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The dogs followed their mistress out, and the room was immediately too quiet and empty.
The inspector’s eyes rested for a few moments on the place where Jess had stood, then he met my gaze. “They won’t see the clever ward of a wealthy family if they spot her.”
“People see what they’re looking for,” I said, knowing the truth of the statement in my bones.
A small, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his eyes studied mine.
“Sometimes that is a good thing,” he said in a tone of voice that sounded, absurdly, like a caress, evaporating my immunity to it in an instant. “Good evening, Mrs. Mac.”
“Olivia,” I said, impulsively, foolishly putting my hand out.
He took my hand but did not shake it. Instead, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of it with an almost imperceptible touch of his lips. “Good evening, Olivia,” he said, his mouth still hovering over my hand as his eyes held mine.
My face burned as I pulled my hand away. “You’ll inform us of the progress of your investigation,” I said curtly.
The almost-smile still lingered on his mouth, and I made myself meet his eyes when he spoke. “If you continue to write to me, I shall endeavor to include bits of relevant information in my replies.”
His voice wrapped smooth tendrils around my good sense, and I yanked it firmly back in place with a scowl. He returned my exasperation with a smile that was wholly for me, and then he left with a tip of his hat before I found enough breath to berate him for impertinence.
Dear Inspector Lestrade,
You left this evening before I could scold you for flirting. Do not smile at me, or kiss my hand, or speak in that tone of voice to me again. I am not to be trifled with, and neither is Jess.
Regarding your investigation of the East India Club – please know that if you do not report back to me on progress that I can share with Jess, she will very likely take it into her head to go there herself. As I’m sure you’ve gathered, she is not a child who can be told “no.”
As an aside, I found your tolerance and acceptance of the family dogs to be indicative of your good character. My mother used to tell my sisters and I to pay attention to how a man treats servants and how he treats animals.
I hope you enjoyed the soda bread.
Best,
Olivia MacKenzie
Dear Olivia,
Your name is beautiful. I realize you may not have had a choice in the matter of naming yourself, but perhaps you did at that. It is a lovely name, evocative of serenity, strength, and nourishment of the body and the soul. It suits you, and I am honored to know it.
I intend to visit the East India Club and shall report back on my discoveries. Please assure Jess that I have connections into the club, and I would appreciate her letting me exhaust those before she attempts to gain entry herself. I, too, was once a child who did not regard “no” as a valid command. To me, the word indicated a lack of adventurousness, a missing joie de vivre that I found cowardly and intolerable. It is only now that I understand the word’s purpose is to safeguard hearts. Hearts are such fragile things even as they hold the power of life and love, so strong, and yet so easily broken.
Has your heart ever broken?
And what does a man’s interactions with servants and dogs reveal about his character?
Your soda bread was magnificent. I can only imagine what you do with cake.
Until we speak again,
Dhruv
Dhruv,
A man treats servants how he will eventually treat his wife, and he treats animals how he will behave with children. Do you have a wife or children? Is there empirical evidence in your household of this theory – this measure of manhood that is passed down as wisdom from mother to child? I have no business asking such questions, and yet, in the immortal words of children everywhere, you started it.
My heart has been broken, though perhaps not in the way you imagine. Even now it is held together with twine and bits of sticking plaster. I have become used to the weight of it though, and would miss it, wounds and all, if it were gone entirely. So I continue to hold it close, to protect what’s left.
By now you have been to the East India Club – what did you find? Do members wear its symbol on their waistcoat buttons? Are there policemen whispering about kidnapped children in dark corners?
Jess has opinions about witnesses that she said I could share with you. The best place for criminals to hide in plain sight, she said, is among the working class. The poor are watching everyone, knowing they’re either prey or predator. The rich are also watching, because the competition for social survival is just as bitter. But the working class just put our heads down and get on with the business of living. Go find the street sweeper, she says. Search for the old woman who sits in her window all day because she’s too sick to leave. Talk to the urchins who steal to survive, or if they don’t trust you, find someone they do trust.
