The Affair of the Porcelain Dog (21 page)

"Then it's my professional opinion that whatever is troubling John Thomas is somehow tied to Ira Adler's undergarments."

"To my..."

By God!

And who was it who folded my underthings, brought them to my room, and hand-picked them every morning? And who had had it in for me from the moment I stepped over the threshold at York Street?

"That filthy, conniving--"

"Laundress?" Lazarus finished.

"Butler," I seethed. "Manservant. Weasel-of-all-work. The under-house girl washes the clothes, but Collins lays them out for me in the morning."

"And you think he has a grudge?"

"Doesn't think I'm good enough for his precious master. Doesn't think I care as much as I ought to."

"Do you care?" Lazarus asked.

"Whose side are you on?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Not the butler's, surely. But let's just say that I have a certain sympathy for Goddard's position in all this."

My face went hot--not in the least because I was aware of how shabbily I had treated Lazarus at the end. I liked to think it was different with Goddard. I had consented to stay with him. I'd accepted his terms. But when it came to where my affections truly lay, I'd evaded the question. I exhaled, threw my hands up, and began to pace.

"It's not the
manservant
's job to question my affections," I said. "It's his job to shave my chin and shine my damned shoes."

Lazarus folded his arms over his chest and sighed.

"Well, has he shown any signs of insolence before now?" he asked.

"Little things. Calls me 'Mr. Adler,' like I'm an employee, serves my meals in the morning room when Goddard's not there." I stopped at the little table and flipped the lid of the autoclave shut with a bang. "I know he never liked me, but he really seems to be ratcheting it up lately."

"I see." Lazarus said. "Any idea why?"

"He's stealing Goddard's poppies."

Lazarus's carefully groomed eyebrows shot upward.

"I caught him at it last night," I went on. "Strange noises below stairs woke me up. I thought someone had broken in, so I went to investigate. Caught him red-handed, scraping the insides out of a pile of shiny red seed pods. What?" I demanded.

Lazarus had been following my words like a diligent schoolboy, but now he was looking at me as if I were speaking Swahili.

"Adler, opium pods are green. Moreover, one doesn't scrape out the insides; one scores the outside with a special tool, and collects the resin when it oozes out."

"Then what the devil--"

Lazarus frowned.

"Does Goddard keep roses?" he asked after a moment.

"In the back garden. But what...why...what on earth do you find so amusing?" I demanded.

Suppressed laughter hissed from his nose. He bit his lip. He looked away, darting a glance at me, let a rude laugh escape.

"Oh, that's brilliant," he chortled.

I cleared my throat.

"Evil, but brilliant," he said. "Let me explain. Rose hips--the fruits of the plant, which are red and shiny, as you described--make a delicious and healthful tea. The fine hairs inside the fruit, however, when dried, make a devastating itching powder."

That son of a bitch.

No wonder Collins had known my symptoms. He had caused them. He'd used my insecurity regarding my position in the household to keep me from discussing the issue with Goddard--who would have got to the bottom of it immediately--subtly manipulated my neuroses until the only conclusion I could arrive at was that I needed to leave immediately.

Genius, really.

"I'll kill him," I said.

"Let's not say anything we might--"

"I mean it, Tim, I'll stick my hand up his arse, pull out his intestines, and strangle him with them."

The look on my face must have indicated how serious I was because Lazarus stopped laughing and took a step back.

"Well, perhaps you should consider washing your own knickers from now on, at any rate," he said, hazarding a little laugh.

"I do not wear knickers."

An errant curl flopped across my forehead. I spat on my fingers and pushed it back. I had to tell Goddard immediately. If Collins really had been with Goddard for twenty years, getting Goddard to dismiss the man might be tricky, but it had to be done. I could not remain at York Street if I was expected to endure disrespect and outright sabotage from the staff.

"The worst part," I said, sinking back down onto the stool, "is when Goddard gave me the ring, I thought it meant something. I'm not stupid, Tim. I know I'm not the only man Goddard has ever taken to bed. But Collins made it sound like I'm the latest in a long line of pretentious guttersnipes who fell for Goddard's line about 'loyalty, fidelity, and eternity,' and then walked right into the old false-venereal-disease trap."

Lazarus was silent for a few moments. Then he said,

"And you believed him?"

Of course I had, but why? After months of trying to dislodge me, he'd said the one thing he'd known would push me over the edge. And I'd jumped.

"Tim, what have I done?"

I should have gone to Goddard last night, shoved a handful of rose hips under his nose, and demanded Collins's immediate dismissal. Instead, I'd taken the manservant's word at face value and panicked just as intended. I hung my head. For a moment there was no sound, save for my shaking, drawn-out breaths as I tried to keep myself from hyperventilating. Lazarus came up beside me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"I want to take a rubbing," he said.

"Two quid, no less."

"Of the ring, Adler. Don't be a jackass. A ring like this was bound to have made a stir when it was cast. If I can find the jeweler who made it, he can tell me when, and under what circumstances. Perhaps Goddard did commission it for you."

I nodded and held out my hand. Taking a pencil stub and scrap of paper from his waistcoat pocket, he laid the paper over the ring and rubbed the pencil back and forth across it. A rough approximation of the snake appeared on the paper. When Lazarus was satisfied, he slipped the paper back into his pocket.

"There," he said. "Hopefully the jeweler will be able to put your mind at ease. I'd like to take that watch you found as well."

"Get stuffed," I said.

The watch was my only connection to Nate. It was his most prized possession, and wasn't leaving my custody until either I gave it back to him or tucked it into the pocket of his burial suit.

"There's gratitude," Lazarus muttered. "May I see it at least?"

I rummaged through the pockets of St. Andrews's coat. I held it out for his inspection, keeping the chain wrapped tightly around one finger.

"Nice," Lazarus said, taking in the ornate case. "Not too nice, though. Sinclair gave it to him, you say?"

I nodded.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to it."

"Can't you just take a rubbing?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"The ring, I've no doubt, is one of a kind. The watch isn't. It's likely whoever sold it has sold a dozen others just like it. You're right. It's probably meaningless."

That hurt more than the idea of losing the watch. But before I could dwell on that particular barb, a terrible commotion erupted in the front of the clinic.

"Doctor!" cried the nurse. "Come quickly!"

With a rueful look in my direction, Lazarus rolled up his sleeves, pulled a white coat from the hook on the back of the surgery door, and ran to the waiting room.

"Nate!" I cried.

The last time I'd seen my friend before the previous day was in the wake of the worst thrashing I'd thought a man capable of surviving. But the beating Nate had suffered made my ordeal look minor. In his current condition, he couldn't have stumbled one block under his own power--which meant someone had brought him to the clinic and dumped him on the doorstep.

"Get me the stretcher!" Lazarus barked. "Nurse, clear this room!"

While Pearl chased away the gathering crowd, I dashed to the surgery. The stretcher was a faded canvas litter, which had probably seen action in the American insurrection. I pulled it out of its corner and ran. We unfurled the stretcher on the floor and eased Nate onto it.

"It's all right, mate," I said. "You're going to be fine."

Lazarus shot me a look, which I ignored. Every inch of Nate's skin appeared either split, scraped, lacerated, or covered in blackish stains. His left arm lay at an unnatural angle across his stomach, a shard of bone protruding from the elbow of his shirt. Someone had been very thorough in his work.

Someone had
enjoyed
this.

"Adler," Nate rasped, blinking up at me through his one remaining eye.

"Don't try to speak," I said. "Save your energy."

"What...for?"

His split lips twitched in what might have been a cheeky grin had his face not been caved in like a rotten squash. The beginnings of a sob stirred deep inside me, but I fought it back down.

"On three," Lazarus said from near Nate's feet. "One...two..."

We heaved him up and wrangled him into the surgery, laying him out on the operating table. I removed the poles from the stretcher and placed them carefully back in the corner. I turned around to find Lazarus shaking off his gore-spattered white coat. He carefully folded the coat before placing it beneath Nate's blood-caked head.

"Who did this, Nate?" I asked, as Lazarus checked out the damage. "Was it Acton?" Realizing that he might not know the name of the brothel owner, I added, "The doctor. The old man."

"'E...were...there."

"He brought another group of children through the brothel," I said. "You tried to help them."

His ruined brow furrowed.

"'Ow'd yer..."

"I went looking for you last night. I found the room in the basement. I saw the clothes, the opium lamp. I have the letters you wrote, and the true books. You tried to help, didn't you? But Acton wasn't working alone. Don't worry, mate," I said. "I'll turn the books over to the police. I'll send the letters. Then I'll track down that bastard and kill him myself."

His good eye closed and he exhaled. Lazarus, having finished his inspection, caught my eye and shook his head.

"Nick," Nate breathed.

"Was he there? I'll kill him, too."

"Brung me..."

"Where's Sinclair now?" I asked.

Nate's eye fluttered and rolled back into his skull.

"Nate! Where's Sinclair?"

"Ware'ouse," he rasped. "Kids...Tell 'er..."

"Who? Tell who?"

He swallowed and forced his eye to focus on me.

"Mrs. Wu," he whispered around a swollen, split lip. "Lime'ouse..."

"Mrs. Wu is in Limehouse?"

Or did he mean the warehouse was there? Were the children in the warehouse, or somewhere else? Was Sinclair with them?

"Are Mrs. Wu and Sinclair working together?" I demanded.

But Nate wasn't listening anymore. His body shuddered. The spark faded from his eye, and his last breath left him with a dry rattle.

"Nate!"

He was gone. Nothing remained but broken teeth, splintered bone, and fine, tailored clothing never meant to be soaked in blood. My legs wobbled beneath me. A gray mist formed at the periphery of my vision as the room began to sway.

"Not now, Adler," Lazarus snapped.

He waved a little bottle in front of my face, and the smell of
sal volatile
hit me like a mallet between the eyes.

"Thanks," I muttered as Lazarus put the vinaigrette back in his pocket.

"Think nothing of it. I'll find this Mrs. Wu," he said.

"You what? Do you know how many warehouses there are in London?"

"I'll find her," he said again. "If only to show you that you don't have to be on the wrong side of the law to get things done on the East End."

I nodded, wiping my hands on my charity-box trousers. Lazarus had treated damn near everyone in East London. He could call in a lot of favors.

"Her father is Zhi Sen," I said. "He's an importer and a fighting arts master."

Lazarus frowned.

"Goddard's business partner?"

"And she has the porcelain dog," I finished. "But she's not acting on Zhi Sen's orders. Or if she is, Zhi Sen is no longer the impartial guardian of the statue."

"Are they working for Sinclair?" Lazarus asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe only Mrs. Wu is. Or perhaps she has her own interest in the statue. I don't know. But you can't tell St. Andrews any of this until I've spoken to Goddard."

He drew in a sharp breath.

"I'm not going to just hand St. Andrews the dog, not with so much bad blood between him and Goddard," I explained.

Lazarus glared so hard his eyebrows nearly met in the middle. I think I actually heard his teeth grind. Then his features smoothed, and a thoughtful expression came over his face.