Chapter 7 #2
She requested pen and notepaper, with instructions that the note was to be taken immediately to the person it was intended for. When the footman reappeared with said pen and notepaper, she had managed to wipe most of the cream from her face.
“You must remember, dear,” she explained as she wrote out the note to Sir Anthony. “You do not ‘request’ a meeting, you inform the person the time you will arrive for the meeting. In that way, they cannot refuse.”
Yes, of course. Rules for navigating London Society—number three. Part of the education for my sister and me when she brought us to live with her.
Rule number four? Never accept the word ‘no,’ or any other excuse thereof. Simply smile and carry on as intended. In an extreme situation, one might consider to appear to faint, causing distress in the offending person, and the immediate response it was intended for usually followed.
I had watched both methods succeed brilliantly throughout childhood. I, however, preferred a more direct method. I had no patience for playing games, and I had never been one to faint away like so many of my peers.
I found the direct method far more successful when confronting someone who was trying to escape or was being particularly stubborn. As Brodie had explained, there was something about staring at the end of the revolver that immediately brought cooperation. Although not without reservations.
“I have a fear of finding myself staring at the other end of the bloody thing.”
“Only if you come about unexpectedly in the middle of the night,” I replied at the time.
It was the middle of the night on that particular occasion, and he had proceeded to show me precisely what would happen. The man did have a way of persuading me to his argument.
“You shall have your meeting.”
Aunt Antonia called for Mr. Symons, her head butler. With the efficiency of a field commander, she handed him the envelope with that note.
“Please have Mr. Hastings deliver this.”
After handing it over, she rose and crossed the solar.
“Now must find something appropriate to wear if you should need my assistance in Mr. Brodie’s absence.”
I could only hope that she wouldn’t find anything appropriate in her vast wardrobe, with the need to acquire something appropriate created by her seamstress. Perhaps a cape and deerstalker cap?
Most people her age slowed down and were content with afternoon tea and grandchildren brought round to visit.
She had toured Africa two years previous. Before that, it was an extended rail adventure aboard the Orient Express, where she had met the most fascinating Frenchman.
“Do be careful of Frenchmen,” she had cautioned Lily upon her return. “They are quite emotional, yet they are pathetic lovers, contrary to what they would have everyone believe.” She had then added, “I have that on good authority from a dear friend...”
Of course.
I had held over my driver and gave him directions to the office on the Strand. Late afternoon traffic filled the streets and made the return across the city slow as a light rain began.
Mr. Cavendish appeared as the hound and I arrived. There was no message yet from my great-aunt. Not that I had expected one yet.
Mr. Cavendish knew a good many people on the street, those in the taverns, workers in warehouses and along the docks from his life as a seaman before the accident that took his legs. Those sources had proven valuable for our past inquiry cases.
“Where might I find Mr. Browne this time of the day?” I inquired from under the edge of my umbrella. He looked at me with a disapproving frown.
“It’s hard to say, miss,” he replied, which told me nothing.
Not that I was surprised.
“Would he be in Holborn at his warehouse there?”
I received a steely-eyed glare.
“Not many know of the place.”
Yes, well...
“Or might he be off to one of his gambling houses in Stepney?”
He shook his head. “I could only guess, miss. He has many business interests about the city.”
I knew precisely what he was doing, no doubt at Brodie’s instruction.
“I suppose that I shall have to begin with Stepney,” I commented. “If he’s not there, then Holborn...”
Mr. Cavendish swore under his breath. “You try a man’s soul, miss.”
I took that as a compliment.
“He’s been most nights the past few days at his new business establishment at St. Katherine’s docks.”
“What might that be?”
Considering Mr. Browne’s various business interests it might be a brothel, an enterprising establishment for crews arriving to port, or it might be a gambling parlor to separate them from their money after they were paid.
I could make inquiries on my own, however, Mr. Cavendish was always well informed. He heard and saw things, and I would not have been surprised if he gambled from time to time. As for the other...he was completely devoted to his bride, Miss Effie.
“A man has no need to find the company of other women when he has the finest at home.” I had heard him tell Brodie. “I suppose I will have to marry the woman to keep her from lookin’ elsewhere.” And they had married shortly afterward.
As for Mr. Browne’s whereabouts... Mr. Cavendish grimaced.
“That would most likely be the Red Witch Tavern and lodge house at the docks.”
I thanked him for the information and gave the driver the next destination.
“Ye’ll not go alone,” Mr. Cavendish informed me and whistled sharply.
The hound appeared with something that might have once been a large fish hanging from his mouth. He did have a habit of visiting the vendors end-of-day. It was not the first time he had returned with some left-behind dead creature.
“Leave off with that, ye mangy beast. And get on,” Mr. Cavendish motioned to the coach.
Rupert the hound grinned up at me as I climbed up into the coach and met with a disgusting smell. In spite of the rain, I left the window shades open as we set off.
I had met Mr. Browne in a previous inquiry case, much to Brodie’s displeasure. Still, he had proven to be a reliable source of information on more than one occasion, so long as he owed a favor to Brodie.
What that might be for was never fully explained, yet it undoubtedly had something to do with those Brodie knew within the MET, as well as information that was of some value to Mr. Browne.
With Brodie presently involved with the new CID at the Home Office and not available to inquire, I had no way of knowing who owed whom a favor. I was prepared to pay for information. As I had learned from Brodie, coin had a way of refreshing one’s memory.
A business enterprise at St. Katherine’s dock was most definitely a step up for Mr. Browne from his other nefarious dealings that included prostitution, extortion, smuggling, and controlling crime on certain streets—always for a fee. That fell into the area of extortion.
The coach slowed, and the driver announced our arrival. I stepped down and took my first deep breath of air from the river, a definite improvement over the smell of dead fish in the coach. The hound followed, sniffing the air for some other prey.
“No,” I firmly told him as I paid the driver and asked him to wait, as there was no guarantee that Mr. Browne would be there.
If Mr. Browne’s intention was to remain discreet, the Red Witch hardly accomplished that.
It was lit up like Drury Lane in the theatre district, with electric lights around the windows that resembled portholes, an entrance that resembled a ship’s bow, a tall mast that reached to the upper floors, and a woman barely dressed who greeted ‘guests’ as they arrived.
Her eyes widened as I approached the entrance with the hound.
“Have ye lost yer way, miss?” she inquired from beneath the brim of the pirate’s hat she wore.
I was tempted to reply, not if Mr. Browne was aboard, however restrained myself.
“I am here to see Mr. Browne.”
“Are ye now?” She looked me over from tip to toe. “Might that be about employment?”
Before I could respond, a burly attendant, much like a doorman I supposed, appeared.
“Wot is the delay, Molly? There’s guests waitin’ to get in.”
“This one ’ere says she’s here to see Mr. Browne.”
He looked me over as Molly had, then at the hound. “Come with me. The animal stays here.”
The animal in question bared his teeth.
It did seem the only way I was going to be allowed to enter the tavern was to leave Rupert behind. I told him to stay, then followed the ‘doorman’ inside.
While the outside of the tavern was fascinating, the inside of the tavern had been kitted out with alcoves that contained tables behind curtains where a woman emerged from time to time, a long bar with a display of risqué scenes on the wall behind it.
A stairway at the far side resembled the stairs one might find on a schooner, with a ship’s wheel at the center of the landing and doors that no doubt led to the rooms over the tavern.
Men, many who appeared to be newly arrived from ships along the dock, lined the bar, while barmaids moved among those at tables, and others offered more than a drink.
I had been in taverns previously that smelled of cigarette smoke, ale, and bodies in the course of our investigations. Yet, none that resembled a ship about to set sail.
“Mr. Browne, ye say?” my escort inquired.
“We are previously acquainted,” I replied.
“Yer name?”
I might have used my own name and title, however in present company that might be unwise. There was one name that might carry some influence.
“Brodie,” I replied.
The man’s gaze narrowed.
“I’ll see if Mr. Browne is here.”
He crossed the tavern floor to that set of stairs, then disappeared through the door at the back of the landing with the ship’s wheel. While I waited near the entrance, should there be a need to leave of a sudden.
“Might I buy ye a drink, missy?”
Missy? I turned at the invitation.
“No, thank you. I’m waiting to see someone.”
“Are ye now? Might that person be meself?”
The look the man gave me as he moved closer was the sort that left a woman feeling as if she’d just been stripped of her clothes. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my gown.