Kate had told me that she had trained all her life to fill her father’s shoes in his occupation. But she was not permitted to take his place. Why? Why couldn’t she? Because she was a girl, not a boy? Because her gender was discovered when this married man, her lover, made her pregnant and sent her away?
‘They call me the Mute Swan because I wear a nightdress with sleeves that look like swan wings,’ she’d said.
What if Kate knew all about swans, had been trained by her father to become a swan keeper, but could not occupy such a position because she was a girl? What if she and her father had hidden that fact from everyone but then, with her pregnancy, she was turned out on the streets by the Queen?
“Rattle!” I shouted. “Rattle, I have a job for you,” I said as I knelt down and placed my hands on his shoulders. “That young woman who just left. The pretty one wearing the blue dress. You saw her, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
I reached into my pocket and held the sovereign out to him. “This is yours. Follow her. Follow her and then come back and tell me exactly where she lives. Now she may go to James Street or she may go to New Street in Bishopsgate.”
“Worlds apart, Miss.”
“I know. But I must know both addresses. Another half-crown to you if come back here with both addresses.”
“But the message from Mr. ’olmes...”
“Yes, yes, give it to me. Now hurry so you do not lose sight of the woman. And do not let her know you are following her, Rattle.”
“Me, Miss? Rattle is like a shadow.”
He quickly turned and dashed down the hall.
“Run,” I whispered. “Run, run, little shadow.”
Chapter 13
Sherlock’s message was cryptic, as usual. “Currently out of the Metropolis. Expect to have much information beyond the obvious facts when I return. Should be back tomorrow evening. Meet me at Four Swans Inn, Bishopsgate at seven.”
“Bishopsgate,” I said to myself.
Bishopsgate was named after one of the original eight gates, in the London Wall. It was one of the main entrances to the city built by the Romans to defend their strategically important port town on the River Thames, Londinium. Many old coaching inns that accommodated passengers setting out on the Old North Road were there... the Old Bull Inn, the Flower Pot, the White Hart. It was thought that some of these inns were built on cellars constructed by the Romans. Until the railway lines out of Liverpool Street had opened a few years before, the inns were always busy with passengers and goods transported by wagon. Even now, many men leaving their offices for home would stop at one of these taverns after work. Despite the decrease in coaching passengers, they did a good bar trade.
Swans dominated the motif on Bishopsgate and Gracechurch Streets. At the south end of Gracechurch was the Four Swans. To the north, was the One Swan, and not far from there was Two Swans Inn. I’d been to the Four Swans only once with Uncle Ormond when London Hospital was short-staffed and desperate enough to allow even a woman doctor to lend a hand. I remembered the rump steak and kidney pudding and the balcony above the courtyard with its beautiful depiction of four stately swans. I thought of the mutilated swans and Kate Dew’s “artistic name.”Had Sherlock discovered a link between her and the swan investigation as well?
I tended to several more patients, all the while thinking about Kate and what Sherlock was up to. I gave thought to contacting Mycroft to tell him of Sherlock’s whereabouts but I didn’t really know them. I knew only that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t in London. I was about to close up my office when Rattle returned, out of breath, panting, as always.
“Miss, I’m back.”
“I see that Rattle. What did you find out?”
“The lady... she went to a place on James Street. Stayed on an ‘our. Jus’ ’bout. Then t’ New Street. Buller’s ’ouse.”
“Is it a workhouse?”
He shook his head. “More a dosshouse, Miss. ‘Cross from th’ Bishopsgate police station.”
“Cheap lodging then.”
He nodded. “Wiggins knows th’owner. Will’m Buller and ’is wife Eliza. Moved from St. Giles.”
He went on to say that the house was not far from some warehouses owned by St. Katherine’s Dock Company and the East India Depot, and a fire station. It was close to the Liverpool Railway Station... and not far from Spitalfields. I was sure Wiggins knew the area well. Despite the traffic to the taverns, the East End was not the most hospitable portion of London. If I met Sherlock there, I might just take young Wiggins with me.
Chapter 14
I picked at dinner that night. I was not hungry for one thing. Secondly, Aunt Susan had hired a new cook and she wasn’t very good. After Martha, the previous cook, was fired for having let Sherlock into the house without consent, Aunt Susan hurriedly looked for someone else. Sherlock had persuaded Martha to give him a key to the servants’ door to let himself in as part of an elaborate ruse to catch out the British Museum murderer. She was tangled in one of Sherlock’s spidery webs and, ultimately, his plan had served to free my uncle from gaol and send the real killer to the gallows. But no amount of persuasion on his part, nor mine, would dissuade Aunt Susan from terminating Martha. The servants were permitted no visitors without permission; certainly no one was allowed to have a key to the house, not even Sherlock Holmes.
I stayed up long after Aunt Susan retired to wait for my uncle. I lit a fire, gathered an array of gas lamps, sipped port, and passed the time reading Effie’s journal, the one she had
