Riddance
After Miss Lizzy, exceptionally reluctantly on this miserable occasion, entertained the visitors of the Rat Trap with possibly the most insincere show she had ever put on, she withdrew into her dressing room as instantly as she could, though she could still hear the rowdy crowd cheering and shouting "Encore!" many minutes after she had left the saloon; her co-dancers still were onstage. Lizzy shed her extravagant, exposing costume with a passion and threw it onto the floor, then took her old plain light grey dress that hung over a chair and, with a deep sigh, put it on. She then sat down on the couch and remained in the same position and mournful expression for a long time, as though she were motionless. When the other does finally entered the dimly-lit chamber, they were immediately struck by their leading lady's grim demeanour.
"I say, whassup, Liz? You looks like you're at a funeral," said Miss Lucy. "Aye, I agree, you look dreadful! What's tormentin' you, dearie? It doesn't seem like yourself to act this way," Ann added. After a few seconds, tears began to stream down Lizzy's cheeks, and to her embarrassment, she could no longer restrain herself, and began to weep, covering her face in her hands. Lucy and Ann sat down next to her, patted her on the back and endeavoured to cheer her up a little.
"Come on, Lizzy, you can confide in us! Tell us what the matter is, and maybe we can be of help," Lucy said encouragingly. But this did not appear to motivate the poor love-stricken girl.
"You can't help me. No one can," she sobbed. "It's a long story, anyway. I'd only bore you if I told you. You wouldn't understand."
"We'll see about that!" said Ann, handing Lizzy a tissue. "Now tell us everything. If we can't be of help, at least you can get the burden off your chest."
Lizzy dried her eyes and strove to compose herself. She had almost succeeded; after thinking about how to introduce the topic concerning Mr. Jacob Houston and the impossible love, she finally began to speak.
"... and I should so gladly like to marry him! But it's unthinkable. The only way out of this dilemma is that I don't see him anymore until he has changed his mind. Oh, woe is me! Why must fate play such horrid games with a poor, unlearned girl such as myself?" And she burst into tears once more.
This was one of the last things Lizzy said about her sad story. Little could she have suspected that somebody other than the two womanly confidants had heard much of the first part of her tale...
Her employer. Mr. Wickham – or rather, Mr. Ratigan – had been walking outside of the girls' room and instantly stopped before the door when he heard crying Miss Lizzy mention love in the same sentence as a stranger's name. Ratigan listened to his favourite employee's sorrows in great suspense. However, once he had decided he had heard enough, he walked on, thinking; which is why he never got to hear Lizzy's final words on the subject.
"Damn that Mr. Houston, or whatever the devil his name is!" thought the calculating rat. "If the girl leaves this institution, my business is doomed. She's become quite the celebrity down here; the majority of our guests come only because of her... it's a strange thing indeed, the speed of how the word of mouth functions. If she's gone, we'll lose more than half of our regular guests. I must do all that lies in my power to prevent any such unfortunate circumstance. Silly and romantic as females are, she will probably grasp the opportunity as soon as it presents itself to run off with some gallant. Naturally she's depressed now; but only because she believes her seemingly hopeless situation to be inevitable. Of course! No respectable gentleman will pursue an illiterate showgirl. But this fellow might be an exception – who knows! This uncanny sentiment they call 'love' truly misleads the sanest of beings into doing something completely insensible. He might steal her away when I'm unaware of it, and she will never return! I cannot afford any risks. The adorer must somehow be removed."
Ratigan stroked his chin in thought, wondering what measures were best to be taken in order to guarantee that Miss Lizzy continued to work for the Rat Trap. He set himself the goal to have found a suitable solution by the following night.
"Now listen again, Stillers," Ratigan said with a piercing gaze that thoroughly intimidated the hired delinquent he was addressing, "I'll repeat my instructions. I want you to go to Covent Garden, to one Miss Lizzy's stand. You'll know her when you see her; I've told you what she looks like. Find a place from whence you can observe her without being noticed. During her working hours, in the late afternoon, she is sure to have a rather lengthy conversation with a young mouse by the name of Houston. I cannot tell you how to recognize him by his exterior; you will have to pay close attention to the subjects of their talk, as well as to the way he expresses himself to his...sweetheart. Once you are certain that you have spotted the man, follow him to wherever he goes."
"Yes, sir."
"By no, absolutely no means make yourself visible. Until you have found the appropriate moment – just rely on your intuition, I trust an experienced crook such as yourself to possess the gift of foresight and manipulation – and pretend to be a random street seller of some sort, one that vends cheeses and wines and other beverages; I shall equip you with some large baskets containing some of these goods, which you should give others passing you by for free, to taste. Say you want to introduce people to some special new flavours, or something of the like. Awaken their curiosity. See that you have more than one person at a time near you, trying out food and drinks. When he comes by, charm him with some catchy phrase, and I am certain he won't walk away – judging by what we know about him, he seems the charitable sort, too kind-hearted for his own good..." Ratigan sneered with a vicious grin. "Give him this particular drink-" From beneath the bar, he took a small bottle of what seemed like hot chocolate. "It contains no alcohol, so I am certain even the abstinent will be tempted to try it. It tastes much like coffee, mixed with some cocoa powder, and...another kind of powder." The speaker's toothy grin widened at those words.
"Another powder?" asked Stillers.
"Yes," Ratigan said, "Arsenic. Dissolved in water, it is colourless, odourless, tasteless, and extremely toxic. In short: precisely what we need in order to guilefully get rid of someone. Swallowing a high dose quickly causes death. I have seeped a carefully measured portion into this sweet drink - after all, the dose mustn't be too high, or else it would be far too simple to track down the culprit – and I hereby command you to persuade Mr. Houston into drinking it. This bottle, nothing else. You may save all the harmless beverages for other strangers who no doubt will be surrounding you. Have I made myself clear?"
"Aye," nodded the assassin.
"He shall be dead within the same day, or the day after at the latest. Oh, and be certain that you wear gloves. No fingerprints must be detected on what you give anyone. This is absolutely essential!"
"I shall do so, sir," Stillers affirmed.
"Since the others whom you give food and drinks will be all well, this will reduce any suspicion. You should repeat the same action the following day, and perhaps even the following week. Of course, I shall pay you princely for your work."
Mr. Stillers' eyes twinkled as he heard the sentence.
"Remember to be as charming and desperate for customers as you can. You have a reputation for your paramount acting skills, so I trust you shan't disappoint me by not meeting my expectations."
"Aye, I promise," the criminal said.
"It's a deal, then!" said Ratigan, pressing Stillers' hand.
And the next few days, Stillers set out to run his errand and clandestinely observe the stall where Miss Lizzy worked. It was not difficult for him to recognize who was to be his poisoning victim. The assassin followed Mr. Houston secretly for the entire week, to find out what directions he usually took. Luckily for Stillers, the gentleman's routine was predictable. Stillers found out which alley Houston always passed through, and so one morning, began carrying out his task. The disguised Stillers set up a small portable wooden table on the pavement, placed three large baskets on the floor next to it, and did his best to charm pedestrians into tasting some of the delicacies. Stillers was surprised how easily he could persuade. Indeed, as his employer had successfully predicted, he was soon encircled by curious citizens. One basket and a half were already empty when finally, around 5.30 p.m., his main target appeared.
This pleasant mid-August evening was to be the last day anyone saw Mr. Jacob Houston alive.