked, ‘so that we understand one another? I’m not here to beef or blow.’

  ‘I’m with you, dear.’

  ‘I know you keep a nice house, and I’ll wager you could show me your marriage lines, too.’

  She poured herself half a tumbler of gin and nodded in the direction of her walnut bureau.

  ‘I thought so, Molly. Very good, my dear. I’ll lay another little bet. There’s even a Mr Flynn round. Not quick-tempered as a rule, but a well-set-up chap that could turn nasty if anyone made trouble while they were here. You’re not Irish, though, Molly.’

  ‘Whitechapel, born and bred. Have a cigar? They’re good ones. Havanas.’

  ‘Not just now, my dear, thankee. But you light up, if you’ve a fancy for them. I’ll give you a glim,’ and he struck the match for her cigar, which she inhaled with considerable enjoyment. ‘Is your husband at home, Molly?’

  ‘Down in the kitchen, reading his paper. He’ll come up if you want him,’ and she indicated the bell-rope at her elbow.

  ‘I’d rather have you to myself, if he makes no objection, my dear.’

  She shrugged her magnificent shoulders.

  ‘He don’t mind.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he does. A clever wife, popular among her friends, plenty of finnies to spend, and nothing to do but throw the Lushington’s out. Am I right?’

  She smiled broadly and nodded, drinking her gin, drawing on the cigar, eyes half closed and glinting beneath shaded lids.

  ‘And Mr Flynn is quite the family man. Having no kynchin of his own he fetches his nieces over from Ireland to give them a holiday. Some of ’em like it so much here that they stay years. Lovely girls, eh? I’ll bet you’re better than a mother to those girls, aren’t you, Molly?’

  ‘A lot better,’ she said, shrewd and amiable and hard-headed as himself. ‘Their mothers’d have to watch them starve, wouldn’t they? Virtue never filled any woman’s belly. They come here to find husbands.’

  ‘I was just coming to that,’ said Lintott, thoroughly enjoying himself with someone of his own calibre. ‘Plenty of courting going on, eh, Molly? But they can’t find anyone to suit their fancy, until they’re too old for the dodge. Then off they go, I daresay?’

  ‘Some of them get comfortably settled. Some of them aren’t so smart. I settle them when I can.’

  ‘Ah! You’re a kind-hearted lass. I’ll lay that there are one or two city gentlemen that think so, too. Only one or two, mind. The sort that like the best of everything. And you’re particular, aren’t you, my dear?’

  She watched and drank and smoked: as cool as himself.

  ‘Does the name of Theodore Crozier mean anything to you, Molly?’

  ‘I’ve never entertained a gentleman of that name.’

  ‘Tall, dark, quite a toff. Newgate knockers,’ sketching invisible side-whiskers. ‘Going grey. Square-rigged,’ well-dressed. ‘Plenty of soft,’ rubbing invisible money between his fingers. ‘You know, Molly.’

  She shook her head, but a wariness in her manner alerted him.

  ‘I like you, Molly. Even though you do keep a ken full of judies, and a cash carrier to look out for the lot of you. And I think you can help me so I’m going to be nice to you. I’ll give you the lie of the land.’

  He had begun to see what Theodore was looking for, and though he thought him a fool he could not wholly condemn him. A mature man with an appetite for red meat might well find Laura and domesticity an insipid diet.

  It wasn’t her fault, Lintott thought with pity. She couldn’t be a Molly if she tried for a lifetime. Not that she’d want to try. She’s got a good enough opinion of herself. But she’s not Molly.

  For here was a man’s woman, not subtle, not complex, not hampered by good manners or delicate health or an ingrained regard for propriety. Molly knew that life was for living, and she enjoyed it. She could help others to enjoy it, too. A hard day in the city, the knowledge that at home your wife was suffering from migraine behind drawn blinds, could make a man turn towards South Pimlico and a hearty welcome. Molly would be there, with a laugh that warmed you like a bowl of hot soup on a cold day. No fine needlework, no chilly silences. A bottle of excellent wine, a first-class cigar, a joke rich enough to tell at the club. No pale beauty, no soft-voiced charm. A high colour, robust health and loud good temper.

  A man could be as easy with Molly as with another man, and then delight in her as a woman. She could smoke and drink with him, laugh with him. She held no illusions that might be shattered. She had no heart to be broken. She took her pleasures lightly, like a man, and gave pleasure in return. So long as you were prepared to pay through the nose, Molly would make up for any number of estranged wives.

  You aren’t my cup of tea, Lintott reflected, but I can see you might well have been his.

  ‘I’m going to describe Mr Theodore Crozier and the sort of life I think he led, Molly. I want you to listen, and if you recollect such a gentleman let me know. It’s very important, Molly, because he died a short time ago.’

  Her face changed. She was hearing something she did not want to hear, something that might affect her.

  ‘I must find out how he died. Whether he took his own life, or whether some member of his family did away with him. Are you attending to me carefully, my dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied stoutly, ‘I am. I’ve nothink on my conscience. I shouldn’t be such a fool, I hope. Go on, then!’
r />   ‘Mr Crozier came of a good family. Went to a public school. Never knew what it was to go short of anything – not like your early days, I’ll lay!’ She raised her eyebrows, but did not contradict him. ‘Mr Crozier was only twenty-two when his father died, leaving him with the responsibility of the family firm – that big toyshop in the city – his widowed mother and a brother nine years old. Being of a serious turn of mind he took his responsibilities seriously. Instead of sowing a few wild oats, taking a look round at the world, he put himself in bondage. And in bondage he stayed for the next eleven years, until he had enough time and money to find a wife and set up housekeeping on his own account. His mother had died. His young brother was studying medicine. Mr Crozier chose well. He was accepted by a young lady whose beauty and virtue – and dowry, let’s not forget that little item! – were beyond reproach.’

  Molly made a face, laughed, and puffed at her Havana.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think about good women, one day,’ she said. ‘It’d surprise you, the tales I hear in this room – or that one,’ nodding at the adjoining chamber, which was dominated by an over-stuffed four-poster. ‘Good women are mean.’

  ‘Not all of them aren’t,’ Lintott chided, pained for his Bessie.

  ‘Mean,’ said Molly, ‘and having. I never did like a having woman. I work for my living – oh, you might turn your nose up at me, but I earn my keep, dear! I pay my way, and everybody’s satisfied all round. Ask any of my gentleman friends what they think of Molly Flynn. They’ll tell you.’

  ‘I’m sure they would,’ replied Lintott, mildly amused. ‘Anyway, you follow what I’m saying, do you?’

  ‘Yes. He got tired of her having a headache, and looked round for a bit of fun. I cost them less, too,’ Molly went on, aggrieved. ‘Good women must have an establishment and fancy gowns. They breed good children, too, that have to be educated at good schools and have good dowries. Don’t tell me! And then the bitches have a headache. Give me an honest tail anytime! A clean, good-hearted judy. They’re worth half a dozen ladies!’

  ‘You’re quite the orator, Molly. Well, well. So he looked round for a bit of fun, as you say, at last. And by this time he was in his late forties. A dangerous age, Molly, for a man to meet a bonny lass like you, after a lifetime of cold respectability. And he went head over heels, didn’t he?’

  She was puzzled, sipping her gin, stubbing out the cigar.

  ‘You’ve come to the wrong drum, dear. You have really.’

  ‘Wait a bit, Molly. Wait a bit, and listen. He fell in love – it does happen. Don’t tell me nobody’s fallen in love with you. I shan’t believe it.’

  ‘Boys,’ said Molly, laughing. ‘Boys, dear. A very young man might take me a bit too serious, being his first. But none of them ever died of it!’

  ‘He wrote letters,’ Lintott persisted, obdurate now. ‘And you kept them. You knew he had plenty of the soft, and you wanted to part him from a bit more. So you put the finger on him. You stopped his carriage one day, and spoke to him. The coachman can identify you. But Mr Crozier wasn’t going to play if he could help it. It’s bad enough for a man to be scorched, without being robbed atop of it! You went to the house, and took a few letters to frighten him – and the parlourmaid can identify you, too.’

  Her colour was higher than the rouge, her eyes guarded.

  ‘Molly, I’m surprised at you!’ said Lintott, still with the same obdurate patience, but friendly. ‘I shouldn’t have thought you’d stoop to blackmail.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put the finger on anybody!’ she cried. ‘Not because it’s beneath me – there ain’t many things as is beneath me – but because I don’t want the crushers on my back. You can’t find anythink wrong here. You’ll never put me in the stir. That’s the truth – and you know it!’

  Lintott’s face was expressionless, his disappointment bitter.

  ‘Molly, it’s taken me days to track you down, my girl. I’ve found the driver of the hansom cab that took you to Wimbledon. I’ve checked and double-checked. You’re my quarry – and you know it!’

  ‘Oh, I took the letters to him,’ Molly admitted. ‘I didn’t know what the package was, but it could have been letters. I wasn’t bothered, either way. When you’re well paid to drive out and deliver a message, and then driven back as easy as you please, you don’t ask rude questions.’

  ‘Ah!’ Lintott breathed.

  He could have slept, out of relief, out of weariness. ‘Here,’ said Molly, ‘you’re tired out, dear. Have a drop of brandy. I’ll not peach on you at the Yard!’

  And she laughed most splendidly.

  ‘Just another minute, my dear. I’ve got a job to do. Did you know Mr Theodore Crozier personally?’

  ‘Never. He’s never been here. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? He’s never fallen in love with me. And he’s never written me no letters. There’s the truth again!’

  ‘I believe you. Who used you as messenger, then?’

  ‘It was a favour for a friend, and I’m not saying who.’

  ‘Oh yes, you are, my dear. Because if you don’t I’ll have you arrested and charged for blackmail. And then we’ll be making a few inquiries about this house of yours, and Mr Flynn ain’t half as clever as his wife! Savvy? Now blab!’

  She poured another gin and her hand was steady. She pondered.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m no nose, but I shan’t take the knock for anybody else. His name is Mr Rice. I’ll give you his address.’

  ‘Another cash carrier?’ Prostitute’s manager.

  She smiled suddenly.

  ‘No, he’s a charitable gentleman. Very well liked. Very respected.’

  ‘A client of yours?’

  ‘No, not that, neither.’

  ‘Give me the address, Molly. This case is a blessed honeycomb. I keep a-popping out of one place and into another, and they all look alike tome!’

  ‘You’re sure you won’t take a drop of somethink to keep the cold out?’

  ‘No, thankee, my dear. I’ll say good-day to you.’

  She said, ‘I don’t want no trouble, you know. And I’m looking for none.’

  ‘You needn’t fret,’ Lintott replied, ironic. ‘It’s the fools and the unfortunates that get caught. The clever ones, like you, will be living in clover while I’m still plodding the streets!’

  21

  I am not ashamed of taking a thing that is given in love and affection; I am proud of it.

  De Profundis – Oscar Wilde

  MR RICE seemed to exist in a world of lubrication. Macassar upon his hair, to conceal the grey and coax a sleek curl on either side of his forehead; wax on the upward-turned moustaches; and a gloss of skin bestowed only by nature. His hands moved slowly and restlessly together as though a modicum of oil lay perpetually in his palms. His voice and manner were exceptionally smooth, and he even favoured the softer fabrics – being very emerald and magnificent in a velvet jacket, at six o’clock of an evening.

  Lintott disliked him at sight, concealing his reaction as always behind a plain good-natured countenance and opaque eyes. The drawing-room was as hushed and voluptuous as Mr Rice, and the inspector’s vibrant tones were muffled in plush curtains and hangings. On the walls hung portraits of innocent, nubile girls in Greek draperies, bending over doves and flowers and sea shells. And Lintott’s heavy boots drowned in thick carpet.

  Something too – soft – here, altogether, he thought. Something nasty. Something I don’t care for at all.

  Beating down the atmosphere, like a man beating off a suffocation of feathers, Lintott came to the point.

  ‘I understand that you paid a Mrs Molly Flynn to deliver a packet of letters to the late Mr Theodore Crozier.’

  Mr Rice fiddled with his rings, smile set and eyes careful, and did not answer.

  ‘I want to know about it,’ said Lintott. ‘I shall know about it, make no mistake.’

  ‘Difficult, my dear sir,’ Rice replied, watching him. ‘A matter of considerable de
licacy.’

  ‘I’m delicate,’ said Lintott doggedly, ‘as delicate as anyone could wish. I’ve got secrets locked up here,’ pointing to his knobbed forehead, ‘as wild horses wouldn’t drag out. I’m making no trouble unless I have to, and then I’ll show you what trouble is, my friend.’

  ‘Do sit down,’ Rice murmured. ‘My dear sir, sit down, pray. This will take some explanation and some time.’

  ‘I have a mort of time,’ said Lintott, selecting a high-backed chair, less upholstered than the rest.

  Mr Rice found the truth an unsavoury morsel in any event. As a meal it became an ordeal of tortuous proportions. But he began circuitously, creeping further and a little further towards the purpose of the inspector’s visit.

  ‘I am fortunate, sir, in having some private means. I am not rich,’ he added quickly, spreading out his arms to show Lintott how empty they were though clad in fine velvet. ‘Not rich at all, my dear sir. But I have means, and I have – I say this with due modesty – I have a heart.’

  Lintott’s nostrils lifted. It might have been the man’s scent, it might have been instinct. It might have been both.

  ‘I look around me,’ purred Mr Rice, ‘at the distressing conditions in this Glorious Age. The Queen, my dear sir …’

  ‘God bless her,’ said Lintott reverently. ‘God bless her.’

  ‘… indeed. I go on these knees every night, my good sir – I am a religious man – and I pray that she be spared to us for many, many years.’

  ‘So you’re well-lined, religious and warm-hearted,’ Lintott summed up briskly. ‘A philanthropist, in fact. You are telling me you are a philanthropist?’

  ‘You put it so well, Inspector. In my humble way, sir, I do what I can.’

  ‘Fetch little children in off the street, perhaps? Girls?’

  Mr Rice flung up his hands in outrage.

  ‘You mistake me, I can see. If you will forgive me, Inspector, you deal with the saddest and darkest side of Human Nature. And, oh, how sad and dark our Natures can be! Dear, dear! No, no. Let those who will – and they do, you know and I know – let them take advantage of a child’s purity. None of that here, Inspector. None of that. I swear upon my mother’s Holy Memory and this …’ – and he laid his fingers upon a very large Bible – ‘… the Holy Book. I swear it, I should take it as quite a favour if I was struck down for telling a lie!’