City of Light (City of Mystery) (25 page)

“What sort of weapon
would be used in such an attack?”

“Really, Welles,
don’t be thick.”

When the absurdity
of his question struck him, Trevor flushed.  He glanced toward the French, but
for once Carle had tactfully neglected to translate and Rubois, who had handed
the magnification glass back to Tom, merely stood in his customary military stance
with his hands clasped behind his waist.  Tom noted Trevor’s discomfort and quickly
added, “For the record, my vote would be nausea, which often follows the
administration of chloroform. When it’s used for women in childbed, we’ve been
told to keep a nurse by the patient’s head, so that if she becomes nauseated
the nurse can turn her face to the side and avoid any chance of
asphyxiation.”    

“It’s possible for a
person to choke to death on their own regurgitation?”

“Certainly, if
they’re unconscious.”

“See if there are
similar lesions on Graham.”

Just as Tom nodded
and turned toward the second body, there was a rap at the door.  A flic in
uniform entered and went straight to Rubois with what appeared to be a
telegram. Not the same color paper as a British telegram, Trevor noted, but
folded and sealed in the same way.  With a glance, Rubois handed it to Carle
who handed it to Trevor who held it for a minute, let out an explosive sigh,
and then handed it to Tom.

“Read how young Davy
spent his morning.  Dear God, on the way back to the apartment remind me to
stop and buy the biggest bouquet of roses in Paris for Emma, for she was surely
right.”

Tom quickly scanned
the telegram and then looked up at Trevor, his brow wrinkled in uncertainty.

“Don’t you see what
it means?” Trevor asked.  “We have two men, Charles Hammond in England and
Armand Delacroix in Paris, both of whom are allegedly procuring funds for the
Exposition Universelle.  There is no satisfactory explanation for how these
men, both of common birth and lower-class background, might have to come to
move in the elevated social circles required for such work, or why they might
be so successful at obtaining investments from wealthy patrons.  And now we
learn that Charles Hammond’s infamous Cleveland Street brothel supplied not
merely young boys, but young boys whom he had trained to dress and act as
girls.  Bizarre as this fact may be, we must add to it the even more incredible
fact that a boy dressed like a girl has been recently pulled from the Seine in Paris. 
Obviously, the boy in front of us didn’t float here all the way from London.  So
what can we conclude?”

There was a rapid
fire barrage of French from Carle to Rubois and even Tom was scrambling to keep
up with Trevor’s line of reasoning.

“That there is a
similar brothel in Paris, also offering boy-girls to their clients?”  Tom
stammered.

“Yes, yes of
course,” Trevor said impatiently. “But the facts also seem to imply that -“

“Chantage,“ said Rubois.

“Blackmail,” Carle
repeated.

“Blackmail,” Tom said,
looking from one corpse to another, as if he expected them also to concur.  “Yes,
of course, how could we be so slow to see?  The monies procured for the
Exhibition weren’t freely-given contributions, but actually a guarantee of
silence.”

“Perhaps some of the
funds made their way into the hands of the Exhibition organizers,” Trevor said,
with a quick glance at Rubois.  It would do him no good to risk offending his
hosts by implying that French authorities connected to the Exhibition were
accepting bribes. “At least enough to ensure a level of protection.  But a
hefty part of it undoubtedly went straight into the pockets of Hammond or
Delacroix, as payment to ensure that certain facts would never become public
knowledge.  Facts linking a group of prominent men, both British and French, to
a brothel that supplied children for their sexual use.”

“Their unspeakably
deviant sexual use,” Tom said.

“Quite,” said
Trevor.  “Carle, please ask the Detective if he can spare us the afternoon for
a lengthy consultation.  Tell him I have reason to believe a case we were
working on in London plays a hand in this matter here before us.  If we unravel
one, I have no doubt the truth of the other will come tumbling out along with
it.”

“Do you think Rayley
suspected any of this?” Tom asked.

Trevor slowly and
thoughtfully shook his head. “I doubt it.  He would have put something about it
in his notes, have taken the time to write or send a telegram, no matter how
busy he was.  I think it’s far more likely that it was Patrick Graham who was
on to them, poor bastard, and that’s why he is the one lying on this slab.”

“The Detective says
he is grateful for your assistance in this matter,” Carle spoke up.     

“Tell him that that the
gratitude is entirely mine,” Trevor responded.  “For if we can trap his Armand
Delacroix I have no doubt we shall find our own Charles Hammond as well.”

Tom nodded.  “You
believe the two are working together?”

“Tom,” Trevor
sighed.  “Don’t be thick.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Paris  

4:10 PM

“We have much to
tell you,” Trevor said, bursting through the doors of the apartment where Emma
and Geraldine were sitting in the peacock-blue drawing room.

“We have much to
tell you as well,” said Gerry, tossing aside her book.  “Emma and I have found
Armand Delacroix and we shall all be dining with him tonight.”

It was perhaps the
only sentence in the world that could have halted Trevor in mid-stride. Tom,
who was a few steps behind him, nearly crashed into his back.   

“We met him in a
dress shop outfitting the girl who is his latest recruit,” Emma said, closing
her own book and patting the empty spot on the settee beside her to indicate
Trevor should sit.  “She looked no more than thirteen.”

“And Emma most
heroically engaged him in conversation,” Gerry added. “Only to learn that he
and this child, whom he calls Marianne and claims to be his niece, have been
invited to the same party we’ll be attending at nine.  Madame Seaver evidently
throws her social net admirably wide, for Delacroix suggested there would be any
number of celebrities present as well, people come for the opening of the
exhibition. That intriguing American cowgirl…what’s her name, Emma dear?”

“Annie Oakley,” Emma
said.

“Bloody marvelous,”
Tom said. “They say she can shoot a cigar from a man’s mouth at a hundred
paces.”

“Mercy,” said
Geraldine.  “Do you think she’ll demonstrate at the soiree?”

“I can’t imagine,”
said Tom. “But we too have had an eventful day.  Do you wish to tell them,
Trevor?”

“It was so eventful
that I feel as if facts have fallen on me like an avalanche,” said Trevor. “I
haven’t yet had the leisure to sort them all out, and here you have greeted me with
even more startling news.  No, you must be the one to bring the ladies up to
date with our own adventures, Tom.  I’m too overwhelmed to know how to begin.”

Tom nodded and very
neatly summarized the events of the last eight hours, beginning with their
gratifying welcome at the hands of Rubois, Rayley’s incomplete notes, their
findings at the morgue, and ending with the arrival of Davy’s telegram. To
Trevor’s relief, he glossed over the particulars of their examination of The
Lady of the River, although at the suggestion that the unidentified boy had
possibly died from asphyxiation, Geraldine had frowned, as if something about
that singular piece of information distressed her.

“I don’t completely
understand,” Emma said when he finished. “Will you tolerate a question which
may strike the two of you men as ridiculous?”

“It won’t be the
first ridiculous question of the day, I assure you,” Tom said.  “And you’re
looking rather stylish, by the way, if I can be forgiven for briefly changing
the subject.”

“Her new day dress,”
Gerry said smugly, as Emma’s gaze fell guiltily downward.  Geraldine had
insisted on purchasing not only the celadon green and pale pink gowns but a
third as well, the slim-hipped dark navy dress Emma was now wearing, a more
practical outfit for everyday use.  “And if you think she looks smart in the
navy, wait until you see her tonight.  The shop girl suggested she try a pink
gown that when she put it on proved to be quite-”

“My question?” Emma
interrupted.  She was grateful beyond words for Gerry’s generosity, but Tom’s
close scrutiny was making her uncomfortable.  Under pretense of examining her
new dress he was actually examining her body and, judging from the faint smile
playing around his mouth, was evidently enjoying the process. Trevor, she was
both relieved and exasperated to note, appeared to be thinking of entirely
different matters.

“Yes, your
question,” Trevor said. “Feel free to ask anything, although I’m not at all
sure I’ll be able to answer.”

“The men who procure
these boy-girls are homosexual, are they not?”

The word did not
come easily from her mouth.  Although she had sometimes read it, this was the
first time she had spoken it aloud.

Trevor was relieved
when Tom answered first.  “Certainly,” he said. “And eager to conceal the fact,
which is why they are so vulnerable to blackmail.”

“All right then, if
they wish congress with boys, if this is what pleases them, why would they
request that the boys should dress as girls?”

“You’re speaking to
the issue of motivation, which I always find quite murky,” Tom said with a
shrug.  “Perhaps they are ashamed of their impulses and if the boys take on the
surface appearance of girls, this somehow masks that shame.  Or perhaps, at the
other end of the spectrum, a creature that has elements of both the male and
female adds to their excitement.”

“A girl with a
penis,” Geraldine said thoughtfully.  “I suppose that if one is a sexual
deviant, it truly is the best of both worlds.”

The Bainbridges will
be the death of me someday, Trevor thought, trying hard to avoid looking Emma
in the eye and instead brushing an imaginary fleck of dust from his pants. One
day I shall simply keel over from mortification in the middle of a dinner party
and that shall be the end of Trevor Welles.

But Geraldine wasn’t
finished. “Was the person you examined a herma- what do you call them, dear?”

“A hermorphodite?” Tom
shook his head.  “The genitalia was normal.  Eleven centimeters flaccid, which
is quite within the range.  The circumference of the testicles was nothing to
brag about, but then again the poor lad had spent significant time in the
water.  No, I doubt that these boy-girls, as Davy calls them, are born as genetic
freaks of nature.  If so, they would be too rare to sustain the business of a
thriving brothel.  Evidently Hammond is taking quite normal boys and
masquerading them as girls.”

“But again, I must
ask why?” Emma said.  “At least some of these men are well-placed in society.  They
have homes and professions and wives and families, all the accoutrements we
associate with a normal life.  Assuming that we go with the theory that a boy
dressed as a girl served some deeply buried psychological need, why on earth
would they risk parading the child about in public?  Even accepting your
assurance that the illusion was remarkable, it still seems there are a hundred
ways their game could have been found out.  It’s almost as if they want to be
caught.”

“The risk of
exposure was undoubtedly part of the thrill,” Gerry said.  Her heavy-lidded
eyes moved slowly around the circle of far younger people, who looked at her
with expectation. If anyone would be able to explain this sort of muddle, it
would be her.  “The desire to thumb your nose at the upper class can be very
strong,” Geraldine continued.  “Especially if one is a member of the upper
class.  If the men who patronize these brothels are homosexuals, then they are
extraordinarily aware of the social and legal penalties they would pay for
exposure and have most likely struggled to conceal their true natures all their
lives. They’re angry.  Resentful of the limitations their very privilege has
enforced upon them, and perhaps guilty about the innumerable small lies they
themselves have told to keep that privilege intact.  In light of this, they may
have taken a certain rebellious pleasure in dancing or going to the theater
with a young girl who wasn’t actually a young girl.  I understand this impulse and
have indulged it myself on occasion, albeit in a different arena.  Pretending
to conform while secretly mocking conformity.  Propriety on the surface, and
scandal underneath.”

“The dress he bought
for her was white,” Emma said thoughtfully.

“Who?” Trevor
asked.  It was the first time he had spoken in several minutes and Emma looked
at him with surprise.

“Marianne,” Emma
said.  “In the shop on the Rue de Monge, Armand purchased a virginal white
dress for her, exactly what an upper class young lady would wear for her first
foray into society.  But Marianne is almost certainly a boy-girl, wouldn’t you
say?”

“Good heavens,”
Geraldine said.  “You’re right, of course, but back in the dress shop when
Delacroix told her-”

“Stay away from
him,” Trevor said sharply.  “Both of you.  He may play the part of a
respectable businessman, but he’s dangerous. If he and Marianne will be at the
party, then so will Isabel Blout, and your assignment is to talk to her. 
Befriend her as a fellow countrywoman, whatever it takes.  Because you were
quite astute in your observations back in Manchester, Emma, and I was wrong to brush
your instincts aside so quickly.  Isabel is no doubt the key to both Armand
Delacroix and Charles Hammond.”

“Because they’re the
same person,” Emma said.

“Obviously,” said
Geraldine. 

“Why the devil was I
the only one who couldn’t figure that out?” Tom asked irritably.

The sound of the
doorbell suddenly ripped through the apartment, a shrill, high cry of a sound
that made everyone jump.

 “And who could that
be?” Tom asked, still frowning.  “I don’t think any of us are in the mood for
callers. This has already been the longest day in the history of mankind and we
still must change into our evening clothes and go to a soiree with Annie
Oakley.”

“I’m sorry,” said
Geraldine, pausing for a moment until the sounds from the foyer confirmed that
the maid had indeed answered the door. “But I believe this particular interruption
is my fault.  While Emma was napping after our shopping trip, I took it upon
myself to pursue an impulse of my own.  It occurred to me that we were all
quite preoccupied with finding out in whom, if anyone, dear Rayley might have
confided.  But we had not considered that Patrick Graham must have known
something incriminating too, something significant enough that someone declared
him too dangerous to live.”  She flicked her eyes toward Trevor. “So I went to
the foreign press office.”