No Place for a Lady (7 page)

Mullard was on hand to help bring the extra furnishings from the cluttered bedroom and move various pieces about, so the tenants could get a look at what was under or behind them. We had the hallway quite full of lumber. Miss Lemon, afraid she was missing something, came downstairs carrying Jamie. She was a respectable, middle-aged woman who treated Mrs. Clarke with some strange mixture of a mother’s bossiness, a maid’s servility, and a friend’s genuine concern.

“Jamie woke up, Mrs. Clarke,” she said, “so I thought there was no harm in bringing him down. You know he likes a little romp before settling in for the night. You recall I wanted a bedside table and lamp, if there are any to spare.”

Mrs. Clarke took the child to allow her nurse (or whatever Miss Lemon was) to roam the shop unencumbered.

Jamie was all an officer’s son should be. His fat little face was topped by a fluff of dark curls. He had big blue eyes. Fresh from his nap, he was all smiles and gurgles. Miss Thackery and I admired him to his mama’s satisfaction. We agreed he had his mama’s eyes—and took her word for it that he had his papa’s hair and ears.

“This is his birthday,” Mrs. Clarke explained. “He is nine months old today. I made him this blue dress he is wearing.”

It seemed strange to speak of nine months as a birthday, but the child loomed so large in her life that I expect he had a dozen birthdays a year. The dress was very well sewn, with ducks embroidered in yellow around the neck.

While I was admiring the dress, Mr. Alger returned and entered with good grace into the furniture business. The crowd shifted, and Professor Vivaldi came forward to admire Jamie.

“Is my Hepplewhite desk still here?” Mr. Alger asked.

“Indeed it is. You are welcome to a chair to go with it. We have a special on chairs this evening. Mullard has counted up an even two dozen of them to be disposed of.”

“I shall strike a deal with you. Throw in a lamp, and I’ll take two chairs off your hands.”

“Clap hands on a bargain. Come into the hall. There is a matched set of walnut chairs there. Some of them even have four legs. They will set off the desk admirably, but I am not responsible if they fail to hold your weight.”

While we were examining the walnut chairs and testing them for sturdiness of legs, the front door opened, and a little gnome of a man with kinky brown hair popped in. He was shorter than average but not actually a dwarf. I judged him to be a couple of inches shorter than my own five feet and four inches. He had brown eyes set deep in a pale, pudgy face with a day’s growth of whiskers decorating it. His clothing was not only poorly cut but far from clean. His jacket had large brass buttons, padded shoulders, and a nipped waist that ill suited his build. His cravat had what looked suspiciously like drops of dried blood on it. But it was his frightened expression that lent him the air of a fugitive. He looked all around at the crowd, as if expecting someone to draw a pistol.

“Good God, who is that?” I exclaimed.

“You have not yet met Mr. Sharkey?” Mr. Alger said, smiling at my alarm. “Allow me to make you acquainted with your tenant.”

Mr. Sharkey worked his way toward us. “What the deuce is going on, Alger?” he demanded. “Are the bailiffs in the house?”

Mr. Alger introduced us and explained the situation.

“You mean we can take what we want for free?” he demanded, his face a perfect picture of greedy incredulity.

“I am allowing the tenants the use of the items with a white tag,” I said. He darted off to see what he could get.

“Don’t forget to dun him for his rent,” Mr. Alger reminded me, then he went to admire Jamie.

I went after Mr. Sharkey and found him in the saloon. He was not selecting furnishings, but stood at a little table of knickknacks that I wished to be rid of. The table held cheap, chipped statuettes, cracked ornamental bowls and vases, some imitation brass candlesticks, a mantle clock that had no hands, and such useless items.

“Can I have these?” he asked.

“Certainly, Mr. Sharkey, if you think you have room for them all. About your rent ...”

He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me to a darkish corner. “Just what I wanted to speak to you about, Miss Irving. I can give you half on account. Business is slow at the moment—I’m having trouble collecting from some of my customers. You’re a businesswoman yourself, and a very handsome one, if I may say so. You know how it is.” His lips opened in a scheming smile that reminded me of a crocodile.

“Yes, indeed,” I said, with a sagacious look.

“Heh-heh. I am good for the money. Ask anybody. I always pay Alger back.”

“What business are you in, Mr. Sharkey?”

“I’m a wholesale dealer in odd-lot goods.”

“Oh.” I blinked in confusion.

“Let me explain.” He seemed to find explaining easier with his short fingers clutching my sleeve. “I deal in bankrupt goods. Buy in job lots from stores that have gone bankrupt and sell to other stores. I deal in private residences as well—death sales mostly. A pity you hadn’t spoken to me before giving away this lot,” he said, waving a hand at the collected lumber. “I would have hauled it away for you. I have my own wagon. I could have gotten you a little something for it.”

I looked at the large brass buttons, glowing dully in the dim light, and knew where I had seen them before. “Was that your wagon in the alley by my house this morning?”

“I got back late last night. I pulled it in there. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I mind that your driver did not tell me the truth when I inquired. In future I would prefer that you park elsewhere. If I, or Mr. Alger, wanted to use the alley, it would be inconvenient for it to be blocked.”

“A good point. I’ll speak to my driver. Now about the rent. I can give you half now . . . and the other half before next week. A deal?” The grubby hand came out to snatch mine.

“I suppose I can let you have until next week,” I said, pulling my hand back. With any other tenant I would not have hesitated, but there was such a raffish air about Mr. Sharkey that I did not trust him an inch.

His pudgy face creased into a smile that displayed a set of small, dim teeth. “I knew you’d be reasonable. Listen,” he continued, grabbing at my sleeve again. “If you need anything in the way of personal gewgaws, come to me before you buy. I can get anything at a bargain. Ask Alger, or Butler. I got Butler a dandy gold watch at sixty percent off. I often come into such items in my line of business.”

“I have very little need for gewgaws.”

“I happen to have a dandy little garnet ring on me at the moment,” he said. His hand went into his pocket and out came a ring with a red stone. He shoved it at me. I took it and examined it. It looked well enough. “I was saving this for my mama,” he said, piercing me with a conning eye to see if I swallowed this unlikely story. “I could let you have this in lieu of the month’s rent, if—”

“I would prefer cash, thank you, Mr. Sharkey.”

He took the ring back and drew out a lady’s watch. “How about this?” he asked, dangling it before my eyes.

It was a handsome thing. I had no need of another watch, but Miss Thackery had lost hers at a whist drive a year ago. When she recovered it the next day, it was smashed beyond repair.

“Where did you get it?” I asked.

“It came with the contents of a private house I bought up in Kent recently. That’s where I have been the past few days, in Kent.”

I took the watch to the lamplight. It was gold, or at least it looked like gold. The hinged lid was engraved with flowers, and the face was white enamel with a tiny wreath of roses hand-painted around the edge.

“This looks valuable, Mr. Sharkey. I fear it is worth more than one month’s rent.”

“Let’s say two months then, and I am paid up in advance.”

“I should warn you, I may not keep the house open for two months. I am thinking of selling.”

“You can pay me the difference if you leave. I trust you,” he said, with a greasy smile. “You’d be doing me a favor, Miss Irving. The fact is, I’m a little tight at the moment.”

“I suppose it would be all right,” I said. I did not feel quite right about it, but could see no actual harm in the transaction.

“We’ll just keep it between ourselves,” he said. “If the others hear, they’ll all be wanting a bargain from me.”

Professor Vivaldi came to inquire about a small table for his bedside, and I left Mr. Sharkey to look over what remained of the furnishings. In the hallway, plans were underway for the removal of the lumber.

Butler and Alger had each taken an end of Mrs. Clarke’s chest of drawers, Miss Lemon carried Jamie, and I offered to help Mrs. Clarke with the hanging shelves. I own I was curious to see the rooms I was renting.

Mrs. Clarke had her parlor done up in a simple but pretty way. The walls were painted a dull mustardy color, and the furniture was shabby, but she had contrived to brighten the room with cushions and pictures and those little touches that an artistic woman without much money can always invent. The old wooden pieces gleamed from assiduous polishing.

She thanked me three or four times and offered me tea, but I wished to oversee the removal of the rest of the lumber and returned below. Mr. Alger and Butler came as well, to carry up the chairs I had managed to palm off on the widow.

We met Professor Vivaldi and Sharkey on the stairs. Sharkey was helping the professor with his loot. Soon Sharkey returned below and began collecting the broken bibelots into a cardboard box.

“Can I have a word with you, Alger?” he called from the saloon, and Mr. Alger joined him.

I took an occasional peek into the saloon while reminding Butler which chairs were to go up to Mrs. Clarke’s flat. I saw Sharkey showing Alger the ring with the red stone, and Mr. Alger shaking his head. Alger did not take the ring, but I believe Sharkey managed to either sell him something else or dun him for a loan, for Alger’s wallet came out of his pocket, and bills changed hands. When Sharkey went bouncing upstairs, he wore a smile on his pudgy face.

‘‘You have done pretty well, Miss Irving,” Alger said, returning to the hallway. “When I get my desk and chairs out of your way, you will have room to swing a very small kitten in here.”

“Make that a cat. Miss Whately has also taken a few pieces. She thought perhaps some of the gentlemen would take them upstairs for her.”

“Out with Colonel Jack, is she?” Alger asked.

“Yes, they are dining at the Clarendon, if you please.”

“Oysters for Renie tonight!”

“I see you are familiar with the routine.”

“Only the early part of the evening,” he said, with a daring little smile.

“I shouldn’t think the colonel is up to any strenuous postprandial pranks. He is scarcely able to walk without help.”

“After a dozen oysters, there is no saying. Which pieces are Renie’s? I shall ask Butler to help me take them up. We can leave them outside her door.”

“I have a key. She said I might unlock her door.”

Butler came back down for another chair, and Alger collared him to help with Miss Whately’s selections. I went up with them to unlock her door.

“There is a lamp and tinderbox just there on the sofa table,” Alger said.

I made note of his familiarity with the room, but said nothing. I rooted in the dim light from the hall and found the lamp and tinderbox. Renie’s parlor was a completely different affair from Mrs. Clarke’s. It was bright and lively, but incredibly messy. The walls held playbills from a decade ago, with Irene Whately’s name prominently displayed. The theaters were not Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but small provincial theaters whose names I did not recognize.

Various bright shawls, bonnets, and gloves littered the sofa. A decanter of wine and some used glasses sat on the sofa table. I thought she must have been reading there, but there was no novel or even magazines anywhere to be seen. I remembered her “leaving her specs behind,” and wondered if it was possible she was illiterate. It seemed odd there was not even a journal or letter in the place. A pair of slippers had been kicked off in the middle of the floor. I moved them aside, so the gentlemen would not trip over them.

“Just leave the dresser there. Miss Whately can put it where she wants it later,” I said.

We returned belowstairs, Butler to get Miss Whately’s chairs, Alger to get his desk. To speed up the removal, I carried up one of Mr. Alger’s chairs, Miss Thackery the other. I was eager to see how Alger had done up his parlor. The other rooms had reflected their owners somewhat. Perhaps I could find a clue to Mr. Alger in his arrangement.

I was disappointed. The room had a sterile look. It was tidy, but very little had been added to the basic minimum my aunt had supplied. There were some books in good leather-and-gilt bindings, a welter of folders and papers on the sofa table, and a few elegant bits and pieces that stood out in contrast to the rest. The wine decanter and glasses, sitting on a silver tray, had the prismatic sparkle of crystal. On a side table there was a chess set, with a board done in squares of dark and light marble. Handsome carved marble pieces were scattered over the board, indicating a game in progress. A crystal ink pot and some desk accessories were also there.

“You see why I required the desk,” Alger said. He had come up behind me. “Sharkey is my usual chess partner. I fear I cannot match him for skill. Did he settle his account, by the by?”

“Yes,” I said, and blushed to remember how I had been talked into taking that valuable watch.

“The ruby ring?” he asked, with a brow lifted in concern.

“Ruby? He said it was garnet.”

“Looked like a ruby to me. I would not advise you to accept anything but cash from him, Miss Irving. One dislikes to speak ill of a man behind his back, but I once bought a watch from him and lived to regret it.”

“What happened?” I asked in alarm.

“A constable came and relieved me of it. I narrowly avoided incarceration myself. ‘Receiving stolen goods,’ I believe was the charge. I managed to convince them of my innocence.”

“You mean he is a
thief!
He said he bought up bankrupt shops and households.”

“He does that, too, upon occasion.” My distress must have been evident, for he said. “Miss Irving! You haven’t ... ?”