After some time, Mr. Blackberry and Tony got up, each to their own pursuits. Morton sauntered by, outside the row of tables, keeping to the shade. “Enjoying your party?”
“Quite. Although the day’s a bit hot for my taste.” Why did I wear a navy blue dress to an outdoor event? After haunting the rooftops of Market Center with Gardena's brothers some years back, I should've known better.
“I’ll bring some water,” Morton said.
I drank the glass Tony had brought me earlier, gazing out to the crowd. None approached me. But they gave me curious glances, surveying my form, as if wondering if their eyes spoke true.
Other than the weight I’d gained, I didn’t think I looked different.
Morton set the glass of water before me and stepped back, hands behind him, his eyes surveying the area.
I gazed out into the crowd once more. “You make a most proper guard, sir.”
He chuckled. “Pretty easy to do as you’re told. It’s when things get out of hand that life becomes a challenge.”
“Did you ever find that boy you were looking for?”
“Not as yet,” Morton said. “Hard to do much when you haven’t got a name. But before he was killed, Clover gave me the boy’s age and a bit of a description. I’ve got people out looking.”
Clover's ability at description must have mightily improved if Morton got anything useful from him.
I wanted a cigarette, but Tony had thought smoking in front of these people would send the wrong message. “By the way, I may have a job for you.”
“Oh?”
The police had undoubtedly found all there was to know about Trina Bower. Mr. Blackberry would be looking for information of other similar crimes. But perhaps the information about the murderer was still out there. “It’s an old case, Scoop and 8th, sixteen years past. A strangler.”
“Whoa.” Morton said. “That’s where the other murders have clustered. The ones more recently.”
“It was done with something else, a tie of some kind. That means either that the killer was small, or that they weren’t that strong.” The Bridges Strangler always killed with his bare hands. If this were the same man, Trina Bower could have been one of his first victims, before he came into his abilities or strength. “Someone knows this man, or suspects him.”
Morton had gone pale. “You don’t ask for much. We getting paid for this?”
I had gotten payment of a sort, but it wouldn’t help him any.
“As I thought,” Morton said. “You want me to put the noose round my neck right now, or should I wait until he does it?”
I felt taken aback. “Master Rainbow, what’s wrong?”
“You forget I live in Clubb quadrant now. I had to sneak out to come here in the first place, and one of the Clubb grand-daughters in attendance doesn’t help matters. Whatever possessed you to snub her husband?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “I —”
“Well, let me tell you a short one,” Morton snapped. “Clubb men at my door. They'd opened my mail, and they wanted to know why I was invited here but one of their top men wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Master Rainbow.”
“So when you tell me to snoop around the hunting grounds of a serial killer without pay, I’m not inclined to do so.”
Serial killer. I’d never heard it said like that before. Serial. Killer. Morton came up with the most interesting terminology. “I don’t want you to do anything you feel is unsafe.” What was going on? I’d known the man three years, and he’d never acted like this before. “I’ll ask my husband to have his men for that street poke around.”
The color slowly returned to Morton's face.
“And I’m sorry I got you into trouble.”
He lit a cigarette. “Eh, it was nothing. For a pack of thugs, they were remarkably polite.”
Honor approached me, dressed in his footman best. He held a small silver tray with an envelope upon it. “This came for you, mum.”
I grinned at him, taking the envelope. “Thank you.”
He did a remarkable impression of Pearson: tucking the tray under his arm whilst bowing low, then turning away.
Morton chuckled. “I wonder if they go to school to learn that.”
I peered at the formal envelope, edged in silver, with the Holy Mark of the Diamond Family upon its flap and seal. “I wonder what this is about.”
This was a surprise: a printed card from Jonathan Diamond lay inside, inviting me to tea “at my convenience.”
Interesting.
In Bridges, women did not call on men at their homes, not for any reason. The invitation to a gentleman’s home had to be sent to the husband, father, or brother, who would accompany the woman to the gentleman’s home so as to not cause a fuss. Or the invitation had to be from some woman who lived there: the mother, sister, etc.
But great allowance was given to those in deep mourning. He must feel he had no other choice.
I put the invitation back in the envelope, recalling what Blitz had said about how ill Jonathan was.
I didn’t know what to think.
Morton still stood there. “Anything important?”
“I don’t honestly know.”
* * *
The rest of the party went perfectly well. Once all was cleaned and put away two days later, Tony had given the staff a dollar bonus each and the entire day off.
So I chose that day to roam about as well.
The place I sought turned out to be quite close to Anna Goren’s old establishment upon Market Center. I’d told Honor and Zeus (who I’d also given an extra dollar each) that I was meeting a new informant for luncheon close by. They were to have luncheon on their own, at my expense, and return to meet me here at three.
When I’d finished chatting with the apothecary who now owned Anna's shop and emerged upon the street, the carriage was gone.
Very good.
I lowered my veil and strolled along, going right, then right again down the alleys behind the building which I now owned.
Two blocks down and almost one to the left, and the door stood on the left. The main tower clock struck half past the hour. I hesitated, hands shaking, unable to believe I was really here. It’d taken me months to get to this point, but in a few days of pain, I’d be free.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked three times, and a girl of perhaps fifteen dressed for the street opened it. “Your business here?”
“Some red cloth, if you please.”
She hesitated. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of the red.”
“Perhaps the pale brown?”
She looked troubled. “Come inside, mum, before you catch a chill.”
No one else was in the shop. Even better.
I climbed the steps and followed the young woman to a sitting room done up in deep blue with cabbage-roses in various shades of pink embroidered upon the upholstery. The smell of cinnamon lay in the air. The girl said, “Please sit,” then disappeared behind a heavy curtain of burgundy velvet.
The sofa was soft and comfortable. A door lay to my right, which from its placement likely led to the storefront. Glassware tinkled behind the curtain, and a rattling of heavy paper came from behind the door.
The girl returned, but she didn't meet my eye. “She’ll see you now.”
I rose, lifting my veil as she headed for the door to the shop. I heard the door open as I raised the curtain.
The dark-haired woman stood with her back facing me, a gray shawl around her shoulders. I walked into the room, letting the curtain fall behind me. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Molly Spadros turned around. “You’re welcome.”