A constable stood guard at the door; underneath his helmet his skin was pallid, his eyes haunted. Assigned to keep anyone from setting foot in the set of rooms until an inspector arrived from over at Scotland Yard to investigate, the young man wondered what there was to find, and whether anyone would care enough to find it.
Mullins held no illusions about the area he had been assigned. Most of London could not have cared who lived and who died in this part of the city, and that included the police. No, whoever showed up would do so simply for the sake of appearances, and he would resent having to be here the entire time. He would go in, take a brief look around, and decide the case wasn't worth the effort. Mullins would likely never hear from him again, unless he were very unfortunate, and the murderer would never be found.
By now the man knew how things worked around here, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
The constable frowned at the approaching man in the dark blue suit and prepared himself for a verbal lashing. The upper class never appreciated being told what to do by the likes of him. Nonetheless, he was determined to do his job. No one was to go in or out until a police inspector had seen to the room.
As it turned out, he need not have worried.
"Inspector Lestrade," the man introducing himself looked barely older than the constable he addressed. Maybe that was why he dressed so well, to offset his obvious youth.
Taking a second look, the other man reconsidered. Without the suit, Inspector Lestrade would have fit right in with some of the lower members of society passing by on the street. Appearances weren't everything, so they said, but Inspector Lestrade did not look entirely trustworthy even dressed as he currently was.
"Constable Mullins, sir." Mullins knew better than to risk the ire of a young inspector who very likely was still trying to prove himself. "The body is inside, Inspector. The landlady found it when she went in to demand the rent this morning-apparently the victim hadn't paid for the month, and promised she'd have it today. The landlady is in the kitchen on the first floor; she said she had work to do, but you could find her there if you had any questions."
Lestrade looked back over his shoulder toward the stairs. "Any other witnesses?"
The constable started to shake his head. "No one came when she screamed, the landlady said. It's that kind of place, Inspector. If anybody heard anything last night, they won't admit to it."
"Thank you, Constable." Lestrade frowned as the man stepped aside to allow him entrance into the set of rooms.
The first room was bare of furniture except for a badly worn rug that might once have been brown and a couple of rough wooden chairs. Chipped and badly cracked plates and cups were stacked carefully in one corner of the room. Lestrade counted: three plates, three cups. And odd collection of eating utensils. More than one person lived there.
Lestrade crossed the room and paused in the doorway between it and the next. Here was the victim, sprawled out on the bed, her blood staining the sheets reddish-brown as it began to dry. Lestrade looked away.
The closet hung open, revealing very little in the way of clothing. Those the victim had been wearing before her murder had been carelessly left on the floor. A battered vanity took up one corner of the room, its mirror cracked. The drawer hung half open, its contents spilled. A brush, a comb, a hairpin polished so brightly it shone had spilled to the ground. A chair had been overturned on the floor.
Lestrade approached the bed and forced himself to examine the woman. Her dark brown hair was wet with blood; light blue eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Slender and dainty, with small hands and small feet, the woman had been pretty before her death.
Now arms, face, and torso were bruised. Hands were bloodied, nails torn. The victim's face was as every bit as battered as her vanity; the rest of her body matched.
Lestrade examined the room again, more thoroughly this time. He found the remains of a necklace on the far side of the room, flashy yet cheap beads scattered across the floor. Carefully he picked up the string that still held some of the beads, and then began gathering the rest. Reaching the edge of the bed, where the last few had rolled, Lestrade thought he heard a sound and paused.
Kneeling, he reached out with the hand that was not occupied with the broken strand of jewelry and grasped part of the blanket where it had slid partially off the bed to touch the floor. Lifting it he found himself staring at two small faces. Pale and dirty, they stared back at him with wide eyes.
Lestrade momentarily forgot how to breathe. It was likely the only thing that kept him from spooking the children. When he did remember, he forced himself to take a long, slow breath.
The oldest of the children could not have been more than seven. She eyed Lestrade warily, waiting for him to make the first move, while her brother simply stared at him with huge eyes. Lestrade, still hardly daring to move, thought fast.
"I'm Giles," he said, keeping his voice low, hating himself for not coming up with anything better.
The boy looked to be about three years old. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and looked at his sister. She still watched Lestrade, distrust plainly written in her eyes.
The inspector tried again.
"Are you hungry?" The boys eyes lit up, and the girl bit her lip. Defiantly, she glared at Lestrade.
"What do you care?" she demanded, ready to duck further back into her hiding place if she needed to.
Lestrade looked at the boy, then back at her. Then he shrugged. "I've been hungry. I know what it feels like."
"We haven't got any food," the girl told him. "The landlady won't give us none because she says mama owes her money."
Lestrade considered this. "Maybe I can talk to her," he suggested. The girl shook her head.
"Not unless you got money," she told him. She clearly did not believe that the landlady was going to give them anything to eat, or that Lestrade would be able to do anything to change her mind.
"All right," Lestrade gave in. "But I know someone outside who might be able to help. We can talk to him."
The girl looked skeptical. "Mama said stay under the bed and don't come out." The girl's eyes watered. She closed them and shook her head angrily. When she looked at Lestrade again there was accusation in her gaze.
Lestrade thought for a moment. "If I pick you up, and carry you out," he told her, "then you don't really have a choice. I'm too big for the two of you to fight me."
"You'd have to hold us tight, so we couldn't see to fight you," she said, glancing at her brother meaningfully. The girl was smart, for all that she was only seven.
Lestrade reached for the little boy first, ignoring dirt and snot and who knew what else as he scooped him up into one arm. "Eyes closed," he ordered, pressing the boy's face against his jacket, hoping it would block out the sight.
"Eyes closed, William," the girl echoed sternly. She crawled out from under the bed by herself, but reluctantly allowed Lestrade to take her in his other arm.
"You too," he said gently. "Eyes closed." He was relieved when the girl obeyed.
Constable Mullins stared as the inspector emerged from the room with two children in tow, a little boy and little girl, one in each arm. The girl's eyes were squeezed tightly shut; the boy's likely filthy face was shoved into Lestrade's shoulder.
Lestrade met the constable's gaze evenly. Looking down at the children he carried, he said, "You can open your eyes now." Setting the girl down gently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Both children watched with interest, but Lestrade seemed not to notice as he addressed the constable.
"There's a street vendor on the corner," Lestrade told him. "The children likely haven't eaten since yesterday. Try to get more than just bread, if you can."
Mullins nodded and excused himself, making a note to warn the other constables in the area about the new inspector who shelled out money to feed orphans from Ratcliffe Highway. It was only a matter of time before the man ended up mugged or worse, and his wallet ended up in the hands of some street urchin.
He found the vendor, and managed to get a couple of meat pies. On impulse, he bought some tea as well. He had seen the body earlier, when he had first come upon the scene, and figured the inspector would probably appreciate the gesture.
Lestrade and the children waited outside when he returned, the little ones seated on the steps leading up to the building where their mother had died. They stared at Mullins as he approached, taking in the results of his expedition with wide eyes.
Mullins offered the pies to Lestrade, who had pulled a handkerchief from one pocket and spread it across the little boy's lap as if to protect his ragged clothing from the food. Lestrade then turned to the constable expectantly, who belatedly realized the man wanted him to give up his own handkerchief to the girl.
He did, albeit grudgingly. The girl giggled and brushed dirty hands across the white cloth as if to straighten it. Lestrade then accepted the meat pies and began portioning them out to the children.
"Nobody's going to steal it," he said mildly as the girl took a huge bite. "And there's plenty here for both of you." The girl slowed down only slightly, but Lestrade did not seem concerned.
Mullins offered up the tea. Lestrade eyed it critically for a moment, but eventually accepted. Taking a sip, he winced. The constable figured the man had never had the East End's version of tea, and wondered whether Lestrade would finish it, or let it go to waste.
He caught the other man watching him and offered a rueful grin. "I'd forgotten," he admitted, taking another sip. Mullins was impressed in spite of himself.
"I need to talk to the landlady," Lestrade said, turning his gaze back on the two children. "Will you keep an eye on them while I do? I need to find out if they have any relatives they can go to." The inspector sounded almost reluctant; Mullins figured he knew the chances of finding someone to take them in were small. Lestrade glance toward the girl, who had finished her food and was eyeing her brother's speculatively. "Stay here, with Constable Mullins, while I talk to the landlady, and we'll see if they have any eels when I get back."
The girl's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir!"
Lestrade had made a friend, of sorts. Hunger could be a powerful motivator, of that he was well aware. Back inside, Lestrade made his way to the back of the building, following the smell of what threatened to be some sort of soup to the kitchen. There he found the landlady, or so he guessed: a sharp, wizened woman with gray hair and cool, calculating eyes.
"Inspector Lestrade," he introduced himself. The woman did not stop her work, but he had not expected her to. "I need to ask you some questions."
"She was two weeks late with the rent." The woman griped. "Always late. Always promising she'd pay me in full next time."
"Do you know the woman's name?" Lestrade asked, reaching for his notebook and pencil.
"Alice. Gardener," the woman replied. "Wasn't married. Had two children, a boy and girl. Used to go out about once a week and stay out all night. She'd come back the next morning and pay the rent in full, if anything was still owed. Leave the children at home, of course, to fend for themselves overnight. Over the last couple months she starting having visitors here instead. Or maybe it was just one. I stayed out of it; the less I know, the less the police can hold against me if something happens."
"Do you know anything about her visitors?" Lestrade asked without looking up from his writing. "Height? Age? Hair color? What kind of clothes they wore? Anything would help."
The woman shook her head. "Taller than you, but most men probably are, aren't they?" She cackled. Lestrade ignored the jab. "Always came after dark. She was always at the door to meet him, so I never let him in."
"And did you hear anything last night?" Lestrade wanted to know. "Anything you might have told yourself was just your imagination, or none of your business anyway?"
The landlady looked him over critically. "I heard all kinds of things last night. Nothing that will be of any help to you. Just the usual sounds."
"What about the children?"
"I didn't know they were in there with her, if that's what you're asking." The woman snapped. "I wouldn't leave even those monsters in that room with her like that. Even I'm not that heartless."
Lestrade frowned at his notebook. "What about family?" he asked. "Did Miss Gardener have any relatives that you know of? Someone who can take the children?"
The woman shook her head. "None that I know of," she told him. "That woman was all alone in this world, except for those two children and whatever visitors she had in the night."
Both children were waiting obediently-and quietly-for Lestrade when he returned, but only because Constable Mullins had threatened to tell the inspector that they hated eels and not to give them any if they didn't behave. He felt only a little guilty for threatening to take food from them; from what he had seen of the man so far he doubted Lestrade would go along with it.
"Eels?" the girl asked as soon as she saw him, grinning up at him as if they had known each other all their lives.
Lestrade smiled down at her. "Almost. I need to ask you some questions first." The smile disappeared. "Some serious questions."
The girl nodded, growing serious as well. "William didn't see nothing. He don't know nothing." She said fiercely, putting a protective arm around her brother.
"I understand." This time the man's smile was sad. "Did you see anything?"
The girl shook her head. "I heard her crying, though. She kept askin' him to stop. Said he was hurting her. I could hear him hittin' her. And he broke her necklace. The one he gave her. He said she was a liar. And a-a-" the girl swallowed. "I'm not supposed to say that word."
"It's all right, you know," Lestrade assured her, "if you're telling me what happened. It might help to find the person who did this."
The girl nodded. "He called her a whore," she said, nearly whispering the last word.
"Do you know who he was?" Lestrade asked her carefully. "Have you seen him before?"
The girl shook her head again. "We weren't allowed to see him. He didn't like us being around, so we had to leave when he was coming over. Once they was in the bedroom, though, we could stay in the front room until it was time for him to leave. It was always the same man, though. He sounded the same. Talked real fancy."
Lestrade finished writing in his notebook and looked up. "Thank you," he told her. "That does help. One more thing. Do you know if your mother had any family? Brothers, sisters, parents, maybe?"
"No, we don't got family." The girl told him. "Just mama." She sniffed, her eyes filling with tears. "Not even that, now."
Catching his sister's sudden change in mood, the little boy whimpered. Mullins fully expected the two to dissolve in tears within the next few minutes, if the inspector didn't do something soon.
Lestrade shifted uncomfortably and reached for his wallet again. "I did say something about eels, didn't I?" His soft inquiry was met with less than enthusiastic nods, but he sent the constable off again anyway.
"I'm sorry," he told the girl, tucking his hands into his pockets. After a long moment of indecision he continued. "I lost my mother when I was about William's age." The confession made the girl look up at him. "Lucky I had an older sister to look after me."
She straightened, and put an arm around her brother. For a moment they sat in silence as the child tried to regain her composure. When at last she seemed somewhat in control, Lestrade ventured a question.
"I know your brother's name is William, but what's yours?"
The girl attempted a wobbly smile as she replied, "Rose. Like the flower. Mama always says-said-that I was beautiful like a rose, but I could be prickly like one too." She thought for a moment. "You have a sister too? That used to look after you?" Lestrade nodded. "What's her name?"
"Kristina. She's still looking after me, if you ask her."
Mullens returned then, with the promised eels, and further talk was ignored in favor of paying attention to this second meal. The eels quickly disappeared into the mouths of the two hungry children.
Lestrade watched them silently, but the constable figured the man was weighing his options. He obviously couldn't leave the children to fend for themselves, and hardly seemed the type of person to so much as consider it anyway. He likely had gotten little help from the landlady in identifying any other family the two might go to. Experience suggested that the murdered woman had no family to go to anyway, if she had been here, living on her own with two children.
Orphanages, often overcrowded, were not much more appealing an option than the street itself. Disease often ran rampant in the places, food was scarce, and beatings were commonplace. The two children might not even be accepted by an orphanage-overcrowding also meant there might not be anywhere to put them.
Workhouses were little better. The work was grueling, frequently dangerous, and the food and shelter received in return could hardly be considered an equal trade. The workhouses were a last resort for most-many preferred to take their chances on the streets.
Mullens had no idea what the inspector planned on doing with the two children, but he did not envy the man his job. Neither the decision regarding what to do with the children nor finding the person responsible for the murder of this woman promised to be simple tasks