Chapter Ten: Hello Annie
"You can't arrest her?" Dressed as Martin, Erik sat on the stool opposite the Pinkerton agent.
"No. Not without the authority of the Sûreté to back me up. I need proof that she was in on the Paris theft. Since it was a case of replacing the ring with a fake, the real ring would be taken apart and dispatched through middle men. No evidence, no crime."
Chase stubbed out his cigar. "Annie is a shrewd woman. I'm hoping to contact her and offer her to turn evidence against Sterns. If she agrees, I'll need a place to bring her where she won't be found."
"We can arrange that. De La Shaumette owns a hotel in town."
"Perfect," Chase replied. "I'll contact you as soon as possible with what I find out from Annie." The American replaced his hat and took his leave.
Erik sat down next to the table and poured more wine in his cup. That had been close. Kennard had made sufficient noise to forewarn him of his arrival. If he hadn't, he would have found Martin and Emily Griggs in a most amorous embrace.
Kennard had already been amused that Martin was competing with De La Shaumette for Emily's affection. Like one of Emily's Penney Dreadfuls, the circumstances kept pilling up to complicate the plot.
A little after seven o'clock, Chase Kennard stood across from the tiny apartment building watching people come and go. After the last visitors, a weepy middle aged woman and her young daughter left, Chase went forward and entered the building. Of the names listed on little cards slid into the slots on the front of the mail boxes, one was new, and the name he was looking for. Going up to the second floor, he knocked lightly on the door.
Madame Jadwiga Sikorska quickly stashed the glass of whiskey away on the dresser of her bedroom, and putting on her shawl, proceeded to open her parlor door with a sweeping gesture, "Come in, come in, I have been in communication with the spirits!" She turned her eyes to take in the man waiting in the doorway and dropped her hands to her hips with a disgusted curl of her lip. "For God's sake, Kennard. You can't charge me with anything this time."
"Hello, Annie," Chase replied taking off his hat. "I just dropped by to check in with those spirits of yours."
Annie Reilly was a fine looking woman, even under the make up that aged her face. He'd know that lilting, breathy voice anywhere. She had on a coal black wig that was streaked around her temples with grey. No doubt, a little maturity would inspire more confidence in her customers. Rings adorned her fingers, and bracelets clinked together on her wrists. Her low cut vermillion blouse was probably designed to distract the gentlemen who would come to commune with the dead. That low cut blouse and her flashing green eyes could raise the dead, he thought.
Annie tossed her shawl over the crystal ball on the parlor table, and went to retrieve her drink. "Whiskey?" she asked as she proceeded to her kitchen area to get another glass.
"Certainly, Annie."
"That's Madame Sikorska to you, Kennard," she pronounced haughtily, accentuating the syllables with rolling r's.
"What is that anyway, Russian?"
"No, it's a Polish lady's name I got on a train. I thought it had a nice, mysterious sound to it." Annie sat down a half filled glass in front of Chase. "What are you after now, law man?"
"Sterns has been keeping Ned Darlington busy. What's he got you set up for next?" Chase asked, sipping his whiskey.
"You don't think I still hang around with Peppermint Joe do you? I got sick of him running the same cons everywhere we go. The man lacks imagination and its going to get me caught." She swirled the amber liquid in her glass in a mock toast. "Europe's a nice place, but they have some nasty jails."
Chase sat back. "And I'm supposed to believe you left Joe Sterns' bunch because of that?" He shook his head slowly, "Come on Annie, who else you going to hook up with here? This is France. The locals aren't going to welcome an American sneak thief into their fold just because you are getting tired of Joe."
"I'm not a sneak," she reminded him haughtily. "I'm a confidence woman. You want a sneak you'll have to talk to Boston Jim."
"How on earth did Joe get him to come over here?"
Annie snorted, "Jim's luck ran out in New York. He did one too many jobs on the side and had to make himself scarce lest the cops pull him in for real."
Chase nodded. New York police knew exactly who to look for in what situation. Between the crooks and the law, a truce of sorts had been called. Within an area around the rich and influential, crime had nearly stopped after the police started putting pressure on the criminals. Making a deal with the bosses, the police had agreed to take the pressure off in different areas of the city as long as the cordon around the rich stayed in place. Burns must have attempted to smudge that line.
"I'm going to get Joe this time, Annie. I just need the evidence, and the gang will get their passports stamped for the return trip to the states. If you are looking to get away from that bunch, I'd suggest you start making plans now. Get me?"
Annie tsked disgustedly, "Yea, I get you."
"I'll pay you for what you can give me, Annie. Here's my address," he tossed out a card bearing the hotel's address where he and Henri were staying. "I'll be waiting to hear from you."
He got his hat and moved to the door, Annie got up and followed. Chase wished for the hundredth time that they had met under other circumstances. He told her goodnight and shut the door quietly behind him.
Annie stashed the card in her dresser drawer and went to refill her glass. In a couple of days, Broken Nose Tully would come by. He'd been checking in on her for Peppermint Joe. There had better be some good news from Joe, or she might have to take up Chase's offer. After all, European jails were not the kind of accommodations she was working towards retiring in.
Hughette Pinson nodded and sat down her cup of coffee. "Of course, Emily. You can not possibly attend all of these affairs. Therese and I will go down the list and see which ones would be the most suitable."
"Thank you, ladies. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but there are just too many invitations to honor, and I'd be sorry if anyone felt slighted."
"Not to worry, my dear. How soon will your calendar be open to attend functions?"
Emily glanced at her bag. She'd taken to carry a larger purse with her appointment notebook tucked in it. "Well, I think I could start by the first of August. But I am supposed to go to Belgium for a week. After that, I think my evenings are not committed yet."
"Not even for Monsieur De La Shaumette?" Therese teased.
Emily smiled, feeling warmth infusing her cheeks. "We usually have dinner together, nothing too late." She paused. "I do have one other concern. I lack the wardrobe for so many affairs."
Therese smiled. "There is a new dressmaker in town. She's just building a clientele. Perhaps you two could work something out. After all, you are about to be paraded before Rouen society at all levels. The exposure for her designs would generate customers for her."
Pausing before the mannequin, Emily blanched. A woman's dress with an averaged size bustle and train could take as much as twelve yards of material, not including the yards of ribbons, chords, ruffles, pleating, and buttons. The dress on the mannequin looked like someone's flower garden had pulled up roots and was going for a stroll. Row upon row of ruffle over the length of the skirt was sewn with ribbon roses.
She turned to meet the designer. The woman was short and robust with a smiling round face. "How do you do? I am Catherine Choseau."
"Hello. I'm Madame Griggs. Madame Pinson gave me your card."
"Ah, yes. You wish some gowns?"
"Well, not so much gowns as sort of a more formal version of a day dress. I have to attend a variety of dinners, and…"
"Come on. We'll get your measurements. While you drink some tea, I'll give you some of the designs to look over."
Seated next to a small table, Emily started going through stacks of La Mode Illustree magazines. Published weekly, they were the leading source of French fashion for men, women, and children. Using strips of paper Catherine gave her, Emily bookmarked a variety of dresses.
Working together, they went back over some of the pictures. "I see," Catherine said. "You are looking for something that can be made to an evening length, but staying to simple lines and embellishments." With a pained smile she added, "I suppose you've seen the ball gown," her eyes slid to the flowery confection at the front of the store.
Emily smiled. "It is a bit.."
"Nauseating?" Catherine chuckled.
"I was thinking more of the idea that it must be very heavy."
Catherine nodded. "It took seventeen yards of material, most of which is in the bustle's train. She'll have to wear two bustle pads to prop it up, and the long style of corset. The poor woman will hardly be able to sit down! But, she's young and this is what she wants."
"I'd like to stick to something with simple lines."
"I have an idea we could try. A woman in Paris asked for a dress that had a detachable front skirt. She had collars and cuffs that could be changed, and with the skirt panel and a small jacket, you might be able to use the dress three or four times and it would appear different every occasion."
"That would be perfect," Emily replied.
Erik read through the piles of newspapers and books that he had Etienne bring to the study. When he had been with Emily, something she said had been surfacing during the day in the back of his mind.
Emily, being an American, looked at the map as any visitor would. What made her insight more imperative was the mention of what a tourist would go to see. Any tourist would gravitate towards the more famous articles on display. In his mind, he'd go in search of art or music or a museum.
He doubted the Americans would attempt a theft at the Louvre, but there were several smaller and more specialized museums in Paris. What he needed to research was the number of private collections.
Armed with newspaper articles and recent maps, the gang might be hopping about checking out the private collections. He would have to mention that to Kennard as well. The man must be in touch with the Sûreté, they could ask them to be on the look out for this nature of crime while he and Kennard attempted to pick up the trail of the gang from the other end.
The quiet of his study was interrupted by the occasional passing of a carriage outside the windows. Leaning back in his chair he thought of Emily. What was she doing right now? Kennard had said he would be in contact with him. Would it be safe to take Emily somewhere and be alone again? It was best if she came here.
He pulled out a slip of paper and drafted a short note.
A/N: Jadwiga Sikorska is the name of one of Marie Curie's school teachers in Poland.