Under the Dragon’s Tail

“Exactly my thought.”

Suddenly the kettle whistled shrilly, and she jumped up to tend to the tea. He heard the clink of cup and saucer, the vigorous stirring of the pot.

She came back carrying a tea tray, but she had regained her composure and she was once again in control of the situation. An entertainer who knew how to command attention. Murdoch didn’t know how to get back his advantage.

“I remember now,” she said, rather coyly. “It wasn’t you who told me, it was the manager at the Derby. I had to explain what you were doing there. He knew somebody who lived up near Dolly. She’d told him about the daughter and how bad her mother treated her. Here.”

She handed him a cup, which was quite elegant except for a long crack on one side and a saucer that didn’t match. Murdoch had a sense of unreality. Here he was sitting next to a woman’s unmade bed, that woman barely clothed, constantly revealing generous amounts of flesh, offering him tea in a fine china cup.

“Eager, are we?”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t want tea and now look at you, snatching at it.”

Her glance actually flickered over his crotch. Murdoch felt a rush of anger up his back.

“Miss Brogan, I’m a police detective investigating two violent deaths. Now maybe that’s nothing extraordinary to you but it is to me. I don’t want tea or anything else you’re offering. I’d just like some straight answers.”

She actually flushed. “You don’t have to get funny. I’m sorry about the boy, but I can’t help you. I never seen him or the old woman.”

“And you’re sticking to that story?”

“Frigging right. It’s my word against the sodding blind neighbour. You can’t prove anything either way.”

She stirred her tea with the handle end of a knife. “Besides, it don’t mean that the woman who went into the house, if there was such a bint, it don’t necessarily follow that she was the gallows finder, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. But it might be very helpful to talk to her.”

Annie kept stirring. “We could all do with a bit of help in this world, couldn’t we?”

“One more question, Annie. Why is Henry Pedlow paying court to you?”

She looked at him blankly. “Who’s he when he’s at home?”

“Mrs. Pedlow’s nephew by marriage. He’s the fellow who was waiting outside your dressing room the other day.” She still looked puzzled. “He danced with you. Right after me. Dark hair, long. Sallow complexion.”

“Jules! Gave his name as Jules LaVerne.”

“He’s Henry Pedlow. He’s just got back from India.”

For the first time, she appeared frightened. “What’s he doing hanging around me?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. What did he want?”

Annie stared at him for a moment, tried to look cynical, but her expression was weary.

“What’d you think? What you want, what they all want. But don’t worry. I wasn’t interested in that dried-up piece of shoe leather.”

“I wasn’t. Worried, I mean.”

Annie shrugged. “He said he wanted to send me red roses as an expression of his appreciation and admiration.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s a lot for starters. Flowers now, next the best French bon-bons, then a nice pair of combs. Why are you men so predictable? You can have all the evil thoughts you like. Flog yourself with them if you want. I’m not for hire. I go with whoever I choose.”

At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door.

“Annie! Annie! Rise and shine, my girl.”

She jumped up. “Mother of God! That’s a gentleman friend who’s coming to take me to luncheon. Don’t want him to see me like this.”

She turned her back, undoing her dressing robe as she went towards the paper screen that was in the corner of the room. There she paused, and said over her shoulder, “Go tell him I’ll be just a minute, there’s a good-heart.”

The robe slipped just below her plump, naked buttocks and she held it draped there for a second. An excellent exit.

The eager suitor knocked again, thunderously.

“Annie. Get up or I’ll break the door down.”

“Please Mr. Murdoch,” said Annie from behind the screen. “Shut him up or we’ll have the landlord in here. He lives in the next house.”

Annoyed, Murdoch went to answer the door. The young man outside had his fist lifted ready to thump once more and he froze in mid gesture.

“Who are you?” he asked belligerently.

“A police officer and if you don’t quiet down I’ll have you up on a charge of drunk and disorderly.”

“I’m not drunk,” said the man. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a bird’s eye cravat. A country boy if ever there was one.

“Go to the end of the street and wait there. Silently. You sound like a bull in rut. She’ll be there in a minute.”

“Less than that,” said Annie and she stepped from the screen. She had dressed very quickly indeed and she was still pinning up her hair as she came to the door.

“Thomas, you are a one. I’m ready.” She glanced at Murdoch. “I wish you luck with the case.”

Thomas beamed in triumph and offered her his arm. They walked off, leaving Murdoch to close the door behind them as if he were the butler.