Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  “Remember what I told you,” Tony said as he tied Ruddy’s boots. “He’ll come at you hard and fast. From what I observed in his sparring routines, he’ll go for the jaw. I think he hopes to knock you out early with an especially hard strike to the chin. So keep your hands up.”

  “I will.”

  “And?”

  “Watch for the signs of his split second of weakness.”

  Ruddy nearly bumped into Napier as he left the section of the changing room that he’d been assigned. Napier was alone. “I sent my corner man ahead. You might want to do the same. I’ve something you might want to see.”

  Ruddy thought it an odd comment, especially under the circumstances. “Go on, Tony. I’ll join you in a moment.” Once Tony was out of earshot, he asked, “You wanted to show me something?”

  Napier gestured for him to follow. They re-entered the changing area and Napier pulled a letter sized portfolio from a leather bag. “I collect erotica from the continent.” He gave a short snort. “From the look on your face, you disapprove. As if I’d believe you haven’t enjoyed fingering through it when it has crossed your desk.”

  “You mistake my disinterest for disapproval. I couldn’t care less about your personal penchants. What’s this to do with me?”

  Napier removed a photograph from the portfolio and held it up for Ruddy.

  Ruddy immediately recognized the woman in the sepia-toned picture as a young Honeysuckle, perhaps as young as fifteen. Her chin and cheeks were still chubby with baby fat. She lay on her side on a sofa. Rose petals were scattered over the sofa and on the floor. She held a bouquet of roses beneath her breasts and peered up coquettishly at the camera. A sheer panel had been draped over her hips but the dark thatch between her thighs was still visible.

  Notre Dame Cathedral could be seen through the window behind her. Ruddy briefly wondered if she’d posed for money, or had the photographer dazzled her with talk of Paris and then talked her into posing nude? It didn’t matter.

  Ruddy tried to take the picture from Napier but Napier immediately jerked the photo out of his reach. “No you don’t. I’m not giving you a chance to tear it to pieces.”

  “Why did you want me to see this?” Ruddy had a guess but he’d hear it from Napier’s lips.

  “Side wager, I thought to make the fight more interesting for you and me. If you win, I give you the picture. If I win, I keep it.”

  Ruddy checked his feelings. Of course he was disturbed by the idea of Napier having the intimate photograph of Honeysuckle. But dwelling too deeply on the private activities pursued by men with these collections was a distraction for another time. To offer the photograph as a prize, Napier had to have other plans. “Say I lose, what purpose do you have for it, other than the usual leering?”

  “None for now. But you never know. Perhaps, if the mood is right, I’ll sell it. I’m sure one of the broadsheets would love to publish it with a headline about the star of the Odeon’s scandalous past.”

  A nude picture like this was scandalous, even for an actress. “Doing that would destroy her career. Why do that to her? Is this because she turned you down for dinner?”

  Napier shook his head and said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” He licked the length of Honeysuckle’s nude form, smirked, and then tucked the photograph back into the portfolio. “I’ve no trouble finding dinner companions. I don’t give a whit about what happens to her or her career but you do. I think it matters a great deal to you that I possess this.”

  “Bastard.” Ruddy lunged, knocking Napier into the wall. The two wrestled for possession of the portfolio.

  “What the deuce is going on here?” The referee separated them. Napier used the interruption to yank the portfolio from Ruddy.

  “Save the fisticuffs for the ring. Get a move on, you two. The crowd is getting restless.” The referee left and Napier replaced the portfolio into his bag.

  “All right, you bloody bastard. Let me make sure I have the right of it,” Ruddy said. “The crux of this wager is: I win, and I keep the picture. Lose, and you threaten to hurt her, or I assume there’s something you want from me to keep that from happening.

  “I haven’t decided but yes, there may come a day when I want a favor from you. The picture is my insurance you cooperate.”

  “Fine. I accept your wager. Is this the only photograph of her?”

  “It’s the only one I have. That said; I doubt a photographer with a lovely, nubile model like the young Miss Flowers only took one.”

  Sadly, Napier was probably right.

  “Shall we? The crowd awaits,” Napier said, and the two of them left.

  When Ruddy entered he joined Tony in the corner of the ring. “What did that Napier want?” Tony asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” He glanced over at Napier in his corner who was bouncing on alternating feet, throwing punches in the air.

  Napier nodded his way, giving him a wide, smug smirk then making a comment over his shoulder to his admirers that had them laughing.

  Jameson and Daley sat with the Holborn men. Ruddy half expected Jameson to sit with Effingham, high-ranking officer with high-ranking officer. Jameson shocked him by leading the Holborn group in a cheer when Ruddy came to the center of the ring in a face-to-face with Napier and to hear the rules gone over by the referee.

  “Gentlemen, return to your corners and at the sound of the bell, come out fighting,” the referee said.

  The bell rang. Napier came at Ruddy exactly as Tony predicted, hard and fast. Ruddy ducked and weaved. Napier missed the first few shots, then he adjusted and some connected. Ruddy reeled from a sharp blow to the side of his jaw but he immediately countered and caught Napier on the chin with a hard right cross.

  Anyone who believes three minutes goes by in the blink of an eye never faced a man with fists like bricks in a boxing ring.

  Finally, the bell to end the round sounded. Tony wiped Ruddy down with a cool wet towel and gave him a sip of water.

  “Don’t drink too much. You’ll vomit,” Tony warned.

  Ruddy’s mouth was dry as the Sahara and if he could, he’d drink the bucket of water at his feet.

  The round two bell rang.

  Within seconds salty sweat rolled into one of Ruddy’s eyes, blurring his vision. He saw the fist coming at him, tried to pivot and block but took the brunt of the blow on his brow bone. His eye involuntarily closed and filled with fluid. Ruddy couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood or both. Napier delivered a set of rough body blows to Ruddy’s ribs, knocking him several steps back into the ropes. Ruddy lost his balance but didn’t go down. Instead, he rallied and even with limited sight went after Napier with two right crosses and then a left.

  Napier moved in close for a jab to Ruddy’s face, too close. He couldn’t get a power hit in but neither could Ruddy initially. Ruddy was the first to correct his position. When Napier realized his mistake, he broke the rules by wrapping Ruddy in a bear hug to keep his arms contained. The referee broke them up just as the bell ending the round came.

  Fluid continued to flood Ruddy’s one eye. “Is it blood?” he asked Tony? “Or sweat?”

  “Blood. You’ve a nasty cut. I can get it stopped and maybe, just maybe fix it so you can see a bit out of it again. It hurts. Try not to let your opponent see you flinch too much.”

  “Do what you have to.”

  Tony wiped Ruddy’s face with the cold wet towel and used the corner of a fresh towel to clean the cut eye. He held the cloth there long as he dared with the time limitations. Ruddy couldn’t see what he poured onto a wad of gauze. Tony quickly had the treated gauze onto the cut.

  “Bloody hell.” Ruddy jerked back. Forget Tony’s warning. Whatever Tony used it felt like he’d seared Ruddy with a red hot poker. “What the devil is that stuff?”

  “Cayenne pepper.”

  “There was nothing else you could use?”

  “This works fastest. Try to open your eye.”

  Opening his eye fully was
n’t an option. He was able to blink, which allowed him to see a fraction better.

  The bell rang.

  In the middle of the round Napier made the move Tony told Ruddy to watch for. Napier tipped his head to the right and rose up on the ball of his left foot. He was readying to push off to add impetus to his left hook. That split second he was off balance Ruddy struck, hitting him hard again with his right followed by a left and then a body blow as Napier reeled. Napier staggered but didn’t go down. Both men bobbed and weaved around each other for a long moment, exhaustion starting to take a toll on both.

  Ruddy glanced Tony’s way and as he did he caught a glimpse of a young man in the audience who he swore could be Honeysuckle’s twin brother. The distraction proved painful. Napier hit him with a left that carried everything he had square on the bridge of Ruddy’s nose.

  His head immediately dropped and Ruddy covered his broken nose with his hands. Blood spurt through his fingers. Lord have mercy it hurt. Furious, he shook off the pain and went after Napier using every move, every tactic, and every power maneuver Tony taught him. He and Napier battled along the ropes, bleeding and staggering, but neither falling. Ruddy couldn’t find the space he needed to land a winning punch and his arms ached as though stone weights pulled at them.

  Napier came at him again, a stumbling step but with fire in his eyes. Ruddy didn’t bother to wipe the blood away that dripped from his nose. Napier had drawn back with his right and opened himself up for a brief moment. Ruddy hit him with a hard body blow. The punch knocked Napier backward into the ropes, where he lost his footing, and fell onto his knees, his breathing labored. Blood and sweat dripped onto the ring under him.

  Ruddy stood over him. He wiped the blood running from his nose on his arm, his chest heaving as he spoke, “Get up and I swear I’ll beat you into a coma. I’ll have that photograph.”

  Napier turned to look at Ruddy with defiant eyes. He tried twice to rise and collapsed both times. The referee began the count. At ten, Napier remained down and the referee declared Ruddy the winner.

  Napier made a brief but weak protest before allowing his corner man to lead him away. Tony had Ruddy sit while he washed the blood from his face and hands.

  “My nose is broken, isn’t it?” Ruddy asked.

  Tony nodded. “It’s a clean break. You’ll have a bump but that’s all, if it is set soon. Want me to set the break?”

  “Have you done it before?” He did like the idea of only a bump and nothing worse.

  “Yes. It will hurt but it’s over quick.”

  Ruddy didn’t have to think too long. Setting broken noses always hurts. Setting any broken bone hurts. He took a deep breath. “Go ahead. Just hurry.”

  Tony pressed a thumb to one side of Ruddy’s nose and used his other thumb to press the bone back in place. Sharp pain shot from his nose to his brain and back. Ruddy reeled. His eyes instantly watered. “Oh sweet heaven. Do you need to bandage it or anything?”

  “Best to leave it alone now. Be careful not to bump it while you’re shaving and washing. You’ll lose your sense of smell and taste for a short time.”

  “That maybe but I haven’t lost my desire for a beer or two or three. Let me get cleaned up and changed. We’re to meet the Holborn lads on our side of the river at the Hare and Hound pub.”

  Tony gave him a hand to help him up. “You did real well in the ring, Mr. Bloodstone. I am proud to say I trained you. You should be right proud. You fought their champion and it ended in a victory. That’s bloody damn good.”

  Jameson had waited for Ruddy in the arena room. “Good show, Bloodstone. You did Holborn proud.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jameson handed Ruddy three sovereigns. “I assume you’re going to the Hare and Hound.” Ruddy nodded. “Buy the Holborn men a round of drinks on me.” He turned to Tony and extended his hand. “Mr. Critchlow, I understand from Archie you trained Rudyard.”

  “I did,” Tony shook Jameson’s hand.

  “Well done. You kept him on his feet.” Jameson turned back to Ruddy, smiled and added, “I wasn’t certain you’d stay standing.”

  “I wasn’t certain either, sir,” Ruddy said.

  “John and I are going onto our club. But before we do John was telling me something about the history of your murder victims that might be useful to your investigation. John, please tell Bloodstone what you told me.”

  “I attended Oxford at the same time as Cross and Skinner. They were on the university’s rowing crew. In fact, they were the championship team three years running. When I read they’d both been murdered I thought it oddly coincidental, but not so much so as to mention it to Henry here,” Daley said, indicating Jameson.

  The small fact about the men attending university together, let alone being on the rowing crew together was worth the broken nose. He and Archie were desperate for any scrap of a lead to follow. “Go on sir, please.”

  “Then when I read about Dr. Finch’s nurse being murdered, I thought this was too peculiar not to mention to Henry. I knew I’d be seeing him today, which is why I didn’t contact you sooner. You see, Finch was part of the crew as well. There were four on the team who were thick as thieves. Four of the most annoying jackanapes and braggarts you’ll ever meet. Cross was their leader, the worst of them. They followed along with whatever he wanted to do.”

  “You say there were four. Do you recall who the fourth fellow was?” Ruddy asked.

  “Harlan Lloyd-Birch.”

  “Do you happen to know where he works or lives in the city?”

  “He doesn’t. I was never friends with any of them but I heard through social contacts that Harlan’s lungs are in bad condition. His health won’t tolerate the city air. He stays at his country estate outside Guildford, Surrey. He conducts his family’s business from there. That’s as much as I can tell you. I hope it helps.”

  “Oh, it does. Thank you. Enjoy your evening,” Ruddy said. “We’ll be off to the pub ourselves shortly.”

  Napier’s corner man came over and handed Ruddy the leather portfolio. “Nathaniel said to give this to you.”

  “Don’t go anywhere yet.” Ruddy stepped to the side and pulled the picture out just far enough to verify it was the one of Honeysuckle. Ruddy closed the portfolio and moved back to where Tony and Napier’s man waited. “Everything is fine,” he told the corner man who turned and left.

  Archie and Northam joined them just as Jameson and Daley left the building. “We might finally have a decent lead in our murder cases,” Ruddy told Archie.

  “Do tell.”

  “For a start, it looks like Keating might not have been the intended victim. We may be looking for someone with a grudge against the good doctor.”

  “And the others?”

  “The same. They’re friends of his from Oxford.” Ruddy gingerly felt the bridge of his nose.

  If thoughts had sound, a dull thud would come from Archie as previous theories for the murders got pushed aside. “If we’re talking someone who hates them from Oxford days, then we’re talking almost twenty years of hate. Merciful heavens. That’s a lot of hate.”

  “Isn’t it though? The connection makes for an unusual lead but I’m happy for any lead.”

  Archie removed his handkerchief from his coat pocket and gave it to Ruddy. “You shouldn’t fiddle with your nose. You’ve got trickle of blood coming out now.”

  “Are my eyes going black yet?”

  Archie and Northam both nodded. “Getting there,” Archie said.

  ****

  Ruddy and his friends celebrated his victory at the Hare and Hound. They enjoyed themselves mocking Napier’s supporters and rehashing when Ruddy delivered his best blows. Typical for a gathering of coppers, the conversation moved from the highlights of the boxing match to the best rough and tumble fights with street ruffians the different men had. Those stories always have a way of morphing into the comical calls they’ve had. Ruddy wasn’t sure how well Tony would fit in a group of Peelers. He needn
’t have worried. This was the jolliest he’d ever seen his sparring partner. Tony shared equally funny stories from his army days that had everyone laughing.

  By the time the party ended and Ruddy was home, all he wanted was a soak in a hot bath. Every muscle in his body ached and reminded him how sore he’d be in the morning. To his pleasant surprise, Luke’s mother and Mrs. Goodge were still awake playing whist in the parlor, while Luke sat nearby playing marbles.

  “Luke, want to earn a shilling?” Ruddy asked, stopping in the doorway.

  Luke jumped up and dashed over to Ruddy. “A shilling? For a shilling, I’ll run to the Thames itself to fetch the water, sir.”

  Ruddy grimaced at the disgusting thought of bathing in the river’s filthy water. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Luke, the only thing I can think of worse to bathe in is donkey urine.”

  “Mr. Bloodstone, such talk.”

  “Sorry Mrs. Goodge, I forgot myself. I’ve been drinking with some raucous friends the last couple hours and my language has suffered. I’m desperate for a hot bath. Would you mind interrupting your game to heat water for me?”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Goodge asked Luke’s mother who shook her head.

  “I’ll get the large pot on straight away.” Goodge set her hand on the table and headed for the kitchen.

  Ruddy ruffled Luke’s hair. “Let’s pass on the Thames. Ten pails of Mrs. Goodge’s water will do.”

  “Yes, sir.

  ****

  Ruddy had stayed in the tub until the water cooled. He’d told Luke not to bother returning to empty the tub. He could do that tomorrow while Ruddy was at work.

  He warmed a kettle of water in the small fireplace in his parlor and made tea. On the side table next to the overstuffed chair in the room, Ruddy laid his drawing pencils. He settled back into the chair and with the photograph of Honeysuckle on his knees, he began to sketch his version of the picture. Fatigue blanketed him before he got more than the outline of her form finished and minor features of her face.