Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  The clerk went into the other office. Graciela hoped he’d leave the door open so she could sneak a glimpse but he shut it behind him. She skimmed the forms, searching for a question she’d ask clarification for.

  She rose and knocked on the other office door. “Sir, I have a problem.”

  The door opened and she pointed to the line that asked about her aunt’s age and state of mind. “I don’t know her age for certain. She gives different years for her birthdate. I’m not sure how to explain her state of mind. It’s good but she’s a hair forgetful. Is that an acceptable answer?”

  While she spoke she scanned the room. No rear door but there was a street level window facing the alley. The locking mechanism was an iron bar about a foot long attached to the frame and slid into a steel well in the sill. She’d seen the same type on many French doors. The lock presented possibilities.

  In her peripheral vision she saw a decanter with what looked like claret or port in it, but no second decanter for brandy. Claret will do, as long as he drinks it.

  She’d seen all she needed. Rather than continue with the charade she told the clerk, “Thank you for the offer of tea. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to take the paperwork with me. I’ll fill it out and return tomorrow. What hours does Mr. Skinner work?”

  “He arrives precisely at 9:00 and has lunch at his club at 1:00. He leaves for the evening at 5:00. I’ll check his schedule for tomorrow.” The clerk turned the kettle off and came back out to his desk. “If you come at 10:00, he might have a few minutes to speak with you.”

  “I’ll do that. Good day.”

  She went straight from Skinner’s to the pub. She found the owner and sent a message to Addy asking to meet as soon as possible. A messenger came to Mrs. Zachary’s midday. Addy would see her later that afternoon. She had to lie about a doctor’s appointment to get the time off, which wound up costing her more time. Mrs. Zachary had insisted Graciela use the family carriage and driver if she wasn’t feeling well. As a result, Graciela had to tell another lie and say her destination was Harley Street, where most of the decent doctors practiced. The carriage driver let her off in front of a building with several physician’s offices.

  “You needn’t wait for me. I’ll find a cab to bring me home.”

  “Mrs. Zachary will want me to wait.”

  “Please don’t. If I’m feeling better, I may stop for a cup of tea. Please, it will be all right. You can go.”

  He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and turned pulled from the curb. She lingered in the doorway until the carriage was out of sight and then boarded a tram going the opposite direction toward the pub.

  Graciela plopped onto the bench, breathless from her mad dash from the tram stop to the pub.

  Addy pulled his stolen watch from his waistcoat pocket. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  “I had to work around a time-consuming deception to get away from my employer.”

  Addy raised his tankard and held up two fingers for the barmaid to see. “Why am here?”

  “I’ve a lock I can’t handle.” She explained about the bar across the door. “There’s a window with a lock I can work if you can show me how to cut glass.”

  “No worries there.” He gave her an odd look over the rim of his tankard before draining what remained and setting it back down. “A bar across the front door. Strange business.”

  “No, it’s—”

  “Don’t say another word. I don’t want to know.”

  “This coming Monday, midday, in the alley here like before. I’ll bring my cutting tools. The beer is on you next time.”

  She was on her way to revenge number two. She just had to time it so Skinner was there alone. Anticipation brought a smile.

  Shouts from workmen outside on Oxford Street broke into her reverie. Her smile faded at the thought of all the foot traffic around Skinner’s office. Even with the clerk gone, Skinner only had to yell out and help might come before she got him to drink the arsenic. She needed a means to compel him to remain silent and to drink.

  “If you wanted to force someone to do your bidding, how would you go about it?” she asked Addy.

  “Other than relying on my vast supply of charm?”

  “Yes, a real person not a fantasy one susceptible to your imaginary charm.”

  “I’d use a weapon of some kind, a knife, a lead pipe, or a gun.”

  She couldn’t wield a pipe with any efficiency, not against a man. A knife was too messy and again, a man would easily disarm her. Guns looked to be easy enough to handle. “Can you get me a gun? Something small to fit in my reticule if possible.”

  “Now you want a gun?” He gave her a long, pointed look.

  She nodded. “A small one.”

  “I happen to have a Derringer I acquired on a job that I held off pawning.” Addy waved away the barmaid who came with the beers he ordered. “Molly I’ve never wanted to know too much about what you’re involved in but I’m concerned. Are you planning on killing someone? I’m not giving you a weapon if you are.”

  “No. Just scaring them into doing what I want.”

  “In that case, I’ll loan the gun to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  We’ll share a glass of wine Mr. Skinner. And when you think I’ve spared you by not shooting, that is when you’ll truly begin to die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Constable Flanders stormed over to Ruddy and Archie’s desks. His laughing support team brought up the rear.

  “Something troubling you, constable?” Ruddy asked although he could wager what the problem was.

  “How much longer is this...?” Flanders made a sweeping two-handed gesture at the dress he wore. “This ridiculous nonsense going to go on? It’s been five days and neither our team nor Young’s have seen hide nor hair of the stocking thief. This is humiliating. It’s not what I signed up for when I joined the police service and it’s bloody damn hot in all these petticoats.”

  One of the team stepped forward and added, “He’s angry because that drunk with the rheumy eyes at the White Hart pub squeezed his arse.”

  “Squeezed his arse and offered him sixpence for a storeroom shag,” the other constable said, the team breaking into a laugh again.

  Ruddy feigned a concerned frown. “Bad luck, Flanders. I take it you didn’t have three pence for change.” He couldn’t keep a straight face. He, Archie, the support team and now Coopersmith and his partner, who’d been eavesdropping, all fell out laughing.

  “Very funny, Bloodstone. But this isn’t right, my having to bear the burden of wearing this foolishness. Why doesn’t Archie’s missus alter it to fit you and you parade around in it for a few days? After all, it’s your case. I bet you wouldn’t find it so funny then.”

  “I doubt she can alter it to fit me. Besides, even if she could, the disguise would be wasted on me. I am not as pretty as you, Flanders. I’d never be able to turn heads the way you do,” Ruddy said.

  “For the record, I hate you.” Flanders turned to Archie. “What am I supposed to do about the furnace under these skirts? What does your wife do?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. I can tell you she doesn’t whinge the way you do. I’ll ask her for suggestions.”

  “Since you’re here, have you had any luck showing the suspect’s picture?” Ruddy asked.

  “Joking aside, the rheumy-eyed drunk said the suspect looked familiar. He thinks he’s seen the fellow in there in the middle of the week around midday,” Flanders said.

  “We don’t have to tell you, concentrate your patrol in that area,” Archie told them.

  Ruddy pulled a couple more drawings he’d made from his sketch pad and handed them to Flanders. “Give the barkeep at the White Hart a copy to hang in his backroom. If he sees the suspect, send for a copper right away. Ask if he’s seen him at night. Leave the second copy with the closest pub to the White Hart. He likely drinks at it as well.”

  “Will do,” Flanders said and the team
left.

  “What do you think?” Archie asked.

  “I think our suspect is a day laborer who drinks when he’s not on a job.” Ruddy brought out the last drawings he had. He set them in a basket on his desktop so he’d remember to give them to the other team. He wanted the pub owners to hang them in their backrooms to really familiarize themselves with the suspect’s face.

  ****

  When his shift finished, Ruddy didn’t bother going home to change. He went straight to Honeysuckle’s hotel. This was her night off. He planned dinner at a nice restaurant first and from there they’d go to a fun music hall. No more ballets.

  He didn’t bring a large bouquet this time. Instead, he bought a nosegay of violets with a blue satin ribbon attached. The flower girl said the ribbon was so a lady could wear the flowers like a corsage on her wrist.

  Ruddy knocked.

  A hint of her rose-scented perfume wafted out when Honeysuckle opened the door. Unlike most ladies, she wore her dark hair down and pulled back on the sides with Mother of Pearl combs. He liked that she didn’t wear it up like most women. Her dress was the color of burgundy wine. A thin deep red velvet choker with a pearl drop pendant drew his eyes to her delicate neck. He thought she looked like she should be on the cover of a fashion magazine—a fancy French one.

  “You look lovely.” He stepped inside and handed her the nosegay. “I’m afraid the violets clash with your dress.”

  “Any woman who complains of flowers given to her by a handsome man clashing with her gown is a fool of a woman.” She tugged matching wine colored evening gloves on. “The ribbon is too slippery. I need your help to tie this.” She held her wrist out and he tied the ribbon in a bow with a double knot.

  “Are you ready?”

  Honeysuckle picked up her shawl from a chair by the door and laid it across her arm. “Ready.”

  After dinner Ruddy hailed a cab. “I thought we’d go to the Oxford Music Hall unless you preferred someplace else.”

  “The Oxford is fine with me. I know the Master of Ceremonies there. He’s a multi-talented creature I tell you. Not a bad singer and dancer, he can fill in for a juggler when the need arises. If you keep the tricks simple, he can manage a bit of sleight of hand,” Honeysuckle said. “His real talent and this is a talent, trust me, is generating excitement and lots of audience response to the acts.”

  “I take it you worked with him?” Ruddy asked, helping her into the carriage.

  “I used to when I was new and still in the chorus.”

  “Why aren’t you at the Oxford now?”

  “The Odeon pays better and they agreed to everything I asked for in my contract.”

  It sounded like she conducted the negotiations without the help of an agent or solicitor. Ruddy didn’t know much about the entertainment world but a woman in any profession entering into a business agreement without using a man as her advisor and representative? Unheard of. “You negotiated your own contract? You couldn’t.”

  “I can and I did. Why not? I knew what the Oxford was willing to offer me for another year. I knew the Odeon wanted me. After all, they sought me out. Before I sat down with them, I told the owners I had a list of things I wanted. I said I would only consider moving if they were willing to negotiate.”

  Her reasoning was logical but it still didn’t completely explain why she thought to go into the talks alone. “When you said that, did you intend at the time to try and transact a deal without a male agent?”

  She leaned over and kissed him light and quick. She caught him by surprise, but he recovered quickly and bent to kiss her better. The carriage took a hard bounce on the cobblestones and he missed her lips and brushed her forehead instead. It wasn’t what he was going for, but a kiss is a kiss.

  “I wanted to kiss that shocked look off your face,” she said, leaning back again. “In answer to your question, yes, I intended to conduct the negotiation by myself. I didn’t and don’t need a man to speak for me. I have a voice. I was and am perfectly capable of asking for what I want. I am quite adept at telling people yes or no when necessary.”

  “I believe you. But I have to say, I am flabbergasted at your willingness to take such a risk in spite of your confidence. In my line of work I see how easy it is for men to take advantage of women.”

  She laughed softly. “I’m sure you do, Rudyard. However, I don’t see what I did as taking a big risk. As long as we’re all speaking English, I knew I’d be fine. I understand words and their meaning.”

  Ruddy could only shake his head. He knew too well how some men wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of her gender’s naturally more susceptible character. It took a special lady to keep them at bay.

  The carriage stopped and Ruddy extended his hand to assist her to the sidewalk. “I’m still allowed to help you in and out of carriages and whatnot, right?” he teased. When she stepped on the bottom rung of the cab’s ladder and her ear was level with his mouth, he whispered, as he lifted her the rest of the way to the sidewalk, “and do this too?”

  Honeysuckle tipped her head a fraction and gave him a flirtatious smile. “I said I can speak for myself. I never said I can do everything for myself.”

  For a moment, the overwhelming temptation to load her back into the carriage and dash back to her hotel swept over him. But her boldness didn’t mean she was less a lady than other women, so he slipped her arm through his.

  Ruddy heard at the time it was built the Oxford’s elegant façade, which was extraordinary for a music hall, had all of London abuzz. After seeing the building for himself, with its twin towers of carved stonework, rows of Palladian windows, and the mix of tall Ionic and Doric columns in between, he agreed it deserved every compliment.

  The maître ‘d’ recognized Honeysuckle and showed them to box seats on the ground floor marked reserved. All the times he’d gone to music hall shows, Ruddy had never sat in the box seats. He’d been inside the Oxford before but always stood at the bar to watch the show. The Oxford’s box seats were as elegant as the building’s exterior. The chairs were covered in plush crimson velvet with an ebony table in between, while velvet curtains and mahogany folding doors shut out the noise of the crowd walking by in the hall. Brass railings topped the curved wall of each box and a similar railing ran along the bottom for guests to rest their feet.

  Honeysuckle and Ruddy were discussing which champagne to order when a bottle arrived at the table compliments of the house. The waiter poured each a glass and replaced the bottle in a chilled bucket.

  “Apparently, they miss you,” Ruddy said. “As they should.”

  The Master of Ceremonies and the chorus opened the show with a toast to the Queen and then a rousing version of If It Wasn’t For the Houses in Between. After he finished he introduced Honeysuckle and asked her to join them on stage for a song or two.

  She stood when he’d introduced her but shook her head at the invite. “No thank you. I’m here with someone. We just want to enjoy the show.”

  “If you want to go up and sing, don’t feel like you have to say no because of me. I’ll be all right. It’s good publicity for your show,” Ruddy told her when she sat down.

  “I don’t need the publicity. I already play to packed houses or didn’t you notice?”

  “I’ve noticed quite a bit about you. I’m a detective—a trained observer you know.” He winked.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Ruddy turned at the sound of the familiar voice of a man he despised. Napier was there with another man. “Good evening, Napier.”

  “Evening,” he replied, his eyes fixed on Honeysuckle. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Bloody?”

  Honeysuckle wrapped her right hand around Ruddy’s arm gave his elbow a slight squeeze. “Bloody? What does he mean? Why did he call you that?”

  Ruddy turned to her. “It’s a ridiculous label he likes to call me.”

  “Since Bloody has neglected to it, I’ll introduce myself.” Napier reached in front of Ruddy and exte
nded his hand. “Nathaniel Napier.”

  Ruddy laid his hand over her right. Honeysuckle made no effort to move her hand from under his, ignoring Napier’s gesture. “Honeysuckle Flowers.”

  “I thought I recognized you.” It was the man next to Napier. “You’re the star at the Odeon Music Hall. I saw your show last spring. Names Ignatius Yarrow but everyone calls me Iggy.”

  Napier shot a weak smile toward Ruddy before smiling broadly at Honeysuckle. “A star at the Odeon, I’m impressed, I’ll make it a point to see your act. I can’t imagine how Bloody here managed to talk you into spending the evening with him. But I wish you both a lovely time. Nice meeting you.” He and Iggy sat at a table across the room.

  “You never said why that Napier fellow calls you Bloody,” Honeysuckle said.

  “He uses it to mock my military past.”

  “The two of you hate each other, that’s obvious.”

  “Hate is a strong word. I find him a vile bootlicker. I’d rather share a table with a wharf rat than with him, but I don’t hate him.”

  Honeysuckle sat up higher and kissed his cheek. “Interesting distinction.”

  ****

  They stayed for one show and left. By London theatre goers’ standards the evening was still young. At the hotel Ruddy walked Honeysuckle to her room. He hoped for a good kiss or two at the door. He’d ask to see her again, say goodnight, and then go home and read for a while.

  He bent to kiss her but she pulled away and asked, “Would you like to come in?”

  “I’d love to,” he said taken by surprise. He had to work in the morning but he was one of those fortunate people who didn’t require a lot of sleep.

  Before they’d gone out, she’d left instructions with the front desk for the concierge to light the lamps in the main room of her suite. She didn’t want to return to a dark chamber.

  “It’s nice they turned lights on for you. I wonder if they aren’t concerned about the fire when a guest is out though,” Ruddy said.

  “They make periodic checks, I’m told.” She poured him an Irish whiskey and herself a scotch and handed him his drink. “Hear that?”