Chapter 9
Munro
Brothels were a lucrative business in Old Town, and the New Town as well. Almost as lucrative as the whisky and ale business. Munro knew them both well.
He had sent a telegram to her ladyship in London earlier, assuring her that Lily was safe and silently cursed as he sent it.
The truth was that he had no way of knowing where she was after she made a visit to police headquarters earlier in the day.
Inspector Landry had provided her the report into the old woman’s murder with the understanding that it was requested by Sir McQuarrie.
Understanding. An interesting word, as he questioned exactly wot she had told the police inspector in order to see that report.
She was resourceful as he knew only too well, not above saying whatever it took to get a look at that report.
He had cursed a great deal more after Sir McQuarrie assured him that he had not made such a request on her behalf. Still, he had to admit that she was not unlike himself.
He knew where it came from, had seen it more than once the past several years after she went to live at Sussex Square—that survival instinct, although loyal to those who had provided the opportunity for a better life, but with a bold spirit when confronted with a difficult situation.
That was the only way to describe it.
Whether it was with one of the tutors that had been provided or in a confrontation on the street after slipping away in her ladyship’s motor carriage.
He had silently laughed at her excuse, one that reminded him of things he’d heard about Miss Mikaela as a girl of the same age—slipping out of her room on the second floor at Sussex Square rather than sit in another boring lesson with her own tutor. They were much alike.
Sir McQuarrie had not heard from her, and there was only the inspector’s word from having met with her earlier that morning. Nor had the inspector’s sister heard from her since early in the day.
Aye, resourceful, he thought with a curse, and now out and about the city in unknown places, while he was hunting down a man by the name of Campbell who ran a good number of brothels in both Old Town and the New Town.
Campbell knew everything that happened regarding his lucrative business enterprises, and might know who was the man seen the night Lily’s friend was murdered. And how to find him.
While it appeared that Dory didn’t work for a ‘house,’ a man in Tommy Campbell’s position would make it his business to know everythin’ that went on, including those who chose to work on their own and cut into his lucrative business.
The Campbell name came with a dangerous reputation for treachery and betrayal, even among those on the streets. He was not a man to cross, or trust.
Munro always insisted on cash up front for a shipment, to protect her ladyship’s business interest. No credit with payments made later by a man who might easily end up in the gutter after an encounter with a rival. And there was more than one.
It was a dangerous business, in more than one way.
Those who worked for the ‘house’ were protected by Campbell and his people, for a substantial share of what the women earned.
Those who worked for themselves might keep the full amount of what they earned, but without that protection and often tragic circumstances.
The ladies Campbell kept in his high-end establishments brought in a higher class of clientele.
Those fine gentlemen from well-placed families had a taste for fine whisky and other fine things.
Particularly Old Lodge whisky, along with wines that Munro traded for.
He saw to it that those up-market brothels had both.
He gave the coachman the address of the ‘respectable’ New Town Georgian townhouse near Danube Street and St. James’s Square.
There the city’s elite could be found in luxurious individual flats with their choice of company for the evening, rather than seeking out the sixpenny whores such as Lily’s friend in the Old Town.
That ‘company’ he knew might include one or more of the ladies for the evening, or the entire night, for those whose wives ignored their frequent absences and the rumours.
It was a habit of Campbell’s to begin each evening early at the Club House, as it was known, then leave the house manager in charge, and gradually call on the other houses he ran.
The manager, Mr. Ralston, was a distinguished sort who spoke proper English and saw to it that their gentlemen guests had whatever they needed, whether it was live and warm, substantial whisky, or a fine wine. Or certain other ‘entertainments.’
It was just after six o’clock in the evening. Those who had a standing reservation would not have arrived yet.
He paid the driver, then ignored the usual rule for servants and those who made deliveries for the house, and approached the front entrance.
He was greeted by the head butler, a man by the name of Beech, and made his inquiry for Mr. Campbell. As expected, the manager, Mr. Ralston, appeared in his evening attire.
“Mr. Munro.” He smiled a greeting in that manner that Munro had experienced from women, and that he suspected might be an open invitation. He was not inclined to accept.
“Thank you, Mr. Beech. I will take care of Mr. Munro,” the manager informed the butler.
When the head butler had departed, Ralston commented, “You can be such a devil, Mr. Munro. I had not been informed that our stock of whisky was so quickly depleted. Yet, it is always a pleasure to see you.”
He did not exchange the small talk that the man usually pursued and inquired after Campbell.
“I assume you do not have an appointment, but you can be forgiven,” Ralston replied with that same smile as he led the way to the library on the ground floor that served as Campbell’s office.
With a knock at the door, Ralston announced his arrival, then ushered him into the library.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Munro?” he inquired.
“That will be all,” Campbell told the man.
“Of course, sir. I will see to the meal preparation for the evening’s guests.”
Munro waited until the door closed behind him.
“You have Mr. Ralston in a stir as usual,” Campbell commented.
“Does he keep yer gentleman clients in a stir as well?” Munro replied.
“Not to my knowledge or any request that I’ve heard. There is an advantage to his employment. There is no concern that he will bother the ladies. So,” he added, “to what do I owe the pleasure of yer company if not to deliver more whisky or torment Mr. Ralston.”
“There have been two murders recently in the Old Town. One at Fleshmarket Close.” He saw the way Campbell’s eyes narrowed.
“I heard of it,” Campbell replied. “You said there were two.”
“The woman who collected the rents in the Close has also been found murdered in the Grassmarket.”
Campbell shrugged. “An unfortunate part of business. Still, what has this to do with me?”
“Nothing happens in the brothels or on the street that ye dinna know of, perhaps even have a hand in.”
“I have no interest in a common street whore who works in a tavern and finds her customers there. What is yer interest?”
As little information as possible was always the best approach in dealing a man like Campbell.
“The original victim was a friend to an acquaintance of her ladyship.”
He didn’t care for using Lady Antonia’s connection to Lily, but he knew she would have no objection had he told her of it beforehand, and her influences had a far reach.
“She is most concerned.” Not an outright lie, as far as it went. He moved the conversation along. “There is a description of a man seen nearby the night the whore was murdered.” He provided the description to Campbell.
“And if one of my people knows of this man?”
There was always a bargain to be made.
“If ye have information about the man, as payment, I will consider placing an additional ten cases of whisky in yer shipment that the tax man doesna know of.”
Campbell laughed. “Her ladyship is fortunate to have one such as yerself to handle her business,” he replied. “I would have such loyalty from those I employ. My offer to ye still stands.”
Lucrative employment to manage his business affairs, such as they were. It was not the first time the offer was made.
There was a saying he’d heard once from his friend, Angus Brodie. About honour among thieves.
Campbell was a thief. He had no honour with his business enterprises or with those who worked for him, including the women. He would steal from a blind man.
While Munro's honour might be questionable from time to time, he didn’t disrespect a woman or question her reasons working the oldest trade. He’d seen too much poverty and respected anyone who learned to survive.
Now he waited, while Campbell considered his offer, even though he already knew the answer.
“Done,” the man replied. “I will put the word out to my people. One such as you’ve described will not go unnoticed.
“Will ye stay now and have a drink? Ye should know that ye are the one person I would make such an offer to, particularly with such a fine whisky. And ye can tell me about yer ‘friend’ who would care so much about a murdered whore.”
He would tell him nothing about Lily. However, he accepted a dram of Her Ladyship’s Old Lodge whisky to seal the bargain.
He trusted two things in that room—himself and that verra fine liquid gold. He accepted the dram of Old Lodge, then shook his head at the offer of another.
One was sufficient to seal a bargain, two or more could be dangerous with a man like Campbell.
It was late in the day, and he wanted to get back to McQuarrie’s office. Perhaps the chit had learned something that might provide a clue into her friend’s death. If so, they would turn the matter over to Inspector Landry and return to London.
But when he arrived at Parliament Square the clerk at Sir McQuarrie’s office had not seen her.