A Most Dangerous Woman

by L M Jackson

  ‘You might have told the police.’

  ‘You did not see Hawkes’s face. There was no emotion, no anger; just concentration. He was … how can I put it? … methodical. I have never seen a man so completely in control of himself. He made my friend Bilcher look like a milksop. I did not dare. I had to think of my own skin.’

  Sarah Tanner looked Ferntower in the eye.

  ‘How do I even know this man exists?’

  Ferntower shrugged. ‘I cannot produce his card, if that is your question. Nor can I magic him up from the aether.’

  ‘Then where can I find him?’

  ‘I have no idea. But I wish the happy couple all the best. Good luck to them both.’

  ‘And what about your cousin?’ said Mrs. Tanner, thoughtfully. ‘Will he make her a good husband?’

  ‘Oh, but she will make him an excellent wife. You see, she is an heiress, Miss Richards; worth ten thousand a year on her majority. That is why she is under my father’s wing. And that will do my friend Hawkes nicely. Yes, that’s where you’ll find him, I imagine. He’ll stick to Elizabeth like glue; mark my words.’

  Sarah Tanner looked at John Ferntower. He spoke with deliberate world-weary irony. But there seemed something beneath the detached and debased tone of amusement, not least when he mentioned his cousin: a peculiar sadness in his voice when he spoke of her. She almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Suppose what you say is true,’ she said, after a moment’s reflection. ‘If I wanted to be introduced to your father and cousin, how should I go about it?’

  ‘Introduced? I fear, Miss Richards, you draw the wrong inference from my unfortunate circumstances and apparel. I hardly think—’

  ‘Please,’ she interjected. ‘You may assume that I can dress myself in a fashion more suited to their society.’

  ‘You are a queer creature,’ said Ferntower, rather surprised. ‘Very queer indeed.’

  ‘Just tell me how should I go about it.’

  ‘There is only one way into my father’s good graces, Miss Richards, and that is money. Do you have money?’

  ‘I might.’

  Ferntower laughed derisively. ‘If you say so. Very well, if I were you, I should make a donation to one of his little schemes. He likes to play the philanthropist, my father. He has quite a little collection, the old hyprocrite. An almshouse; a dispensary; even a juvenile reformatory. Why, that is quite amusing, is it not? I expect he wishes he had sent me there.’

  ‘Perhaps he ought to have done.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you should put me out of my misery, Miss Richards. There is still time.’

  ‘No, not tonight.’

  ‘No?’ said Ferntower, with a wry smile. ‘That is something. Is my interrogation finished?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sarah Tanner, pensive. ‘How should I go about making a donation, so that your father knows about it?’

  ‘Do you truly intend to go through with the idea? I was not serious.’

  ‘But I am, Mr. Ferntower. I intend to put your story to the test.’

  It was nearly midnight when Sarah Tanner arrived back at the Dining and Coffee Rooms. There was a hint of fog in the air, and she had to pick her way carefully along the rather inadequate paving and faltering gas-lights of Leather Lane. Upon arrival, she found Ralph Grundy in the process of ejecting a rather lethargic young man from the premises, whose breath stank of cheap brandy, and who seemed determined to spend the night in one of the coffee-shop’s little booths, having mistaken it for his bed. Between them, they levered the young man into the street, setting him in the direction of the Bottle of Hay, the public-house being the only local landmark with which he seemed familiar.

  With no further customers, Ralph Grundy dragged the shop’s wooden shutters out on to the street, and Sarah Tanner set to helping him lift them into place.

  ‘Glad to see you came back, missus,’ said Ralph Grundy, as they lifted the last board on to the slat beneath the window.

  ‘Where else would I go?’

  ‘It’s more that you got back in one piece, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ralph. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘I don’t take offence, missus. It ain’t in my nature. So did you find him? Mr. Smith?’

  ‘I did, as it happens.’

  ‘And was it him, the son?’

  ‘Yes, I was right on that score. But he says there’s a man named Hawkes who’s wooing his cousin; apparently he’s an out-and-out villain. Ferntower thinks Hawkes killed his aunt, to prevent any objections to the match.’

  ‘That’s convenient, ain’t it? And what do you reckon? Do you trust him to set you right?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. The man’s … well, you’ve seen the state of him.’

  ‘What about this Hawkes, then? Could it be your policeman? Maybe that’s his name.’

  ‘No, not by the sound of it. Hawkes is a gentleman or passes for one. I can’t see our friend managing that.’

  ‘Maybe this Hawkes gets other fellows to do his dirty work.’

  ‘If he even exists, I …’

  Sarah Tanner paused since, as she bent down to fix the padlock upon the last of the shutters, something fell from her dress and clattered on to the paving stones. The pistol, undamaged by the fall, lay at her feet. Hastily, she grabbed it and replaced it in her pocket. Ralph Grundy, however, saw the gun; and his brow creased into anxious ridges.

  ‘You shouldn’t be carrying that thing, missus. What if it goes off?’

  ‘It’s not capped, you have my word.’

  ‘But it’s loaded?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Only takes a spark,’ muttered the old man. ‘And what was you planning to do with that barker, anyhow?’

  ‘You said yourself; the Dials aren’t safe.’

  ‘Well, as long as that’s all it was,’ said Ralph Grundy, looking closely at his mistress’s face. But Sarah Tanner turned away, and opened the shop-door.

  ‘I suppose we had better lock up,’ she said, stepping inside.

  ‘Ain’t you forgetting something?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your little cousin, Norah,’ said Ralph, glumly.

  ‘Hasn’t she come back?’

  ‘No, missus,’ replied Ralph Grundy, with a rather significant look. ‘She ain’t.’

  Harry Drummond had thought long and hard upon where to take his companion for the evening. In the end, he had settled upon Evans’s Dancing Academy, on the corner of Saffron Hill and Charles Street, not far from Leather Lane. Situated above the Green Man public-house, the Academy was little more than an open assembly room, given over twice weekly to the delights of the terpsichorean arts. How much in the way of instruction went on was, perhaps, debatable; but there was dancing aplenty, of the hop variety – jigs and reels, varied by the occasional rather unlikely polka – depending principally upon the tireless musical exertion of a single fiddler, and the vigorous stamping of several dozen hob-nailed boots. As Harry’s father had suggested, it was the place for a good trot and no mistake about it.

  As for Norah Smallwood, she seemed to enjoy herself. Indeed, as the night wore on, and the consumption of beer and porter, by all parties, increased commensurately, Harry Drummond was inclined to harbour various romantic notions, largely incompatible with his notion of himself as one of nature’s gentlemen. Having briefly descended to the bar of the Green Man to acquire more liquid refreshment, he returned shortly after the stroke of eleven o’clock.

  He was surprised to find Norah Smallwood had utterly vanished.

  Norah Smallwood had, in fact, not gone far. She stood in the doorway of a nearby shop, sheltering from the cold night air, together with another gentleman of a different ilk from Harry Drummond.

  ‘He said that?’ exclaimed Norah Smallwood, angrily.

  ‘I swear he did. What kind of fellow leaves an out-and-outer like you all alone, anyhow? You’re better off with me, gal. Here, come a bit closer.’

  ‘Why should I?’
>
  ‘Pretty gal like you … you know why. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Norah. And I ain’t so fast as all that.’

  ‘Pretty name, though.’

  ‘What’s yours then?’

  ‘Mine? Albert.’

  ‘I s’pose I’m pleased to meet you, Albert.’

  ‘Likewise,’ replied Bert Jones.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Have you seen him?’ said Ralph Grundy, as he squeezed past the counter, nodding in the direction of the window. It was lunch-time in Leather Lane, the day after Sarah Tanner’s encounter with John Ferntower, and the coffee-shop was busy with men from the market, leaving the waiter little room to manoeuvre.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He’ll be back – just you watch.’

  Mrs. Tanner stood behind the Dining and Coffee Rooms’ great bronze coffee-urn. Three costers, meanwhile, stood nearby, waiting to be served. The urn’s brass tap had somehow grown too hot, an unfortunate eccentricity to which it was rather prone. She cursed it as she wrapped a cloth round the metal and struggled to pour each man their drink.

  Ralph Grundy tutted. ‘That burner’s slipped again.’

  ‘Really?’ she replied, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘I was only saying. Here, I’ll do it.’

  As the men paid for their coffee, Ralph Grundy leant down, took a bread-knife, and poked at the burner’s charcoal. Sarah Tanner, meanwhile, finally took the waiter’s advice and glanced towards the shop-window.

  ‘Who am I supposed to be looking for?’

  ‘Any second now,’ replied Ralph Grundy, with a wry smile. ‘Ah, there he is.’

  The object of Ralph Grundy’s uncannily accurate prediction was Harry Drummond. For the youth had been pacing the corner of Liquorpond Street and Leather Lane, at five-minute intervals, for a good half-hour, sauntering past, with thumbs placed jauntily in the pockets of his waistcoat. There was, however, something far too deliberate in his perambulation. Moreover, a forlorn look upon his face, and his brief hopeless glance through the glass, argued against an altogether casual demeanour. It was only when he accidentally caught Sarah Tanner’s eye, that he turned his head away, and hurried off.

  ‘Been lurking there all morning,’ said Ralph Grundy, with a slight degree of exaggeration. ‘Did you see the state of him? And then there’s Her Ladyship—’

  ‘If you mean Norah—’

  ‘Aye, I do. Grinning like the cat that got the cream, not sparing him a look. Now, you tell me what’s going on there.’

  ‘If I am any judge, I expect she met another young man last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered the waiter. ‘Well, I expect you’re right there. So much for mourning your pal Phelps.’

  ‘Ralph, please, not again. I’ve other things to worry about. I’m not the girl’s mother. She can do as she likes. In any case, it’s better she forgets George Phelps. Now, there’s people seated that want serving.’

  ‘Well, if you told me what you’re planning,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘maybe I’d have more to think about and all.’

  ‘Planning? Who said I’m planning anything?’

  ‘I ain’t such a fool, missus. If you don’t want my help, well, that’s another matter. I saw you looking through the papers all morning. And I saw you tidy one away, too.’

  ‘You’d do better at Scotland Yard, Ralph, I swear.’

  ‘Well then?’

  Reluctantly, Sarah Tanner retrieved a copy of the previous day’s Times from behind the counter. Running her finger down the first column of advertisements, she pointed to a particular notice, which Ralph Grundy read to himself.

  FANCY SALE FOR THE BENEFIT OF FINSBURY JUVENILE SCHOOLS

  A fancy sale will be held at Radley’s Hotel, Bridge-street, Blackfriars, on Monday 12th April, in aid of the maintenance fund of the above schools. Under the patronage of Her Grace, the Duchess of Beaufort. Tickets from the Secretary, 10 Waterloo Place.

  ‘It’s one of Mr. Ferntower’s charities,’ said Mrs. Tanner. ‘Most likely he’ll be attending; at least, that’s what his son told me.’

  ‘So you’re thinking of going and all?’

  ‘I think so. The business with his sister – it’s all to do with what happened to Georgie, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You’ll need a ticket, missus. How are you going to manage that? I ain’t much up on these things, but if it’s dukes and duchesses, then … I mean to say, I know you can talk proper as you like but—’

  ‘They won’t give a ticket to just anyone. I know that.’

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘I fear I will have to call upon an old friend.’

  ‘Lor! That didn’t work last time, missus – or have you forgotten?’

  ‘A different friend,’ said Sarah Tanner with a rather thin smile. ‘Very different. Tell me, Ralph, have you ever driven a carriage?’

  ‘A carriage?’

  ‘Have you? The truth, now, if you do want to help me.’

  ‘Well, I worked second-fiddle to a carman, once. I did a fair bit of the driving. I reckon I’m all right with horses.’

  ‘Better than boats?’

  ‘Aye, I should hope so, missus. What are you thinking off, anyhow?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. Mind the shop. I’m going out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  Ralph Grundy murmured something inaudible under his breath.

  ‘Where’s she off to?’ asked Norah Smallwood, coming out from the kitchen.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Ralph Grundy.

  In fact, Sarah Tanner’s journey took her down to Fleet Street, then west along the Strand. But her destination was one which Ralph Grundy would have been unlikely to have guessed: namely, a bench in St. James’s Park, facing the grand ornamental lake, the great iron gates of the Queen’s own residence visible in the distance.

  The weather was quite temperate for a spring day in the metropolis and it would not have been an unpleasant place for anyone to take a brief rest. But Sarah Tanner seemed to sit more in expectation than repose, and anyone who passed her by – if they thought about the matter at all – was probably inclined to imagine her a servant on an afternoon’s liberty, whether sanctioned or illicit, awaiting a romantic tryst with an off-duty guardsman, or junior clerk. Certainly, that was the opinion of several nursemaids who cast knowing glances in her direction, as they guided their infant charges away from the lake’s shore. Even the policeman on duty, who circled the lake twice on Sarah Tanner’s account, concluded as much. For, although he was obliged to keep an eye out for unfortunates, who might importune unwary gentlemen, it seemed plain that the object of his observation was waiting for someone in particular.

  The man in question appeared at ten minutes past two o’clock, a young individual of about twenty-two years of age, strolling along the gravel path that ran by the lake. He was, beyond dispute, rather handsome, with boyish features and a rather unworldly, abstracted expression. That he was a gentleman was not in doubt. From the silk of his hat, to the fashionable winged collar of his shirt, the gold of his watch-chain, and the black lustrous sheen of his boots, every detail was quite in order. So much so, in fact, that the police constable, from the other side of the lake, briefly doubted his own judgment; for it seemed unlikely that such a person could have any social connection – decent or indecent – with the merely presentable female who sat upon the bench. And yet, remarkably, it was the young man who spoke first. The constable looked across at the mismatched couple. Whatever it signified, he reasoned, resuming his round of the park, it was not police business.

  ‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed the young man at the sight of Sarah Tanner, rising from her seat.

  ‘Mr. DeSalle.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting for you. Shall we walk?’ said Sarah Tanner calmly.

  Arthur DeSalle looked cautiously along the lake-side in either direction.

  ‘You needn’t take my
arm,’ she continued.

  Arthur DeSalle looked quite flustered. ‘I hardly think—’

  ‘Must I make a scene?’

  ‘Sarah – please!’ exclaimed DeSalle in hushed tones. ‘What is this?’

  ‘You always were such a creature of habit. I knew you always come this way after lunch at the club. I didn’t mean to startle you. I suppose I could have gone to the Reform—’

  ‘God forbid!’ exclaimed the young man.

  ‘Then just walk with me a little. No-one will think anything of it. Or must I follow you home?’

  ‘Sarah, really, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Or I suppose,’ she went on, with a backward glance at the policeman, who still could be seen across the water, ‘you might have me arrested.’

  Arthur DeSalle hestitated for a moment, then fell in step as Sarah Tanner began to stroll along the path. After a moment or two, he offered her his arm.

  ‘Sarah,’ said the young man, finally collecting himself, ‘please, don’t trifle with me like this. It’s been six months. I’d quite given you up.’

  ‘Seven,’ she corrected him.

  ‘Seven, then. When we parted, you made your sentiments quite clear. You swore I would never see you again. It has been so long. I never dared imagine you might reconsider—’

  Sarah Tanner shook her head, deliberately interrupting. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I’ve come to ask a favour, Arthur, nothing more.’

  ‘A favour?’

  ‘For the sake of our friendship.’

  DeSalle paused and freed his arm from his companion; there was a look of pained frustration upon his face.

  ‘“Friendship”? Good God, woman! What is this? You tell me to go to blazes, disappear off the face of the earth – heavens, I spent weeks looking for you – and now, you spring up like some jack-in-the-box and you want a “favour”?’

  ‘An indulgence then, for old times’ sake.’