by T T Thomas
Sabrina awoke with a throbbing head and a lop-sided smile. She sat up far enough to rest on her elbows, and then gave up all pretense of purpose by sinking back into the warm nest. When she felt fully awake, she got out of the bed slowly, deliberately. The house was quiet.
After her morning ministrations, she dressed in a pair of classic, navy blue, Knickerbocker trousers with small, yellow polka dots and deep, side vent pockets. She added the matching weskit over a saffron-shaded blouse that perfectly matched the hue of the yellow dots. She might go for a long walk later, but in any event, she yearned for a casual day. She pulled on her knee-high soft leather boots and stood.
The pain in her head resisted the bright enthusiasm of her outfit but she ignored it in favor of the still slightly drunk blood in her veins and the fair flutter in her heart. The kiss.
The delicious kisses were on her mind when she chose her wardrobe that day. She had designed this get-up herself and thought it captured a certain joie de vivre, a smart and jaunty statement of modernity with the dark background for the festive but traditional dots. After she brushed her shoulder-length hair, she had an urge to cut it short. Or would that tempt fate too much? Maybe she needed a glass of ginger ale to settle the rumbles from the ebullient elephants in her stomach.
As she expected, Felicity had been up earlier, so Sabrina drank her coffee alone in the library. She nibbled on a bland biscuit. A full breakfast was unthinkable.
As she perused the day’s newspaper, she heard a vague commotion in the foyer. Expecting to see Cath come in and announce something or someone, she looked over her cup mid-sip at Felicity, instead.
“Good morning. There is a Mr. Mendicott for you.”
Sabrina looked at her blankly. “I was coming in from the back garden where I left Cath, so I answered the door,” Felicity explained. She shrugged as a small, mocking expression of familiarity and quandary flashed across her face.
Sabrina thought she looked like a fresh-picked rose. A smudge of dirt on her cheek, a sheen of dew on her brow from exertion, a pouty half smile and a slight sunburn that seemed to blush at its own forwardness.
“Well, thank you,” Sabrina said, rising. The sight threw her off. “I’ll, uh, yes, I’ll show him in myself. But, also, that is, would you like a coffee?” She motioned to the small table where a pot and a second cup and saucer sat.
Before Felicity could answer, Sabrina reached the door and absent-mindedly opened it. She was two feet from her visitor.
“Oh, Chief Inspector Mendicott. What a surprise.”
He looked at her and stepped forward, so she backed up a pace into the library. “Yes, do come in,” she said, the wry note of sarcasm well hidden beneath her hospitable comportment.
“This is…a friend, Felicity West. Coffee?”
“No thank you, Miss Blissdon. I wanted to ask you a couple more questions about the—” he paused and looked over at Felicity.
“It’s quite all right, Chief Inspector, you may speak freely.”
“Very well,” he said, addressing his notebook. “The night of the second murder, you mentioned that Dr. Wintermere had been around to visit you.”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Sabrina smiled at Felicity who returned the same.
“And then,” Mendicott quickly turned multiple pages in his notebook, “you said you had retired for the evening.”
“Yes.”
“Did you retire for the evening in this house, Miss Blissdon?” He looked up at her, the eager glint in his eyes partially hidden by the hood of his heavy lids. Sabrina saw it nevertheless. She stalled while she decided whether to lie or not.
“Is where I retired important, Inspector?”
“Was it here?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“As a matter of fact, no, I spent the evening with a friend.”
“Name?”
“Miss Lena Thornbrook.”
He looked up. “Do you usually stay the night when you visit friends?”
“Yes, often.” Sabrina looked directly at him, daring him to pursue his line of prurient interrogation.
“So, Miss Thornbrook is unmarried?”
“Yes.”
“Address?”
“68 Doveton Street.”
“Isn’t that Whitechapel?”
“No, actually, it’s Mile End.”
“Does Miss Thornbrook own or rent her residence?”
“She owns a townhouse, along with myself. An investment, although she lives there full time.”
“So, for the date in question, you spent the night—” he paused to reword his sentence, which made the corrected phrase stand out more. “You were a guest of Miss Thornbrook and returned at what time?”
Felicity moved in her chair. “It was 7:30 in the morning, Sir. I remember because I had finished feeding my baby, and I heard Miss Blissdon come in.”
Mendicott looked up at Felicity as though startled by her voice. He seemed perplexed at her presence.
“And you are?” he asked.
“A friend.”
“Do you have a name, Miss?”
Sabrina leaned forward and addressed him by his full title. “Chief Inspector, I introduced you earlier. This is Miss Felicity West, a friend of mine.”
“Miss West. I see. And your child’s name?”
“Her name is Sophia, sir, but as she is barely two months old, I doubt she would confirm it,” Felicity said. “And yes, it’s Miss West.”
Mendicott moved to the edge of his seat. “I think we are finish—oh, and I’m sure Miss Thornbrook will verify your presence for that entire evening, am I correct, Miss Blissdon?”
Sabrina folded her arms across her chest. “If necessary.”
Suddenly her choice of outfit felt far too festive for this sourpuss of a man.
“Miss Thornbrook has family money, then, is that right, Miss Blissdon?”
Sabrina reddened. But she knew to tamp down her anger because she figured he would check. She shrugged as if it were a subject she never thought important enough to pursue.
“Perhaps. I don’t really know the source of her income,” she said, as nonchalantly as possible. “She doesn’t work, though, so…”
“Did you cycle to Miss Thornbrook’s flat that evening?” He glanced over her outfit.
“Of course not. I contacted Hames Brothers at the corner. A driver comes for me.”
“But you do walk and cycle places often enough, do you not?”
Sabrina frowned. He obviously had some information about her habits. “I walk more than I cycle, but I rarely do either at night, although I have done. Both.”
“I see. So you have, to this day, friends who work, or worked, at the tolerated houses then?”
“I find that women in all aspects of public and private life have need of good corsetry, sir.” Sabrina could hear the crispness of her own voice and worried too late her delivery might provoke him.
Mendicott’s facial expression was blank, but his eyes became slits of animus. “One final question. Did you happen to research which of your clients might have originally purchased the larger of the two corsets you reviewed?”
“Not only do I know who, I know where the purchaser donated them later. When I realized the larger corset matched exactly the measurements I have on file for Mrs. Regina Raines, mother of the deceased debutante, Angela Raines, I knew it must have been hers.”
Mendicott could not hide his frank look of being impressed.
“I discovered that after her daughter died, she donated both corsets to the Women’s Auxiliary Guild. They keep such excellent records, you know.”
“How convenient,” Mendicott said, as he scribbled in his notebook.
Sabrina continued. “Moreover, I found out a Mrs. Tornage, proprietor of a tolerated house, bought both corsets and gave the larger one to a woman called Fluffy Franny. You’ll have to ask at the house for Franny’s full real name. Perhaps you’ll be able to establish how Miss Annie Bishop acquired the smaller corset.”
His words caught Sabrina off guard.
So…both dead women worked for Mrs. Tornage at some point.
“I didn’t know Annie Bishop at all, perhaps she worked in the years before or since I…visited. And I barely knew Fluffy Franny other than to see her in the parlor at Mrs. Tornage’s house on occasion. She’s the only one who could have worn the larger of the two corsets. Her measurements were exactly the same as Mrs. Raine’s.”
“Yes, Frances Fortner, known as Franny,” he said. “And you knew her exact measurements because…?”
“Because I asked Dr. Wintermere to get them for me. I compared them with Mrs. Raine’s. As I had already identified her daughter’s corset for you, it seemed a logical first place to begin. And the two women’s measurements were a match. Neither Miss Bishop nor Miss Fortner were clients of the House of Bliss.”
Mendicott stared at her, then closed his notebook, put his pen in his pocket and stood. “Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”
Sabrina watched him out of a small parting in the draperies covering the bay windows fronting the house. He made his way down the walkway to the iron gate, pulling on his gloves as he walked. He seemed to have no driver as he walked up the alley toward the main street.
Felicity was sipping what must have been a lukewarm cup of coffee when Sabrina returned to stand before the fireplace.
“Thank you,” she said, “for offering up confirmation of my whereabouts to the Chief Inspector. I found myself hoping you’d say as much.”
Felicity smiled, then frowned. “He’s a right bastard, is he not? He clearly doesn’t like you.”
Sabrina picked up her cup and added more coffee. She poured more into Felicity’s cup, too. After adding a few drops of milk and a sugar cube, Sabrina decided to sit. “Jeremy observed the same thing. He said Mendicott approaches me with a forewarning tone of disbelief.”
“Yes, I felt it, too,” Felicity said.
They sat in companionable silence, each with her own thoughts. Finally Felicity spoke.
“Your friend—was it Lena?”
Sabrina nodded and watched as her houseguest lowered her eyes. She saw Felicity struggle with a question.
“Is she a…client?”
Sabrina laughed. “Not exactly, although I have gifted her with a couple of corsets. She’s a…special friend.”
Felicity blushed. “I hope I’ve not intruded with my question.”
Sabrina’s smile faded immediately, and she spoke in a soft voice. “I was thinking of Mendicott trying to work out why I spent the night with a lady.”
Felicity set her cup on the table and stood. “Oh I doubt he couldn’t figure it out,” she said, an air of not altogether accidental nonchalance accentuating the air between them. “I believe…I believe he was trying to make you feel bad about it, embarrass you or shame you.” She looked directly into Sabrina’s eyes. Then, with a voice barely above a whisper and a body poised to depart, said, “I best go check on the baby.”
“Do you think he succeeded?” Sabrina asked. She blushed at what was being left unsaid. Felicity gave her an impertinent grin. “No, I don’t think he did, and I was pleased to witness it. Lovely outfit, by the way. So bright and…what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Daring?”
“Mm, not quite.”
“Bohemian?”
“Yes, but no.”
“Well what then?” Sabrina asked, her voice high with the pleasure of this banter.
Felicity reached the door to the library and turned half back before opening it. She raised an eyebrow and gave Sabrina that smile again. “Pretty. Yes, I believe that’s it. Pretty.”
As the door clicked closed behind Felicity, Sabrina put her cup down and fell back into the deep plush of the chair.
Pretty? Good God abiding damnation. I’m trying to look audacious and fascinating, and she says,‘pretty’? Also, everyone seems to know what I’m up to when all I want is to keep my private life private. Pretty?
Cath came into the library to remove the empty cups and tidy up. She looked at Sabrina. “Oh, how jolly. Sophia will think you a circus clown.”
Sabrina gave Cath a side-long glance.
Perhaps the polka dot material hadn’t been her most judicious choice. And what did busybody Mendicott mean to imply about Lena’s source of income? Sabrina sighed with the full force of the beleaguered. This day had held such promise earlier.
Part II
Chapter 12
When Glyver stopped the monthly payments stipulated in the divorce, Bel was staying with a woman who had been a mutual friend of theirs. As she found herself virtually without funds, the mutual friend suggested Bel must find housing elsewhere. Bel no longer had any references for teaching or tutoring. Her state of mind was one of exhaustion and depletion. For the next six months, she did what was necessary to survive.
She had met Sabrina in the tolerated house toward the end of that initial half year of hell working there. Things were going smoothly between them. Sabrina was a “regular.” In time, Bel began to accept the added monies and gifts Sabrina gave her—thoughtful gifts and enough money to refuse other customers.
One unfortunate night, Hugh Glyver managed to ruin even that. But she couldn’t tell anyone about that night. Not now. Not yet. No one.
He had threatened to harm “that woman you seem too fond of” if she said a word. He swore to ruin the woman, whoever she was. Bel believed him. She worried about what else he knew—Sabrina’s name? Her address? Her occupation? Anything else?
Glyver gave her a most mean look before he took his leave that night. He paused as if thinking how else he might cause Bel distress. She had held her tongue and her breath. Glyver left without another word.
She immediately moved out of Shelter House and took a run-down hovel of a room. She did not bring men back to her tiny flat, and the men who bought her services rarely rented them a room. She found the safest of the dark doorways to earn her keep and prayed each night for safe passage home, afterwards.
Believing George Markham the only Hugh Glyver friend she could trust, and driven by the utter desperation and danger of her circumstances, Bel arranged to meet him in a pub one night, six months after Glyver had threatened her. She saw Markham’s poorly disguised shock at seeing her rouged cheeks, her low-cut dress and her weary countenance.
“You’re looking well,” he said. She sensed his kindness.
“Thank you,” Bel said. She spoke barely above a whisper, and he leaned in to catch her words. “But I’m not well, George. I’ve had to survive—he cut me off, you know, until the divorce was final.
“At first, I sold my jewelry, and then…” Bel looked down and swallowed hard. “But then, after six months of paying me alimony, he’s stopped sending me money, again. The final decree stipulated he would send me a monthly. It wasn’t much, but…I’m sorry George, it must be shocking for you having known me as the well-off Mrs. Glyver.”
He looked stunned but recovered quickly. “Bel, I can help, and—”
“No, George, I, I couldn’t. Not with you. I mean, not for money.”
He studied her a long time, and she would have thought it rude but for the warm glow that shone in his eyes and cheeks that darkened with self-consciousness. She realized in that moment he found her attractive. Maybe he always had.
“Why not? I find you attractive, I loathe your ex-husband, and it might be good for both of us.”
“I’ve no place of my own, yet, and I’ve my younger sister to support,” she admitted. “She’s still a nanny in Hampshire. Her position does not include room and board. And pays little money.”
“Does she have unfortunate looks?”
Bel laughed in spite of her mindset. “Oh, Lord no. She’s quite pretty
.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s of age, nearly 24, but she’s never been out of the countryside. She took care of our elderly auntie until she passed last year. London will terrify her.”
“London terrifies everyone,” he said. They laughed, a bridge of commonality spanning the short distance across the table. “Let me handle the details. Find a place, and I will pay for it.”
“George, I can’t have anyone to my place, ever. I’ll need to bring my sister here soon. We can’t afford two residences.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean a place for…that. I mean, let me help you get in and get settled, and then let’s see what I can do on a more reliable basis. I suppose I’ll have to marry, eventually.”
She looked at him knowingly. She understood him to mean marriage to someone other than her. And she really had no inclination toward marriage...or men. But she trusted him.
And she was desperate.
And so it began, every Wednesday, they met at the Laurel Tree Pub. They’d walk to a nearby hotel, spend an hour or two in a rented room, then Markham would take her back to the pub for a late supper. He was a gentleman that way. He never paid her after sex, but as he put her in a hansom, he’d slip something into her coat pocket. It was always two pounds. It almost was enough to keep her from seeing other clients.
She moved out of the hovel she lived in and rented a marginally better one-room apartment and wrote to her sister. It was time to come to London. Felicity arrived when her nanny contract was up, nearly seven months later.
At first, Felicity had no idea whatsoever that her beloved sister had become a prostitute. She adored Bel, always had. And that hadn’t changed, even knowing what she knew now.
She didn’t know what she had expected, but not this. The living situation had taken on another new dimension: Bel was eight months pregnant when Felicity moved in with her. By the time the shock wore off, the baby arrived.
Suddenly, there wasn’t room to breathe in the tiny flat, and the neighborhood was not good. Felicity wanted to alleviate her sister’s suffering and find work, but she didn’t know where to begin. They talked about what Felicity could and could not do. Bel was adamant: Her sister must have a real job.