Bright morning light finally woke Lucien. He cracked his swollen lids open. He felt as though he'd been on an all night bender and had been left with a fuzz-covered tongue, sore back, and pounding head. Having a general practice had made him soft, he realised. He'd only delivered a few babies before this, and was enjoying these moments of holding a brand new life in his hands, even when it meant late nights and a physical toll.
Too bad this latest delivery had interrupted the delightful encounter with his bride. Perhaps Jean was having a lie-in with him...He patted behind him, only to find her side of the bed empty. He sighed.
The door opened and the clatter of her heels signalled Jean's entry. "Good morning, my love," he murmured, rolling over to greet her. His mouth fell open in shock.
Jean was dressed as he'd never seen her before. Her curls were teased into a bouffant and wrapped in a periwinkle chiffon scarf that turned her eyes blue. Her makeup was bright on her lips and cheekbones. Another scarf was tied around her neck, this one red. He liked her in red. But most startling of all was her blouse, a flouncy sort of garment, with flowing sleeves and a low neckline edged with ruffles, printed all over with bright red flowers on white satin. Her black skirt was snug, hugging all her curves, and shorter than she normally wore. She minced towards the bed on a flashy pair of red heels that she'd worn on the ship with her evening gowns. One night, when they'd made love, he'd asked her to keep those shoes on...that high heel sliding up the back of his thigh...His cock twitched at the memory.
"What's this?" he managed to gasp.
"Meet Sally Hopkins," she said cheekily.
"Come over here then," he demanded, holding his arms out.
Even as she perched on the edge of the mattress, she warned him, "Mustn't mess me up. I'm going on soon."
His brow furrowed. She spoke as though she was about to start a performance— "You can't go alone—"
"You can hardly move into a ladies' boarding house with me," she pointed out.
"Jean—"
"Lucien." She laid her fingertips on his lips. "It will be fine." She'd not tell him this, but she was actually feeling a deep satisfaction to be going off on an investigation and leaving him to fret alone for once. Even just the costume was giving her a thrill. This would be the lead role, and a woman quite different from her own appearance.
Lucien looked frustrated, but didn't argue any more. He flicked the flouncy ruffle of her blouse. "You're sure this is really just a ladies boarding house?"
"Oh you!" She pinched him right below his stabbing scar.
Ignoring the pain, he murmured, "I shan't spoil your pretty makeup," and carefully kissed her neck.
Cradling his jaw, rubbing her thumb along his beard in that familiar stroke, she smiled happily. Then forced herself to stand, slipping free from his grasp. "I'd better go. I just wanted to check on you. Mattie will show me the way, and then I'll see if I can get that room."
He flopped back against the pillows. "This is some honeymoon. Now we're to even sleep apart, not just the covers tucked in between us?" He sounded petulant, but he couldn't help himself.
It was her turn to carefully brush her bright red lips on his neck. "Absence will make the heart grow fonder."
Catching a whiff of her perfume, he shifted uncomfortably. "My heart isn't the only organ which will miss you." He was definitely whining now.
She gave his chest a gentle slap. "It'll just be a day or so! Remember how long we waited." She slipped off her wedding ring. "Keep this safe for me."
"What?"
He looked like a kicked puppy and she nearly wavered. Curling his fingers around the ring, she kissed the back of his hand. "Don't get in too much trouble while I'm gone."
"Me?" he said, all innocence.
With a knowing laugh, she sashayed out of the room.
After enjoying that final view, he carefully put the gold band in the bedside table drawer. He threw the covers back and found his balance on sore legs. He had his own threads of the investigation to follow.
Mattie was waiting for Jean at the bottom of the stairs. She whistled in appreciation, and Jean rolled her eyes. "Oh, you!" she scolded. After putting on a worn dull brown overcoat, she picked up the battered suitcase that they'd found in the storeroom. Her costume was complete.
She'd risen early, regretfully leaving Lucien asleep with just a peck to his slack cheek. Desire still washed through her body though, and she felt that familiar, automatic stab of guilt. She had to keep reminding herself that it was acceptable now—she was married, after all. And there was no priest to whom to confess.
As she'd come down the stairs, she'd seen the line of nuns entering their chapel. Pausing, she remembered Sister Julienne's invitation, and after a moment of hesitation, where she glanced back up at the room where Lucien slept, she followed them into the welcoming dim room.
Sister Julienne smiled warmly and nodded a greeting. Jean listened to the prayers, hearing the familiar and noting that which was different. In the end, her voice had easily joined in song.
Still buoyant at the sensation, she told Mattie, "We're off then." When they got to the door, Sister Winifred popped out of a storeroom and did a double-take at Jean's appearance.
"Oh my," she said rather breathlessly. The Blakes were distracting her with their fascinating ways and she felt instant shame. But she had to add, "You look marvellous."
"Thank you," Jean said with a laugh. "You were such a help preparing my disguise. You have a great eye for costuming."
Sister Winifred stuttered her own thanks as the women left Nonnatus House, feeling another wave of guilt.
Jean had asked for her assistance to find clothing appropriate for a cheap sort of woman that she was to play, but had asked that the nun keep this little adventure quiet. "Not a secret, per se," Jean had explained. "But when investigating a crime, you don't want to contaminate the evidence with gossip and hearsay."
And yes, her heart had leapt at the word 'investigate.' As though God was holding Sister Winifred accountable for her frivolous, vain thoughts, Sister Julienne stepped from the shadows of her office doorway where she'd been observing.
"Sister, may I see you for a moment?" Sister Julienne said soberly.
Overcome with dread, her feet dragging, Sister Winifred did as she was told.
Mattie led the way through the busy streets and Jean began to practise her English accent as they chatted, feeling a bit like Eliza Doolittle as she stumbled over clipped vowels.
Having observed how everyone in Poplar seemed to know about the Australian visitors to the district, she'd decided it wasn't safe to use her own accent. But being in London just a few days had quickly shown her that what she'd seen at the pictures and on the wireless wasn't a true representation of the different dialects of Great Britain. Barely able to comprehend the local one, she definitely wasn't going to attempt that. Instead, she'd try for DI Flowers' mangled accent. Her ear was tuned enough to realise he was covering a humble past with a put-on accent, not always successfully. Sally Hopkins would doing that as well.
"I hope you and Lucien aren't too angry with me," Mattie said, interrupting Jean's thoughts.
"Dear, we're never angry with you," Jean reassured her, squeezing the young woman's arm. "We're just worried, that's all."
Mattie bristled. "I can look after myself. I've been doing just fine here in London—"
Jean adjusted her handbag strap on her arm and spoke with a forced nonchalant manner. "I can understand, that is, if Patsy's a...particular friend of yours—"
Mattie furrowed her brow, wondering what Jean meant... "Oh! Oh, Jean." She giggled and nudged her. "Haven't you become a woman of the world. Lucien's rubbing off on you."
Tossing her head, Jean fought a smile.
"Patsy's a good friend, that's all. I'm afraid I've acquired Lucien's need to take the misunderstood and fringes of society under my wing. It's not right what she and Delia have to go through, and if I can help—"
"That's our girl," Jean praised her warmly, and Mattie found herself fighting tears. It felt wonderful to be back on the best of terms with her friends.
At the end of the lane, Mattie halted. "There's the lodging house, up ahead on the corner," she said.
Jean shifted her suitcase to the other hand. "Right then," she said, summoning her courage and trying to sound as English as possible.
Mattie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "You'll be brilliant. Chin up."
But as she watched Jean stride purposefully away, she frowned with concern.
Mrs Lydia Birdsong looked Jean over. "Wanting a room, are you?"
"Yes, please," Jean said, biting back a retort. The card was still in the window, offering the available room. She decided to jump right in. "As it happens, a friend of mine is staying here. I'm hoping to have a nice catch up. Susan Terrence?"
Mrs Birdsong frowned. "She's left," she said shortly.
"Oh, that's a shame," Jean said. "We knew each other out in the Orient, and she mentioned specially in her last letter how much she liked these lodgings."
"Wouldn't know it from the way she went on. Too good for this place. Too good for Poplar."
"She did have a way about her," Jean agreed, crossing her legs. Her skirt rode up and she fought the impulse to yank it back down.
Mrs Birdsong sneered at the sight of Jean's exposed knees. She was a tall, big-boned woman whose figure was rigidly contained by an old-fashioned corset. The shelf of her breasts would keep anyone at arm's length. Her hair, dyed an unnatural shade of red, was scraped up in a tight bun. The overall effect was of a school mistress who'd rap Jean's knuckles for flashing her knees.
Mindful that she had to get that room, Jean did in fact, pull her skirt back in place. "Did Susie leave a forwarding address?"
"No," was all the landlady said, but she didn't meet Jean's eye. Instead, her gaze roamed the parlour, one of those rooms which had frozen in time twenty years ago, just as stiff, formal and faded as the line of silver framed photographs on the mantlepiece.
Then her eyes snapped into focus on Jean's inquisitive face. "What brings you to Poplar," asked Mrs Birdsong, "apart from renewing old acquaintances?"
Jean neatly sidestepped. "London's become so expensive while I've been away. This seemed like a respectable but affordable spot to stop awhile."
"Cash up front for the first week, and due every Monday morning, spot on nine o'clock sharp."
Jean took that as a hint and opened her handbag to dig out her purse. She extracted the three pounds rent listed on the card, then pulled out another three pounds and lay them on the table before Mrs Birdsong.
The landlady continued going through the rules. "No male visitors, at any time, anywhere in this house. I don't want to hear how he's your granddad, brother, or priest."
"Yes, Ma'am," Jean murmured. Hopefully she would find all the information within a day or two, and wouldn't need to smuggle Lucien into her room.
"You'll wash out the bath after using it. No hair left in the drain, or soap ring on the enamel."
"I keep a very clean house," Jean said truthfully.
"Will you be seeking work?" Mrs Birdsong's gaze flitted to the pound notes and coins still on the table. Jean had made sure to bring along worn banknotes and coins, not the crisp and shiny ones issued to Lucien at the bank when they'd arrived in London.
"I have savings that should keep me for a while," Jean said easily.
"When you do, if you get a late shift, you'll have to pay extra for a key. Front door is locked at eleven, and back door at six. You ring the bell for entry otherwise. Either me or my girl are here at all times." Her sharp dark eyes, so like a bird, showed that she'd keep watch like a curious crow.
Jean stored this information away. Teresa's disguise made it possible for her to move unnoticed through the Poplar streets, but how had she got in and out of this building? Had there been a key with her body? If there was, if would lead Constable Noakes to this boarding house sooner rather than later. She must hurry.
"I understand," she murmured. "That will make me feel very safe."
Unbending a bit, Mrs Birdsong gave a regal nod. "Right then." After scooping the money off the table, she rose. "I shall show you the room."
Jean hefted her suitcase, and followed in the great ship's wake.
The room was on the second floor, tucked under the eaves. It had a musty odour that Jean was finally becoming used to. The floorboards creaked. There was a narrow, sagging single bed, a bedside table with chipped veneer, and the small window had fogged glass.
"It's perfect," Jean enthused.
Mrs Birdsong made a noise in the back of her throat. Smoothing her raw-skinned hands down her full skirt, she told Jean, "Dinner is served at noon for five shillings. Tea and breakfast come with the room. The kettle is always on for a cuppa." She drew herself up. "Five cup limit on the day."
"Of course," Jean said, fighting a smile. "I'll have dinner today, thank you," she added, digging out the payment. She needed to ingratiate herself with the other boarders as soon as possible.
The coins disappeared into Mrs Birdsong's pocket. "Bath's at the end of the hall. Gas meter takes shilling coins."
Jean raised her eyebrows. These cheap lodgings were adding up. "Good to know," was all she said though.
She needed to begin her search for clues. "Thank you," she said pointedly, ushering Mrs Birdsong out of the room.
As soon as her landlady was gone, she propped the rickety straight-backed chair under the doorknob, just in case Mrs Birdsong liked to make unannounced entrances.
Methodically, she began going through the room's sparse furniture, including turning the mattress to look for slits in the stained canvas where Teresa could have hidden something in the ticking. She also pulled out the drawers from the bureau and checked their undersides for taped envelopes. The small mirror was nailed to the wall, so nothing could be hidden behind it. With a sigh, Jean sat on the bed. The room's contents had been ruthlessly cleared out. Where had Teresa's things gone?
Bathed and dressed, Lucien made his way downstairs. After some tea and any crumpets which may have missed Sister Monica Joan's attention, he'd go to Dick Smith's house. The police should be finished with their interview. Normally, he would take part in the interrogation, but hadn't been invited today. DI Flowers had claimed they were in this case together, but it would appear not. Jean had put herself in harm's way, and Lucien wanted to solve the murder before anything happened. His mind drifted to other matters; they could return to their honeymoon—
"Dr Blake, may I see you?"
He turned. Sister Julienne stood outside her office, her arm beckoning the way into the room. Unsuspecting, he accepted her invitation.
After refreshing her makeup, Jean made her way down the hall, checking names tacked to the doors. She must befriend those nearest Teresa's room and see if they knew anything.
Years of service gave her the ability to move silently down the stairs and towards the front room where lunch would be served. She noted that the kitchen with the back door was right next to the stairwell. Convenient for returning late at night.
Rather than enter the dining room, Jean oozed back against the wall and hid in the shadow. She heard the clank of cups on saucers. Others were there first, and would likely speak more freely without the new girl among them.
Several women were chatting rapidly, as though trying to get everything out before her arrival.
"Where could Susan have gone?"
"I don't care," growled a deep yet still female voice, "I'm glad she's gone."
"Oh, now, Caroline."
"She took my Harry—" protested the deep voice.
"Lucy says this new lodger is Susan's friend," said a new voice, one of those venomous tones that Jean knew well from church. The sort of woman who loved to stoke the fires.
Deep voice took the bait. "Now that the whore is gone, I'll get my Harry back. Her friend had better steer clear, or perhaps she'll disappear too!"
~ end Chapter 10