16

Friday, June 11

I awoke with a cheerful heart and stiff joints. An evening with a “gentleman caller” had been a pleasant diversion, but my body urged me to seek warmer climes. Soon.

The payment from the German contract included a fifty-pound bonus as a reward for a job well and swiftly done, so I could afford small indulgences and still secure a second-class cabin to myself and be well-resourced to begin my new life in Australia. With the funds at hand, there was nothing holding me back.

After my morning rituals, I dressed to go out and headed for the docks. There was still a single cabin available for a ship leaving the following week, but after a moment’s hesitation, I declined it. I couldn’t possibly be ready to depart so soon, I told myself. Instead, I chose a ship leaving the seventh of July. I confess I was still savoring the pleasure of Inspector Ethington’s attentions the night before, and decided to find a reason to visit Special Branch once more to say farewell. It was only proper.

As I made my way back to my flat, I had a familiar but uncomfortable feeling that I was being followed, and on the spur of the moment I stepped into a café. I chose a corner table and using my teacup as a screen, scanned the establishment, then the street. It was a pleasant June morning, and the passersby strode hither and yon with purpose. All of them, that is, except for a boy of around twelve who was loitering at the corner of the building across from me.

His hands fidgeted, going into his pockets, then coming out, with his arms held at odd angles or across his body. He was dressed in a flat cap, a clean shirt and vest, and baggy trousers, all made from the same light brown wool and all at least two sizes too big. I noticed his face and hands were clean. Not a beggar, nor a newsboy as he had no papers. He was no threat, but to whom did he report? Who had a reason to follow me?

Then I felt a chill flow down my back. Who had I harmed recently? The German anarchists. Well, Margaret, I thought, be careful what you wish for. Now you have a valid reason to see Inspector Ethington again.

I debated whether I should try to shake my shadow before going to Special Branch. Would it be better if he knew I had contacts there, or would keeping this knowledge from him make it easier for James—So it’s James now?—to catch him?

I left the café striding straight for the nearest Underground, not daring to look behind to see if my ill-dressed tail was loping after. I boarded the first car I found and stood by the door. Sure enough, the lad entered the wagon just behind, so I would be ahead of him when I disembarked. The doors were closing when I leapt out, catching my skirt in the door for a moment before I pulled it free. I headed straight for the station’s exit, shaking my head as though I’d forgotten something. I had just enough self-control not to look back to see whether my shadow had escaped his car.

I found James in his office studying a calendar. He looked up when I entered, startled, but smiled when he saw it was me. I rather liked that.

“Ah, Miss Harkness, a pleasure. I had a delightful evening last night and hope you did as well. To what do I owe this pleasant interruption of my day?”

“I’ve grown a tail,” I said.

Ethington pinked up, then laughed.

“A shadow then,” I said. “A follower. Someone is stalking me! You of all people should understand the reference.”

He stopped laughing, though still struggled to control his smile. “Please forgive me, Miss Harkness, but the image just now . . .” Tears trickled down his face as he fought a losing battle with another outburst, while I tapped my foot, waiting for this bout to pass. Men.

“I’m glad my situation provides you such merriment, Inspector, but someone is following me, and I’m concerned it may involve my recent adventure in Germany. I thought you might be interested in knowing this.”

“Excuse me, Margaret,” he said, startling both of us by his use of my first name. “I mean, Miss Harkness. You’re quite right to be concerned. Let me think a moment.”

“Yes, please do, Inspector.” Then I added, relenting a bit, “Margaret is fine.”

He blushed again. He would make a terrible spy, I thought, not unkindly. He’s so easy to read.

“Two things come to mind,” he said. “First, I must contact Herr Adler to request information on the anarchists involved in your affair in Berlin. We need to know what contacts they may have here in London. Second, I would like to set a trap for your devoted follower, to learn who this person’s working for. Are we agreed?”

“Hardly a romantic stroll . . . James. But, yes, the sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better. I lost the young man on my way here. He’ll probably return to my apartment. I’ll go there now and depart for the market around four. You can be somewhere near to follow us. How you catch him is up to you, but the marketplace is full of stalls and vendors. You should be able to get close without him noticing. Then, when I leave to return home, you can confront him as he leaves the market.”

“Excellent. I’ll send a telegram to Herr Adler now. I may have a reply before we meet, and we can confront the lad with all we know.”

I didn’t see my shadow when I left my apartment building, market basket over my arm, but I didn’t need to. I felt his eyes. Or was it James’s eyes? I steeled myself against the impulse to look around for him. No. I had to play the part of an automaton, intent on buying food and nothing else. I wonder what automatons eat? I nearly giggled at the thought. This man is warping your judgment, Margaret. Be careful! I straightened and went forward bravely to buy potatoes and bread.

As I wandered amongst the vendors, I added a roasted chicken to the basket and a quarter-wheel of cheese as images of a picnic in the park flashed through my mind. Despite my foolish daydreams, I finally noticed the boy dressed as before, pretending to watch a juggler at the market entrance. He looked fit, and I wondered if James could catch him in a footrace. Perhaps a little advantage was called for.

On the way home I stopped as though to consult an address, then turned through a narrow archway into a courtyard surrounded by tenements on three sides. The courtyard was in the shade of the afternoon sun, and I slipped into the dimness to the right of the entrance and lay in wait. Sure enough, I soon heard slow, light footsteps approach and head for the same shadows I was in. I blame the darkness of the shadows for my missing crucial features as I seized a slender arm and spun my tail against the wall, blocking escape.

“Let me go!” the youth yelled. “I’ll call for the police!”

“The police are already here, lad,” Inspector Ethington said, puffing from his sprint. “Now, who are you and what are you about, following this nice lady?”

The boy’s eyes widened when he saw the jig was up. After a deep sigh, he removed his cap. Light-brown, shoulder-length hair spilled out. “Hello, Father,” Elizabeth Ethington said. “I see I still have a lot to learn.”

It was no park, but the three of us were soon sitting down in my apartment enjoying the chicken and cheese while Elizabeth Ethington explained herself.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to alarm anyone, but the way you talked about Miss Harkness, well, I was curious and wanted to know more about a lady who could make you smile again.”

“Oh?” I said. “And what did the good inspector say about Miss Harkness that caught your attention?”

James sat, miserable, while we two ladies discussed him as though he wasn’t there. “Perhaps he said something in confidence that had best remain unspoken? Besides you, young lady, need to explain why you aren’t in school.”

“He said you are a remarkable woman, and hoped to see you again.” Elizabeth blurted out.

“Now that you’ve ruined any remaining dignity I might have, please explain your absence from school.”

“Oh, that. I’m sorry, Father, but I haven’t been to school since the New Year.”

“What!”

“I am literate, probably more so than some of my teachers. I do well in mathematics but see no reason why I should continue to prepare myself to be a proper wife and mother, or secretary or clerk, when that is all my schooling prepares me for. I have turned to the streets to study my true calling.”

“And what true calling can you learn in the streets?” Ethington asked, bracing for the worst.

Elizabeth patted his hand. “Why, being a detective, of course. Like you.”

I slammed James’s back as he choked on his chicken, propelling it onto his plate. After he regained his breath and speech, he croaked out, “There are no lady detectives on the force.”

“I know that, Father,” she said with the air of a wise adolescent who has to explain things to their beloved but simple parent. “I want to be a consulting detective, like Sherlock Holmes.”

James looked to me, pleading, “Speak to her, Margaret, one woman to another, please!”

“Very well, James, but as this conversation will be from one woman to another, I’ll have to ask you to go to the sitting room while we talk.”

His mouth, so recently cleared of chicken, dropped open. “What! Now?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Inspector.”

He stood and bowed to the two of us before walking into the sitting room like a chastened schoolboy while Elizabeth struggled to hide her smile, at least until her father was out of sight.

Once he was gone, I turned to Elizabeth. “You understand few men will hire you. That means you’ll need to advertise your services in women’s periodicals.”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped nearly as far as her fathers as I continued, “Now, I agree that disguising yourself as a boy is a good idea when on surveillance, but you need some practice.”

Elizabeth jutted out her chin. “How hard can it be to act like a man? They do it without thinking at all.”

“Precisely, and you must learn to do likewise. Now walk across the room and back.”

Puzzled, Elizabeth stood and did as she was bid. “Anything wrong with that?”

“Your steps are too short. You’ve grown up walking in skirts, so you take smaller steps so as not to trip or dirty the hem of your dress. Boys take long strides, boys your age especially, as they try to look older and larger than they are. Then there’s the problem with your arms.”

“What’s wrong with my arms?”

“You don’t know what to do with them. You’re used to carrying a purse, and your arms come across your body as you step. No boy does that. Their arms are free to swing to and fro like a pendulum. Think of how soldiers march, then reduce it a bit, and you’ll be about right. Remember, Elizabeth, now you have pockets, the greatest advantage men have over us. Get to know them until they are second nature, and let your arms savor their freedom.”

Elizabeth drank in every word, her questions bursting out like steam too long contained.

“Men’s shoes are too wide. What can I do about that?”

“A bit of lamb’s wool tucked inside does wonders, my dear. I have some I can give you. Now let’s see, what else? Oh, yes. Spitting.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Some boys do a lot of that, I’ve noticed.”

“Yes, they do. If you spit, do so with authority. When men and boys spit, it is a declaration of something. Of what precisely, I’ve no idea, but if you spit, do so boldly.”

“Disgusting.”

“If you find it disgusting, which I understand, then it’s best you forgo that particular male diversion. Which bring us to scratching. Boys do a lot of that, too. Please don’t. It’s something I’ve never been able to do convincingly.”

“How do you know all this, Miss Harkness? I’ve never met a woman who knows so much about these things, let alone one willing to discuss them.”

“I’ve had occasion to pass as a man to avoid danger, or to seek it. It is a useful skill for a woman who chooses an . . . unorthodox path in life. One final thing: Your hands and face are too clean. If you want to pass yourself off as a street urchin, you must have some dirt on your hands and under your nails. Any final questions before school is adjourned?”

“Only one, but it’s for the both of you.” Then, raising her voice, she called out, “Father, it’s safe to come back now!” Once he’d returned, hat literally in hand, she asked, “Did you know there was a man spying on the two of you last night when you returned Miss Harkness home?”