know ‘e’s been to see that Dr Mackenzie, the one what pegged it the other day, so it ‘as to be the same man or ‘is bruvver what is the same thing really as either way you’ll find ‘im out.’
Frances fetched the jam. ‘Describe this Mr Darscot.’
‘About thirty, dresses like a real good ‘un, pays well. Brown hair, nothing special about the phiz, I mean not ‘andsome and not ugly neither.’
‘And what does this Mr Darscot do for a living?’
Tom sniffed the toasted bun with an expression of sublime satisfaction and then applied himself to the process of buttering. ‘Oh, now if I was to ask a customer a question like that my business would disappear faster ‘n a rum-mizzler up Seven Dials.’
‘Really?’ said Frances, having no idea what such a creature might be, but appreciating that it must move very quickly about that notably unsavoury part of London.
‘But if I ‘ad to guess I would say Mr Darscot doesn’t do anythin’. At least not work-wise. ‘e is a gentleman what ‘as a lot of money. ‘e goes to ‘is club and to the races and to the theatre and such like, and is no trouble at all to anyone. But ‘e don’t actually work , because ‘e don’t need to. Sounds like a good sort of thing to fall into.’ He sighed and absentmindedly spooned jam into his mouth from the jar.
‘Do you know where he lives? I should like to speak to him.’
‘That I dunno, but I can take a message for you, to ‘is club. It’s the Piccadilly.’
‘He has a club on Piccadilly?’ said Frances in surprise. ‘He must be very well-connected.’
‘Naw – not on Piccadilly, they just call it that. It’s on Porchester Road and it’s for Bayswater gents what don’t want the bother of going up to town, or can’t run to the cost, or can’t get into the big clubs with all the lords and dukes and such like, so they call it the Piccadilly ‘cos it sounds good.’
‘Well, that’s not a long step for you, so I will compose a note and ask if the gentleman would care to call. I assume that it would not be possible for me to call on him at his club.’
‘I never get past the ‘all porter meself, and ladies of any type, if you know what I mean, not even the ones what are proper ladies, aren’t to be let in, ever.’
Frances went to her desk and wrote a note, then handed it to Tom with his remuneration. ‘If you could deliver it as soon as you can and bring me a reply.’
Tom gazed at the sixpence. ‘That’s two jobs. An’ the cost of the information.’
‘You’ll get another when you come back with the message.’
‘Right you are!’ said Tom. ‘You’re a real peach, Miss Doughty.’ He stuffed the last of the toasted bun in his mouth.
‘Are you still working for Mr Knight and Mr Taylor?’ asked Frances, who liked to know the extent of Tom’s expanding business interests.
Tom wiped his lips. ‘Oh yes, more’n ever! Mr Knight says I got promise!’ he added proudly as he made to leave. ‘‘e says that if I go on the way I am goin’ then when I am older I shall be a big captain of industry, whatever that is, but ‘e says I got to learn to speak English, which is a funny thing to say ‘cos I thought that was what I was speaking.’
He dashed away and soon afterwards Sarah returned in triumphant mood. Two young men seen spying on lady bathers had been duly delivered to the police station, in a bedraggled and submissive state, although not without some difficulty. They had resisted being apprehended by the policeman Sarah had reluctantly brought along on her mission, and who had suffered a black eye in the conflict. They then unwisely resisted being apprehended by Sarah, only to discover that a burly young woman brought up with eight battling East End brothers was hardly likely to be discomfited by two adolescent shopwalkers. Fresh from her victory, Sarah had gone to Somerset House in search of Biscobys, either the widow Maria, or her three children. She had been unable to find birth
Frances fetched the jam. ‘Describe this Mr Darscot.’
‘About thirty, dresses like a real good ‘un, pays well. Brown hair, nothing special about the phiz, I mean not ‘andsome and not ugly neither.’
‘And what does this Mr Darscot do for a living?’
Tom sniffed the toasted bun with an expression of sublime satisfaction and then applied himself to the process of buttering. ‘Oh, now if I was to ask a customer a question like that my business would disappear faster ‘n a rum-mizzler up Seven Dials.’
‘Really?’ said Frances, having no idea what such a creature might be, but appreciating that it must move very quickly about that notably unsavoury part of London.
‘But if I ‘ad to guess I would say Mr Darscot doesn’t do anythin’. At least not work-wise. ‘e is a gentleman what ‘as a lot of money. ‘e goes to ‘is club and to the races and to the theatre and such like, and is no trouble at all to anyone. But ‘e don’t actually work , because ‘e don’t need to. Sounds like a good sort of thing to fall into.’ He sighed and absentmindedly spooned jam into his mouth from the jar.
‘Do you know where he lives? I should like to speak to him.’
‘That I dunno, but I can take a message for you, to ‘is club. It’s the Piccadilly.’
‘He has a club on Piccadilly?’ said Frances in surprise. ‘He must be very well-connected.’
‘Naw – not on Piccadilly, they just call it that. It’s on Porchester Road and it’s for Bayswater gents what don’t want the bother of going up to town, or can’t run to the cost, or can’t get into the big clubs with all the lords and dukes and such like, so they call it the Piccadilly ‘cos it sounds good.’
‘Well, that’s not a long step for you, so I will compose a note and ask if the gentleman would care to call. I assume that it would not be possible for me to call on him at his club.’
‘I never get past the ‘all porter meself, and ladies of any type, if you know what I mean, not even the ones what are proper ladies, aren’t to be let in, ever.’
Frances went to her desk and wrote a note, then handed it to Tom with his remuneration. ‘If you could deliver it as soon as you can and bring me a reply.’
Tom gazed at the sixpence. ‘That’s two jobs. An’ the cost of the information.’
‘You’ll get another when you come back with the message.’
‘Right you are!’ said Tom. ‘You’re a real peach, Miss Doughty.’ He stuffed the last of the toasted bun in his mouth.
‘Are you still working for Mr Knight and Mr Taylor?’ asked Frances, who liked to know the extent of Tom’s expanding business interests.
Tom wiped his lips. ‘Oh yes, more’n ever! Mr Knight says I got promise!’ he added proudly as he made to leave. ‘‘e says that if I go on the way I am goin’ then when I am older I shall be a big captain of industry, whatever that is, but ‘e says I got to learn to speak English, which is a funny thing to say ‘cos I thought that was what I was speaking.’
He dashed away and soon afterwards Sarah returned in triumphant mood. Two young men seen spying on lady bathers had been duly delivered to the police station, in a bedraggled and submissive state, although not without some difficulty. They had resisted being apprehended by the policeman Sarah had reluctantly brought along on her mission, and who had suffered a black eye in the conflict. They then unwisely resisted being apprehended by Sarah, only to discover that a burly young woman brought up with eight battling East End brothers was hardly likely to be discomfited by two adolescent shopwalkers. Fresh from her victory, Sarah had gone to Somerset House in search of Biscobys, either the widow Maria, or her three children. She had been unable to find birth
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