Square (scene of one of my greatest triumphs) and turned left onto the Strand. The noise along the street was deafening. The swells were out in abundance in swallowtail coats and top hats, ambling along with their walking sticks under their arms and smirking at the girls working the streets. An army of dippers and mutchers, men, women and children would be out tonight, relieving these rich fellows, the “square-rigged swells” they called them, of their money and their watches. The tricksters would be working the crowd, fleecing fellows with card tricks and games of skittles. The tipsters and bookmakers would be doing a roaring trade before the evening’s entertainment began in the alleys off the Strand
—
the dog matches, the prizefights with human contenders, and the ratting exhibitions. It’s not a world for the delicate flowers of society.
You may be wondering why I’d venture out alone into such a heathen place. In truth, I was at very little risk. I had my Bulldog revolver in the unlikely event that things went bad, but I wasn’t worried about sauntering along the pavement without a male companion. Certainly a single female would attract attention along the Strand, and when you’re as delicious as I am, you can expect a fair amount of attention from the male of the species at any time. But at this time of night, single women walking the Strand were common. The troopers and ladybirds would be working the lower class, and the toffers would be trolling for the nobs. With my sophistication and beauty, I’d be taken as an adventuress, a
demimondaine,
and the only thing I’d have to worry about was a drunken swell pawing me on the street while his friends egged him on. I was quite capable of handling that sort of situation. I’d been doing it all my life. The trick was to avoid trouble but still keep the fellow as a potential customer. There’s a technique to that, but I digress.
Near Adam Street I spotted a barefoot youngster with a shapeless cap and threadbare clothes. I stopped to have a word with him, whispering my instructions. When I dropped a few coins in his hand he accelerated away, bound for the rookeries that lay just a few blocks north. I’d spent quite enough time there during my idyll with the anarchists and I was thoroughly tired of the filth and foulness to be found in the Seven Dials area. I’d sent the boy to spread the word that I was looking for an old friend, describing Philip and using the name I’d known him by rather than “Peter Bradley.” I didn’t expect Philip to be staying in such a seamy part of the city, but the blocks teemed with cheats and card sharps, punishers and palmers
—
in short, with every type of criminal. The rookeries were cramped, squalid, dingy and tortuously narrow. The police preferred to stay well clear and leave them to the undesirables. Someone in the area would know Philip and I had no doubt that word would reach him that India Black sought his company.
But I had other stops to make that night, and so I ambled along to the Gaiety Theatre on Aldwych and had a chat with the manager of the Billiards Room there. Philip enjoyed a game now and then and the Gaiety’s hall had been a favourite of his. I dropped a discreet word in the ear of the maître ’d at the Gaiety’s restaurant, and to the barmen at its several saloons. Then it was back into the night air for a stroll to Romano’s, for Philip had been fond of dining there, and then on to Wiltons as Philip had always had a passion for their oysters and stout. I visited a few more restaurants and taverns along the Strand, and when I’d completed these rounds I traversed a dark and twisting alley to a door set well back into a brick wall, with a dimly lit lantern glowing feebly above it. I knocked and waited. A panel in the door slid open and light spilled into the alley. I heard an exclamation and the panel slammed shut, then the door opened and I was enveloped in an embrace.
“India Black! What the
—
the dog matches, the prizefights with human contenders, and the ratting exhibitions. It’s not a world for the delicate flowers of society.
You may be wondering why I’d venture out alone into such a heathen place. In truth, I was at very little risk. I had my Bulldog revolver in the unlikely event that things went bad, but I wasn’t worried about sauntering along the pavement without a male companion. Certainly a single female would attract attention along the Strand, and when you’re as delicious as I am, you can expect a fair amount of attention from the male of the species at any time. But at this time of night, single women walking the Strand were common. The troopers and ladybirds would be working the lower class, and the toffers would be trolling for the nobs. With my sophistication and beauty, I’d be taken as an adventuress, a
demimondaine,
and the only thing I’d have to worry about was a drunken swell pawing me on the street while his friends egged him on. I was quite capable of handling that sort of situation. I’d been doing it all my life. The trick was to avoid trouble but still keep the fellow as a potential customer. There’s a technique to that, but I digress.
Near Adam Street I spotted a barefoot youngster with a shapeless cap and threadbare clothes. I stopped to have a word with him, whispering my instructions. When I dropped a few coins in his hand he accelerated away, bound for the rookeries that lay just a few blocks north. I’d spent quite enough time there during my idyll with the anarchists and I was thoroughly tired of the filth and foulness to be found in the Seven Dials area. I’d sent the boy to spread the word that I was looking for an old friend, describing Philip and using the name I’d known him by rather than “Peter Bradley.” I didn’t expect Philip to be staying in such a seamy part of the city, but the blocks teemed with cheats and card sharps, punishers and palmers
—
in short, with every type of criminal. The rookeries were cramped, squalid, dingy and tortuously narrow. The police preferred to stay well clear and leave them to the undesirables. Someone in the area would know Philip and I had no doubt that word would reach him that India Black sought his company.
But I had other stops to make that night, and so I ambled along to the Gaiety Theatre on Aldwych and had a chat with the manager of the Billiards Room there. Philip enjoyed a game now and then and the Gaiety’s hall had been a favourite of his. I dropped a discreet word in the ear of the maître ’d at the Gaiety’s restaurant, and to the barmen at its several saloons. Then it was back into the night air for a stroll to Romano’s, for Philip had been fond of dining there, and then on to Wiltons as Philip had always had a passion for their oysters and stout. I visited a few more restaurants and taverns along the Strand, and when I’d completed these rounds I traversed a dark and twisting alley to a door set well back into a brick wall, with a dimly lit lantern glowing feebly above it. I knocked and waited. A panel in the door slid open and light spilled into the alley. I heard an exclamation and the panel slammed shut, then the door opened and I was enveloped in an embrace.
“India Black! What the
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