No Place for a Lady (18 page)

“Well, sir, he hops into a carriage and darts off in t’other direction, west along the Strand. It made me curious, like, why he’d walk one way, then drive t’other, so I followed him a couple of more times. Took the same crinkum-crankum route every day, he did. That cove’s up to something, I says to myself.”

“Did he meet anyone?” Algernon asked.

“Not a soul. He kept hisself to hisself. He wasn’t one to give a girl a tumble. I used to see him coming back at night, too. I walked along to the same spot where he got into his rig in the morning—and didn’t he get out of it at six o’clock and walk home by the same crooked route. What do you make of that, eh?”

“Could you describe the carriage?” Sharkey asked.

“A good rattler, but not flashy. Plain black. A groom but no footman. A team of bays.”

Sharkey said, “Send Jocko in if you see him. Put out the word.”

“Jocko’s your man for prads,” Meg said, and finished her wine.

Algernon handed her a coin that put a broad smile on her face. “Why, thank you ever so,” she said. She put the coin in her gown to keep her tuppence company and left. “Back to the streets,” she said, patting her bosom contentedly.

“What do you make of that?” Algernon said when she had gone.

“Jocko might know something about the rattlers and prads,” Sharkey said.

I said, without thinking, “Does she work day
and
night? I had thought her ... profession ... would work at night, but she seems to be on the streets all day as well.”

“Spotty Meg’ll turn her hand to anything,” Sharkey explained. “She’s not a specialist. A bit of a pinch artist—picks up small items in shops; she’ll even nab the snow when her regular business is slow. Take linen off clotheslines,” he explained when I looked at him in confusion.

“She is very ... versatile,” I said, trying not to sound condemnatory.

“Yes.” Algernon smiled. “I hope you were not too attached to that little china bowl that used to be on your desk.”

I looked—and saw Miss Thackery’s dish of peppermints had vanished. “She even took the peppermints!”

“Better count your fingers, Algie,” Sharkey said, and laughed at Meg’s prank. “I told her to behave proper. I’ll get the dish back for you, Miss Irving.”

“Never mind. She needs it worse than I.”

Our next callers were a pair of ken crackers named Silent Sam and Noisy Ned. They worked as a team to break into houses and rob them. Noisy Ned created a diversion in front of the house by dropping to the ground and pretending to have taken a convulsion. Silent Sam would come along and pose as a doctor, as a ploy to get into the house chosen for pilfering. Sam would send the servants off for wine or other medications, and they would both pick up any small valuables while they were alone. They waited until the master and mistress had left the house before their performance. The servants, it seemed, were more easily gulled.

One would think, to look at Sam and Ned, that they were respectable gentlemen. They wore decent blue jackets and were clean enough. A closer look revealed the shifty eyes and sly grin of the rogue. They reverted to their true form with Sharkey.

“Word is out you’re interested in Lalonde’s place,” Ned said. Sam was indeed silent. We scarcely heard a word from him. “Me and Sam paid a call round around two, when the place had been empty an hour or more. Honest Eddie has taken over for the night. He’s set up a friendly card game with a couple of well-inlaid flats from the country.

“What did you find in there?” Sharkey asked.

Sam, though silent, found a mode of communicating. He held up his right hand and rubbed his thumb against his fingers, to indicate he wanted payment for his information.

“Let’s hear what you’ve got to say first,” Sharkey said.

Ned drew a list from his pocket and read. “ ‘An ell of sprigged muslin, yellow. Half an ell ditto, pink. A hank of green silk—not enough for a gown but for a shawl. Six yards satin ribbon—’“

Sharkey waved him to silence. “We don’t want an inventory, Ned. Was there anything in the way of a map, a letter, an address ... ?”

“Clean as a whistle, that way. Account books gone, money box empty. Desk emptied. Done a flit, we figured. No point letting the bailiff nab the goods.”

“That news ain’t worth listening to,” Sharkey told him. “But here’s something for your trouble. If you see Jocko, send him along. I’m anxious to see Jocko.” He handed Ned some small coins.

Since Sharkey paid him, I did not hesitate to ask Sam to return the silver-framed picture of my aunt Thalassa’s late husband, which he had lifted from the desk while Ned entertained us. He drew it from his pocket with a sly grin.

“Now how did that get in there?” he said. They were the only words he spoke during the whole visit.

I did not notice until later that either he or Spotty Meg had gotten away with the silver-plated ink pot. “How could they steal it? It was full of ink!” I exclaimed.

Sharkey pointed to a half glass of wine I had left on the desk. It was now full of a deep blue ink wine.

“Those fellows are wasting their time. They ought to set up as magicians. Unfortunately I cannot bring up a new bottle of wine,” I said, staring at Sharkey. “Mine has mysteriously vanished from the cellar.”

“There’s rats in that cellar,” Sharkey said.

“Do they know how to draw a cork?”

We were interrupted by another visitor, a “cove” whose job description was jarkman. His line of crime was to falsify documents, but he had not done so for Vivaldi or any of the others. He offered to forge documents proving me a French countess for two guineas, or a duchess for three. I declined.

“An Italian contessa,” he ventured. I shook my head.

“P’raps it’s just as well. You don’t look like a foreigner. That face is as English as suet pudding. If you ever feel the need to drop a decade from your age, I can print you up a birth certificate quick as winking. It would fool any judge in the country.”

“But would it fool the gentlemen?” Sharkey asked, and gave a playful laugh. “Just fooling, Miss Irving. You are still as fresh as spring lamb.”

“Thank you, I shall bear the offer in mind when I turn to mutton.”

“That won’t be for half a decade yet,” Sharkey assured me.

I thought the house had escaped depredations from the jarkman until I went into the hallway to answer the next knock and saw the umbrellas were gone. There had been three umbrellas in a large blue-and-white vase when the evening began. I removed the vase, took down the painting from the wall, and decided that if anyone wanted the ragged runner on the floor, he was welcome to it.

I opened the door, and a person whom I first mistook for a boy hopped in. A closer look showed me he was an extremely small man with a lined face, very few teeth, and no hair whatsoever when he removed his hat. A fringe of dark hair had been attached to the hat’s brim by some means, but it came off with the hat
.

“I hear the Shark is looking for me,” he said, with a toothless grin.

“Whom shall I say ... ?”

“Jocko, miss. Just Jocko. He’ll know.”

“Jocko!” I grabbed him by the lapels and made him welcome. “Come in. We have been waiting for you.”

He flicked my fingers away with a sharp look and smoothed his tatty lapels. I noticed the fingers were out of his gloves, but they had once been good gloves. York tan, at least two sizes too large for Jocko.

“If you will just step this way,” I said. His eyes toured the empty hallway, then he fell in behind me.

Chapter Sixteen

Sharkey came darting into the hall to meet Jocko. “Good lad! It took you long enough to get here.”

Jocko replied, “I blush to confess I came on shank’s mare. Me! The best prancer prigger in the country! Can you believe it?” He slid into the saloon.

“It’s a rare day when Jocko’s feet tread the cobblestones. What happened?”

“A few of the lads set up a card game with a pair of Johnny Raws from the country. I was to relieve them of their prads while Captain Sharp lightened their pockets. Turned out the coves were fly. They came in a hired cab, brought their own cards and wine, and had guns in their pockets. The game is at Lalonde’s abandoned shop. I was just on my way to tell Spotty Meg. She might want to have a go at them. They didn’t bring their own lightskirts at least.”

“She’ll hear about it. This is more important.”

He led Jocko to a comfortable chair. I brought him a glass and what remained of the wine.

Jocko looked at the decanter with disdain and said, “Would you have a drop of brandy at all?”

“I am afraid not,” I replied.

“Bottom shelf of the sideboard, left, behind the cups,” Sharkey informed me. “I used to keep your aunt supplied, Miss Irving,” he explained, when I looked my astonishment.

I brought the brandy. Before I could pour a glass, Jocko reached out and took the bottle. He poured himself a large glass and smacked his lips.

“Nectar of the gods!” He smiled his toothless smile and drank. “It is strange a race that eats frogs has such good taste in drink. Now, what can I do for you, Sharkey?”

“A cove called Vivaldi used to leave this house every morning and meet a carriage at the corner of Aldwych and Drury Lane, somewhere around there.”

“Just so, the long drink of water—a foreigner. A professor, I think he called hisself?”

“That’s right, Vivaldi.”

“Plain black rig, a decent team of bays. Not bloods by any means, but a gentleman’s team. The wagon was his own. He hired the prancers from Booter’s stable on Eagle Street, near Gray’s Inn. What do you want to know about him?”

“He’s disappeared. We want to find him. If you happen to know where he used to go in that rig, it’d be worth something,” Algernon said.

“I have reason to believe he was a salesman of some sort. He carried a black case, used to make regular stops at certain shops specializing in ladies’ goods and toys.”

“Could you give us a list of those shops?” Algernon asked, with a gleam in his eyes. This would be Vivaldi’s network of spies.

“I would have to drive the route. I cannot recall them offhand, but I’d recognize them to see them right enough. I never actually followed the professor. No reason to. His man never left the nags unattended, but I used to see the rig coming and going as I made my usual rounds.”

“Good! We’ll do the tour tomorrow. For the moment, we are interested to discover where that team of bays is now.”

“I can tell you that,” Jocko said. “They are back at Booter’s stable. I was there, selling Booter a dandy ladies’ mount I prigged from a private stable when the groom brought the prads in this afternoon. He hired a stronger team of four. Looks like he plans a trip. He would not need four for town.”

“He’s making a dart for France, since we’ve rumbled his game,” Sharkey said to Algernon.

“Some havey-cavey business, is there?” Jocko inquired, with mild interest, as he sipped the brandy. “Am I correct in deducing it is the cove you are interested in, not the team?”

“That’s the idea,” Sharkey said. “If he hires the nags, Booter must have an address for him.”

“The address he left is Wild Street,” Jocko said, but he said it with an extremely cagey grin. “Which is not where you will find him.”

“Do you know where he is? Name your price!” Algernon said.

A blissful smile seized Jocko’s face at such a naive utterance. “I do, sir. I happened to overhear Booter ask the lad how he liked St. John’s Wood. From the conversation, I deduced the professor goes there on weekends. I have a certain ladyfriend— But you are not interested in that. Suffice it to say I have seen the professor driving in that direction, usually on a Sunday, when I visit my Bessie.”

Algernon was out of his chair. “Have you any idea where in St. John’s Wood?”

“I have, sir. I know the very house. As soon as we have settled on a price. Shall we say ... twenty guineas?”

Sharkey said, “Twenty guineas! You’re out of your head. Ten.”

“This is no time to quibble. Twenty it is,” Algernon said, and pulled Jocko out of his chair.

“Let us just see the readies,” Jocko said.

Algernon emptied his pockets, and Jocko snatched the money. “I happened to overhear Booter ask him if he had seen any of the balloon ascents that take place in St. John’s Wood. The lad said he had watched one from his own window last Sunday. Now where would that be but the empty field at the corner of Abbey Road and Grove End Road? I could show you the very house. If there will be either fisticuffs or shooting, you must hold me excused from participating,” he said. “I supply information only, not physical support ... except in the way of a prancer.”

“Take Butler, Algie,” I said. “He will be eager to go with you.”

“We could use an extra man. We don’t know how many of them are there,” Sharkey said.

“Very well. Tell him to hurry.”

I darted to the dining room, where Butler was sitting with Mary, talking about Anne. Mary’s eyes were moist, and Butler’s were not far from it.

“Come along, Mr. Butler. We think we have discovered where Anne is,” I said.

He was up like a shot and went pelting into the saloon to join Algernon and Sharkey.

“Do you have guns?” I asked.

“Do dogs have fleas?” was Sharkey’s reply.

“For God’s sake, be careful,” I gasped, gripping Algernon’s fingers. Lack of time and privacy robbed us of a decent parting. I suddenly found there were so many things I wanted to say to him. I might never see him again. I wanted to apologize for our many arguments . . . and to tell him I loved him.

“Put on a kettle,” Sharkey said. “I’ll have him back safe before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“My dear,” Algernon said, and lifted my hand to his lips. “Thank you ... for everything.” His eyes glowed with emotion, saying all the things we could not say. Then they were gone, and I was left with the lady’s onerous chore of waiting, while poor Anne and the man I loved were in danger.

I went upstairs to tell Miss Lemon and Miss Thackery the latest development. They were greatly cheered, though of course not totally relieved until Anne was safely home. I returned belowstairs to intercept any other callers who might come to relieve me of my goods and chattels—and to ponder on this other half of humanity of whose existence I had scarcely been aware before coming to Wild Street.