by Ash, C. B.
With a wave and a smile, the constable walked a short distance away. Fortunately it was still just within Moira’s hearing range. Constable Martin stopped next to a merchant selling spools of cotton covered cables. Waiting there was Detective MacTaggart! Moira glanced around in surprise and wondered if other constables were nearby. How she had missed seeing the detective worried her. She was trying to be careful.
“Well, constable, anything useful?” Detective MacTaggart asked.
“Just a bit o’ confirmation that the gears could’a been used ta kill. If someone be inventive enough about it.” Constable Martin replied in a matter of fact tone.
“So, it be likely he coulda been the one.” The detective said more than asked, as if he was trying to confirm a thought. “Cleanin’ the gears though, that still puts a wrinkle in the cloth.”
“It would still be likely.” The constable said. “Depends all on when he might’a done the deed. The bugger does her in, cleans the gears, and once we be done searchin’, puts the wagon and such in the shed. After that, he gets two o’ his crew ta be nearby when he locates it all.”
Moira’s eyes went wide when the realization dawned on her. They suspected Captain Hunter! Her mind raced in a half-dozen different directions. How could they? He found the wagon and the evidence for them. But, they think that was too easy, cause they had already searched everywhere. She looked at Rodney just as the young man was about to speak.
“I just remembered, I’m supposed ta be meetin’ a shipmate o’ mine. He’s not been here, and well, he’d get lost in his own bunk.” She flashed another bright grin at Rodney. “We could meet tomorrow, if’n ya not busy?”
Rodney blushed when Moira grinned at him. He began to fidget again. “Ah, well, I suppose. I’d have to check my calendar … though I don’t remember having one … but …”
"Then it be all set." Moira blurted out in a rush. "Tomorrow then? I’ve got myself a room at the White Hart Tavern just down along Grassmarket. If I’m not there, ya might can check aboard the Brass Griffin down at the docks. She’s my ship. At least the one I’m workin’ on. Say, two in the afternoon?"
Rodney pushed his glasses up from the end of his nose again. “Oh, a ship? Ah, well, certainly. At two? Well, I’m … uhm … sure I’m free then. I’ll meet you then.”
Moira gave Rodney’s arm a gentle squeeze. “All settled then. See you tomorrow!”
With a short wave, Moira hurried off into the crowd. She heard Eli say something in a teasing way to Rodney, who replied with a flustered answer, however, Moira was already just out of earshot to make sense of it. She was of little mind to try at the moment, as she had to find the captain, before the constables did!
Chapter 8
At just past mid-day, it was as if all of Edinburgh itself had come alive, like an anthill made from brick and steel. Over its surface and through its buildings, people hurried along to make deliveries, purchase goods, and otherwise perform their usual routines for the day. Activity was everywhere, most notably near the markets, Grassmarket being one. At the Grassmarket the vendors and merchants had brought their wares, from bread and fish to brass goggles and clockwork lanterns. They clustered along the wide street, their calls to patrons filling the air.
Just outside the Grassmarket, the nearby roads accommodated the vendors that either had not arrived in time to jam themselves into the crowded space, or did not care to. Along Victoria Street to the north, some of the flower peddlers had clustered together and formed a visual feast of color amid the grays and browns that dominated Edinburgh Old Town. William Falke walked down from High Street and onto the shapely curve that was the whole of Victoria Street as it gently descended towards the cacophony of sound, smells and sights of the main marketplace itself.
The young man paused at the top of the cobblestone bend to let his eyes wander idly over the flower vendors there. Because of the time of year, what with the wet and cold weather, much of what they might sell was limited. Even still, a modest variety of tiny light pink, reddish purple and magenta blooms decorated a waterfall of green heath that spilled from many of the grower carts. William sighed. He was no hand at decorative plants in general. He only knew the ones that could be used in a poultice for a wound, and he saw none of those before him.
Still, he needed to find out about the blooms left in the cattle shed, and standing along the side of the street staring at the flower peddlers like he had taken leave of his senses was not doing that. William looked over the collection of flower-filled carts from between a steady flow of patrons. Choosing the nearest cart, he slipped into the crowd, politely excusing himself along the way until he managed to get close to the vendor.
From behind the rows of flowers, an older woman with graying hair, bright hazel eyes and a round cherubic face smiled over at him. She wiped her hands on a soil-stained apron.
“An what can Ah do for ye, lovie?” She asked in with a Scots accent and a bright smile. “Would ye be buyin’ some flowers for a lady friend?”
William grinned, “A lady friend? I don’t have one, really. But I was wondering if I could ask ya a question?”
“Why certainly, lovie. Ask away.”
“I was wonderin’, if you know an Allison Newt? She was sellin’ flowers and the like along the Grassmarket down the road.” The young man asked, pulling open his canvas shoulder bag. “She was sellin’ some of these.” From the bag he withdrew a small cloth and unwrapped it to expose a delicate, reddish purple heath blossom. He handed the flower over to the woman. “That one’s from her cart.”
The woman took the heath blossom, holding it up to examine it closely. “Ah canna say it’s mine or not, Luvie. They don’ come with a stamp reading ‘bought at Sandra Givens' cart’.” She handed the flower back to William.
Dejected, William wrapped up the flower and returned it to his bag. “Oh, well, I’d hope ya might’a known her, or at least heard news about her.”
“Now Ah didna say that at all.” She smiled brightly at William, then motioned for him to step to one side of the cart. “Be a sweet lad and wait o’er here. We can be talkin’ then.”
William nodded politely and did as he was told, slipping through the small crowd to stop in a small space next to the flower cart. The woman, whose name he learned was indeed Sandra, skillfully worked her way through the customers. One by one, the patrons each left with their selections, some heavily laden with foliage, others with only a small pot or two. With the last customer gone, Sandra wiped dirt from her hands onto her apron and stepped out from around the cart.
“Now that’s done, let's you and Ah be havin’ a chat. Like Ah was tryin’ ta say, Ah know Allison. All of us here do. She comes around quite a bit ta buy flowers ta sell. Though Ah’ve na seen her in a number of days.” Sandra put her hands on her broad-hipped frame. “Now about that flower, a couple of things Ah can be tellin’ ye about it. One, is that it be fresh cut. No more’n a day. Two, is that Allison often bought a good bit o’ my heath. She told me more’n once that bouquets of it be sellin’ quite well.”
“Only a day?” William echoed with a small amount of surprise. He remembered that Miss Olivander mentioned Allison had been missing for several days from what she knew. “This one had been out in the weather, would that made any difference?”
It was Sandra’s turn to look surprised. “Only that Ah’m surprised it be lastin’ like it has. Our weather na be that forgivin’.”
The young man frowned a moment. If Allison had been missing for several days, how could the flower be so fresh? His mind turned that over a moment. Perhaps the flower was not from Allison?
“Miss Givens,” William asked, “How long would some cut heath last out and about in the weather?”
“Oh, only a day, no more’n two if ye take care of ’em.” Sandra answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “And it be ‘Mrs.’ na ‘Miss’, though Ah thank ye for the compliment.” She paused a bit, then eyed William warily. “Luvie, tell me the truth now. Has somethin’ gone and happ
ened ta Allison? Ye be the third that’s come around askin’ after her. Has Allison gotten herself in some kinda trouble?”
“I really don’t know, Mrs. Givens.” William said with a helpless shrug. “Allison’s not been seen in a few days, and a friend of hers is sure worried somethin’s wrong.” Sandra’s words struck him then. “Who else has been around?” William asked, suddenly very curious.
“Three young women. One right young thing, named Lydia, an older lady named Vivian and another one who said she was Mary. She was quite the striking one, what with her long dark hair and eyes.” Susan replied.
“Did Mary mention anythin’ about her family name?” The young man asked quickly.
“No, Dearie, Ah’m sorry. She na mentioned her people at all.” Sandra replied.
William frowned in thought. “Do ya have any regular customers?”
Sandra smiled again. “Oh, right sure Ah do. Brian at the White Hart down the road, some o’ the housekeeper staff from the medical college, a few o’ the boardin’ houses here an around, like along Candlemaker Row.”
“Any come by recently? Like within’ the past day or so?”
“Brian stopped by two days ago. Vivian came by mid-day yesterday, and Anita be waitin’ on me when Ah set up me cart yesterday mornin’.”
“Anita?” William asked.
“Anita Monkhouse.” Sandra explained. “She’s married to Gilbert Monkhouse. He be the owner of a woolen mill about a few minutes walk from here ta the north.”
Brian Gilbert would be at the White Hart Tavern, William thought to himself, and Mrs. Carpenter would be at her boarding house.
“Where might I find Mrs. Monkhouse?” He asked.
Sandra shrugged. “Can’t really say as Ah know. Ah had heard she’s none too fond of her husband’s mill. So she’s na likely ta be found there. Other than that, Ah don’t know.”
William smiled thinly. It was some information at least, something to work with, even if it seemed a little shallow. He thought over the names Sandra mentioned and settled on Brian’s first. The White Hart Tavern was close by so it would be easy to slip in and talk to him.
“Mrs. Givens? Thank ya for bein' open about all this. Ya didn’t have to.” William said at last.
“Oh no worries, Luvie.” The older woman said with a small laugh. Quickly, her jovial mood turned to a stern glance that riveted William to the spot. “Though, once you know about Allison, you be comin’ by here straight away. She be a well-liked girl here. We’ll all be wantin’ ta know.”
William nodded automatically. “Yes, Mrs. Givens, I will when I learn somethin’.”
The young man left the flower seller with a wave and hurried down Victoria Street towards where it ended at the broad Grassmarket. He sighed heavily, hoping that Moira and Hunter were having better luck than he was.
Chapter 9
While William Falke walked from the flower vendors of Victoria Street towards the Grassmarket, on the far northern side of Edinburgh, a hansom horse cab pulled up outside of the Leith Docks on Commerce Place next to two others that were already there. Anthony Hunter opened the cab door and stepped down to the old cobblestones that paved the road into the docks proper. Around him, the road was far from empty. Horse-drawn cabs sat nearby in a neat row, the occasional chambermaid or housekeeper walked along with a basket in hand to see if any fishermen had come back with a fresh catch of the day. Dock laborers stood nearby at the entrance to the Leith Docks and chatted idly.
The Leith Docks rolled out away from the carriage, filling the entire view. Cries of seagulls and firehawks echoed overhead, while the loud, harsh clank of the skeletal CASS machines coupled with shouts and orders from foremen completed the wave of sound. Draped like an unseen shawl around the busy dock, the smell of sea salt and rotting seaweed lingered in the air under the ever-present smog.
Composed of three 'wet docks' for shipbuilding - named in honor of Queen Victoria - it was the major port for any water or airborne shipping for Edinburgh. Beyond the wet docks, crates were stacked high in orderly rows awaiting their moment to be loaded aboard a ship for transport. They towered as many as four or five crates high, reaching well above the height of most anyone working on the dock, unless perhaps they were caged inside a CASS. Past the crates, the piers stretched out like long fingers into the cold waters of the Firth of Forth, the estuary that flowed into river Forth.
Ships of all kinds were berthed there, from various-sized frigates to schooners, and even ships-of-the-line. Some were there for cargo, others to drop off, and last were the ships in for repairs on their gas bags, steam engines or other components at the well-equipped Leith shipyards.
Captain Hunter paid the cab driver and walked down the main cobblestone path that trailed its way into the middle of the docks. Normally, he would be here to return to the Brass Griffin who, like any ship in Edinburgh, berthed here. This time, he sought a different destination.
Navigating the near-constant organized chaos of sorting cargo, he arrived at a small row of weathered, gray wooden shipwright offices nestled on the water-facing side of the dock itself. Captain Hunter looked at the collection of faded signs until he saw one that read ‘Jones Brothers Shipwrights’. Giving a nearby CASS bearing four heavy crates a wide berth, he stepped over to the door and inside.
The office was a narrow arrangement with desks along the walls and a squat counter running from the left side of the room into the middle. Everywhere, charts and blueprints decorated the walls as fine paintings would in a home. A sturdy oak table, layered with a collection of ship plans, dominated the main room. Everywhere, journeymen worked at copying diagrams when they were not in a hurry out the office door on an errand for one of the master shipwrights. In the middle of this whirlwind stood the object of Hunter’s interest, Hiram Jones.
Hiram looked up from the drawings in front of him and grinned. An absolute bear of a man, Hiram drew himself up to his six foot height and ran a meaty hand through his sparse, curly black hair that had begun to show moderate signs of thinning. A twinkle shone in his water-blue eyes as he thrust out a hand.
“Anthony! Been a long time, lad!" Hiram said in a booming voice. "Did ya finally give up on that old tug o’ yers and come ta take me up on my offer?”
Hunter took the shipwright's hand in a firm grasp and gave a warm smile of his own. “I daresay no, Hiram. I’d do far less damage aboard the Griffin than I would helping you to put any new ones to air or sea. I’ve come about something else entirely. Parts, mainly.”
The shipwright made a ‘harumph’ sound and put his hands on his hips. “Well, when one day ya up and realize that ya got a better callin’ waitin’ ya on land, the Shipwright’s Guild is waitin’. So, what else are ya on about t’day?” Hiram paused a moment, then narrowed his eyes at Hunter. “What have ya done to the Griffin? Ya better be takin’ good care of her.”
Hunter raised his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing of the sort, she’s as sound as the day you built her. I know the number of parts you traffic through here, I thought you might know of or could route me on my way towards some information.”
“Well, that’s not a question I get every day, but anything ta get your curiosity up should be worth hearin’. How can I help ya?” Hiram asked, eyes alight with interest.
“I’m looking after some parts,” Hunter asked carefully, “but only by way of a certain parts-monger. A young lady by the name of Allison. Allison Newt to be precise. Ever hear word of her?”
The big shipwright looked thoughtful, but for a moment Hunter swore he sensed a momentary, and subtle, change in his old friend’s demeanor. Hiram eventually shook his head. “Allison, Allison. No, can’t right say as I do. Not all that unusual, mind ya. There’s a horde of ’em that find their way here every week. Sometimes they’re carryin’ quality parts, other times I’ll see my own dented cast-offs returnin’ to me like a bad coin. Why ya askin’? She owe you some parts? I doubt you’d be owing her money, seein’ as I’d never known you ta be caught in
a debt.”
Hunter chuckled, “No debts of any kind. I’ve been seeking her out due to a mutual acquaintance it turns out we share.” Again, Hunter noticed Hiram’s back stiffen almost imperceptibly. Anthony hesitated a moment. “Hiram, are you well? You’re looking a spot peaked?”
The shipwright shook his head and smiled. A touch forced, his smile did not reach his eyes, though it seemed a hint of nerves had. “No, lad. Just been workin’ too much. Ya know how I can get, stayin’ with it day and night till a ship's got her sea legs and wings about her. You were sayin’ about this mutual friend ya have?”
“Right,” Hunter began again with a suddenly wary eye towards his friend. “Friend of a friend, you might say. She sent me Allison’s way for some quality gunnery gears and calibration joints. I met with her the other evening, and she didn’t have the parts on her. However, she mentioned that she’d have them on her next trip down by the Leith Docks." Hunter lied. "I knew you’d be down here, so I thought I’d stop in to ask after her. I thought, given you know most anyone that comes and goes here, you’d have the best chance to know of her.”
Hiram flushed a bit, but still he smiled. “Well, quite flatterin’ lad, but I can’t say as I know her. But I can ask around. One of the boys here might have bought a part or two from her.”
“I’d be grateful. You see, I came across her cart just late yesterday at the cattle market. I’ve been concerned that she’d forgotten we were to meet.” Hunter replied with more of his fable.
“Cattle market?” Hiram said after a flash of nervous alarm crossed his eyes. “Not the sort of place I’d expect to hear ya ever vistin’.”
Hunter shrugged, “Running down a lead on a contract, old boy. Never leave a stone unturned, you know.”
The shipwright nodded with a chuckle, subtly avoiding Hunter’s gaze. “Aye, right ya are about that. Well, I hate ta send ya out, but I’ve got a busy day spreadin’ out for me. I’ll ask about. Surely one of the boys knows of yer Allison, or even has bought a part or two from her.”