CHAPTER 15 #2
“Mister Smythe, would you think it terribly impertinent if I asked what you pay annually in rent?” Julia smiled at his startled expression. “I have a particular reason to ask.”
He coughed discreetly and murmured a sum.
“If I wrote a check for that amount, would you rent a quarter of your floor space to me for . . . say . . . two years? With an option to renew the arrangement indefinitely if we both agree. The far end of your shop is perfect for what I have in mind.”
“Why . . . that is to say . . .” He adjusted his spectacles, looked at Lady Aldridge, and back at Julia. “But for what purpose, Mrs. Lewis?”
“Hats.”
Twenty minutes later, a smiling Mister Smythe bowed Lady Aldridge into her carriage and watched the coach rattle down the high street. Julia stayed behind.
“Now, sir.” She took his arm and walked him to the foot of the stairs. “All I must do is persuade Miss O’Neill. I will return to write that check if I succeed.”
* * *
Downstairs in Annie’s flat, Julia said, “I preached a marriage of frocks and hats to Mister Smythe and converted him to something more than just a solitary bowler or two.”
“Hats in a dress shop?” Annie and Kathleen Morris looked at each other across the table.
“Yes, and like most converts, he is now an enthusiast. The idea is to match your hat designs with his frocks and fabrics.” Julia smiled.
“Don’t look so surprised. Stores that carry a variety of merchandise are popping up in America and London.
Soon, you and Mister Smythe could rival the likes of Harvey Nicols in Knightsbridge. ”
“Think of that, now, Annie,” Kathleen said.
Julia nodded. “The Harvey half of the partnership is a woman, by the way.”
“There will be plenty of work for the two of us, Kath.”
“Between Wheatlands’ and Mister Smythe, you’ll be busy,” Julia said. “May I tell him yes?”
When Annie nodded vigorously, Julia raised her cup and said, “Here’s to new paths forward,” and they clinked teacups.
“I’m wishing my Aunt Maggie was here to see it,” Annie said, her eyes shining. “Her dream was to own a shop, and this is a step along the way.”
“That’s right, Annie,” Julia said. “The first in a journey.”
“And I’m wishing she was here to know you, a lady doctor. A grand thing, she’d be thinking.”
“Thank you, Annie. I wish I’d known her, too.”
When Annie refused her offer of help to clear the table, Julia settled back and smiled at Kathleen. “How are you feeling . . . better?”
“At first, I was knackered every afternoon, but I’m stronger now.”
“And you’re sleeping through the night?”
“I am that. Thank you, Doctor.”
Annie called from the sink. “She’s been remembering things, as well. Some of what happened to her early on with that first devil.” She looked at Kathleen. “I’ll crack on with the washing up while you talk to the doctor. Maybe she’ll be telling the inspector so he can catch the creature.”
While Annie busied herself with the dishes, Julia said, “Tell me about him, Kathleen. Anything you remember, in your own good time.”
She looked down. “An old fella, he was,” she whispered.
“Straining at it, and not always able to . . . finish his business.” She colored, and her eyes flicked to Annie.
“Keeping his shirt on all the time and falling exhausted on his back with his arms up over his head. And I’m seeing his strange cuff links staring me in the face. ”
“What did they look like?”
“They were circles of gold with a blackish background and a strange symbol stamped into them. A pair of wings at the top of a stick, they were, with two things curling around it. Like snakes.”
Julia blinked. Then she pulled out her prescription pad and pointed to the symbol at the top of a page. “Did it look like this?”
Kathleen looked up in wonder. “That’s the one. ’Tis just the same.”
“It’s called a caduceus, Kathleen. It’s an ancient medical symbol, and it’s not uncommon for physicians to wear such cuff links.”
“Think of that, now.”
Julia colored in fury and disgust. First, do no harm, she thought bitterly. The doctor’s dictum. “It was a terrible betrayal, Kathleen. I’m sorry.”
Annie dried her hands and picked up Julia’s pad. “He was a doctor, then, was he?”
“Most likely.”
Kathleen tapped her left wrist. “They had letters on them as well.”
“Can you remember them?”
“I’ll not be forgetting, ever. They had a P and an S sitting on either side of the stick.”
Julia stood. “Thank you, Kathleen. I’ll tell Inspector Tennant.”
“You’ll be off, Doctor?” Annie said.
“Yes, but I’ll see Mister Smythe on the way. He’ll want to talk to you about the arrangements before closing shop.”
“I’ll never be thanking you enough for all you’re doing.”
Julia waved away the girl’s thanks. “My Aunt Caroline and I will know where to go for wonderful hats.” She smiled. “She’s Lady Aldridge, as it happens, and Mister Smythe was a bit fluttered by the title.”
Julia closed the door to Annie’s basement flat and headed up the stairs.
P and S—for Doctor Preston Scott?
* * *
“The duty sergeant sent this up.” Sergeant O’Malley handed Inspector Tennant a note. “A porter brought it over from Doctor Lewis.”
Tennant scanned it. “Well, well. Kathleen Morris has given us something interesting indeed. Look at this, Sergeant.”
O’Malley read it and whistled. “The old bastard. There may be others on the medical registrar with his initials.” The sergeant screwed up his face. “I’m not remembering the man’s cuff links.”
“I do. I’d knocked something on the man’s desk. Sent a porcelain pencil dish askew, and Scott reached across to straighten it.” Tennant smiled grimly. “At the time, I thought the cuff links were a harmless affectation.”
“Harmful for him, I’m thinking, if we can get the lass’s identification.”
Tennant leaned back in his chair and contemplated the web of cracks in the ceiling plaster. “So, where are we, Paddy?”
“Two witnesses—a hatmaker and a Chinese lass—are after giving us a gammy lip, a kilt, and a set of cuff links.”
“Hmm . . . when you put it that way. Still, they link Rawlings, Mister Bruce of the Topkapi, and Doctor Scott to a forced prostitution ring. But is it enough to justify a raid on a Pall Mall gentleman’s club? Or to arrest a Harley Street physician?”
“Thin, I’m thinking. And the chief will be asking us how it leads to Franny Riley’s or Margot Miller’s killer.”
“The logic is irresistible,” Tennant said. “But is it proof?”
“And Stackpole, the creature. He’ll be wriggling out of it, claiming ignorance about the fate of the Chinese lasses. And as for Scott, I’m guessing he’s not the only Harley Street doctor with a taste for harlots. ’Tis a long way to a murder charge.”
“True. But have a word with the coppers on the doctor’s beat. Ask them to note Scott’s movements.”
The inspector could hear Chief Inspector Clark. You’re sodding kidding me, Tennant. Cuff links and a kilt? Evidence from a hatmaker turned whore and some Chinese slag?
“We’ve got to catch them in the act.” Tennant opened a folder and tapped the top sheet. “This report from the local coppers . . . the Topkapi Club has been quieter than I’d like.”
“Young Havers on the night beat has sharp eyes on him, so his sergeant is telling me.”
Tennant ran his hand through his hair. “I hope my Topkapi visit hasn’t put the wind up in that quarter. Frightened them into cautiousness.”
“Something will be happening soon—Friday or Saturday, I’ll wager. Promising nights for entertaining, and there’s church coming up on Sunday for contemplating your sins.”
“This foul trade . . .” Tennant set his jaw. “They’re bringing girls into the club by carriage. I’m sure of it.”
“Likely, you’re right, sir.”
“We’ll follow the coach when it leaves the Topkapi. If we can trace it to the house where they keep the girls, we can pounce on both addresses and arrest everyone we find. Catch them all—”
O’Malley grinned. “With their trousers ’round their ankles. We’ll be needing reinforcements.”
The inspector nodded. “A little night duty is in order at the end of the week, and I’ll talk to the chief about assigning additional constables.”
“The A Division coppers will be wanting an invitation to the party. The club is on their turf.”
“Sir?” A constable at the door held up a slip of paper. “A message came in from the Limehouse station.”
“I’ll take it, lad.” O’Malley opened and read it. “Only a line from China Sal, but she’s ready to talk.”
Tennant swung out of his chair. “Let’s hear what the lady has to say.”
* * *
China Sal invited the inspector and his sergeant to sit underneath the canopy in her exotic lair.
O’Malley eyed the rattan chairs warily. “T’will be a pile of matchsticks with me in the middle if I park myself on that.”
Sal cackled. “Give it a go, Sarge, it’s sturdier than it looks.”
O’Malley lowered himself by inches and perched on the edge as if ready to bolt.
China Sal had exchanged her golden phoenix-and-dragon robe for a tangerine version covered with butterflies and lilies. She poured three handle-less cups of tea from a blue-and-white service and handed one to O’Malley. He cradled it gingerly in his sizable fist.
“No fears, luv.” She winked. “It’s easily replaced. Made in Staffordshire, not Shanghai. Drink up.”
Tennant took a sip and eyed Sal over the rim. She fiddled with the tie that secured the flap of her robe and tapped a silk-slippered foot on the platform’s carpet. China Sal no longer seemed the indomitable empress, secure on her wicker throne.
The inspector let the silence play out. Finally, he said, “Our Limehouse colleagues say you have something to tell us.” He sounded only mildly interested.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want trouble . . . but I don’t want you rozzers thinking China Sal’s not helpful to the police. It’s about that bugger. The one that’s got the gammy lip.”
“Rawlings.”
“I know you’re looking for him. You said so last time you was here.” She tilted her head. “How much is the sod worth to you?”
Tennant considered. “What’s your asking price?”
“Ten quid.”
“What does that buy?”