by Joan Smith
Row upon row of paintings that looked to Nick like the work of famous artists hung in tiers, covering the walls. He hadn’t seen so many paintings in one place since the latest exhibition at Somerset House. A Rembrandt of an old man hung beside a Gainsborough of an ethereal lady in a white cap and blue gown. Formal French landscapes surrounded them. King George’s sharp blue eyes glanced off Nick before returning to Elizabeth.
“You have a new escort today, milady,” he said.
“Yes, I have come to ask —”
“Who is he?” King George demanded. “We like to know to whom we are granting an audience.”
“Allow me to introduce Harry Crume, Sire.”
Nick hesitated uncertainly, then made a gesture between a nod and a bow. King George’s sharp eyes subjected him to the kind of scrutiny that made him feel his face was dirty, and he had forgotten to shave. “And who is Harry Crume? A cracksman, a prigger, a diver?”
“He is not in the game, sir. Harry is just my driver. He hasn’t come to sell you anything. I am looking for Lady Belmont’s ruby necklace that was stolen last night. I thought such a valuable piece might have come your way.”
“No, we wish it had! The Belmont necklace! My, my.” He raised a hand to his forehead, sat a moment, then said, “The genuine article?”
“Yes, certainly. You haven’t heard any rumours ...”
“The news has not come our way yet, but that is not surprising. We do not handle sparklers as a rule. We have such a fondness for jewelry we find it hard to part with it. No profit in that. We deal in larger objets d’art.” One manicured but not overly clean hand waved vaguely at the king’s ransom of purloined treasures surrounding him. “We wonder now — . You might speak to Fat Fannie.”
“Fat Fannie?” Elizabeth said. “I don’t believe I know her.”
“She’s a kate, recently moved into the convent on Queen Street with a passel of nuns. She’s taken up with a fellow called Darling Dan who deals in the better class of lurries. He is the one who might help you. Unfortunately, he moves about, so we cannot give you his exact direction. This isn’t your usual line of work, milady. May we ask how you are involved?”
“A friend of mine, an innocent man, is being accused of taking the necklace.”
“Alfie?”
“No, another friend.”
“Not young Gower!”
“As it happens, yes. He is innocent, of course.”
King George nodded his understanding. “I shall direct my subjects to offer every assistance. Naturally your friends here will wish to help you and your friend. If we hear anything, we shall pass word along directly. You, I take it, are still at Hanover Square with your dear aunt?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Pray give Lady Gertrude our best wishes. We miss her here.”
“I shall tell her. You are gracious, as always. Thank you, your majesty.” She swept a playful curtsey.
“We do not forget what your aunt and you are doing for our people,” he replied. King George waved his graceful hand again and she left. Nick was curious to see if they were expected to back out of the room, but the charade did not extend to that length.
“You do know the strangest people, Elizabeth,” he said, when they were back on the street. “I had no idea you were on such intimate terms with King George. How does he come to know Tommy?”
“When Tommy accompanies me here, he sometimes passes the time while I am at work by teaching King George card tricks.”
“You realize the man is completely insane?”
“He treads that fine line between genius and insanity. He has managed to establish a sort of rule in a mad world. In any case one has to be on terms with King George if she hopes to operate in his jurisdiction. He is the court of last resort when disputes arise here in the kingdom of Seven Dials. He got my watch returned to me and I didn’t even realize it had been stolen. I thought I’d lost it. That was two years ago. I am not such a flat now as to bring anything valuable into the Dials. The temptation is just too much for some of them.”
Nick listened as to a fairytale. He had no notion all of this had been going on in the city where he lived. He always considered Tommy Gower a youngster, an unlicked cub, yet Tommy knew a side of life that was unknown to himself. One heard of Seven Dials, of course, but listened with the same sort of half interest and disbelief as to tales of Africa or the farthest reaches of the orient. It was a world apart, yet these people weren’t foreigners, they were Englishmen, Londoners, neighbours.
They continued along the street. He wanted to show Elizabeth that he was not totally ignorant of how things were done here at the Dials and said, “I take it this convent is a sort of boarding house for nuns belonging to the order of Saint Mary Magdalene? Ply their trade by night, around the theatre district, perhaps? Covent Garden nuns, in other words?”
“Yes, the poor girls are reduced to that,” Elizabeth replied in a tart tone. “But the girls are not all prostitutes. Fat Fannie is not. She’s a kate.”
“I don’t recognize that profession, and am almost afraid to ask. A shrew of some sort, I expect?”
“Folks here have little familiarity with Shakespeare. A kate is just a pickpocket, Nick. Nothing to be afraid of, so long as you keep a hand on your purse.”
“When did you learn to patter flash?”
“When I started coming here. It was like being in France and not speaking French when I first started, but you soon get on to it.”
“That ‘lurrie’ business is a new one to me. Is it argot for jewel thief?”
“Lurries are just the fancy objects, also known as sparklers. Darling Dan is probably a fence specializing in jewelry.”
“Do they all have fancy monikers, like Darling Dan and King George?”
“They don’t usually use their last name, perhaps to protect the family, but more likely to confuse the law. And of course some of them don’t actually know their real names. Isn’t that sad? They not only don’t have a home or decent clothes or food, they don’t even have a name. You and I are very fortunate, Nick. Queen Street is this way,” she said when they reached the corner.
Nick knew he was blessed in his noble birth, but like most of his background, he took it for granted. He looked after his own people, those who worked on his estate and in his house. But what of those poor unfortunates who had no position? No wonder London was full of footpads, and the countryside rife with highwaymen.
“The convent is a big wooden place painted a fading yellowish colour,” Elizabeth said.
Nick didn’t make any joke about the name of the building, or the calling of the inhabitants. Survival was the strongest instinct. They did what they had to do to survive. And they were good-natured and seemed happy enough along with it.
The nuns’ boarding house was visible from half a block away. There was no crowd milling about outside, no one entering or leaving. Very likely the girls were sleeping after their nights’ work. Nick felt self-conscious entering the house, but Elizabeth seemed quite at home. She went directly to what would be called the salon in a private house. Half a dozen young girls sat around in groups, talking, laughing, arguing, knitting, drinking out of teacups, but they were not drinking tea. The liquid looked like water, but the room reeked of gin. All of them were young, some of them were hardly into their teens.
Though a few of them looked up and nodded at Elizabeth, their greater interest was for Nick, who was subjected to a close scrutiny. He remained behind, near the doorway, while Elizabeth approached them and asked about Fat Fanny.
“She’s in the kitchen, where she always is,” one of the girls said. “She ain’t called Fat Fanny for no reason.” This was taken as a prime jest by the girls, who laughed and puffed out their cheeks in mockery. One of them arose and waddled grotesquely, to the amusement of the others.
“Fanny’s all right,” one of the girls said, and was ignored. Prissy, that was the girl’s name. Elizabeth had spoken to her before about a persistent rash. She beckoned
Prissy aside, ignoring the laughter of the others. “Did you try that salve I gave you for those sores, Prissy?”
“I did, Miss. It helped some. Could we get some more? I’m sharing it with Annie. She’s broke out as well.”
“I’ll bring more next time. You really should go to the clinic.”
“You know where the rash is. I ain’t showing meself to a man in broad daylight like that.”
“He’s not interested in that,” Elizabeth said.
“He’s a man, ain’t he?”
“He’s a doctor. I’ll speak to Doctor Tom if you like and explain your problem.”
“Mind, I ain’t taking off me clothes.”
“I believe he’ll give you the ointment, and possibly some other medicine, without taking off your clothes. I see you have a bad bruise on your cheek, Prissy. When did that happen?” It was below the right eye. Her arms had bruise marks as well. Obviously she had encountered a rough customer recently. This, unfortunately, was nothing new to the young girls here.
“A few nights ago,” Prissy said. As she spoke, she was fondling something, turning it around in her fingers. It was small and golden, with a green stone on top. Could it be an emerald? One never knew what would turn up in a place like this. “What is that you’re playing with, Prissy?” she asked.
“Just a wee box too small to hold anything. It’s what they call a fairy box,” Prissy said, handing it to her.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. “Where did you get this?” she asked in as normal a tone as she could manage.
“From a friend,” Prissy said with a leering grin that meant a customer. “He was all out of lolly and give me this toy. I’m aiming to sell it. You interested?”
“How much do you want for it?”
“I was hoping — a crown,” she said uncertainly, “if it ain’t too much.”
“It’s a pretty toy. I’ll buy it.” She pulled a crown from her pocket. Prissy snatched it up, laughing. A crown for an ornate gold snuff box with an emerald worth hundreds of guineas, possibly thousands, considering it had belonged to Tsar Peter! It was hardly credible that Prissy’s “gent” had given it to her. So how had she got it? Either she had a male friend from the Dials watching out for her, some fellow who rescued a girl in trouble and exacted payment, or some diver had lifted it from the gent’s pocket.
Countess deLieven, wife of the Russian Ambassador, had reported it stolen after one of her lavish parties. It was not the first small, valuable item someone had pocketed at a party recently, but it was the most valuable. Servants, of course, were the first to be suspected, but such a rash of these thefts of small valuables at different houses suggested a light-fingered guest who was in dire need of money. “I don’t suppose you got the gentleman’s name?” she asked in a casual manner.
“He called hisself Mr. Smith. Most of them do, if they tell you a name at all.”
“Oh yes. What did he look like?”
“Tall, dark and ugly. Kind of a twisty eye in his head. He talked like a real gent, but he didn’t act like one.” As she spoke, she rubbed at her bruises.
“Did he do that to you?” Elizabeth asked, indicating the bruises.
“He’d of done worse if me friends didn’t of heard me holler and he took off,” was her satisfied answer.
“I see. You won’t forget to visit Doctor Tom?”
“I ain’t taking off me clothes.”
Elizabeth slipped the snuffbox in her pocket and rejoined Nick. She led him belowstairs to the kitchen, where a woman of monstrous size sat alone at a plain deal table, drinking weak tea. Fanny was young, not yet out of her teens. Beneath the rolls of fat a pretty face could be discerned, or imagined. Her eyes were bright blue, her nose retroussé, and her cheeks pink. Her blond hair was greasy but arranged carefully, pulled back from her face to tumble in curls behind.
Her blue eyes grew large in fear when they approached her. She frowned then said, “Are you Miss Lizzie?”
“Yes. You’re Fanny?”
“What if I am?” she asked, but the fear was replaced by mere curiosity upon hearing that the woman was Miss Lizzie.
“King George said you might be able to tell me where I could find Darling Dan?”
“He said that?” Fanny asked.
“Yes. It’s all right, Fanny. Dan is not in any trouble. I just want to talk to him.”
“If himself said so, it must be all right. I’d best go along with you and tell Dan, or he won’t see you. He’s shy of strangers. Or do you know him?”
“No, I haven’t met Dan.”
“I’ll take you then.”
She had trouble rising from the table. Nick came forward to offer her a hand. She accepted it with a shy smile, but didn’t thank him in words. Necks craned in the salon when Fat Fanny was escorted out of the convent.
“Fanny’s caught herself a live one,” one of the girls called.
“Some men like ‘em fat,” another added. Fanny didn’t retaliate. “Mind she don’t rob you. Fanny’s a dip.”
“Dan has a squat on Little Earl Street,” Fanny said as they went out.
When Elizabeth noticed that Fanny was puffing with the exertion of
walking at a normal pace, she slowed down. Elizabeth put a hand under her
elbow, and when Nick noticed this, he offered Fanny his arm too.
Fanny said in an apologetic way, “I ain’t fat from eating too much you know, whatever them girls say. It ain’t that. Some days I don’t eat hardly nothing. My ma was fat too. It’s in the family. Ma was one of the freaks at Bartholomew Fair. I was on display. That’s where I met Dan. He didn’t like folks laughing at me and brung me here.”
“Some men like their women with flesh on their bones,” Nick said in a bracing way.
She gave him a grateful smile. “That’s what Dan says. He don’t think I’m too fat. Fair Fanny, he calls me. Oh, there he is now. We won’t have to go all the way to Little Earl Street.”
The old nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat could eat no fat,” occurred to Elizabeth when she saw Darling Dan, for he was as lean as Fanny was fat. He was a dapper young fellow dressed in a decent blue jacket. Other than a scar that ran from under his left eye to his ear, he was handsome. He glowered at Nick when he saw his hand under Fanny’s elbow.
“This here is Miss Lizzie, Dan,” Fanny said.
He appeared to recognize the name. “Pleased, Lizzie,” he said with a bow and a lift of his hat. He ignored Nicholas.
“She wants to talk to you,” Fanny said. “It’s all right. King George sent her.”
“That’s good enough for me. What can I do fer you, Miss Lizzie?”
She moved a little away from the others. But when she explained her problem, Darling Dan was of little help. “I was over to Stop Hole Abbey last night. There was no talk of a ruby necklace. If anyone had a line on a piece like that, it would’ve been boasted of. It’s not on the market yet. If I hear anything, I’ll let King George know. I’ve to go see a fellow now.”
“Before you go, would you know anything about this?” she said, and showed him the snuffbox.
He examined the trinket with interest. “I’d say it’s from France, last century or earlier. The emerald looks genuine to me. Mind you, I don’t have my loupe with me.
“You haven’t seen it before?”
“No, but I can sell it for you if you’re short, Miss Lizzie.”
“I’ll keep it. Does Prissy have anyone looking out for her when she’s at work?”
“Just the girls keep an eye on each other. They get to know the ones give them trouble. Did you get this from Prissy?” She nodded. “Fanny told me she’d got beat up t’other night. ‘Twas a dip called Long Louie that jostled the fellow and got his purse. He mentioned a little toy as well. This must be it. He wouldn’t know it was worth anything. He kept the purse and give this to Prissy for her trouble. He’s sweet on her. She’d ought to have give it to me. It’s worth real money.”
“Louie wouldn’t know the fe
llow’s name?”
“They don’t have names when they’re on the prowl, Miss Lizzie. If there’s nothing else bothering you, I have that fellow waiting for me,” Dan said. He walked back to Fanny and Nicholas. “I’ll see you tonight, Fanny. Can you get home all right?”
“We’ll take her home,” Elizabeth said.
Dan left and they took Fanny back to the boarding house. Before she left them, Elizabeth said, “Don’t you have something for Harry, Fanny?”
Fanny hung her head and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Miss,” she said, and handed Nicholas his purse. “It’s a habit, like. I could feel it bulging in your pocket and couldn’t stop myself. You sure got a lot of blunt.” Nick just stared in disbelief. He hadn’t felt a thing when Fanny lifted his purse.
“Don’t you think Fanny deserves a reward, Harry, since your purse is so heavy?” Elizabeth said, with one of her commanding looks.
Reward a thief? But when he looked at the miserable boarding house Fanny was living in, and when he remembered the folks laughing at her at Bartholomew Fair, he handed her a golden boy, which she bit and found authentic. She didn’t thank him, but she smiled before waddling off.
“Lord, what a depressing place,” he said, looking back at the convent as they left.
“Yes, and the worst of it is that it isn’t going to get any better for those girls. Did you notice there wasn’t a single book, or journal or even a magazine in that salon?”
“I noticed the reek of gin.”
She gave him an angry, impatient look. “Wouldn’t you welcome a drink if you had to live like that?”
“I’d never be sober from dawn to dusk if I could help it,” he said with a rueful shake of his head.
Chapter Four
The joy of a stroll in the spring sunshine having been cut short for a visit to such a depressing place had put Nicholas in a bad mood that was not improved by feeling guilty for something that was not his fault. He wasn’t responsible for the poverty and degradation of Seven Dials. It was Elizabeth’s fault for dragging him to this wretched place. His instinct to avoid her had been right.