Chapter Six
With not a minor bit of persuading, Mr. Batting's secretary remained to work long enough to allow them into the office as well as answer a few questions.
"No, detective," Miss Hannigan ground out in frustration. "I do not know where Mr. Batting was Wednesday afternoon, but if I had to guess, McGuinness' Pub would be an excellent place to start as he often went there for the cards and drink. I processed enough of the invoices to know that he was a regular there, and given that Mrs. Batting was opposed to such things, I don't think he'd be indulging at home." After giving William the man's calendar and confirming that he was out Wednesday afternoon, she was excused to finish packing up her desk for the evening and trundle off with stiff shoulders and an agitated gait. William suspected that she would be looking for new employment if she hadn't been already, as she hardly seemed the satisfied employee. Not that he blamed her.
As William looked through Batting's papers, he found evidence that the man was plenty fond of vice, in the form of old betting slips and receipts for whiskey, but found nothing tying him the death of Mr. Snow.
"Sir. We just conducted a cursory glance around the workshop. There's no syringe, no medical equipment, but we did find all the chemical and ingredients on your list and plenty of heroin. However, well…"
Turning around to face George, William raised his brows. "However what, George?"
"Sir, the man produced quite a variety of medical remedies-a 'snake oil' salesman, just as you've said. Wouldn't it make sense for him to have heroin on hand, as it would be an ingredient in his medicines?" he offered.
"Yes, George. It would. We're going to need more evidence than that in this instance," he sighed as he stood up. "You and Jackson have done enough, and you have both stayed past the end of your shift. As soon as the other Constables get here, make sure that they know to post that this business is closed by the Constabulary until further notice and that two of them are to remain here until tomorrow morning when a more thorough search can be done in daylight. I'll take the carriage and that box of items back to the station house so you don't have to, before I head home. You can exchange transportation with the new men who relieve you."
"Will you be interviewing Mrs. Batting tonight? Does she know her husband is currently in jail?" Jackson asked as he stood behind George.
"Oh, she's aware—and humiliated to be sure. However, she's hosting a dinner party and is not available for questioning right now. She'll visit her husband in the morning, and I can speak with her then," William scoffed.
"Not exactly a loving marriage, is it?" George asked.
"No, George, it certainly doesn't sound like it. And on that note, I should be returning to Dr. Ogden, and you gentlemen are free to go once the others get here. I'll see that you're remunerated in your next pay packet, albeit modestly" William offered with a laugh.
"So you're saying that we won't have enough for a steak dinner at the finest restaurant in the city?" George deadpanned.
"Your dreams are far too ambitious, George. Goodnight gentlemen," William bid with a tip of his hat.
He rode back to the station house in contemplation, his busy mind going in a dozen directions, most of which ended in another road-block. Too much information and not enough evidence. He was dropped off by the front door, pushed it open and greeted Barnard, the new desk Sargent. "Please see to this box of items in the Norris Snow investigation. You can record each piece of evidence with the new system I have put in place, then lock it all up."
The hour was late and there was no more to be done. With a shrug, he set a few notes on his desk for the morning and made his farewells to Sgt. Barnard, leaving the quiet station house behind for the bustle of Wilton Street on a Friday night. He'd not gone ten feet before a face he recognized was illuminated by a nearby streetlamp, approaching him out of the shadows. The figure's mouth was open slightly and her arm reached out to touch his sleeve, then with a hiss of breath, she was gone, darting though the crowded street. It happed so fast William took a moment to process, then without really thinking about it he took off after her, nearly colliding with an elegant barouche and getting a tongue lashing from its occupants.
William didn't bother to apologize, keeping an eye on his target who fled down an alleyway under a curved archway between two buildings. He cleared the back wheels of the coach and threaded his way through the traffic. He did not get a "Stop!" out of his mouth before she slipped into blackness and away. He followed as best he could, skidding to a stop once he entered the darkened alley. Left and right were more people going about their business. Ah…to the left! The clatter of her shoes gave her location away even if he could not see her, so he took off, hoping the uneven cobblestones were more an impediment to her in her shoes than to him—alas, they were not. She led him on a frustrating chase when he thought he was gaining on her, the sound of her foot falls ended as abruptly as the next alley did in a brick wall across the lane. He grunted in anger. Just like this case! He moaned to himself.
Looking left and right, he tried the doors on either side until he found one unlocked, admitting himself to the kitchen of a small café. This time he apologized as he asked if a woman just ran through, and was rewarded with a set of angry glares and fingers pointing to the dining area.
William walked rapidly past the seated guests and out the front of the establishment—into a huge crowd that waited to be admitted to the vaudeville house. The chase had taken him in zigzag fashion all the way to the commercial end of Jarvis. William's heartrate was up and he was warm from his exertion. He decided to catch his breath and wait—just as he used to do when hunting rabbits; he knew it was sometimes best for the quarry to think the hunter had gotten bored or moved off to track something else, so he took up a position where he could watch the crowd. The patrons of the early show were pouring out of the theater, allowing new paying customers to be admitted. Eventually, William noticed one patron slip sideways from the admission line to the exit line and try to blend in. In the better light, William now had no doubts: Mademoiselle Chastity.
He moved slowly, using the crowd for cover to angle over to catch her from behind and from the side, taking her completely by surprise, pushing a startled shriek out of her when he firmly grabbed her elbow. "Mademoiselle. Why run away when you so clearly want to speak with me?" he said in a low, insistent tone.
"You scared me!" she complained. William saw she was in relatively modest street clothes, not outfitted for an evening of public socializing, and certainly not dressed for her usual occupation. Her eyes remained huge with anxiety.
"You came all this way to talk with me. And during your most lucrative business hours. So it must be important."
She wiggled in his grasp for a second then relaxed, placing her gloved hand along his cheek and pressing her body against his. "Perhaps I wanted to invite you to see me privately, detective. What Madame does not know about…"
"She gets no cut of the profit from." William completed for her. "No. I think you wanted to tell me something and then changed your mind. Tell me now or I will bring you in for questioning. That would not be welcome to Madame nor your clientele, n'est-ce pas?" When she hesitated, he bargained. "The sooner you tell me the sooner you will be back in business."
She stood stock still, yet her facial expression ran the gamut, finally settling on worry. "Yes. I was coming to see you. But you have to promise I will not get into trouble—with the police or with the Madame Le Chabanais."
"I cannot promise that until I know what it is you are going to say." He did not let go of her arm, but drew them aside and to a semi-private doorway and waited again, more certain than ever this was going to be important.
Her shoulders fell. "I did not tell you everything the other day when you questioned me."
"And you want to tell me now? In a way that the Madame does not know about it?" He guessed
She nodded. "Norris, that is Mr. Snow, was with me on the night before he died…" she stopped again, biting her lip. "You need to know the he was not a customer, not in the way you think. Some men really just come back again and again to socialize, like a fancy club as it were. He just wanted to talk."
William held himself back from scoffing: he heard that as an excuse from men many times before, but places like that oozed sexuality and arousal, and William had no trouble understanding how one could become addicted. "About what, may I ask?"
"He wanted to know what it was like to have the life I lead—whether I was happy, or wanted to leave, how I felt about being a…well…" William could not see well in the dark but he thought, of all extraordinary things, she might be blushing.
"I see." In truth he did—so it was prostitution Snow was investigating. "Was he wanting to know about your customers?"
"No—all he had to do is meet other men in the salon. Not that the men necessarily give the names on their birth certificates…." She coughed. "No. In fact he has helped several girls get off the streets, even out of the life if they wanted to."
"And yourself?" he inquired, not sure why he was asking.
She smiled. "No, detective. I am not unhappy and have no plans to leave any time soon." She paused and composed herself again. "What I really wanted to tell you was this: I heard two men arguing outside my window the night before he died. It was so loud, one man banging the other against the wall of the house... it, er…caused my gentleman to lose… I mean…"
"I appreciate that it was disruptive to your customer. Please go on. What did you overhear?"
"The last thing I heard was one man threatened another. 'Pay the price with me, or pay the price with her.' Madame Le Chabanais shouted outside to get them to move on. I can't be absolutely sure, but I'm fairly sure that of the men was Norris Snow!"
# # #
As he wasn't too far from the hotel, William walked home, hoping to use the time to clear his head. Mademioselle. Chastity's words ran over and over in his head. Mr. Batting was hardly a sympathetic character, and he most assuredly had motive for wanting Mr. Snow dead. Now I have a witness to Norris Snow arguing with a male the night before he was killed. Tomorrow I will go back with Mr. Batting's picture to see if Mme. Le Chabanais' girls recognize him. Yet, something wasn't quite adding up for William. Batting was a slight man, hardly big enough to have inflicted much damage on anyone, plus he didn't have any wounds or scrapes on his person as far as William could tell. Perhaps he'd have Julia examine him tomorrow just to be sure.
But what if Batting wasn't responsible for Mr. Snow's death? What if it was someone else who was arguing with him the night before? The witness says she heard: 'Pay the price with me, or pay the price with her.' Who was threatening whom? The fact remained that Norris Snow was poking his nose into "vice," which meant that he could have found trouble in any number of places. Was he wrong to put all his apples in Batting's basket? Do I have another basket in which to put them? And who was the "she" the argument referenced? Mrs. Batting? Madame Le Chabanais? Some other woman?
Giving into fatigue, he trudged slowly up the stairs and unlocked the door, feeling famished for his supper. At half past nine, William entered their suite hoping for some leftover bread and cheese to eat and was surprised to find it shrouded in darkness. Has Julia gone to bed already? Suddenly, he heard the sound of a match being struck and saw a candle suddenly glow in the darkness. There before him was Julia in her pink silk brocade dressing gown. But rather than wear the garment to conceal her state of undress, the garment was situated just so to highlight the fact that she was not wearing anything beneath it.
"Julia," he greeted. Apparently she was up to something, but was unsure what that was when he felt his jacket being dragged down his shoulders and her voice low and husky in his ear, "Detective, wherever have you been this evening?" she asked.
He'd already told her that he would be speaking with a suspect in the Snow case, but he hadn't told her that he would be conducting a search or chasing down a prostitute.
"From the smell of expensive French perfume, I'm going to guess that you've been spending time with lovely young prostitutes keen to enjoy your talents in bed. Perhaps it is my job to remind you that there are delights that await you here at home, and that it is not necessary for you to satisfy your appetites at a house of ill repute when your wife is more than willing and excited even to take care of those needs here."
William's fatigue was suddenly evaporating and his hunger for sustenance was forgotten. "Oh? Is that so."
"Yes, William," she murmured taking his hands and placing them upon her body, encouraging him to run his hands along the silk robe as well as under to feel her bare flesh. "Imagine you are a client in a brothel and you have just selected me as your companion for the evening. I've taken you upstairs to my boudoir and we've just closed the door. No need to be polite or heed the rules of propriety as it is just you and I, your courtesan for the night. What do you have in mind for the evening? What will I be doing for you?" she asked as she removed his collar studs and cufflinks, dropping them onto the side table to her right.
William grinned, warming up to the game. He knew Julia loved her experiences and to test the boundaries of his tolerance…in more ways than one. She was much freer with her body, and more daring too, as evidence by her current state of behaviour. "First of all, I'm asking that you disrobe, and stand before me"
"You're asking? William you've just purchased me for the evening. No need to remain a gentleman," she reminded him.
"A true gentleman never forgets who he is," he reminded her as he removed his tie.
"No? So you're telling me you would do nothing other than stare at me?" she asked incredulously as she slipped the robe off and allowed it to pool at her feet onto the floor.
"I didn't say that," he murmured. "I'd like a glass of ice water please," he asked, smiling as observed the sway of her backside as she walked across the room to make it for him. It reminded him of all the moments he'd stolen over the years as he'd surreptitiously gazed at it and used his imagination. He'd never acted upon this fantasy for fear that she might be offended by it, but if she was offering herself as a courtesan to him… This may be the chance I've been waiting for, he mused.
Taking the glass from her, he made it a point to drink it while watching her stand before him.
"William, you're staring again," she reminded him.
"I thought as your patron, it was my privilege to do as I liked?" he asked as he began to walk around her. "Remain still, Julia, I wish to admire your form as an artist's patron might view a sculpture, for you are both works of art," he replied as he took his time gazing upon her. "You are so very beautiful…" He took her lips with his…
####
Later as he lay in bed, Julia's head upon his chest while his hand played in her curls, he wondered what had brought on that bit of role play. If Julia was merely playing a role, that was one thing. However, if her actions belied an insecurity about his job's requirement to spend so much time in houses of ill repute and with prostitutes, that was a problem. I am a man after all, so while the sights, smells, and sounds are all quite arousing to me, that does not follow I have any interest in utilizing the services of such an establishment. Surely she knows this! Right?
"Julia? I'm not going to lie, I thoroughly enjoyed myself with you, and I love that we trust one another to let our guards down enough to indulge in our fantasies. But was this little game just now truly a game, or does it belie an anxiety on your part?"
"No William, not anxiety, exactly. I suppose I was a bit inspired, that is all; although I also never want you to think I am taking you for granted, or for you to get bored…" she teased. Julia in fact enjoyed it whenever she could bring her husband a little outside of his expectations.
"Good. You did seem to enjoy my discomfort about being propositioned. You have no reason from me to feel jealous or offended by where my job takes me…."
She was loathe to admit to any insecurity regarding William and had no belief he would actually engage a prostitute—that was not the sort of upright man he was. Her more rational mind could also easily argue for the benefits of sexual outlets for men, even if it was in the context of an economic exchange. Knowing that he had sensed something else, she explained her true reason for this evening's intimate exchange.
"To be perfectly honest, William, I suppose that I've always fantasized about what it must be like to be such a woman. To be one of the celebrated courtesans of Europe who could choose her lovers and who could earn a living through seeking pleasure with whomever she pleased," she offered. "Or like Alice Keppel, King Edward's mistress, whom even Alexandra tolerates. The king's friends secure Mrs. Keppel financially as well. I guess I've always admired the freedom of such women, to not care what society thinks of them, to enjoy life on their terms, embrace their enjoyment of the sexual act."
Every day William encountered individuals whose lives were destroyed by vice, infidelity and their accompanying diseases. He disliked even clean upscale brothels on principle, even if Ettie ran one, because the girls were often victimized, far too many married men utilize them, and he firmly believed men should be faithful to their wives. "Julia. Certainly you aren't so naïve that all women engaged in prostitution are set up the way you describe. The situation of which you speak has been the domain of the rarefied few throughout history. It is the exception, and not the rule… Besides, didn't you always want to be a physician? You've overcome a lot to achieve this…"
"Oh, William, I said that I'd fantasized. I have no interest in making this fantasy ever come true and I'm perfectly aware that it's not realistic, and I'm perfectly happy where I am, being intimate solely with the man I love more than life itself. I'm not seeking to change what we have or what we do. But not everyone enjoys a marriage like ours. Plenty of my childhood friends were married to men they hardly knew or didn't love, and they went along with it because their parents said it's what they were supposed to do. We weren't raised to enjoy physical relations marital or otherwise; all the instruction we received was to lie there and think of queen and country as we did our marital duty. For many of these women, it is indeed a reprieve when your husband takes his needs to a brothel, or a mistress, instead of seeking you for that fulfillment. I can't quite explain the relief they expressed when they no longer had to fear whether or not he would enter your bedroom and demand relations with them. And of course, as their wife, it was your duty to submit, your own desires or gratification be damned," she burst out in anger that surprised even her.
William had caught her mixed pronouns and wondered if she was speaking of her time with Darcy as well as the experiences of her friends, but decided that perhaps it was best to let it go. It certainly seemed to be a sensitive topic for her, more so than he would have thought possible. He wasn't sure how to best approach a time in their lives when neither of them was particularly happy.
"You know, when I was younger and thinking of the woman who would one day become my wife, I must say, I never once imagined a woman who would encourage my fantasies or who would ask me to help her live out some of her own. I hoped and prayed that I would one day find a woman who would be waiting for me to come home with a hot dinner on the stove. Not one who waited for me in the nude and begged me to have my way with her," he teased, attempting to alleviate the tense mood.
Chuckling, she lightly bit his ear lobe, gently tugging at it with her teeth. Looking up at him smiling, she then pulled his hair. "Are you insinuating that you didn't get what you wanted, William Murdoch?"
"Of course I was much, much younger and quite naive then." He kissed her. "But I suppose I am saying just that…and I couldn't be happier about it," he laughed, pulling her into another long kiss.
With the dangerous topic of Julia's marriage to Darcy avoided, William decided to explain the provenance of the French perfume Julia had detected earlier.
"So, what did you think of my new aftershave? I thought it smelled quite lovely," he teased, smirking at her.
Lightly hitting his chest, she giggled. "William Murdoch, that was no aftershave! I know expensive French perfume when I smell it, so that means that you must have been in close contact with a woman who was wearing a great deal of it, and given you have been associating with prostitutes lately…" she trailed off.
"Yes, I suppose that you could say that I had rather close contact with such a woman earlier this evening, but it was not as intimate an exchange as you might fear," kissing the top of her head as explained his earlier encounter with Mademoiselle Chastity. He left out the part about where she had propositioned him, not wanting to be teased about it by Julia once more.
Wrapping her leg around him possessively, she repositioned herself to have greater contact with him, kissing his chest.
Perhaps there is some insecurity there…something to be mindful of for the future, he thought as he pulled her in closer and held her just a bit tighter.
Thus they lay together for a few moments more when Julia asked how that pertained to his current suspect, Mr. Batting.
"I'm not sure, Julia. We did a cursory exploration of his workshop this evening, and found all matter of ingredients, including a large amount of heroin, samples of which we brought back to the station. But given how Mr. Batting makes his money selling concoctions, George has stated that it is not sufficient enough evidence," William stated.
"Yes, it would make sense for the heroin to be there. If you like, I'll go in tomorrow morning with you and compare his ingredients with my laboratory equipment. But given that he has a professional reason for all that heroin, George is right, you're going to need more evidence. Was there evidence of a recent physical altercation? Busted knuckles, scrapes, that sort of thing?" she asked.
"Not that I saw, but I was hoping that maybe you could examine him as well and tell me definitively? Of course, I must also consider the fact that he hired someone to do the beating for him, perhaps some ne'er do wells from down at McGuinness' Pub, where he purportedly spends a great deal of time gaming and drinking," William theorized.
"That could very well be the case, and then again, Mr. Batting, as attractive a suspect as he is, may not be your man. Don't forget that Mr. Snow was slowly being poisoned as well, and that would likely mean a suspect that would have regular and intimate access with the man. Don't forget that poison is usually a woman's weapon, its subtlety most feminine. If not Mademoiselle Chastity, who you said was genuinely upset about Mr. Snow's death, and her coming forward to you really did her no favors if she were the guilty party, who else may have wanted Mr. Snow dead? Perhaps Madame Le Chabanais? Mr. Snow was in essence luring her girls away, and costing her time and money to procure new ones. She could have been poisoning him in her parlor. Perhaps if Mr. Batting doesn't work out, might I suggest looking at her as a possible suspect?" Julia offered her insight. "Or some other mystery woman?"
Groaning, William rubbed his face. Was he pursuing the wrong suspect simply because Mr. Batting proved the most convenient? This case was quickly proving to be a web of deceit.
"Perhaps I could go undercover at Mme. Chabanais establishment and procure some information for you?" Julia cheekily asked, seeking to cut the tension herself.
Exhaling, William flipped her over and rolled on top of her, taking her head in his hands. "Absolutely not, Julia. Besides, if I'm not mistaken, weren't courtesans often kept by a benefactor, and in return she would serve only him and no other?" William asked as he slid a hand down to the apex of her thighs.
Gasping and going rigid before submitting to him and spreading her legs to encourage him, she moaned her assent, "Yes."
"Indeed, you are my courtesan, Julia: my beautiful, witty, intelligent, and wonderful lover. A wise man does not share his treasures," he told her before running his hand up and down her body possessively. "The night is not over, milady. Do you know what else I desire this evening?" he asked as he whispered his request into her ear.
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