The Button Box, page 22
‘If he’s anything like his mother, heaven help Gertie.’ Clara tucked her dark locks into a snood and secured it with hairpins. ‘There, I only have to put on my boots and I’m ready.’
‘Well done,’ Sabine said, smiling. ‘Maybe Paul will have some news for you by this evening.’
After closing time, Clara and Sabine walked to the café in rue Saint-Roch where they found Paul seated at a table with a glass of wine in front of him. His broad grin gave Clara hope as she went to join him. ‘Have you any news for me?’
Sabine followed more slowly and Paul rose to his feet, pulling out a chair for each of them. He waited until they were settled. ‘What would you like to drink, ladies?’
Clara reached across the table to grasp his hand. ‘Never mind that for a moment. I can tell by your expression that you know something. Tell me, please.’
Chapter Sixteen
Paul caught the attention of a waiter and ordered more wine. ‘The vin ordinaire is passable,’ he said when the man was out of earshot.
Sabine nudged him in the ribs. ‘Don’t tease us, Paul. What have you discovered?’
He leaned across the table, lowering his voice. ‘The son of that person we met yesterday is on the run from the police.’
‘That’s no surprise.’ Clara could have cried with disappointment. ‘He’s part of his mother’s gang.’
‘It might surprise you to know that they confined their criminal activities to London. Neither of them was wanted here until a couple of days ago, when Dagobert Duclos, or Bert Bragg, as you know him better, lost his temper and half killed a man. Apparently he’d been hiding out in an atelier in Montmartre, and someone tipped off the police, but he’d left by the time they got there.’
‘How does that help us?’ Sabine asked anxiously. ‘It’s not fair to raise Clara’s hopes only to dash them again.’
‘The landlord told me that Monsieur Duclos had left in a hurry, owing him money, and he had a woman with him. The man remembered her particularly because she had seemed to be ill, and had to be helped into the fiacre. He hadn’t seen her before, and neither had the people in the rooms below, nor in the shop on the ground floor.’
‘Do you think it was Gertie?’ Clara could hardly form the words. ‘Did he give you a description?’
‘Was she dark or fair, Paul?’ Sabine added eagerly. ‘Was she young or old?’
‘He couldn’t tell me what she looked like because she was wrapped in a cloak and her face was covered, but Duclos has a reputation with women, so the landlord said, and he was well known in the local bars.’
Clara stared at him in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, Paul, but I don’t see how this helps. It might not have been Gertie.’
‘There is one way to find out. We need to go there and take a look at the room. I’m well in with the landlord, so there won’t be a problem.’ Paul drank the last of his wine and set the glass down on the table. ‘What do you say?’
‘Yes, of course. We must do that,’ Clara said eagerly.
‘But we have to be back in our room at Automne by half-past ten.’ Sabine glanced at the clock behind the bar. ‘That doesn’t give us long, Paul.’
He rose to his feet. ‘Long enough, I’d say. I’ll go and find a fiacre. We’ll be there in no time at all.’
Clara downed her wine in one gulp. ‘It’s worth a try.’
The narrow streets of Montmartre were crowded with people out for a good time, as well as those who used the darkness to cover their less respectable professions. Gaslight created a theatrical atmosphere where anything and everything seemed possible. Revellers sat at tables outside bars and cafés, enjoying their free time, while pickpockets and prostitutes lurked in the shadows.
Oblivious to all this, Clara stood on the cobblestones outside the bar where the cab had dropped them. It was the first time she had been to this part of Paris, and had the circumstances been different she would have been enchanted by the exotic ambience, but growing up in Seven Dials had made her wary of the night people, and she moved a little closer to Paul, who was talking to the owner of the street café.
Sabine reached out to hold her hand. ‘It’s not the sort of place I would come to on my own, at least not at night.’
‘Nor I,’ Clara glanced at the crowded tables. Some of the clientele were obviously wealthy Parisians, enjoying themselves, while others less prosperous might be artists or artisans eager to forget the hardships of daily life. Smoke from pipes and cigars rose in fragrant clouds to dissipate in the darkness above the rooftops, and a ragged girl was singing to the accompaniment of a youth playing a fiddle. Clara felt a lump in her throat as she remembered how Nathaniel had once had to supplement his income by busking on the chilly streets of London. The gold signet ring was a constant reminder of their friendship, and although she intended to return it to him one day, she knew that parting with it would make her sad. At least she had helped him to fulfil one of the conditions set down in his father’s will, even if their engagement had been a sham. In a few months’ time he would reach the age when he could legally inherit his late father’s estate, and then she would return the ring. She jumped at the sound of Sabine’s voice.
‘Paul is beckoning to us,’ Sabine said, tugging at Clara’s sleeve. ‘We can go in. Let’s hope we find something.’
‘Lead on. I’m right behind you.’ Clara and Sabine entered the dimly lit café. The air was filled with the aroma of cooking, and steam from the kitchen enveloped them in a damp cloud. They edged their way between the packed tables, following the light of Paul’s candle as it seemed to float up the narrow staircase like a will-o’-the-wisp.
The atelier was little more than a large attic with one dormer window overlooking the street, and a smaller window in the roof. In the flickering candlelight it was quite obvious that the last tenant had made a hasty departure. Clothes and shoes had been strewn about on the unmade bed, and the remains of a meal had been abandoned on the table. Wine had dripped from a bottle that lay on its side, pooling on the dusty floorboards that were already stained with paint. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine lingered in the musty air, as if the artist’s spirit remained in the studio where he had once lived and worked.
Clara began sifting through the discarded garments. ‘Bring the candle over here, Paul,’ she cried excitedly. ‘I think I recognise this scarf.’ She examined the delicate silk. ‘I’m certain this was from the stock I had in Drury Lane. I remember giving it to Gertie saying that it suited her colouring.’ She turned to Sabine, who was peering over Paul’s shoulder. ‘Gertie is dark-haired like you and me, and she has the most beautiful brown eyes.’
‘It’s just a scarf,’ Paul said dismissively. ‘There must be many more like this.’
Sabine began sifting through the items. ‘Ugh,’ she said, tossing a woollen sock onto the floor. ‘Whoever wore this had smelly feet.’
Paul picked up a shoe. ‘What about this, Clara? Does this look familiar?’
Clara examined it carefully. ‘It could be Gertie’s, but I’m not sure.’
‘Keep looking,’ Paul said, dropping the shoe. ‘I’ll see if I can find another candle. We need more light.’
‘I need to take another look at the shoe, or if I can find the other one it might help.’ She went down on her hands and knees and was feeling about under the bed when her fingers touched something small, round and familiar. Clutching it, she scrambled to her feet. ‘Just a minute, Paul. Bring the light here.’ She opened her hand and lying on her palm was a fabric-covered button. ‘This came off Gertie’s bodice.’
‘It’s just a button,’ Sabine said doubtfully. ‘It could have come off any dress that colour.’
‘That’s true, but it’s the thread that makes me so sure. I couldn’t match the colour exactly, and there’s a scrap of the cotton still attached. I’d swear that this came from the gown that Gertie was wearing.’
‘Here’s the other shoe.’ Paul bent down to retrieve the battered item of footwear. ‘Badly worn, just like its partner.’
‘They were too small for her.’ Clara tucked the button into her reticule. ‘We couldn’t afford to buy a new pair. Now I’m certain she was here and that means she’s with Bert Bragg, or whatever he likes to call himself.’
Paul nodded. ‘The landlord said that a Monsieur Duclos rented the room, but he didn’t know anything more about him.’
Clara’s hopes were dashed. ‘We’ve missed them. I can’t believe it.’
‘What do we do now?’ Sabine slipped her arm around Clara’s shoulders. ‘We were so close, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? They can’t have gone far.’ She turned an eager face to Paul. ‘If this was a case you were reporting, what would you do now?’
‘I’d go back to the office and have a strong cup of coffee.’
‘I’m serious, Paul.’ Sabine gave Clara an encouraging hug. ‘Don’t take any notice of him. He thinks he’s being funny.’
‘There isn’t much we can do,’ Clara said sadly. ‘He isn’t likely to have taken Gertie to his mother’s house. I don’t think Patches would be interested, unless there was a large ransom to be had for Gertie’s return.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘What is it?’ Paul demanded. ‘Why are you looking like that, Clara?’
‘You’re shaking,’ Sabine added. ‘Are you feeling faint? You’d best sit down.’ She pressed Clara down onto the bed. ‘This is all your fault, Paul. You shouldn’t have made a joke of it.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Clara said dazedly. ‘I think I know why Bert has been keeping Gertie a prisoner.’
‘You don’t know that she was held against her will.’ Paul eyed her warily. ‘She has quite a reputation here in Paris.’
‘That’s probably true, but Bert would know that Gertie’s sister is a wealthy woman. I have a feeling that he is going to demand a ransom.’
‘That’s supposition.’ Paul did not look convinced.
‘Clara could be right,’ Sabine said thoughtfully. ‘This isn’t the sort of place a man would bring someone he wanted to seduce.’ She glanced round, shuddering. ‘It’s not exactly romantic.’
Clara sprang to her feet. ‘This might be suitable for the sort of women that Bert normally consorts with, but it wouldn’t impress someone like Gertie. For all her wild ways, she was brought up to be a lady.’
‘I’m not sure that helps,’ Sabine said wistfully. ‘London is a long way from here. How will you know if her sister has received a ransom note?’
‘It will take days for a letter to reach Lady Quinn.’ Clara sat down again, suddenly deflated. ‘I think Gertie is in real danger.’
‘You’re forgetting the electrical telegraph system,’ Paul said cheerfully. ‘We can send a telegram to Gertie’s sister and receive a reply within hours.’
‘I’m not sure that Lady Quinn will help.’ Clara had a sudden vision of the eccentric person commanding her small empire from the comfort of her mansion, and she was not convinced. ‘The sisters aren’t on speaking terms, and her ladyship is a difficult woman.’
Paul opened the door. ‘Maybe the threat of a scandal will change all that.’
‘Maybe,’ Clara said doubtfully. ‘But we don’t know for certain that Gertie was taken by force. We only have what the landlord said, and there could be all manner of explanations for the state of the woman who was with Bert.’
Sabine nodded. ‘I agree with Clara. We should be careful not to jump to conclusions, Paul.’
Clara sighed, shaking her head. ‘But that still leaves me not knowing what’s happened to Gertie.’
‘You’ll find her.’ Sabine patted Clara on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘But I can’t stay in Paris much longer, Sabine. I have to get home as soon as I’ve saved enough money for my fare. My sisters will be struggling without me there to help them.’
‘I’ll ask my colleagues if they know anything about Duclos,’ Paul said firmly. ‘His name appears regularly in the society columns.’
‘I’d be so grateful.’ Clara managed a smile as she left the room. The darkness of the narrow staircase wrapped itself around her, blotting out everything but the need to escape into the fresh air. She reached the ground floor and stumbled out into the cool of the night, and suddenly everything became clear. This was her problem and she could not ask any more favours from Paul and Sabine. There was only one person who could help her now.
It had been easy to convince Paquet that she was too ill to work, even though it meant losing several hours’ pay. Clara knew she was not looking her best as she made her way on foot to rue de Rivoli, but she was desperate.
Madame Tasse grunted something unintelligible and turned her back on Clara, leaving her to make her way to the apartment, and the maid was less than enthusiastic when she answered Clara’s knock on the door.
‘Monsieur Foyle,’ Clara said loudly. She glanced over the girl’s shoulder, and raised her voice. ‘Luke, are you there?’
He emerged from the drawing room, barking a command to the maid, who stood aside holding the door open. Clara took a deep breath. She had come this far and there was no turning back. Luke ushered her into the room, closing the door behind them.
‘Well, this is a surprise. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.’
‘I don’t, at least not in the way you mean.’ Clara faced him with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She must not show any signs of weakness or she would be lost. Luke had a way of making her forget everything other than the force of his personality.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’ He assumed the air of a genial host, smiling benevolently although there was a wary look in his eyes. ‘You must have a good reason for coming here today, Clara.’
She remained standing. ‘Do you know where I can contact Bert Bragg?’
‘No, I don’t, and that’s the truth. He doesn’t come here very often.’
‘But he must have an address in Paris. Could you ask his mother for me?’
‘Why would I put you in touch with an evil person like Bert? You might have a poor opinion of me, Clara, but I still care about you.’
‘And I like you, Luke – it’s just your way of life I can’t stand, and you chose that over me. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.’
‘That’s a comforting thought. I’ll remember that when I’m about to swing from the gallows.’
‘Don’t say things like that.’
‘If I was the villain you think I am that is what would happen to me if I returned to London. I admit that I was aware that the Skinner brothers were in imminent danger, but there was nothing I could do about it. In any case, they were vicious men and they’d murdered scores of people – some of them innocent, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Then why did you associate with them, Luke? Why didn’t you try to get honest work?’ Despite her misgivings, Clara wanted to believe the best of him. The old, familiar tug of attraction was still there, no matter how she fought against it.
‘There you have me, my love. I like the things that money can buy, and I didn’t see any other way of achieving my ends.’
‘At least you admit your faults,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but that doesn’t mean to say I agree with what you do or the way you live. Coming here today wasn’t easy, but I need your help. I have to find Gertie and I want to go home. I must return to London because I’ve left the girls on their own. Heaven knows how they’ve been getting on in my absence.’
‘So you’ve come to ask me for money.’ It was more a statement of fact than a question. Luke went to stand by the window, staring down at the street below. ‘How much do you need?’
A wave of relief washed over Clara, bringing her close to tears. ‘Just enough to get me to London. I’ll pay you back as soon as the store is making a profit.’
‘Don’t worry about that. You were fond of me once; maybe I can redeem myself in your eyes with another generous gesture.’
‘I’d rather not be beholden to you, but I am very grateful, Luke.’
‘When do you want to travel? I’ll take you as far as Calais, but from there onward you’re on your own.’
‘After what I’ve been through travelling alone won’t trouble me at all. I just wish I could find Gertie, or at least speak to Bert.’
‘Forget him, Clara. Keep well away from Bragg.’ Luke glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but Patches will be back any moment now and it’s probably best if she doesn’t see you here.’
‘Why? I haven’t done her any wrong.’
‘You’re young and pretty and she knows that I’m fond of you. Patches may be past her prime but she’s a jealous woman. She doesn’t encourage fol-lowers, if you get my meaning.’
Clara stared at him in astonishment. ‘You and she? No, surely not?’
‘Not on my part, but Patches likes to think of herself as being desirable. I flatter her and entertain her, but not in the way you’re thinking.’
‘I didn’t imagine so, not for a moment.’
Luke threw back his head and laughed. ‘Then why are you blushing? I can assure you that there is nothing untoward between Patches and myself. She thinks she has a chance with me, but as far as I’m concerned there is only one woman for me, and you know who that is.’
‘I have to go, Luke. I need to get back to the store and explain things to Paquet and to Sabine, who has been so kind to me.’
‘If you’re ready to leave tomorrow morning I’ll come for you at seven.’
Clara had intended to return to the store, but she was close to the Conservatoire and she could not leave Paris without one last attempt to contact Nathaniel. If, on his return to London, he discovered that she had been in Paris and had not done her very best to see him, he would never forgive her, and she valued his friendship too much to allow that to happen. Nathaniel had allowed her to accept his aunt’s bequest without contesting the will – but for his generosity she and her sisters would have been homeless. It was a debt she could never repay.
