No Place for a Lady (13 page)

Sharkey had a loud, carrying voice. His reply was perfectly audible. “I followed her home all right. He didn’t go near her. I think you’re wrong about him, Algie. He don’t seem to be interested in the girl.”

Algie murmured something in reply. Sharkey said, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her. But you’ll have to take over yourself tomorrow night. Unless you want me to put off going to Stop Hole Abbey ... ?”

“No, no!” Algernon’s objection was loud enough to be heard.

I tiptoed quietly back downstairs and went to my bedchamber. Stop Hole Abbey is a criminal haunt where stolen goods are traded. But Lord Algernon, the great reformer, not only refrained from discouraging Sharkey, he appeared to be the one encouraging him. In fact, as Sharkey asked his opinion, the only logical conclusion was that Sharkey was going at Algernon’s request. Algernon was dealing in stolen goods. What would his papa say, and do, when he found out?

The story Algernon had told about his father suddenly seemed incredible. No rich and noble father would make his son live in such penury that he was forced to take rooms on Wild Street. Algernon was here because he wanted to work hand in glove with the detestable Eric Sharkey—for a share of the criminal profits. Algernon was a criminal.

I saved the most personal sin for the last. On top of his criminal activities, Algernon was so besotted with some girl that he had Sharkey following her, to see whom she met. Probably some proud beauty who was aware of Algernon’s criminal streak. The only reason Algernon was trying to butter me up was because he liked the convenience of having a biddable landlady. If I had known all this last night, for instance, I would have turned him and Sharkey over to Bow Street.

It was too late now; the evidence was gone—but at least Lady Pryor had her pearls and ring and watch back. I had outwitted them that time. And I would outwit them again. Sharkey was off to Stop Hole Abbey tomorrow night. Very likely he would return with some other stolen goods. I would keep a watch on the front door, and if he went to Algernon—with his pockets bulging—I would send for Bow Street.

It was much later, just as I was dozing off, that I remembered Algernon had not upbraided Sharkey for giving us outdated tickets for Covent Garden. It had not bothered him a whit that we suffered the disgrace of being put out of our box. I renewed my resolution to sell the house and return to Radstock as soon as possible.

Chapter Eleven

I was up early the next morning. Before breakfast, I went to the kitchen and spoke to Mullard about scraping and painting the front door. He was enjoying a hearty breakfast of gammon and eggs with Mary Freeman. Mary had worked wonders on the kitchen. Its surfaces were all too old and faded to gleam, but they were clean, and Mary wore a clean apron and cap. It lifted my spirits to see things being put to order, and to smell the tantalizing whiff of coffee in the air.

I took a cup of coffee to the dining room to await breakfast. I was just looking about for the journals to discover an estate agent when Mrs. Clarke’s head peeked in the door. She looked pale and tired, and her work clothes were modest in the extreme, but neither a plain gray round bonnet nor the air of fatigue could dim her natural beauty. I said good morning and inquired for Jamie’s health.

“Good morning, Miss Irving,” she said. “Jamie is fine. He is teething and was awake in the night, but he will be all right. I wonder if I could ask a wee favor of you. I am expecting a parcel from my aunt today. She is sending some of her old baby clothes for Jamie. Would you mind holding it for me? I’ll pick it up after work. Or you can just ask Miss Lemon to take it up if it is in your way.”

“I would be happy to, Mrs. Clarke.”

“Thank you. I must dash. Mam’selle Lalonde gets that cross if I am late.”

I heard her speaking to Sharkey in the hall as she left. Such was Mrs. Clarke’s youth and beauty that she nudged even Sharkey into civility.

“I am going your way, Mrs. Clarke,” he said. “I’ll walk along with you, if you don’t mind.”

“I will be happy for your escort, for they are tearing down that old building on the corner on my way to work ... and some of the fellows shout and leer as I pass by.”

“We’ll see about that!” Sharkey said in a blustering way.

“Mr. Butler usually accompanies me, but he—” The door closed, cutting off her speech.

I remembered seeing Miss Thackery reading the
Observer
in the saloon yesterday and went to fetch it. As I was returning to the dining room, Lord Algernon came downstairs.

“Good morning, Catherine,” he said, with a smile.

“Good morning, Lord Algernon,” I said coolly. “Did you ring a peel over Sharkey last night? I must compliment you on your discretion. I did not hear any falling body.”

“We have worked out a compromise. He gave me tickets—properly dated—for Drury Lane for tomorrow evening to make up for last night’s catastrophe. I hope you and Miss Thackery will be my guests.”

“Very kind, but we prefer to know what we are getting into when we go out with a gentleman.”

“Cut to the quick!” he said, with an exaggerated grimace. “You will never let me forget that, will you? But as I said, these tickets are properly dated.”

“I am sure the tickets are fine. Perhaps the colonel could spare Miss Whately to accompany you. I shall be busy making the house ready to show to potential buyers. I am just looking for an estate agent to call on this morning.”

An expression more of hurt than anger creased his handsome brow. “What is the matter, Catherine?” he asked softly.

“I have come down with a bad case of reality, Lord Algernon. A pity you could not do likewise.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“A clever scoundrel like you should be able to figure it out.”

I left him standing in confusion with his hand on the banister post while I strode back to the dining room. I should not have let him know I was so angry. It might urge him to caution—and make it more difficult to catch him and Sharkey with their loot. I would be more conciliating the next time I met him, but I would not go out with him again.

I circled the names of a couple of estate agents within walking distance of Wild Street, according to a map of London Aunt Thalassa had in her desk. The only other item of interest that occurred that morning was a reply from Papa, positively urging me to remain on as long as necessary to get the house in shape for selling or renting. I sensed the fine hand of Mrs. Hennessey in his letter. It would suit her very well to have Miss Thackery and myself out of the way, to give her a clear field with Papa.

Later in the morning Mullard began scraping the front door. He used some sort of foul-smelling chemical to soften the paint. The reek of it invaded the house, causing Miss Whately to come down and complain. At eleven-thirty in the morning, she had not yet put on a dress, but wore a garish flowered dressing gown.

“It’s enough to give you a headache, Miss Irving. It can’t be good for a body.”

“He is nearly finished. I shan’t keep you, Miss Whately, as I see you are just making your toilette.”

“Oh, lud, I’m sick to death of all my clothes. If I have to put on that yellow gown again I’ll wretch. Which reminds me, what are you doing with the old malkin’s gowns, Miss Irving, if you don’t mind my asking? What I was thinking— We’re about the same size, me and Mrs. Cummings, except around the waist, and she had some dandy things. I couldn’t begin to pay you what they’re worth, but old Jack would be good for a couple of quid. He likes me to dress fancy.”

“You are welcome to take a look, Miss Whately. There will be no charge,” I added.

This being the case, Miss Whately, whom I was immediately urged to call “Renie,” found much to her liking, even including colored silk hose with ladders and some antiquated shoes with gaudy silver buckles and other dramatic ornaments.

“You might ask Mrs. Clarke if she wants what’s left,” she said when she had her arms full to overflowing. “She’s that handy with a needle, ain’t she? You ought to see the neat mend she made in Mr. Alger’s jacket sleeve. He ripped it when he was helping her put up Jamie’s crib. Of course it stands to reason, her being a modiste and all. She’d be glad of a little extra work if you need anything in the way of mending or sewing, Miss Irving. She makes all Alger’s handkerchiefs and that.”

It was thoughtful of Algernon to help the widow out in this way. I was glad there was at least a small streak of generosity in him. “That might be convenient. I shall see if we need anything. I expect Mr. Butler also gives her a little work.”

“Yes, and even old Vivaldi. He has an eye on her, if you want my honest opinion. I’ve caught him more than once loitering round her door. Old enough to be her pa, the old hound. Of course he’s no real competition for Mr. Alger.”

“Surely it is Mr. Butler who has the inner track!”

“Don’t you believe it,” Renie said, and laughed. “He hadn’t a look-in once she caught Alger’s eye. Well, stands to reason, a swell like Mr. Alger. He’s ever so fond of Mrs. Clarke. Takes her personal in his carriage when she has to go out of an evening. Says she’s going to visit some friends of her late husband’s. Straight to the nearest country inn, says I. Oh, that Alger is the one, ain’t he? I wouldn’t mind leaving my slippers under his bed—in a manner of speaking,” she added, when I stared at her with my mouth open.

It was not her latest vulgarism that caused my jaw to drop, however, but the news that Algernon was seducing that nice Mrs. Clarke. I was furious, but I tried to conceal my rampant interest in this subject, while still extracting anything she might have to tell. “Would you like some coffee, Renie?” I suggested.

“I don’t mind if I do, dear. I just ran out. My last cup was so weak I had to help it out of the pot.”

We went to the saloon, and I rang for Mary to bring coffee.

Renie said, “You’ve got this rat’s nest fixed up ever so nice, Miss Irving. Who’d have thought it could look so swell.”

“Yes, the proportions are rather nice, and the fireplace, too. Has Mr. Alger been seeing Mrs. Clarke for very long?”

“Ever since the day he moved in. He no sooner clamped his eyes on her than he was making up to her. In her room for an hour that very night, and Miss Lemon hadn’t moved in yet, either,” she said, nodding her head sagaciously. “In fact, it’s him as found Miss Lemon, and it wouldn’t come as a shock to me if he paid her wages as well. I mean to say, she’s only got her man’s half pension, hasn’t she? How does she afford a full-time woman?”

“But she works as well.”

“Oh, yes, but she once let out to me that she puts every penny of that aside for Jamie’s education, if you please. And it’s true, too, for I got a look at her bankbook.”

I was strongly inclined to ask how she had achieved this, but thought it better not to know.

With her coffee cup in her hand, Renie became even more expansive. “Mr. Butler don’t like it,” she said, eyeing the sherry decanter.

I disliked to encourage her drinking and ignored the look.

“I’ve heard him jawing at Mrs. Clarke when she goes out with Alger,” she continued. “ ‘Y
OU
don’t understand, Mr. Butler,’ she says. ‘Mr. Alger is just a friend.’ Hah, with friends like that she don’t need a banker. Comes home pink with pleasure when she goes out with Alger, and usually sporting some little extra the next day, I’ve noticed. That little chest in her parlor that she calls a chiffonier—whatever that may be—she got that after her first night with Alger. And the watch came after their second outing. Mind you, I’m not complaining. More power to her. Old Jack has been promising me a watch forever. I’ll get it out of him one of these days.”

Renie eventually finished her coffee and took her plunder upstairs. I sat on alone, thinking. Mrs. Clarke was certainly pretty. I already suspected Lord Algernon had an eye for the ladies. He was having Sharkey follow one, and he had been making up to me in a very practiced way. What surprised me considerably more was that the widow was open to his advances. I had not thought she cared for anything but Jamie. Was she doing it for her child, to make it possible to put money away for his future? That might help excuse her, but it was no excuse for Algernon. And for this, he was indulging in a life of crime, breaking the law and his father’s heart, to say nothing of making me feel guilty for not helping the needy.

Miss Thackery came in from the backyard, where she had been battling with the garden, and told me Mullard was preparing to paint the door and did I want to check the color of the paint before he applied it.

It was a deep green, just as I had requested. Mullard had also bought a handsome brass lion’s head door knocker that would lend us a touch of elegance—and no doubt make the one decent feature of the house emphasize the dilapidation of the rest. But at least my hands would not feel soiled every time I came in or went out.

Mrs. Clarke’s parcel arrived while we were still admiring the knocker. I signed for it and took it upstairs. Miss Lemon came to the door, holding Jamie in her arms.

“He’s teething, poor thing,” she said. “Would you mind just putting the parcel on the sofa, Miss Irving?”

I was happy for another excuse into the apartment. My vulgar curiosity wanted a look at the chiffonier, Algie’s first gift to the widow. It was an elegant piece with china ornaments on top and drawers beneath. Its newness was at odds with the rest of the room. Sitting on the end of the sofa was a familiar-looking man’s waistcoat of yellow-and-maroon stripes. Miss Lemon noticed where I was looking and blushed.

“That looks bad, does it not?” she said, and laughed. “Mrs. Clarke is just tightening the buttons on it for Mr. Alger. She does a bit of sewing at home to help make ends meet.”

“It is difficult for a young widow with a child,” I said, quelling down my annoyance.

“Ah, but Jamie makes it all worthwhile for her. She fairly dotes on him.”

Jamie began whining in discomfort. His little cheeks were bright red. “Does he have a fever?” I asked.

“He is a little warm, but it is the teeth coming in that causes it. I should give him his coral. Now where did I put it?” She looked around helplessly.