Read Online India Black by Carol K. Carr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carol K. Carr
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, England, London, International Relations, spy stories, Brothels, London (England) - History - 1800-1950, Brothels - England - London
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the watcher had been the dark stranger who had arranged for Bowser’s body to be found. As I passed the point at which I’d seen the spurt of flame on Sunday night, I peered into the shadows as a precaution and breathed a sigh of relief to find no one there.
An hour ago, the streets had been full of people hurrying home for their tea or on their way to down a pint at the local, but the crowd had dwindled. I passed a fellow traveler occasionally, tilting my chin politely in response to murmured greetings. The tobacconist’s shop was only a few blocks from Lotus House, down a damp and narrow thoroughfare littered with horse droppings, wet straw and the bedraggled remains of the daily papers. I ducked in just as the proprietor was closing, haggled with him over the price of two dozen of his finest, and waited patiently while he wrapped and tied the parcel for me. The lock clicked shut behind me as he closed the door.
I threaded my way through the garbage choking the pavement, fending off the ragged brats who came out of nowhere to request a bit of the ready (polite term for it, really, actually more like being accosted by a group of Apache horse thieves). I used my parasol to rap one across the knuckles and hamstring another, and the whole troupe of little gangsters tore off in search of easier prey, leaving me alone on the deserted street.
A hansom cab turned the corner and rumbled to a halt twenty feet from me. The horse stamped and tossed its head, its harness jingling loudly, and the driver cursed and jerked the reins taut. Two burly men in billycocks and dusters alighted and huddled together on the sidewalk, reading the signs on the shops, scratching their heads and otherwise looking like two gents who’d been told to meet their friend at the Old Contemptibles only, look Bert, there ain’t no such pub anywhere on the street. As I passed, the men lifted their hats in unison; the last time I had seen hands like that was on the lowland gorilla at the Regent’s Park Zoo. I returned their pleasantries, but there was something about them that raised my hackles and made me half turn to look at them over my shoulder after I had passed. It might have been their eyes as they met mine, for theirs were as frigid as the Firth of Forth. Or it might have been those great hairy paws on the brims of their bowlers. Those weren’t the hands of gentlemen of leisure. Whatever it was, I felt an icy arrow along my spine, and I quickened my pace.
But not fast enough. As I brushed past the two, a hand snaked out and caught my sleeve. “Pardon me, miss,” a basso profundo voice muttered in my ear.
I swung away from the man and took a firm grip on my parasol. “Yes?”
“Someone wants to see you.”
“I’m at home every afternoon between two and four,” I said.
The man’s smile could easily have been mistaken for a snarl. “Ain’t you amusin’? Popular with your customers, I’ll bet. Keep’em laughin’ while you skin ’em out of their pants and their money.”
I glared at him. “Obviously you know who I am, but I’ll be damned if I know where we’ve met. I wouldn’t let the likes of you in my house.”
The other fellow laughed. “Oooh, Billy. She’s a fireball, ain’t she?”
I yanked my arm from the man’s grasp. “Unhand me,” I said. I really must stop reading those trashy novels.
I raised my umbrella threateningly, but the action did not have the effect I’d intended, for the two men burst out laughing, squawking like a pair of lunatic parrots.
“You’re a spirited filly,” said the one on the left, and reached out for my arm. It’s astonishing how far the point of a parasol will sink into a man’s groin. It certainly surprised my assailant. He hit the ground like a felled ox, grasping his balls and squeaking urgently.
His companion’s head swung menacingly in my direction. “Here, now. There’s no call for that. You come along quietly now, and there won’t be no trouble.”
I lashed out
An hour ago, the streets had been full of people hurrying home for their tea or on their way to down a pint at the local, but the crowd had dwindled. I passed a fellow traveler occasionally, tilting my chin politely in response to murmured greetings. The tobacconist’s shop was only a few blocks from Lotus House, down a damp and narrow thoroughfare littered with horse droppings, wet straw and the bedraggled remains of the daily papers. I ducked in just as the proprietor was closing, haggled with him over the price of two dozen of his finest, and waited patiently while he wrapped and tied the parcel for me. The lock clicked shut behind me as he closed the door.
I threaded my way through the garbage choking the pavement, fending off the ragged brats who came out of nowhere to request a bit of the ready (polite term for it, really, actually more like being accosted by a group of Apache horse thieves). I used my parasol to rap one across the knuckles and hamstring another, and the whole troupe of little gangsters tore off in search of easier prey, leaving me alone on the deserted street.
A hansom cab turned the corner and rumbled to a halt twenty feet from me. The horse stamped and tossed its head, its harness jingling loudly, and the driver cursed and jerked the reins taut. Two burly men in billycocks and dusters alighted and huddled together on the sidewalk, reading the signs on the shops, scratching their heads and otherwise looking like two gents who’d been told to meet their friend at the Old Contemptibles only, look Bert, there ain’t no such pub anywhere on the street. As I passed, the men lifted their hats in unison; the last time I had seen hands like that was on the lowland gorilla at the Regent’s Park Zoo. I returned their pleasantries, but there was something about them that raised my hackles and made me half turn to look at them over my shoulder after I had passed. It might have been their eyes as they met mine, for theirs were as frigid as the Firth of Forth. Or it might have been those great hairy paws on the brims of their bowlers. Those weren’t the hands of gentlemen of leisure. Whatever it was, I felt an icy arrow along my spine, and I quickened my pace.
But not fast enough. As I brushed past the two, a hand snaked out and caught my sleeve. “Pardon me, miss,” a basso profundo voice muttered in my ear.
I swung away from the man and took a firm grip on my parasol. “Yes?”
“Someone wants to see you.”
“I’m at home every afternoon between two and four,” I said.
The man’s smile could easily have been mistaken for a snarl. “Ain’t you amusin’? Popular with your customers, I’ll bet. Keep’em laughin’ while you skin ’em out of their pants and their money.”
I glared at him. “Obviously you know who I am, but I’ll be damned if I know where we’ve met. I wouldn’t let the likes of you in my house.”
The other fellow laughed. “Oooh, Billy. She’s a fireball, ain’t she?”
I yanked my arm from the man’s grasp. “Unhand me,” I said. I really must stop reading those trashy novels.
I raised my umbrella threateningly, but the action did not have the effect I’d intended, for the two men burst out laughing, squawking like a pair of lunatic parrots.
“You’re a spirited filly,” said the one on the left, and reached out for my arm. It’s astonishing how far the point of a parasol will sink into a man’s groin. It certainly surprised my assailant. He hit the ground like a felled ox, grasping his balls and squeaking urgently.
His companion’s head swung menacingly in my direction. “Here, now. There’s no call for that. You come along quietly now, and there won’t be no trouble.”
I lashed out
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