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Dear O,
Ona? Opal?
In Greek, the name Ophelia means “to help,” which you most certainly do. And Olympia refers not to the mountain, but to the sanctuary of it, as your kitchen is, and where I will most happily be as of seven this evening with buttons and appetite in tow.
In Anticipation,
Dhruv
The dogs were still in the kitchen at seven o’clock when the inspector knocked on the door. The resultant cacophony was expected and appropriate, so my rebuke of them was mild as I opened it to find him smiling. I nearly answered his smile with my own, but his gaze shifted downward.
“Hello, boys,” he said, holding his hands out for the dogs to sniff before scratching their ears and striding into the house as only a firmly dominant person could when swarmed by animals that live in packs. He hung his coat and hat on the peg, then turned to greet me.
“Mrs. Mac,” he said, with another extraordinarily disconcerting smile, “thank you for your notes, and for the opportunity to return tonight. I believe I may have found the symbol young Jess so astutely discerned, and if correct, it could be an important identifier.”
Ah, the smile was for a possible clue in the case rather than for me. I was glad to have caught my own answering smile before I made a fool of myself, and thankfully, I was becoming immune to his voice. “Come in, Inspector Lestrade. Jess will be here in a moment, I’m sure.”
I poured three mugs of tea and placed a thick slice of buttered soda bread next to one of them, then sat across from it at the kitchen table. The inspector waited until I had seated myself before he joined me, and I realized that his manners were actually closer to those of a gentleman than most police officers displayed. Long, elegant fingers broke a piece of the bread, and I tore my gaze away when I realized it was at risk of following the bread to his mouth.
“This,” he said with a sigh of appreciation, “is an excellent recipe to add to Reesy’s repertoire.”
“Why do you know Reesy?” Jess demanded with suspicion as she entered the room. The dogs got up from their spot by the fire and greeted her as if they hadn’t seen her in years, though it had been no more than twenty minutes since she’d gone upstairs to bathe.
The inspector stood. “Good evening, Jess. I know only of your friend’s interest in learning Mrs. Mac’s recipes, and I apologize if my knowing his name gives you concern. More than that, however,” he said with unexpected sincerity, “I deeply apologize for my behavior toward you the other day. I was afraid, and I lashed out as fearful people do. You did not deserve my anger.”
She continued to scowl at him, but she lowered herself to the bench next to me. When she was seated, he resumed his own place at the table, and I didn’t know if she had registered his courtesy.
The inspector placed three brass buttons on the table in front of the mug to which Jess was adding sugar. “Do any of these look like the waistcoat buttons you saw on Ajay’s kidnapper?” he asked her in a gentle tone.
My own breath caught as I studied the embossed designs, but I dragged my gaze away from the dull brass and focused on Jess.
She did not meet his eyes, but I could see that his words surprised her. “You think ‘e was kidnapped?” Her eyes remained on the buttons, but I could tell that her fingers itched to touch them.
“He has not been seen by his mates or his mum,” the inspector told her, “and he goes home every night to help her with the baby.”
Jess’s scowl deepened, and she finally met his eyes as she flicked one of the buttons across the table at him. “It’s that one.”
He didn’t touch it, and I could see the three-legged cross design exactly as she had described it to me. The other two buttons could have fit the description as well, but not as precisely, and he didn’t ask if she was sure. I approved. Asking for certainty implies mistrust or disbelief, neither of which flatters anyone. He merely picked up the button and examined it. “This is the symbol of the old East India Company, defunct these past seven years.”
Jess scoffed, “A sailor’s buttons would be on ‘is pea coat, not ‘is waistcoat.”
The inspector sipped his tea, and his glance darted to mine before settling back onto Jess. “Indeed,” he said simply. “The merchant ship company has disbanded, but they owned several institutions in England, and the East India Club still exists in St. James Square, very near the alley from which Ajay disappeared.” His eyes darted to mine again, and he opened his mouth to say something further, then seemed to think better of it and instead popped the last bite of soda bread into it before standing to leave.
“I thank you both for your assistance,” he said as he collected his coat and hat from the peg and stooped to pet the dogs once more.
Jess’s scowl had returned. “That’s it? You’re going to ask ‘round at this club to see if one of their members snatched AJ off the street? You’re not goin’ to talk to ‘is mates? See if any of them saw somethin’? See if anyone else is missin’ too?”
The inspector straightened up and spoke solemnly. “I’ve spoken with Ajay’s mates, and I’ve asked around on the streets and among the men who patrol them. Other boys have gone missing, but this,” he said, holding the button in the palm on his hand, “is the first clue of any substance as to the identity of the kidnappers.”
“A design on a button?” she scoffed, and Jess’s frustration made her seem even younger than she was. “How many boys ‘ave gone missing, and why hasn’t anyone seen more?”
Inspector Lestrade exhaled and rubbed his head, perhaps deciding what to say. His gaze met mine as if to ask if she could handle the truth, and I gave a single, wordless nod. “Two other boys have disappeared from Covent Garden in the past week. No one has come forward as a witness to the kidnappings, likely because all three boys were the sons of lascars.” He closed his eyes briefly. “That was why I chased you through the marketplace, Jess. I didn’t see you, I saw only your brown skin, your boy’s clothing, and your short hair. I thought you could have been next, and I was afraid.”
She studied him. “Are you a lascar’s son?” she finally asked.
He shook his head. “I am a Frenchman’s son, taken from my mother’s family in India when I was a boy not much older than you.”
“I’m a lascar’s daughter, but that’s just who sired me, not who I am,” she finally said before turning to leave the kitchen.
