The Web Weaver (25 page)

Holmes held his hat before him, the brim clutched in his filthy hands. “Most kind of you, ma’am. Bitter cold and damp ’tis.” He smiled; his blackened teeth truly appeared to be missing.

We stepped into the kitchen, which was gloriously warm and smelled like fresh bread. Two loaves sat on the table near the big black iron stove. I glanced at Holmes and repressed a shudder. “You do look terrible.”

He smiled. “So do you. Most plumbers are cleaner than we are, but all this filth distracts from the rest of our appearance.”

The maid soon returned with the mistress of the house. I was surprised. Holmes had been correct: I was expecting the Whore of Babylon—some voluptuous, painted creature in scanty garments. Miss Ladell resembled an ordinary woman of a respectable class, the wife of a well-to-do shopkeeper, banker, or merchant. She wore a plain blue muslin dress, and her blonde hair was braided and wound up at the back. She was pretty enough—fair skin tending toward rosiness; blue eyes and a small turned-up nose; a tiny mouth—but nowhere near so stunningly beautiful as Violet. Although not corpulent, her looks tended toward plumpness, her corseted waist rather thick. Her neck was short, full, and round; her jaw not well defined; her chin afloat on her fleshy white throat. She gave us a polite smile.

“So you wish to examine the water closet?”

“Yes, ma’am. Yer landlord thought we’d best ’ave a look. As I told yer good woman ’ere, what we want at all cost is to avoid a flood. I’ve seen deluges which would’ve frightened old Noah himself.”

Miss Ladell laughed at this witticism. “We surely do. Your coming
seems providential. I have had some difficulties but I hadn’t said anything to Doh—to the landlord.”

“Someone shorly did, ma’am.”

“Well, do come have a look. I do not want to suffer this deluge of yours.”

“Wise, ma’am—very wise.”

The maid’s brow was still wrinkled. “I can remain here until they are finished if...”

“No, no, Philomena—you must have your afternoon off. Baby Gerald will be waiting for you. These men, I am sure, know their profession and can be trusted.”

“Thank you, madam.” She smiled at her mistress, then regarded us suspiciously. “Mind you clean up after yourselves. If you leave a mess, I’ll be after you.”

Holmes gave her a reproachful look. “Ma’am, we’re no sloppy pigs like some inferior plumbers. Part of the job is gettin’ everything back spick and span.” He held up his arms and his filthy sleeves. “We may get a bit on ourselves, but none gets left behind when we be done. Clean enough to eat off’uv, it’ll be, the tile all a-sparklin’.”

The maid nodded. “Make sure it is. Good afternoon.”

“Goodbye, Philomena. The water closet is this way, Mister...?”

“Brownstone, ma’am. And this is my assoshut, Mr. Blackdrop.”

I was holding my hat and bowed my head. “My pleasure, madam.”

She gave me a curious look, and as she was not watching Holmes, he frowned and shook his head at me.

“Uh, nice place you ’ave ’ere, mum,” I said.

“Thank you, Mr. Blackdrop.” She led us out of the kitchen.

As I followed, I noticed that she smelled faintly of lavender. Two small black dogs rushed us, barking loudly, Scottish terriers by the look of them. Their two-foot long bodies were supported by six-inch legs;
their fur shaggy; their pointed ears standing upright.

Miss Ladell clapped her hands firmly. “No! Down, Blackie! Down, Reggy!”

One of the little beasts had his paws up on my leg, but at the command from their mistress, they both retreated.

The furniture in the sitting room was solid and well built, if not terribly expensive, and the carpet and drapes were of similar quality. However, every surface was covered with some bric-a-brac or knickknack: tiny glazed figurines of cheerful peasant lads and lasses (many I recognized as German); ornate china plates with patterns or paintings on them, all propped upright on holders, the place of honor going to Queen Victoria, whose dour visage showed alongside the number fifty. On the wall were the mass-produced productions of paintings and etchings which had become generally available: line drawings of trite London scenes; various languishing, voluptuous maidens who owed much to the pre-Raphaelites; and of course, a sweet, bare foot girl of about four, blonde and blue-eyed, with her faithful collie. Adding further to the clutter were the doilies and lacework covering all the furniture.

As Holmes and I glanced about, Miss Ladell smiled, glad to have all her treasures admired. Holmes stopped before the plate of Queen Victoria. “A good likeness of ’er majesty there.” He took another step and glanced down at the cloth covering the round oak table. “But yer lacework is very fine, ma’am, very fine. So many doilies.”

“Thank you, but how did you know it was my work?”

Holmes hesitated only a second. “Well, ma’am, I’m not Sherlock ’Omes.” He gave a hearty laugh. “But I noticed the callous on yer finger. My wife does a good bit o’ crocheting, and she ’as the very same callous. But what really gave you away was yer needles and yer work over there by the chair.”

Miss Ladell laughed, the sound good-natured and lacking the artifice of many ladies. “Of course.” She glanced down at her fingers. “There are those who think callouses are dreadful.”

“But you know better, ma’am, I can tell.”

She had a rather charming smile, which her rosy complexion and plumpness augmented. “I was not raised for idleness, Mr. Brownstone. I truly believe an idle mind is the devil’s workshop. My knitting and crocheting keep me busy, and... I even make a few shillings selling my things.”

Holmes nodded. “I can see ’ow. Fine work, ’tis. Very delicate, like. The missus’s ain’t half so fine, but never tell her so!”

Miss Ladell laughed again. “The water closet is here.”

Holmes opened the door, and then let out a long loud whistle. “Wot a beauty, ma’am!” It was an impressive fixture, all dark oak, shining brass, and gleaming white porcelain. Holmes gave the brass chain a pull, and it flushed with a vigorous swirl of water. He scowled horribly. “Don’t much care for the sound of that.”

Miss Ladell stared at him. “Is it broken?”

“Not yet, but the water don’t sound right. Well, we’ll ’ave ’er good as new in a few minutes. Best to run the snake through ’er, unclog everything down below.”

“I’ll leave you to your work,” said Miss Ladell.

I opened the toolbox. Holmes took out what appeared to be an enormous coil of metal rope, with a nasty-looking spiral of wire at the very end. “You are not really going to use this thing?” I whispered.

“We must earn our keep, Henry.” He began to work the snake around the curve of the bowl and down the hidden drain. “This skill may prove useful to you some day if you cannot find a plumber.”

I spent the next half-hour watching the snake unfurl itself into the depths, shake itself as he attempted to dislodge some obstruction, then
slowly wind its way back up. The business was not too unpleasant until the snake re-emerged, soiling the water with black slime. The curled wire actually had some disgusting gook wadded upon it, the stench unbearable.

“I think we may have actually saved her from some trouble,” Holmes said. He wadded the thing up in a rag, stuffing it and the snake back in the toolbox. He used another rag to clean up.

We stepped back into the sitting room, and I allowed myself the pleasure of again breathing through my nose. Holmes smiled proudly. “Good as new, ma’am. You needn’t fear no deluge no more.”

Miss Ladell set down her crochet needles and rose. “Thank you very much, Mr. Brownstone.” She hesitated for a moment. “Would you care for a cup of tea in the kitchen before you leave?’

Holmes nodded. “Shorly, ma’am. That’s most kind of you.”

We started for the kitchen. The two terriers were seated together on a chair, but abruptly they leaped down and barked. Miss Ladell clapped her hands again. “
No
—stay, Blackie. Stay, Reggy.” Reluctantly the dogs halted and watched us. “They are good dogs, but uncomfortable with strangers in the house.” She closed the door behind us, then gestured at the table with her dainty white hand. “Please sit down.”

The big black iron stove radiated heat, and the kitchen was much warmer than the rest of the house. Humming softy, Miss Ladell opened a canister, then put tea into one half of the tea ball and screwed on the top. She poured hot water from the kettle into a blue-and-white china pot.

“We must let it steep. Would you care for a biscuit?”

Holmes shook his head, but I realized I was hungry. “Yes, please, mum,” I said.

Holmes glanced about the kitchen. The walls were painted yellow, lace curtains hung alongside the windows, the room clean and bright.

“Nice cheerful place y’ave ’ere, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brownstone. I am very proud of my little house.”

“I’d wager you’d not trade it fer the biggest mansion in all of London town.”

She gave her head an enthusiastic nod. “You would win your bet. I do not want some enormous house with servants underfoot. Philomena, Blackie, Reggy, and I get along perfectly here.”

“And what about yer mister?” Holmes asked innocently.

Miss Ladell was so fair than any hint of a flush showed immediately; her face went quite pink. “I am not married, Mr. Brownstone.”

Holmes appeared utterly surprised. “No?”

“No. This house is... My uncle was quite well-to-do and left me a bit of money when he died.”

“Ah.” Holmes nodded. “Fortunate for you, but I’m surprised some gent ’asn’t snatched you up, so to speak, a fine young lady like yerself.”

She gave a weak shrug. “There is a gentleman I see occasionally.”

“Well, what’s the matter with the bloke that ’e ain’t married you at once?”

The flush deepened, and she shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know.” She took the pot and began to pour the tea.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, ma’am. Fergive me if I’ve been rude.”

She set down a blue-and-white cup of tea on a matching saucer before Holmes. “Not at all, Mr. Brownstone. You are very kind. Do you take sugar?” He shook his head. “And you, Mr. Blackdrop?”

“One lump.”

Holmes drank his tea, slurping loudly. I frowned at him, but Miss Ladell hardly seemed to notice. “Fine tea, ma’am. Won’t you join us?”

She hesitated, and then smiled. “Certainly.”

She poured another cup of tea and dropped in three cubes of sugar. Holmes and I slid our chairs to the side, leaving more room for her. She took two digestive biscuits from a tin, then sat down and handed me one.

“Here’s your biscuit, Mr. Blackdrop. I nearly forgot.”

She sipped politely at her tea, ignoring the dreadful slurping Holmes made as he drank. He set down his cup. “I’ll bet a lady like yerself could run yer own shop, all full of lace and doilies and fine things.”

She stared incredulously at him. “You’re a wonder, Mr. Brownstone. I have always wanted to have my own shop. My father is a shopkeeper.”

“A fine trade fer a lady. Perhaps yer gentleman will marry you and set you up in such a shop.”

She shook her head. “I think not. He does not approve of ladies in trade.”

Holmes frowned. “The kind who wants to put you on a pedestal and ’ave you sit about being beautiful and queenly all the day long.”

Again she stared at him. “Exactly so. He cannot understand all my handiwork. He thinks—he thinks I should be content to do nothing, grateful for the opportunity.”

“A peculiar notion, ma’am. I’m shore he wouldn’t wish to sit about all day. Of course, I could use a bit of idleness now and then, but not fer day after day.”

She stared off into space. “All the same, I do believe he is fond of me.”

“I’m sure he must be.” Holmes said this so sincerely that she smiled.

“You are a philosopher, I can tell, Mr. Brownstone.”

“Not me, ma’am. I’m only an ’umble plumber who sees wot he sees. I visits the rich all the time, and while I could do fer a bit of their quid, I’d not trade places with them. Why just last week I ’ad to clean out a drain at young Mr. Wheelwright’s mansion—not the old man, the one on the meat tins, but ’is son. Now ’is wife didn’t seem nowhere near as satisfied with ’er lot as you.”

Miss Ladell snapped a piece of biscuit off with her teeth. “What... what was the lady like? I have heard of her—because of her charitable works.”

“Oh, nice enough fer a lady, but ’ardly so friendly as you. She’d never ’ave tea with a couple of plumbers!” He laughed.

Miss Ladell’s smile was forced. “Is she—is she not rather cold?”

Holmes frowned, his brow furrowing below the jagged edge of the red wig. “Maybe a bit. Of course, we ’ardly saw ’er. Our dealins was with the ’ousekeeper.”

“And was she very beautiful?”

“No, she ’ad a face like a dried prune.” Both Miss Ladell and I stared incredulously at him. He grinned, the corners of his mouth lost beneath the mustache. “Oh, you mean the missus—not the ’ousekeeper. She was a fairly fine specimen of a woman, but not enough flesh on ’er fer my taste. Too bony. As I say, I like a bit of flesh on a woman.”

Miss Ladell’s smile was genuine now. “I’d not trade places with her.” Up until then, I had been favorably impressed with her, but I did not care for the smugness in her voice.

Holmes set down his cup. “Well, we’ve loitered about long enough. There’s other drains to conquer. Drink up, Blackdrop, and let’s be off.”

We all rose, and she followed us to the door. Holmes had his hat in one hand, a congenial smile on his face. Abruptly he frowned and pointed at the wall beside Miss Ladell. “There’s an ugly brute of a spider, ma’am. If you...”

Her eyes widened. She strode quickly around behind us, then seized Holmes’ grimy arm. “Oh, please kill it—please do!” She would not look at the wall.

“I think it’s gone behind that picture of the little girl.”

“Oh, please kill it—Mr. Brownstone—please. I cannot bear a spider!
Please
.”

“Very well, ma’am. My missus ’ates ’em too.” He withdrew a dirty handkerchief from his pocket, then raised the picture frame and proceeded to catch the nonexistent spider. “Got ’im!”

She raised her eyes, sighed, and put her small white hand over her bosom. “That’s the second service you’ve done me today, Mr. Brownstone. Thank you, oh so very much.”