When I thought of Blue, it wasn’t the loss of my money that hurt, although that small sum was all I had ever saved, and the knowledge of its existence had often comforted me on nights when memories of my former destitution slipped into my dreams. No, far worse than the pecuniary loss was the hurt at being so deceived, and the shame and anger at my own stupidity. I had trusted him, that boy with blue eyes, and he had cheated me. I had trusted him for no proper reason, only because once a small child had pressed close to me; because once I had known a boy who was blameless. Perhaps I had trusted him because I could still remember that picture of a mother who wasn’t my own. How he must have mocked me for all that sentimental kindness! How he must scorn those people so careless with their money and so foolish in their feelings! That day I followed Mrs Hudson down the snow-mantled streets in silence, these thoughts twisting inside me and turning a bright morning dark with unhappiness.
So occupied was I with my own inner musings that I little cared where Mrs Hudson led me, and barely gave a thought to the purpose of our journey. My companion sought neither to comfort nor distract me, content instead to let my thoughts wander where they would. It was not until she came to a halt on a busy street corner that I thought to look around at where our path had led. I found to my surprise that we had already come as far as Piccadilly, and that Mrs Hudson had stopped opposite the stately entrance hall of the Blenheim Hotel.
The two policemen on duty at its entrance were the only visible indication of the previous night’s disturbances, and the crowds that thronged the streets were too concerned with safe navigation of the treacherous pavements to show any curiosity at their presence. Mrs Hudson drew me close to her and placed her hand on my shoulder.
‘You’re a brave young woman, Flotsam. I know this morning’s news has been a blow. But I fear we need to keep our wits about us if the Malabar Rose is to be returned swiftly to safekeeping. Now, I’m quite curious to see for myself the room where the ruby was put on display. Do you think you can show me?’
‘Yes, ma’am. But I’m afraid the rooms are guarded now, and there are strict orders from Mr Holmes and Inspector Lestrade to let no one go in.’
Mrs Hudson nodded at this but I noticed that her eyebrows twitched as if with a flicker of amusement.
‘Well, let’s see what can be done, shall we, Flottie? I daresay we’ll find a way.’
The calm façade of the Blenheim Hotel proved wildly deceptive, for inside its grand lobby, a considerable proportion of the previous night’s chaos remained. Puzzled guests were gathered in small groups around leather armchairs, answering questions put to them by perspiring police officers. At the reception desk, a selection of the more irate were pressing for answers to a variety of questions, all posed simultaneously and at escalating levels of loudness. Daunted by the ferocity of these questions, a young man with red hair and whiskers was endeavouring to redirect their ire by flapping his arms plaintively in the direction of any policeman who happened to pass.
Aided by this general disorder, it was a simple thing to steer Mrs Hudson through the crowd and to lead her up the grand staircase without anyone paying us the slightest attention. From the top of the staircase, a wide corridor let to the Satin Rooms and at its end we paused, aware of the sentries placed ahead of us.
‘Flotsam, am I right in thinking that the door guarded by those two constables leads to the room in question?’
‘Yes, ma’am. That’s the door to the inner chamber. There are three other doors but those have all been boarded up.’
‘And those two policemen are the only ones on duty?’
‘There are two more patrolling, ma’am. And then there’s the pair on the stairs we’ve just passed. And all the ones down in the lobby too.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Hudson was regarding the two constables thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Flottie, have you ever noticed the peculiar behaviour of the male sex whenever a fire breaks out?’
‘A fire, ma’am?’ It seemed a peculiarly random question.
‘Yes, Flotsam. A big fire. One that seems likely to get out of hand.’
‘I suppose they do the sensible thing, ma’am.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Rescue anything valuable that might otherwise get caught in the blaze, and then get some proper help in fighting the fire.’
‘Yes, you might think so, Flotsam. That would be eminently sensible. The truth, however, is rather different.’
‘Ma’am?’
Mrs Hudson was carrying with her a particularly large bag and now she reached into its depths and produced a box of matches. ‘I think a demonstration is in order. You see those curtains at the top of the staircase?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Well, Flotsam, when I give the nod, I want you to set them alight.’
‘Ma’am!’ I gasped. ‘Not really! I can’t!’
‘I don’t think anyone is looking, Flottie. They’re all far too busy. Now, when you’re sure the fabric is truly ablaze, you need to scurry away into the crowd downstairs and watch what happens.’
I looked at her and waited for her to smile at her own joke. I even began to smile for her. But her face was serious and she seemed to be calculating the distance between the curtains and the nearest policeman.
It says a great deal for the force of Mrs Hudson’s personality, and even more for the trust I placed in her, that I was prepared in the end to do as she asked. Nevertheless, it was with a fluttering heart and slightly shaking hands that I took up my position by the heavy drapes that were my target. At first it seemed impossible that my presence there would not excite suspicion, that I would not immediately become the focus of every eye in the hotel. But the moments passed and no notice was taken of me, so, at a sign from Mrs Hudson, I bent to my task.
The fire caught slowly at first, but the flames were silent and I found I had ample time to slip discreetly down the stairs before the blaze was noticed. In fact, even when I had reached the crowd below and could see the flames licking dramatically up the curtains, no one seemed to be aware of the danger. In the end, it was a throaty cry of ‘Fire!’ from a familiar voice upstairs that gave the alarm.
The effect of the cry on those around me was dramatic. While the women reached for their bags, the men in the room rose to their feet. Although some moved quicker than others, in a few seconds every man in the place seemed to be heading for the stairs, some crying out, some knocking over tables, some removing their jackets to beat at the flames, others with no firmer plan than to shout their advice as loudly as possible to the greatest number of people. But despite their urgency, all were beaten to the flames by the four policemen stationed near the Satin Rooms. All four came rushing down the corridor and appeared at the top of the stairs together, where they proceeded to leap around the burning curtains in a paroxysm of excitement. They were quickly joined by the willing helpers from the hotel lobby, and very quickly the press of excited people became so dense that it was hard to make out the fire at all, and the air seemed a good deal thicker with their shouts than it was with smoke.
Despite the lack of any coherent plan, the frantic flapping of jackets eventually began to have some effect, although at least three garments ended up adding to the general conflagration. In the end someone thought to haul the curtains from the wall, and a great many feet set about stamping on the smouldering remains with energetic satisfaction. As they did so, I saw Mrs Hudson edge past the assembled company and come placidly down the stairs, so very unremarkable and so utterly ordinary that I was probably the only person present to notice she was there.
‘So, Flotsam,’ she chuckled on joining me by the main door, ‘do you feel that demonstration has helped to answer my question?’
‘You mean men always do that when there’s a fire, ma’am? Just rush around and get in the way?’
‘Well, perhaps not all men. But a great many of them, and on most occasions. Never underestimate the masculine urge to be seen to be doing, Flotsam. Now, some fresh air, I think.’
We pushed our way out into the street. The sun was still bright on the snow but our breath was white in front of us.
‘So did you manage to see the Satin Rooms, ma’am?’
‘Oh yes, Flotsam. There was nothing to stop me once the constables had rushed off.’
‘And what did you find?’
Her eyebrows trembled a little at the question but her voice was as steady as always when she replied.
‘The inner chamber was exactly as you described it, Flotsam, and exactly as I expected. And yet I think I’ve found something there that the gentlemen should know about. If Inspector Lestrade and his men had cleaned as many parlours as I have, they would perhaps look at the contents of a room in a rather different way.’ She changed her bag from one hand to another and adjusted her muffler. ‘But before we speak to Mr Holmes, I am only too aware that Sir John never gave you an answer to my question about the furniture in his hallway. So our next stop, Flotsam, is Randolph Place, to see for ourselves just how that hallway is furnished.’
In the event, when we arrived in Randolph Place, Mrs Hudson left me holding her bag at the foot of the steps while she approached Sir John’s bright red front door and knocked smartly. From where I stood I could see the door opened by a grey-haired butler who, after a few words from Mrs Hudson, seemed to brighten markedly and beckon her inside. When she emerged a few minutes later it was with a satisfied smile on her face and with the suspicion of a wink in my direction.
‘Come, Flotsam. Things are taking shape very nicely. Sir John Plaskett’s butler turns out to be the uncle of a young girl I was once in service with. He’s a nice old man, and very eager to help, but he’s afraid his memory isn’t what it was. Apparently there was a night before Christmas when he left a downstairs window unlatched, and the incident is clearly playing on his mind.’
‘And the furniture, ma’am?’
‘Just as I had anticipated, Flottie. Very sparse. No large items, only a couple of tables and a small chest.’
‘But, ma’am, I really don’t understand why that matters. I don’t know what it means. In fact, I don’t know what any of this means. Why are you interested in Sir John’s furniture?’
At that Mrs Hudson pulled up sharply and looked at me, understanding dawning in her face.
‘My apologies, Flotsam,’ she said softly. ‘You make me realise how remiss I have been these last few days. I have been keeping things to myself and leaving you to draw your own conclusions.’
‘I’m sure you mustn’t blame yourself, ma’am. I know how busy you’ve been lately, especially with Christmas and everything.’ I paused there, a little embarrassed. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure I’ve drawn any conclusions about anything just yet. I’ve no idea why we’re interested in Sir John’s house. I don’t know how the Malabar Rose disappeared. And I’ve no idea why you’re so interested in that man Mr Phillimore who disappeared in Ealing.’
‘Ah, yes! Mr Phillimore.’ The housekeeper nodded approvingly. ‘We have been very lucky there, Flottie. If Mrs Smithers hadn’t brought her problem to us, we’d never even have heard of him. And if that was the case, then we’d probably have no idea at all where the ruby had got to.’
‘But do we have any idea where the ruby has got to, ma’am?’
She squeezed my hand then, and her voice was full of reassurance. ‘I promise you, Flotsam, the Malabar Rose is in very safe hands. But we must be cautious. There still remains at liberty a man who’s determined to steal it. A man driven by the greatest force of all.’
I pondered that for a moment. What force did she mean? A hunger for wealth? For power?
Mrs Hudson seemed to read my thoughts. ‘No, Flottie. None of those.’ She squeezed my hand again. ‘I’m talking about the greatest force of all. Flotsam, the gentleman we seek is in love.’
For the rest of the journey home, Mrs Hudson entertained me with various observations that she hoped might prompt me to form some conclusions of my own. As she talked, the bright sunshine of the morning faded around us and gave way to the grey drudgery of a winter afternoon. Above us, dark clouds were building from the east, trapping beneath them the city’s exhalations of soot and smoke. This dark breath flecked the air with black, and the cheeks of every passer-by were quickly smeared, as if by the city’s dark fingerprints. Soon the white cape of the previous evening had become the grey overcoat of a malevolent day. And in the east the wind was rising. It would be another hard night. Mrs Hudson, however, refused to be intimidated by the weather.
‘So, Flotsam, what’s the most significant thing we know about Mr Phillimore?’
‘He disappeared, ma’am.’
‘He certainly did. There’s been quite a lot of disappearing going on these last few days. But Mr Phillimore has been disappearing from time to time for a while now, hasn’t he?’
‘You mean his trips to Broadstairs, ma’am?’
‘That’s right. Those mysterious trips to Broadstairs. For three years there has been a fascinating regularity to those little trips of his. And other things have been happening at regular intervals too.’
‘Jewel thefts, ma’am. And magic shows.’
‘And nothing in the great scheme of things to connect Mr Phillimore with either. But suddenly something has changed. Mr Phillimore has disappeared for good. Now what has changed recently, Flottie?’
I thought hard. ‘You mean before he disappeared, ma’am?’
‘Before or shortly after. For instance, what has changed about the Great Salmanazar’s shows?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am. They say his tricks get better and better. And of course now he has Lola Del Fuego performing with him, and that means even bigger crowds.’
‘Ah, yes. In Paris and Berlin, his last two shows, he performs with the famous Lola. And a little after that a humble clerk in Ealing disappears.’
‘But, ma’am, there’s nothing to connect those two things. There’s nothing to connect him to the Great Salmanazar’s show at all.’
‘The card for Lola’s show found in his room, Flottie?’
‘Lots of men must have taken those home, ma’am.’
‘The fact that Miss Lola agreed to see us when we mentioned Phillimore’s name?’
‘Perhaps she really was just scared because you’d mentioned the police.’
‘The fact that both Mr Phillimore and the Great Salmanazar appear able to vanish into thin air?’
‘I’m sure there’s an explanation for both those things, ma’am.’
A gust of cold wind tugged at Mrs Hudson’s collar and she pulled her coat closer together at the neck.
‘Very well, Flotsam, if none of those arguments persuade you, I shall have to draw your attention to Mr Phillimore’s socks.’
‘His socks, ma’am?’
‘If you remember, he kept them in a drawer close to his bed. I took a very close look at them.’
I dimly remembered Mr Phillimore’s sock drawer and its collection of little round bundles crammed closely together.
‘What about his socks, ma’am?’
‘Their colour, Flotsam. They were all very muted shades, very like a clerk’s socks should be. But for one pair. A pair of pale lilac socks that leapt out at me straightaway. Not just because they were lilac, you understand, but also because they were made of very fine silk. They were quite a cut above anything else in that drawer. Have you seen many men in lilac socks, Flottie?’
I screwed up my eyes and tried to recall. ‘Not that I remember, ma’am.’
‘No, they haven’t really been worn over here. But in Paris last summer they were considered the very height of fashion. I’m told that every young gentleman was wearing them.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Though what a room full of men in lilac socks must have looked like is anyone’s guess. Now, what do we know about Mr Phillimore’s shopping habits?’
‘He didn’t care much about his clothes, ma’am. He just bought what he needed where he happened to be.’
‘Precisely. So where would he be when he bought those socks?’
I hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose he might have been in Paris.’
‘And not just in Paris. In a very grand part of Paris. Those were very fine socks. Now, are we to suppose he had merely run short of socks? Well, that’s possible. But then we have to consider the necktie…’
‘The necktie, ma’am?’
‘At the back of his wardrobe, almost as though he’d pushed it out of sight deliberately. It was quite different from all his others. Philippe Sagars, Paris, according to the maker’s label. A very expensive piece of neckwear, Flottie. Now, I can’t believe he had forgotten to pack both socks and ties. No, I think something happened to him in Paris to make him go out and buy expensive new clothes.’
My mind raced. ‘A disguise, ma’am? Perhaps he was on the run! Perhaps he dressed up to make his escape?’
The housekeeper tutted while we paused to cross the road. ‘Really, Flottie, a moment ago you maintained he was innocently in Broadstairs. Now you have him pursued through Paris by who knows what manner of ruffians. No, I think the explanation is a little more commonplace than that. I’ve always found there is one thing more than any other that drives unfashionable men suddenly to buy new clothes, Flottie.’
This time I understood without prompting. ‘I see, ma’am. You mean love again.’
‘That’s right, Flottie. Mr Phillimore was in Paris and in love. His response to the situation was to purchase new socks and a rather too bright necktie.’
‘But, ma’am, that’s all just speculation. Mr Holmes would laugh at us if he heard all that.’
‘Of course he would, Flotsam. And he’d be right. But for one more thing.’
‘And what’s that, ma’am?’
‘It was just an idea I had one day when I happened to be passing down here.’
She stopped and pointed. We were half way down a small alleyway that provided a short cut through towards Baker Street. The walls of the alley had been covered with layer upon layer of posters and advertisements, each new bill pasted on top of its predecessors, most of them now weathered and peeling. The poster Mrs Hudson was pointing at was some months old and torn in places, and stained dark by the rain and the black London fog. But for all that, it was still clearly legible.
Mr John Grovsner Johnson
presents
A Spectacular Show
A Variety of Famous Acts
including
The spectacular, the amazing
The Brindisi Brothers!
Gravity-defying Acrobats
~
The Remarkable Cycling Butler!
~
Grimaldi’s Human Automatons!
~
The famous voice of
Sally Shye, the Shoreditch Nightingale!
~
Conrad Phelps, Contortionist
The Rubber Man of Bow Bells!
~
A freak of nature!
Spectacled Jack the Memory Man!
~
Fido the Fiddling Hound!
~
And much, much more!
THE WINDMILL ON THE GREEN
JUNE 4th-29th
I read it all three times but to my disappointment was seized by no sudden revelation.
‘As I say,’ Mrs Hudson went on, ‘that poster gave me an idea of why James Phillimore was in Paris.’ As she spoke I noticed her eyes seemed to be locked on something a long way away, and her face was full of thought. ‘Yes, indeed. It all fits. Think about it, Flotsam, and if you need a clue, ask yourself this: just how did the Great Salmanazar escape from that coffin when we know beyond all doubt that it had been properly nailed down and then chained up tightly from the outside?’