I jumped as someone knocked on the office door. “Madam Kittredge,” a mellow, male voice called. “This is NSY. Open up if you please.”
I didn’t please, but the Yard could break down any door if they so chose, so I went out to let him in. Through the panel I saw one man, fair-haired and average-sized, dressed in a plainclothesman’s long trench and low-brim. Behind him hovered the darker shape of a beater in dark blue, holding his trunch as if ready to smash in the glass.
I opened the door. “Yes?” I wasn’t going to offer my assistance, not to the cops.
The inspector doffed his hat, revealing the tough, wind-weathered features and sun-faded blue eyes of a former navyman. “Forgive the intrusion, madam—”
“It’s miss,” I corrected him, frowning a little. I didn’t know any mariners, but his features still looked awfully familiar. “And you are?”
He inclined his head. “Inspector Thomas Doyle, Rumsen Main Station.”
Now there was a name I knew; one that made me smile. “Any relation to the Middleway Doyles?”
“My grandfather Arthur.” He frowned. “Hang on. Kittredge, Kittredge . . .” His expression cleared. “You’re Rachel’s little Charmian.”
“I am, just a bit bigger.” I made the last connection, although the inspector looked much different than he had at the age of five, when he’d lost to me at croke. “And you’d be Arthur’s Tommy?”
He nodded and peered over my shoulder, making me realize that I was making the grandson of one of my mother’s oldest friends stand out in the hall. I stepped back. “Do come in.”
Doyle had a quiet word with his beater, who nodded and positioned himself beside the door. Then he came in and followed me through the front sitting room to my office, where he refused to sit or have a cup of tea.
“I appreciate it, but I’ve come to speak to Mr. Kittredge,” he told me. “If he’s stepped out, I can wait for him.”
“You’ll need a teller, then.” I wanted to dunk my throbbing head in my tea mug but settled for sipping from it as I went behind the desk and sat down. “My father died with my mother some years ago.”
He grimaced. “My condolences. I meant the Mr. Kittredge who owns this business.”
“That would be me.” I didn’t chuckle at his reaction, but it was close. “Don’t look so shocked, Inspector. Women may never have the vote, but these days we are permitted to work. And you used to call me Kit.”
“So I did.” He looked around again, this time as if expecting the walls to collapse on him. “How, exactly, does a woman obtain an investigator’s license?”
“The usual way.” I wasn’t going to incriminate myself or the officials I’d bribed, or admit that for the first four years I’d been in business I’d been obliged to conduct my work without a proper license. “I’m about to have my dinner. Fancy some bisque?”
A few minutes later we were sipping mugs in front of my fire. Doyle’s tough face softened as he spoke of his parents and regaled me with some of the amusing adventures they’d had at their farm. As he did, I smiled and nodded while sorting through my memories until I recalled the last time I’d seen Tommy: a birthday tea we’d both attended when I was seven years old. Mum had dropped me off with Tom, promising to return for us both in a few hours.
When he reached a lull in his own conversation, I asked, “Do you remember the time we went to Deidre’s garden tea?”
Doyle nodded. “You didn’t like the mage.”
“He smelled of gin and had dandruff in his eyebrows.” I took his empty mug and mine over to my little washbasin. “Do you remember what happened with the old sot?”
“Deidre asked him to conjure her a blue rabbit.” He came over to watch me wash the crockery. “But he couldn’t.”
“Were you supposed to bring a rabbit?” my seven-year-old self asked the smelly old man as he kept drawing bigger circles in the air with his stick.
Big tears welled up in Deidre’s eyes, and she shrieked for her mother, who rushed over. “What’s the matter, darling?” As soon as the birthday gel told her, the mother turned to the old man. “Go on, then. Give her a rabbit.”
He straightened. “I’ve tried, madam, many times. It will not manifest.”
She propped her fists on her hips. “For the ten shillings I’m paying you, it had better manifest, and right this instant.”
“There must rowan or witchbane planted nearby.” The old man glanced around at the neat flower beds. “I fear I am powerless here.”
“You dodgy charlatan. If I wanted to be gypped, I’d have hired a Rom.” She pointed to the gate. “Piss off.”
“But ye’ve not paid me—” The old man stopped and yelped as the birthday gel bit his hand. “Bloody little savage!”
He swung his stick at her head, but I grabbed it before he could hit her.
“You’re a bad man,” I said, and broke the stick in two. “Go away.”
His eyes showed whites all the way around as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “It’s her,” he croaked. “She’s done it, she has.”
“Kit?”
I looked up at Doyle’s concerned face and realized for the first time just how much I liked it. “Sorry.” The last thing I needed was to go sweet on a cop. “Before Deidre’s mum threw out the old tosser, he called me something. Something nasty. Do you remember what it was?”
“I must have missed that part of the tea.” He smiled a little. “Why do you care what a drunken old bully said?”
“Because someone called me the same thing today.”
The inspector wasn’t looking me in the eye anymore.
“‘Elshy,’” I said. “And I still don’t know what it means. Do you?”
He shook his head.
Like all cops, Tommy Doyle knew how to lie. Most defenders of the truth usually did. I decided not to press the issue—for now. “So why have you come to call on Disenchanted & Company, Inspector?”
“I’m assigned to the Hill,” he said. “We received a report of a disturbance at Walsh’s Folly yesterday.”
“How terrible.” I meant his assignment, not the disturbance.
“A young woman imposed herself on one of the wealthier families.” He leaned against my wall. “Apparently she claimed some sort of connection and had to be ordered off the premises.”
“What cheek.” The butler had reported me, I guessed. Nolan had no cause, and Diana wouldn’t risk it. “I do hope you find her.”
“The lass in question called herself Kittredge.” His mouth stretched and curled. “Do you have a sister I don’t know about?”
“As far as I know, I’m the only female Kittredge in the city.” I peered down at the random notes I had scrawled on my blotter. “How odd. I called on Lady Diana Walsh yesterday, at her invitation. I had tea with her and her delightful family before I departed, and that is all. Perhaps there’s been some terrible misunderstanding.”
“Lady Walsh will verify your visit?” After my nod he demanded, “Did you go there to extort money from the lady?”
“Not at all.” What had that creaky old winge reported, that I was a blackmailer? “I make my money honestly, Inspector. Ask anyone.” I thought of Gert. “Except old witches. They’re not too fond of me.”
“You called on a family of means with whom you have no connection. You are unmarried, and you went alone. You know how that looks.” His blue eyes searched my face. “Who hired you, and why?”
“I am not employed by the Walshes or anyone on the Hill,” I said truthfully. “As for the ton’s rules of behavior, they do not include women who work for their living.” Now it was my turn to attack. “I didn’t think the Yard gave credence to servants’ gossip. So how does it work, Inspector? Do you run about chasing down every tittle-tattle you hear, or only the really juicy ones?”