Copyright
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Mick Finlay 2017
Mick Finlay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008203207
Version: 2018-01-22
Chapter One
South London, 1895
The very moment I walked in that morning I could see the guvnor was in one of his tempers. His face was livid, his eyes puffy, his hair, least what remained on that scarred knuckle of a head, stuck out over one ear and lay flat with grease on the other side. He was an ugly sight, all right. I lingered by the door in case he threw his kettle at me again. Even from there, I could smell the overnight stink of gin on his foul breath.
âSherlock blooming Holmes!â he bellowed, slamming his fist down on the side-table. âEverywhere I look, theyâre talking about that charlatan!â
âI see, sir,â I replied as meek as I could. My eyes tracked his hands as they swung this way and that, knowing that a cup, a pen, a piece of coal might quick as a flash get seized and hurled across the room at my head.
âIf we had his cases weâd be living in Belgravia, Barnett,â he declared, his face so red I thought it might burst. âWeâd have a permanent suite in the Savoy!â
He dropped to his chair as if suddenly tuckered out. On the table next to his arm, I spied what had caused his temper: The Strand magazine, open at the latest of Dr Watsonâs adventures. Fearing heâd notice me looking, I turned my attention to the fire.
âIâll put the tea on,â I said. âDo we have any appointments today?â
He nodded, gesturing in the air in a defeated manner. Heâd shut his eyes.
âA ladyâs coming at midday.â
âVery good, sir.â
He rubbed his temples.
âGet me some laudanum, Barnett. And hurry.â
I took a jug of scent from his shelf and sprayed his head. He moaned and waved me away, wincing as if I were lancing a boil.
âIâm ill,â he complained. âTell her Iâm indisposed. Tell her to come back tomorrow.â
âWilliam,â I said, clearing away the plates and newspapers scattered across his table. âWe havenât had a case for five weeks. I have rent to pay. Iâll have to go work on Sidneyâs cabs if I donât bring money home soon, and you know how I donât like horses.â
âYouâre weak, Barnett,â he groaned, slumping further in his chair.
âIâll clean the room, sir. And weâll see her at midday.â
He did not respond.
At twelve oâclock sharp, Albert knocked on the door.
âA lady to see you,â he said in his usual sorrowful fashion.
I followed him down the dark corridor to the pudding shop that fronted the guvnorâs rooms. Standing at the counter was a young woman in a bonnet and a billowing skirt. She had the complexion of a rich woman, but her cuffs were frayed and brown, and the beauty of her almond face was corrupted by a chipped front tooth. She smiled a quick, unhappy smile, then followed me through to the guvnorâs rooms.