No Place for a Lady (8 page)

“A watch,” I said, and drew it from my pocket. Now that I knew why he had asked for secrecy, I did not feel guilty about revealing the transaction. “I got it for Miss Thackery’s birthday. She lost her watch. Oh, dear, I must give it back to him at once. I wish you had warned me, Mr. Alger.”

“It was my intention to warn Sharkey off from pulling this stunt on you. I even—” He stopped and just frowned.

“You gave him money to pay his rent! You did, confess it, Mr. Alger. I saw you giving him money.”

“You don’t miss much! It was a loan. He always repays his loans, one way or another.”

“That was very kind of you, but I fear kindness is wasted on Mr. Sharkey. I shall ask him to leave.”

“Oh, I would not be too hasty, Miss Irving,” he said, with an ingratiating smile. “Heaven knows who you would find to replace him. He is having a difficult time making ends meet at the moment, but he always pays eventually. He supports his widowed mother, you see, and four younger sisters.”

“That is kind of him to be sure, but I shall give back his watch all the same.”

We went to Mr. Sharkey’s room and knocked on his door. There was no answer. We ran straight downstairs, only to find that Mr. Sharkey had left. “I shall give it back to him first thing tomorrow,” I said, “and in the meanwhile, I shall hide it in a vase, in case the constable comes to search me.”

“They are not allowed to search your house without a warrant,” Mr. Alger said. I must have looked suspicious, because he felt obliged to explain his knowledge of this fact. “You will not be acquainted with Sharkey for long without learning the rudiments of your legal rights,” he said, with a smile. “It is quite an experience, learning how the other half lives, is it not?”

“ ‘Experience’ is one word for it.”

“You must not let yourself become so upset over these trifles, Miss Irving.”

“Trifles! I am a receiver of stolen goods! I might be locked in the roundhouse before morning.”

“Perhaps he came by the watch legitimately. And in the worst case, I can recommend an excellent lawyer. He will get you off with a couple of years. I am
joking,
Miss Irving! I think you require a glass of wine.”

He poured a glass of wine and took one himself. I could see Mr. Alger was upset over something. He was silent, and wore a puzzled frown as he sipped his wine. But before he left, he made the effort to be more sociable.

“You have not forgotten we are to visit Somerset House tomorrow?”

“No, I have asked Miss Thackery to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I should have told you to invite her. That was remiss of me.”

It was the gentlemanly thing to say, yet I was a little disappointed that
he
was not disappointed at her coming. He soon went upstairs, and Miss Thackery joined me. She had made tea and brought a tray to the saloon. We discussed how we would rearrange the room tomorrow, now that we were rid of most of the excess lumber. I would ask Mullard to chop up the few remaining pieces for firewood. Miss Whately could have one of the spare carpets, and no doubt one of the other tenants would be happy to take the other off our hands.

Miss Thackery noticed the wine decanter was empty and asked Mrs. Scudpole to bring a fresh bottle. She brought it and said grimly, “This is the last bottle in the house.”

“Surely my aunt had a wine cellar? Did you look in the cellar?”

“I got this one from the cellar. The last one.” She gave us a dirty look and left.

I did not mention the watch to Miss Thackery. She would want to turn Sharkey off at once, but I kept thinking of the poor man—having to support himself and his mother and four sisters. Another tenant to feel sorry for.

Chapter Seven

It had been arranged that I would take over my aunt’s bedchamber, while Miss Thackery slept in the room we had both used the night before. We retired early, which was a very good thing, for from one o’clock onward, we scarcely got a wink of sleep that night. At one o’clock, Miss Whately came home utterly foxed. The colonel was in a similar condition. We had determined earlier that the tenants each had their own key for the front door, but the job of inserting a key in the lock was beyond the combined talents of the pair of them. They banged on the door, frightening the life out of Miss Thackery and myself. When we tiptoed into the hallway, armed with a poker and a water jug respectively, the giggles and singing on the other side of the door told us what was going forth.

There they stood, leaning against each other for support, smiling like a pair of moonlings. Miss Whately’s bonnet was knocked sadly askew, and her gown looked as if she had slept in it. The colonel’s cravat hung around her neck. He looked excessively rakish with his cravat missing from his toilette.

“Oh Mizz Cummings, I’ve gone and forgot my key,” Miss Whately said, and laughed uproariously. She held the key in her fingers, but it was a key from the colonel’s ring that was wedged partway into the lock.

The colonel smiled blearily when the door opened. “You see I am in deshabille,” he said, slurring the words. “This young miss took my cravat. She could talk a cow out of its heifer.” He looked at his key—and at the open door. “Told you mine would work,” he said to Miss Whately. “Always opens
my
door.”

“I’m glad something about you works, Jack,” Miss Whately replied, with a lecherous wink in my direction.

She stepped in; the colonel tried to follow. I let Miss Whately pass, but put my arm out to bar him from the door. “Good night, Colonel,” I said firmly.

“Eh? Why, it is the shank of the evening. Renie has asked me up for a glass of wine.”

“You have already had quite enough wine.”

“I have not touched a drop! I have been drinking brandy.”

He tried to barge past me, but his innate breeding prevented him from manhandling a lady. Soon he discovered something else to divert him. My dressing gown had come a bit loose as I worked to keep him out. He peered down it and said, “I say! That’s a bit of all right!”

“Colonel Stone!” I exclaimed, clutching my gown about me.

“Don’t mind him, dearie.” Miss Whately smiled in a fatuous way and slid his cravat around my neck. “He talks a good game but there is no vice in Jack, is there, darling?”

“No, no. I am Simon Pure.” He smiled, reaching to snatch my gown open.

I gave his hand a hard slap. “Go home, Colonel,” I said severely, and closed the door. I set the lock and turned to Miss Whately.

“Jack likes that, you know,” she said, nodding her head wisely. “A bit of slap and tickle is just up his alley.”

“Can you get upstairs by yourself?” I asked.

“We’d best give her a hand or she will rouse the house,” Miss Thackery said. As her flat was on the third floor—and it was fourpence to a groat she would not be able to get her key in her lock anyway—we assisted Miss Whately upstairs. She spoke loudly in her resonant voice all the while, as if she were pitching her lines to the farther row of the balcony.

“A lovely man, the colonel, Mizz Cummings. What a grand meal he bought me.” She stumbled and nearly sent Miss Thackery tumbling downstairs. “Oh, you’re not Mizz Cummings. You’re Mizz
Thatr-
Miss T.”

When we finally got her up one flight, she burst into song at the top of her lungs. “My Jack’s a Soldier,” was the song, and she sang it lustily.

Mrs. Clarke’s door opened a crack. “Oh, it is only Renie,” she said, stifling a yawn, and closed her door again.

Almost at once, Mr. Alger’s door opened. I was surprised to see he was still wearing his evening suit. I had thought he would have retired by one o’clock.

“Can I give you a hand, Miss Irving?” he asked, and came to assist us. “Shame on you, Renie,” he scolded, but he scolded tolerantly. “What will Miss Irving think of you?”

“Oh, ho! Miss Irving ain’t as nice as she’s cracked herself up to be, Algie. She was rolling her eyes at my Jack. I saw you flaunting your bosom at him, Miss Irving,” she said, shaking a finger at me. I gasped in dismay.

“I would like to have seen that,” Mr. Alger said, grinning. Then he got a strong arm around Miss Whately and began urging her forth.

Miss Whately fell back in his arms. With her unfocused eyes gazing up at Mr. Alger, she crooned, “ ‘My Jack’s a soldier; he’s gone to war.’ He’s a grand man, is Jack,” she added, not in song. “And you’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Algie. You’ll join me for a wee glass of wine when we get rid of
her,”
she said, tossing her curls in my direction. “But you must not seduce me, naughty boy.” So saying, she wrapped both her dimpled arms around his neck and attacked him.

Mr. Alger gave an appealing glance, and I went to his assistance. We finally got her in motion again. Miss Thackery and I took her arms; Mr. Alger put his weight behind her; we nudged her upstairs one step at a time, to the accompaniment of yelps and giggles and song. I unlocked her door, and we deposited her on the sofa.

“We should not leave her like this,” Miss Thackery said. “We ought to get her into bed.”

“Oh Miss T”—she smiled—”you are giving Algie ideas.”

“She will have a crick in her neck by morning, rolled up on that little sofa,” Miss Thackery said with a
tsk.

“She will have worse than a crick in her neck. Her head will feel like a thundercloud, but that is not our fault,” I said. “Let us leave her. I am sorry we disturbed you, Mr. Alger, but I see you had not retired yet.”

“Happy to help. I was just reading over some correspondence for Dolman,” he replied. “I shall turn in now.”

We left him at his door and went downstairs. It was not easy to recapture sleep after such a disturbing interlude. We discussed whether we should turn Miss Whately off, considering the disruption she caused our other tenants. By two o’clock I was beginning to doze off again. At five past two, there was an infernal pounding on the front door. Of course it roused Miss Thackery, too. She came to my door and said, “Who can that be?”

“Mr. Sharkey is the only one who went out. He must have forgotten his key. Pest of a man.”

I put on my dressing gown, snatched up a lamp, and went to open the door, with Miss Thackery bringing up the rear. I unlocked the door, trying to decide whether to tackle Sharkey about the watch that night, or wait until Miss Thackery was not about. To my amazement, I found myself confronted by a tall, glowering Bow Street Officer. He shoved a piece of paper at me.

“I have a warrant to search the premises of Eric Sharkey for stolen goods,” he said, and marched in.

I could see nothing for it but to go along with the law. “Third floor, flat 3B,” I said, and he marched up the stairs. He was every bit as noisy as Miss Whately. You would think the police could show a little consideration for the innocent people who had to rise early for work in the morning. Miss Thackery and I did not follow him upstairs. In fact, Miss Thackery said it was no better than she expected of Sharkey and returned to her bed in disgust.

I waited on the landing and saw Mr. Alger go into the hallway to speak to the officer. Alger was still wearing his evening suit.

“May I see that warrant, Officer?” he asked in a haughty way. The officer handed over the warrant. Alger examined it. Apparently it was all signed and sealed properly.

“Is Sharkey at home?” the officer asked.

“No, I haven’t seen him this evening. What is the charge?”

“The usual. Receiving stolen goods. Lady Pryor had a ruby ring, a string of pearls, and a watch snaffled by a footpad earlier this evening. Sounded like the sort of goods Sharkey handles.”

“He has been out of town for a few days, Officer. I think you must be barking up the wrong tree this time.”

“I’ll have a look over the premises all the same. Might find something else.” He continued up the next flight.

Alger followed the officer up to Sharkey’s flat, while I stood, dumbfounded. It was not a total shock that Sharkey had come by the watch and ring dishonestly. My own suspicion was that he had actually stolen them himself, but apparently he was only the middleman, buying stolen goods and selling them to the unsuspecting at bargain prices. What upset me more was that Alger was lying to shield him. And what was most disturbing of all was that I was actually in possession of the stolen watch. What should I do? I knew perfectly well I should hand it over to the officer and tell him how I had come by it.

I was a receiver of stolen goods, but an innocent one. Surely I would not be arrested on my first offense. I thought of Sharkey’s poor widowed mother and those four young sisters. What would they do if Sharkey was tossed in jail? And Alger might go right along with him, for having lied to the police. Really it was a very difficult decision to make. I had still not reached any conclusion when the officer came down from Sharkey’s room some minutes later, empty-handed.

“No evidence there. You are sure Sharkey has been out of town?” the officer said to Alger.

Alger, lying in his teeth, replied, “Quite sure. He left two days ago—a drapery shop in Cranbrook was selling out. He expected to be back by tomorrow.”

“I may drop by for a word with him. Good night, sir. Thank you for your help.”

“Any time, Officer. Always glad to assist the law.”

I darted into the saloon and hid while the officer left. I nipped out behind him and locked the door. When I turned around, I emitted a yelp of shock. Mr. Alger was standing at the foot of the stairs, watching me with a quiet, snakelike gaze. I knew instinctively he was wondering how much I had heard. There was a tense, assessing look on his face.

“The officer searched Sharkey’s flat,” he said. “He didn’t find anything.” His noncommittal speech was an attempt to learn what I knew.

“How could he, when I have Lady Pryor’s watch hidden in a vase and he still has the ring in his pocket? Why did you lie for Sharkey?”

“Why did you?” he asked, with a challenging look.

“I didn’t!”

“By omission, you did, Miss Irving,” he replied, walking slowly toward me. “You could have given the officer the watch and told him where you got it.”

“I wish I had! I feel as guilty as a murderer. But why did you tell that plumper, Mr. Alger? Was it because of Sharkey’s family?”