Chapter 12

 

 

 

Three days later; Eleanora and Althea sat in the dining room partaking of a light brunch consisting of leftovers from their supper with Uncle Reece and Aunt Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina had insisted on sending home a small basket of food, stating her loving concern that they were not consuming enough wholesome nourishment. They certainly had enough laid out in front of them today.

“Perhaps we should acquire a pet. A cat or dog. It would certainly assist us in eating this food. Remember we had a cat when we were children?” Althea said.

Eleanora chucked. “Mr. Mouser. The orange tabby did not catch any mice at all and eventually ran away. He also scratched us constantly. The wretched animal didn’t even want to be petted.”

Althea poured them fresh cups of tea, then proceeded to cut her chicken and pork into bite-sized pieces. “Yes, Mr. Mouser. Typical male, lashing out for no good reason and utterly useless.”

“Truly, you would like to have a pet?”

“Perhaps not a cat this time, but a cute little Scottish Terrier. I saw a picture of a white one that looked adorably friendly. It would be nice to have a pet to curl up by our chairs when you read, or I do my needlepoint.”

“When was last time we indulged in such activities?”

Althea nodded. “Yes, you’re correct. Too busy to care for a pet.”

“Perhaps not. Let us think on it.” Eleanora watched her sister closely. Althea had seemingly recovered from her emotional encounter with Brookton and was back to her old self. Contained and in control.

More or less.

A pet. Was Althea lonely? Tired of their detective agency? Of the long hours? Hard to tell from her blank expression.

“Now that you have slept on it, are you certain you wish to continue with this case?” Eleanora asked softly.

“Yes. I’m certain. But I will abide by my caution and not be alone with the marquess. The case will conclude soon enough, and then I need never see him again. What attraction I’m feeling will pass, I’ve no doubt.”

Althea was made of sterner stuff because Eleanora could not make such a firm proclamation about not becoming involved personally. How astounding she was actually considering allowing Christian to assist her, at least with part of the investigation. Best to avoid the subject altogether.

“As for our interviews with Tolwood, Colborne, Knight, Broyles, and Huxley, you agree that we should postpone it indefinitely?”

Althea nodded. “I believe there’s nothing more the men can offer. But keep them on our suspect list by all means. Where do we go from here?” her sister asked as she buttered a roll.

“Allenby will be asking Watford for a list of all former members. That will be the next step of our investigation if the current friends and members and school chums are not suspects. As for the immediate future, we wait for the doctor’s analysis. I’m waiting on another report. He should be here any moment.”

Althea frowned. “You’re not still using that street urchin?”

“Althea—”

“No, let me finish. The boy is part of a criminal enterprise, the Blind Beggar Gang; he is a pickpocket and a thug. There is talk that he is also part of the Strutton Ground Boys, extorting protection money from the tradesmen on Petticoat Lane. Why are we associating with a criminal, albeit an underage one?”

“For that exact reason. Archie knows the streets better than any seasoned copper. In the two years I’ve used him, he hasn’t steered me wrong.”

Althea grunted. “As of yet. His loyalty is to his unlawful cohorts. Once our investigations wander into his borders, he will choose his criminal side, mark my words.” Althea bit into the thickly buttered roll.

Their housekeeper entered, clearing her throat. “Excuse me, Miss Eleanora. That ragamuffin is at the back door again,” Mrs. Bartle sniffed indignantly.

“Show him up, Mrs. Bartle.”

She huffed. “With the state of those boots? I think not. I’ve just cleaned the hallway.”

“Then have him remove them.”

The housekeeper let out a sigh of resignation. “At once, Miss Eleanora.”

Once Mrs. Bartle departed, Eleanora said, “I will heed your warning, Althea. You make a valid point. Besides, Uncle Reece mentioned recently that they will be breaking up those gangs on Petticoat Lane soon. I would like to guide Archie toward another path before that occurs.”

She no sooner spoke the name when the boy stood in the entrance with Mrs. Bartle behind him, crinkling her nose. Archie stood barefoot on the carpet, his filthy clothes and feet bespoke of his life on the streets.

There was no way to ascertain how old he was—even he had no clue—but despite his dubious health and lifestyle, he had sprouted up a few inches of late. Eleanora guessed he may be anywhere from thirteen to sixteen.

The lad’s hungry gaze locked on the food spread out on the table.

“Mrs. Bartle, please fetch a plate and utensils,” Althea asked.

The housekeeper nudged Archie aside. “Have them right here, miss. I also made him wash his face and hands. My advice? Stay downwind.” Mrs. Bartle bustled to the table and set the dish upon it. “Go on, boy. Sit. There, opposite the young ladies. And behave, mind.”

Archie grunted his thanks and rushed to the chair. “Cor, the food!”

“You may have as much as you like, but first, we talk. Thank you, Mrs. Bartle,” Eleanora smiled.

The housekeeper departed, and Eleanora turned her attention to Archie. With his face washed, she could make out a smattering of freckles trailing across his nose. Never knew he had them. He would be a handsome lad with his shock of sandy hair and piercing light brown eyes, if he managed to reach the age of twenty. Many children of the streets didn’t.

“Your report?” she asked.

“Aye. Huxley left town this mornin’, trunk and all. Took the train to the West Country, not sure where. The Brookton toff? Followed him to a brothel in Whitechapel. Were there hours, he was. Then he went to a musical hall for a show. After he came out, I followed him home. Been there since. The young duke? Also stickin’ close to his home. The spectacled one? Tolwood? Went to a fancy ball with a bunch of nobs, all respectable like.” Archie’s gaze kept wandering toward the food. “The old duke? Eats at fancy restaurants. Had that Knight fella with him. Only one gettin’ action of late is the blond bugger.”

Althea shook her head, her mouth curling in disgust. “Typical.”

“Thank you.” Eleanora slid a small sack full of shillings across the table, and Archie grabbed it and stuffed it under his worn coat with the swiftness of a practiced thief. “I have another job for you. It’s to follow a footman working in Brookton’s house. His name is Aloysius Phillips. He is tall, lean, prominent nose, dark brown hair, about thirty.”

“I’ll find out who he is, and no mistake,” Archie interjected.

“His surveillance may take some time. Being a footman, I doubt he ventures out much. But when he does, I want to know where and if he is meeting with anyone.”

Archie was eyeing the food again, barely listening. “Right-o, miss.”

“And what do you have on the ladies working at The Chrysalis?” Eleanora asked.

“Aye. Took me a bit to find the place, it’s out of me territory. But that bunch meets up for lunch at the Rusty Anchor near every day. The pub be three doors from the brothel.”

Eleanora nodded. “Good work. Now, Archie, I want you to consider another occupation, a legitimate job.”

That got the lad’s attention; he looked up at her as if she had grown a second head. “Leave off. I’m doin’ all right.”

“You have a real talent for this vocation, Archie. You could be a copper, work your way into the CID, the Criminal Investigative Division. You would no longer have to live on the streets. We would help you. Find a place to live, get an education—”

“Bollocks to that and all,” he sneered. “Ain’t interested.”

“Archie, you don’t have to be a copper. You could run your own detective agency as we do. Be your own boss,” Althea interrupted. “You’re a smart lad. You know time is up on your little criminal endeavors. We have it on good authority that the Metropolitan Police will be moving in to break up the gangs. You don’t want to go to prison, do you? Or pressed into military service? Or die in some dark alley, rats nibbling on your corpse?”

“Althea!” Eleanora stated. Inwardly, she was impressed at her sister’s shrewdness, for she had Archie’s full attention. He was definitely mulling over what she had said.

“Already am me own boss,” he muttered. “Ain’t involved with the Sutton Gang. Aye, I do a little pick pocket and thievin’ with the Blind Beggars when I need coin. I ain’t no murderin’ scum.” He looked back and forth between them. “Run me own agency? As if.”

“You can,” Eleanora said, her voice firm with conviction. “We will aid you. But you will have to obtain an education first and foremost. We can help with that, too.”

“Perhaps you can work and train with us. We could use the assistance,” Althea exclaimed. “It would be a small salary, enough to pay for a room while you attend school. Think on it.”

Althea laid out the plan in an off-hand way, not acting overly enthusiastic. It was the right tone to take with Archie, and Eleanora should have known it.

Well done, Althea.

Yes, she was proud of her sister, but then, she always had been.

He shrugged, but Eleanora could see the seeds had taken root. “Aye, I’ll think on it. Time to eat, yeah?”

“Go ahead,” Eleanora replied.

Picking up the platter, Archie filled his plate with mounds of meat, mashed potatoes, carrots and immediately tucked into his meal. His manners were not the best. They would have to work on those as well.

“Why do you want to know where the prossies meet?” Althea asked her.

“They might have further information on the names I showed you. I’ve been formulating a plan.” Eleanora glanced at Archie, but he was too involved in his meal to give them any mind. Regardless, she lowered her voice. “I aim to gain their trust. Prostitutes, on the whole, look out for each other. If I stage a certain scene that will gain their sympathy, I may be able to gather additional information.”

“Be one of them?”

“Yes.”

Eleanora hesitated.

The duke was part of her plan, but she wouldn’t discuss it with Archie nearby. Christian need to be informed right away. She glanced at Archie shoveling part of a buttered roll into his mouth. And have the boy deliver the note.

“And the footman?” Althea asked quietly.

“There was something not quite right about him. I may be wrong. But it would not hurt to probe a little deeper,” Eleanora replied in a low tone. “He acted, I don’t know, twitchy. Shifty. Also, we will look into the drowning incident, see if there was an official coroner inquest. Uncle Reece could discover it for us.”

Althea turned her attention to her meal. “I noticed Phillips’ behavior as well. Your instinct is rarely off. And I agree about the drowning. There may be more there. Or not.”

True on all counts.

“Ignore Brookton’s dismissal of your Addington hypothesis. Perhaps the heir to the baron is still alive. It is entirely possible; truth can be stranger than fiction,” Eleanora stated.

Althea giggled. “Actually, I did use a plot from a thriller novel I had just read. A potboiler indeed.”

Eleanora laughed, then sobered. Regarding the footman, Eleanora’s inner alarm had clanged with warning alacrity. At the time, she could not fathom why she experienced such forewarnings, but as her sister stated, it was rarely off. Same with the drowning incident.

That identical inner alarm was sparking for another reason: Allenby.

Relief covered her in hearing he wasn’t out running the streets seeking out sin. Realistically, there could never be anything permanent between them. How foolish to even speculate on such an out-of-reach possibility.

Should she allow the attraction to take its course or shut it down before her emotions ran away with her?

For once, she had no thought on which path to tread. And it was worrying as much as it was invigorating. In the interim it would be best if she tried to tamp down her rampant desires and keep them well hidden.

However difficult that may be to achieve.