Kitty now considered what she knew about Nobs. From her post in the kitchen she could see the Nobs coming to Miss Harmon’s in their carriages. Nobs did not patronize the other shops in King Street. Miss Harmon’s was something special, and Kitty had gained a certain amount of prestige just by working there, even in her menial capacity. Her friends in The Lanes had begged for some of the scraps that Kitty could filch from the well-stocked kitchen. Miss Harmon kept such goodies for Nobs: chocolate biscuits, and oranges and peppermint drops. Nobs liked sweets, Kitty decided.
If this new ’un was a Nob, being held to ransom (as she said), then there just might be something to what she promised. Kitty tucked the locket into the waistband of her skirt, well under her apron, and set about her chores. The locket would keep for now; Miss Harmon’s return was imminent, and the care and feeding of the other girls was more important than the possible friendship of one little girl up in the attic.
The girls straggled in, pulling their hats off. Miss Harmon looked worried, but refrained from talking until her young charges had been sent upstairs to their respective rooms to wash for their afternoon meal. Then she sat down in her tiny office and rang for Mrs. Gurney.
The Madam heaved herself out of her comfortable chair in the kitchen and waddled upstairs to confront her putative employer.
“Wot’s amiss?” Madam demanded.
“Something dreadful has happened. Those girls insisted on watching some old man being brought in, drowned, off the beach, from under the Chain Pier. Madge, it was Keeble!”
Madge grunted, “Drunk, no doubt, and fell over. Just as well; ’e was a danger to us. Wot news from Lunnon?”
Miss Harmon shook her head. “Too soon to hear from Mrs. J.,” she reminded her confederate. “The Guv’nor’s letter would be delivered by now. Lord R. will read it, and then …”
“ ’E’ll pull out,” the Madam said with satisfaction. “It’ll be in the papers tomorrer.”
“I don’t know,” Miss Harmon said slowly. “I warned the Guv’nor this might not work to our advantage. I have had dealings with Lord Richard Marbury in the past.”
“So? Either ’e’ll quit or ’e won’t. Either way, ’is daughter’s a ’ore.”
“Be quiet, you old cow!” Miss Harmon spat out. “What about our little prize upstairs? How has she been?” For the first time she noticed the scratches on the Madam’s face and hands. “What on earth happened to you?” Miss Harmon demanded.
“That little firecat tried to get out when I opened the door to give ’er ’er breakfast,” Madge snarled. “I put ’er to scrubbing out the chamberpots. That quieted ’er down!”
Miss Harmon stiffened. “You let her out of the attic? When I told you she was to be strictly kept?”
Madge blustered, “I was right there every minute! She couldn’t get away, not without ’er clothes, she couldn’t!”
“You may have been there, but you were at the gin again,” Miss Harmon hissed. “If she and Kitty … Kitty!”
The scrawny little slavey was dolefully scrubbing potatoes. At the urgent summons of the bell, she scrambled to her feet and ran up the stairs to stand before her employer. “Yes, Miss Harmon?”
“Come over here.” Miss Harmon’s eyes were like chips of green glass in her white face. “Did you talk to that new girl?”
“ ’Ow could I, Miss Harmon, wif Madam right there?” Kitty sniveled. “All I done was show ’er ’ow to clean ’em pots. She don’t know nuffin’, that ’un!”
Miss Harmon caught Kitty by the chin and glared down at her. “If you are lying to me, you will regret it,” she said softly. “Now, get on with your work. And do not talk to that new girl again.”
Madge watched until Kitty was out of sight. Then she said, “Wot’s to be done?”
“Quiet. I have to think,” Miss Harmon said. “Mrs. J. doesn’t want the little girl harmed.”
“Tender-’earted of ’er,” Madam sniffed.
“Practical,” Miss Harmon countered. “All the child knows now is that she’s in some house in Brighton. She doesn’t know what goes on here, or who we are. Unless Kitty’s been talking—in which case, she knows far too much. I have to go out,” she said suddenly. “I have to send some telegrams.”
The Madam looked alarmed. “ ’Ere now! Yer know what Mrs. J. said! You was to ’ave free rein ’ere, but no more than that!”
“Mrs. J. doesn’t know the half of it,” Miss Harmon said. She opened a drawer in her desk and took out several banknotes. “I may be gone for a while. Give those lazy girls their luncheon and see that Kitty stays in the kitchen. Don’t go near that attic.”
“Don’t Missy get fed?”
“Bread and cheese, and you make sure she doesn’t get out again. I have an idea.” Miss Harmon smiled, not pleasantly. “According to my sources, our godly Rector, Mr. Barclay, is planning some kind of meeting.”
“About wot?”
“About us,” Miss Harmon said, snapping her reticule shut. “Mrs. J. should know about it. And then we can make our own plans. As for the girl … there’s always Monsieur LeBrun.”
“You mean you’re not goin’ ter …?”
“Let her go?” Miss Harmon sneered. “Not now. I know Lord Richard. Mrs. J. thinks she can bully him, but she’s wrong about him. He was bullied once; he won’t be bullied again. And since we have the girl, we might as well get some use out of her. Monsieur LeBrun can be here in two days, and little Alicia will be on her way to France by Wednesday.”
“Mrs. J. don’t like it when ’er orders ain’t carried out,” Madam said stubbornly. “And seemingly, the kid’s to be let go.”
“Mrs. J. isn’t in charge here, I am.” Miss Harmon adjusted her hat and gloves.
“It’s Mrs. J. as is payin’ fer all this,” Madam reminded her. “It’s Mrs. J. as found Mr. Carstairs to let the house.”
“And it was my idea in the first place to take a house here in Brighton for the season,” Miss Harmon retorted. “I’ve put plenty into Mrs. J.’s pocket this summer. If Lord Richard’s Bill goes through, we all stand to lose a great deal more than money.”
“All the more reason to keep the kid safe,” the Madam said. “And if ’e calls in the Yard?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Miss Harmon said. “That minx he married won’t let him.”
“You never can tell with Nobs,” the Madam said with a shrug.
“Then he must call them off,” Miss Harmon decided. “Keep that girl quiet, and out of sight. And stay off the gin!”
Miss Harmon swept down the hall and out the door, down the three stairs and out onto King Street. Kitty watched from her post in the area yard as Miss Harmon stepped daintily into the street, only to be accosted by a man in a gray suit.
From her place under the steps, Kitty saw only the legs of the man and Miss Harmon’s figured cotton skirt. Their voices, however, were low but clear.
“You!” Miss Harmon sounded upset. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in London!”
“I was,” the man told her. “Something’s gone wrong. That old fool Dodgson turned up at Marbury’s door with some quack in tow, and Marbury’s sent for Scotland Yard.”
Miss Harmon hissed a word that Kitty did not even think she knew. “What about the note?”
“Oh, it was delivered. And rejected out of hand.”
“This changes everything. Go away, you can’t be seen here! Find somewhere else to be.”
“But, Julia?” The man’s voice sounded even more upset than Miss Harmon’s.
“Now is not the time, or the place. Let me think.”
“What are you going to do?”
Miss Harmon’s voice was firm. “I am going to change our plans.”
“Mrs. J. won’t like it.”
“That’s too bad. Have you notified her?”
“Of course, before I left London. She’s already taken some steps to call off our friends. I just had to see you before—”
“All right, you’ve seen m
e. Now get away, before someone sees you!”
The man’s legs moved off, as Miss Harmon’s voice called crisply after him, “Yes, sir, the Grand Parade is at the end of North Street, right ’round the corner.”
Then Kitty heard Miss Harmon’s heels tap-tapping on the pavement as she walked down the street in the opposite direction.
So the new ’un really was the daughter of some Nob! Perhaps she really could get Kitty out of the kitchen and into a nice position as an upstairs maid, where she could wear a nice dress and not have to scrub chamberpots. Kitty had no illusions as to her place in life: she could never work for Miss Harmon in the parlor, not with her snaggly teeth and red hands. Besides, she didn’t fancy having to do it all night, not with those fat gentlemen she’d seen from her place under the stairs.
She peeped out of the scullery. The Madam was busy at the stove, stirring the soup pot.
Carefully, she eased the locket out of her waistband and examined it. It was real, she decided: a gold chain with a gold pendant with a picture of a shield engraved on it, three birds in a row. Kitty could not read, but the carriages that stopped in front of the house sometimes had pictures on them, and Miss Harmon had said they were crests and the gentlemen who stepped out of them were Nobs. So: a crest meant a Nob, and a Nob was someone very important and very rich.
Kitty thought hard. Miss Harmon had captured some Nob’s little girl, and was holding her to make the Nob do something. If Kitty told the coppers where the Nob’s little girl was, they might even pay her a reward for it. Then, even if the little girl didn’t do what she promised, Kitty would have the reward.
The only sticking point was the copper. There was one, Kitty knew, who came by every afternoon around teatime, to check the doors of the shops on either side of the house. Saturday was Early Closing Day, so he’d come ’round earlier. If she got the locket to him, Kitty reasoned to herself, then the bargain with Alicia would be satisfied, and she could claim her rewards, both from the coppers and the little girl.
That decided, Kitty was jolted out of her reverie by the Madam’s harsh voice: “Get in ’ere wi’ them taters, yer good-fer-nothin’. Think yer in Lunnon already, do yer?”
“What, mum?”
Madge’s hand fell on Kitty’s shoulder. “Promised yer Lunnon if yer helped ’er? Well, she’s goin’ ter France, where she’ll do yer no good. Now, git upstairs and make up them beds. The gentlemen’ll be by this afternoon, and the rooms ain’t been swept out, nor the linens changed. Miss Harmon don’t like it when the rooms ain’t tidied.”
“Yes, mum.” Kitty bowed her head over the brooms and dustpans. She would have to wait until after the girls had settled down in the parlor for their afternoon customers. She only hoped that the young copper would stop by for a chat with the maid next door, and that she could get to the areaway when he did.
For the next two hours, Kitty swept, dusted, and polished, ever conscious of the tiny locket tucked into her waistband. She was at the dustbins in the areaway when the stalwart young policeman, Constable Kenneth Corrigan, came striding down King Street. He knew he looked very spruce in his new blue tunic and helmet, and he practically bounced down the street, carefully nodding to each of the proprietors of the shops to show that the Brighton Constabulary was on the job. He almost passed by the narrow house between the stationers and the greengrocer. As far as he knew, this was Miss Harmon’s establishment. He had seen young ladies going in and out. He had been informed (loftily) that it was no business of his who or what lived there, so long as it remained quiet during the daytime. Therefore, Constable Corrigan was not prepared to hear a hissing noise from below his feet in the areaway.
He looked down to find the source of the noise. A scrawny servant girl in a dirty brownish dress covered with a coarse gingham apron hissed at him again.
“She’s ’ere!” she whispered, and tossed something at him.
At that moment, Miss Harmon turned the corner. She saw the policeman bending down at the areaway and hastened to see what was happening.
Constable Corrigan straightened up and saluted the lady smartly. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Is there something wrong, Constable?” Miss Harmon asked sweetly, peering over his shoulder.
“Not at all, ma’am. I thought I heard a noise, but it was only a cat,” Corrigan improvised.
“Really?” Miss Harmon’s eyes were hard, but her smile was as sweet as ever.
“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.” Corrigan saluted again, and strode off. Tucked into the palm of the hand that clutched his baton was the gold locket that the slavey had dropped at his feet.
Miss Harmon looked into the areaway again. No one was there. The constable had been polite, there was no sign of anyone else about … a large yellow cat emerged from the nearest dustbin, as if to prove the constable’s story.
Miss Harmon took a deep breath. It was going to work, she told herself. She had sent telegrams to certain persons and set certain things in motion. Lord Richard Marbury was going to find out what humiliation really was, just as Julia Harmon had learned so many years before, when he had promised her everything and given her … nothing.
CHAPTER 14
Saturday afternoon, and the rain had held off for nearly three days. Brighton was at the height of its season, and while the shops selling assorted mundane wares in the inner streets might be shut, the stalls where refreshment could be had were doing a booming business. Winkles, chips, and pickles for those whose appetites were whetted by the salt-laden air and the sight of so much femininity on the beach displaying shapely ankles and sunburned arms; ices, boiled sweets, and biscuits for those who were in the mood for something less substantial. Teashops were spaced invitingly along the Esplanade, where a lady could sit without fear of being accosted by some masher, while taverns for the stronger sex were tucked into the odd corners between the grand hotels.
On the pebbled beach, children dashed about, while their distracted mamas and nannies called after them in pleading tones. Young men, whose usual habitat was a dark office or a crowded shop, removed their jackets to display shirts of dazzling whiteness or vivid stripes, while their companions in the working world, those young women who were timidly stepping into otherwise male preserves, watched on admiringly. Brawnier specimens of manhood, farmers and village craftsmen on their holidays, laughed at the pretensions of the rising middle classes, and joked good-naturedly with their friends as they ate their home-baked bread and cheese sandwiches, and filled their eyes with images of the passing scene, to be related to those less fortunate over the next few months at the local pub.
Dr. Doyle led Mr. Dodgson through this throng, away from John Street and back down to the Esplanade, stopping only to buy the Pall Mall Gazette at one of the news vendors’ stands, much to Mr. Dodgson’s disgust. He carried the offensive publication down to the Esplanade, where he found a space on one of the benches and sat down to examine his purchase. Mr. Dodgson sat down with him, but refused to watch him read.
“How can you read that dreadful thing?” he fussed. “Now is no time to indulge in salacious gossip and innuendo. We must find that child!”
“It never hurts to know what the enemy is up to,” Dr. Doyle pronounced. “Look at this! There must have been some of the Fourth Estate present this morning; there’s a vivid description of Mrs. Jeffries’s triumphal march, including her challenge to Lord Richard Marbury.”
Mr. Dodgson snatched the newspaper from his companion’s hand and peered at it intently.
“To the very letter,” he agreed, when he had carefully read the paragraphs. “But not a word about Miss Marbury’s abduction. And, may I add, there is no announcement that Lord Richard Marbury is resigning his seat in Parliament.”
“Then Lord Richard has not obeyed the kidnappers,” Dr. Doyle stated.
“Apparently not,” Mr. Dodgson agreed. He trotted back to the news vendor. “Have you the London newspapers?” he demanded.
“Got all of ’em,” the man replie
d genially, indicating a well-stocked stand behind him. “Name your city and I ’ave your paper. London, Manchester, York, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Dublin.”
“The London newspapers, if you please,” Mr. Dodgson ordered, fumbling for his money. Once supplied, he carried them back to Dr. Doyle and said, “We must examine these for any indication of Lord Richard’s intentions.”
“But not here,” Dr. Doyle told him, wrestling with the Pall Mall Gazette, which had taken on a life of its own, and was about to fly away into the clear blue sky. “We must get back to Duke Street, Mr. Dodgson, where Touie will be waiting for us at Mrs. Keene’s. Then we can decide what to do next.”
Without waiting for the older man to acquiesce to this plan, Dr. Doyle gathered up the newspapers and marched off.
“It would appear,” Mr. Dodgson commented, as they loped through the streets, now encumbered with newspapers. “That the abductors are using the Press as their medium of communication, rather than the post.”
“True,” Dr. Doyle agreed. “And most suggestive. There must be some link between these articles in the Pall Mall Gazette and Lord Richard Marbury.”
They had, by now, reached the Queen’s Road. There they turned and went up the hill, reserving all breath for the effort, until they saw Touie sunning herself on the front steps, eagerly waiting for her returning hero.
“Hello! Here’s Touie!” Dr. Doyle bounded ahead of Mr. Dodgson. “Touie, we’ve been to London and back! I must tell you about—oh, Mr. Dodgson, I beg your pardon, but I really must speak to my wife,” Dr. Doyle said, with a boyish grin.
“Quite so, quite so,” muttered Mr. Dodgson. “I shall avail myself of your good landlady’s parlor once again, and inspect these newspapers.” He coughed shyly, and glanced at the loving couple. “I hope you will forgive my earlier outburst, Dr. Doyle. I grow testy sometimes. I was grateful for your aid when those ruffians attacked me. Fisticuffs were never my sport.”
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