Chapter 11

The rideacross London to Mr. Brimley's shop took considerable time as it was after the noon hour and the streets were filled with trams, cabs, delivery vans, and all sorts of carts.

I thought of each of them replaced by a motor carriage of some sort and the prospect was daunting, with steam filling the air along with smoke from the coal fires of winter. Add to that the industrial smoke from the outer parts of the city.

The street traffic changed noticeably as we turned off the main thoroughfare and into the district very near the Strand, were Mr. Brimley had his shop. I asked our driver to wait as he pulled to the kerb outside the chemist's shop.

The hound was the first to exit and bounded off down the street. This was a familiar area for him, with exciting places to explore, no doubt. Lily followed me into the shop where we were greeted by his assistant.

"Good day, Miss Forsythe. If you're wantin' to see Mr. Brimley, he's in back." She made a face. "He has a body back there wot the hospital sent over last night. He's been at it ever since. Reminds me of that story I heard about a body being used to create a monster that went about terrifying people."

Ah, the novel Frankenstein, written by Mary Shelley. I hadn't made that comparison in the past. Most certainly Mr. Brimley didn't resemble in the slightest the scientist who created the monster in the novel.

Studying eyeballs and hands was one thing, however, an entire body? I suppose there was a great deal to learn, so long as the ‘body' didn't come off the table and start terrorizing all of London.

I continued to the back of the shop which had a long counter against one wall with microscopes. His photo-imaging machine and all sorts of tools of the trade for a chemist, including pill-making machines, were there as well. Shelves behind were lined with jars of powders and other medicines that included laudanum, morphine, and opium.

In the past, I had found Mr. Brimley to be most knowledgeable in all things related to injuries and medicines. And more than once he had come to my personal aid with surgical skills that were most useful at the time. Bullets could be nasty business, as I had learned in our first inquiry case.

In the time since, he had provided assistance on more than one occasion. Brodie had known him for several years and had helped him with a situation in the past that I was not familiar with, only that it had created a deep bond of friendship in that way of those who go through things together.

As for his medical skills, Mr. Brimley had attended King's College, but left short of receiving his certificate, for reasons that weren't explained. As a result, he set up his shop in one of the poorer areas of London, providing care to those who often could not afford it and might have died if not for his skills in medicine.

He looked up as I entered the back of the shop and came face-to-face with the man in full-length apron with rubber gloves, enormous glasses, and a headband with a cord attached, a light gleaming from his forehead.

Then I caught a glimpse of the ‘patient' laid out before him. He was obviously quite dead, with a greyish pallor, and his chest cavity gaping open.

Mr. Brimley blinked, his eyes enormous behind thick lenses. "Miss Forsythe. A pleasant surprise."

I could not say the same for the corpse.

"A new specimen?" I commented. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"A project that I've undertaken to better understand the human body with the hope that I might be able to better serve people here in the East End," he explained as he laid aside what appeared to be a surgical instrument, then removed the head lamp. He stripped off thick rubber gloves.

"I do have only a short amount of time to make my observations..." he added, "before the body begins to decay. The poor man was found outside a tavern. My guess would be heart failure, but as the man had no known family…" He gestured to the table. "Tell me, what brings you here? Not a personal injury or malady, I hope."

"I do need your expertise in the matter of a case I am assisting Brodie with."

"Hmmm. Yes." he replied.

I wasn't certain what that was supposed to mean, but I dismissed it as Brimley being distracted with his latest ‘project.'

"I have brought an item that I would like you to look at. It may be able to provide a clue." I glanced at the body. "I don't wish to disturb you." Body decay and all that, I thought.

"No, no, quite all right. I just need to pack the body."

Pack? I thought of packing one's travel bag or...

Mr. Brimley then pulled several leather pouches from a nearby bucket and placed them inside and about the body cavity.

"They're filled with ice," he explained. "I don't have a cold box for storage. I have to improvise."

Indeed.

"How may I assist you?" he asked as he pulled a sheet up over the ‘project.'

From my bag I removed the small glass tumbler that I'd found at Ellie Sutton's flat at Charing Cross.

"I need to know what you can tell me about this, if there are fingerprints." I had wrapped it in a handkerchief before leaving Sussex Square, to preserve any marks.

"Hmmm," he commented again. "Part of a new inquiry case that you're pursuing?"

"A young woman who was murdered," I replied. "It's most complicated."

"Let us see what we can see," he said then as he went to the long counter.

He set the tumbler on the counter and then retrieved a container of gun powder. I had learned in the past it could be used as quite an ingenious method of detecting, since the gun powder that would stick to anything that contained an oily substance...such as a person's fingerprints.

He brushed off the excess gunpowder then held the glass up to the overhead light.

"There appear to be two prints, both somewhat large," he announced, as I went to the counter to observe that he had discovered.

He took the tumbler now smudged with gun powder and carefully pressed a piece of tissue paper against the powdered glass.

"Now let us see what these prints tell us under the microscope." He then laid the tissue paper with those marks on the glass and turned on the electric light attached to the microscope.

"I would say most definitely a man's fingerprints," he said, looking through the eyepiece. "The curve at the edge of the thumb and the second finger." He stood back and I stepped up to the microscope.

The print of the thumb was obvious. It was the print of the second finger that he'd retrieved from the glass tumbler that revealed something most interesting. There was a clear line that extended from the tip of the finger to the joint.

"A scar?"

"So it would seem," Mr. Brimley replied.

And very definitely a man's hand had held the glass. "Might I keep the paper?" I asked, not certain at the moment what that might be able to tell me.

"What can you tell me about any residue inside the glass?" I then asked.

He held the glass up to the overhead light. "There is a bit of stain dried at the bottom of the tumbler." He set it on the counter and went to a floor cabinet much like a physician's, then took out a large glass jar.

"Water purified with a ceramic and carbon filter," he explained. "The water one finds around the city is filled with all sorts of filthy elements." He returned with the jar and poured a small portion of the purified water into the tumbler and slowly swirled it about.

"Hmmm," he made that sound again as he smelled the water in the tumbler. "Chloroform smells a great deal like ether, and cyanide has a distinct almond smell. I don't find either. My guess from what I do smell would be brandy."

Brandy, and a man's fingerprints.

As if Ellie Sutton might have been entertaining someone?

Brodie had been insistent that she kept to herself. And she was terrified that night when she called him. Then, only a short time later, she was dead.

Or?

My next thought was ridiculous in the extreme, and quite chilling.

Was it possible that the murderer sat at the table in her flat and poured himself a drink afterward? To steady himself after such a horrific deed? Or was it something else? I shuddered at the thought.

"There is something else that I would have you look at," I told him. I retrieved the toy locomotive and set it on the counter.

"A child's toy," he commented as he again picked up the magnifying glass and began to inspect the object.

Then he brushed the sides with gun powder as he had the glass tumbler, and pressed tissue paper against the long part of the locomotive. The imprint was smudged and much smaller than the ones found on the glass tumbler.

"A child's print, to be certain," he commented. "No surprise there."

I was disappointed although not surprised.

"It's not the usual sort of toy one finds in the East End," he commented. "Most toys are cloth dolls and carved wood objects easily made from scraps. This is made of steel, and very finely detailed," he continued as he wiped it with a cloth.

"It's the sort of toy that might be found in the possession of a boy of some position, not one of the street urchins here and about. I suppose it might have been stolen. That is more likely."

It might have been stolen. I knew so little about Ellie Sutton or the boy.

"How did you come by it?" Mr. Brimley asked.

"In Charing Cross in the matter of inquiries I'm making. I was hoping that it might provide some information."

He continued to study the toy, turning it over and over in those hands that had been fingers-deep in the cavity of a man's body. Ever the scientist, he looked at such things in a detached way, much like a student hoping to learn something.

"There is a number stamped into the metal at the bottom, usually the work of the craftsman who made it," he added. "There are people who might be able to tell you more about it—Hamley's toy shop for instance," he added. "If it was purchased there, they might have a record of the person it was sold to. That way, it can be returned, if the purchaser has a mind to."

I thanked him for the information. As before when I first arrived, he seemed preoccupied about something and looked at me as if he would have shared something more.

"What is it?"

"Would this be in the matter of the woman who was murdered over in Charing Cross?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm assisting Brodie in the case."

There was something quite odd then in his expression and something that I sensed.

"Be careful, Miss Forsythe."

That seemed somewhat odd for him to say, knowing nothing about the case. Or did he know something?

"Is there something more?" I asked.

It was one of those intuitive feelings that Brodie had been known to tease me about. Brimley's comment and the expression on his face might have been nothing more than preoccupation, his wish to return to the cadaver after I had interrupted him. Obviously, there was a limited amount of time to make his observations, even with the body packed in ice.

Mr. Brimley shook his head.

"Please be careful," he repeated.

Hamley's on Regent Street was well known across the whole of London. And while my memories from childhood were filled with adventures rather than dolls, there were still ample toys about Sussex Square when my sister and I were children. Particularly at the Christmas holiday.

Our great-aunt went overboard with giving gifts, of course. And they were not limited to dolls for Linnie, but included game sets, stuffed animals, and an amazing wind-up bird in a golden cage that I remembered quite well. It moved and emitted a warbling sound when the mechanism on the bottom of the case was wound up.

"It sang? Like real birds in the gardens at Sussex Square?" Lily asked, her mouth pinched at one corner as if she didn't believe me as I described it.

"Really quite simple," I replied. "Like a wind-up music box." Her expression was doubtful.

"I'll show you when we reach the toy shop," I replied as the driver arrived at our destination.

As he stepped down from the driver's seat atop the coach, Mr. Hastings handed me a folded piece of paper.

"A man brought this round for you, miss, while you were in the chemist's shop. Odd man, he was, rolling around on a wood platform. He liked to spook the horses when he rounded the corner off the street."

I hadn't told anyone that we would be going to Mr. Brimley's shop before leaving Sussex Square. However, there was one person who would know to leave a message for me with Mr. Cavendish, and who might also know that I would visit the chemist. He had said that he would find me.

I opened the note written in that way of someone most familiar with writing reports, the words brief, to the point, in a brisk hand. I could almost imagine him writing it in some place where he wouldn't be noticed, perhaps impatient that he had to write it at all, after telling me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want me involved.

‘The boot was made by a man named Greene with a shop near St. James's. I will then call on Morrissey...'

The pencil had stopped there as if he had another thought, but hadn't written it.

Greene was well known across London for well-made leather boots that were worn by those among the officers in the military. Was it possible that Brodie might be able to learn who had purchased those boots?

As for Morrissey, what might he know or be willing to share now, after the recent murder of Ellie Sutton, who had witnessed that original murder?

Rupert had returned. I could only guess that he might have followed Mr. Cavendish when he had delivered that note. He jumped into the coach and I followed.

To say that Hamley's was an adventure in itself was a mild understatement.

It was multiple floors of a large building that looked out onto Regent Street, with windowfront displays filled with all manner of toys and entertainments to draw the customer inside.

I asked Mr. Hastings to return in an hour as we arrived and told Rupert to stay. Lily and I then entered the store.

It was late afternoon and there were only a few customers on the main floor. Still, the abundance and variety of toys, games, and at least a half-dozen mechanical miniature trains rolling on tracks set about was impressive.

It was a child's paradise, along with those who had grown up but still persisted in playing with toys. I knew only too well the husband of one of my aunt's acquaintances had the entire final battle of Waterloo in miniature in his library.

It included ships making that historic landing, mounted English soldiers riding to the charge, and a field of French cannon and infantry, along with a miniature Napoleon.

There was a similar battle set up in an alcove of the toy store. This one was set on a seascape, and if my memory of history lessons served me, it was the defeat of the Spanish Armada under the reign of Elizabeth.

Lily was fascinated with it all.

"Good afternoon. How may we serve you?" a voice very near asked.

"Bloody hell! What is that?" she exclaimed, drawing the attention of a nearby customer and clerk.

Thatwas an automaton as I had seen before in a previous inquiry, a movable doll powered by electricity. My particular experience had been a life-size replica of man in full evening attire who nodded, bowed, and then held out his hand.

This one was a golden-haired, blue-eyed doll with a permanently fixed smile as her head was turned toward us and she spoke. It did seem as if Mr. Edison's invention of recording voices had now made it into the world of toys.

"Good afternoon," a more human voice greeted us as a man in a suit appeared. "Priscilla is quite fascinating, isn't she," he asked. Apparently, that was the doll's name.

"I can think of another word," Lily commented, and I thought it best to step into the conversation.

"I am looking for information about a toy locomotive that I've come across," I explained. "I was hoping there might be someone who could tell me about it."

"That would be Mr. Ambrose Hamley. He's the store manager and our authority on our mechanical trains," he replied.

"Is he available?"

We were directed to a series of glass display cases that contained all manner of miniature train pieces, including locomotives much like the one I had found in Charing Cross. I was introduced to Mr. David Hamley, a great nephew of one of the original Hamley brothers.

He was quite boyish in appearance and wore spectacles, the sleeves of his white shirt presently rolled back. He held a train car in one hand and a small paint brush in the other.

The clerk explained my request. Young Mr. Hamley smiled.

"Of course, whatever way I can be of assistance."

Although admittedly the enthusiasm was meant for Lily. I could have sworn her eyes rolled back in her head. She immediately made her escape into an adjacent part of the store.

"Just a few repairs I'm making for a customer," he went on to explain. "The trains are my specialty. It seems the lad this was purchased for dropped this train car and it was badly scraped and lost a door. I'm making the repairs for them," he went on to explain.

"Now, let me see the piece that you have."

I removed the miniature train engine from my bag and set it on the counter.

"There is a number stamped into the bottom of the piece," I added.

He was careful as he picked it up, turning it over in his hands like a rare jewel. "I do remember this piece," he eventually said. "One of the more intricately made ones for detail. Very exact. As I recall, it was purchased as a first piece, with others to be added to complete the set just as one would see it at the rail station."

"Can you tell me who purchased it?"

"We do keep a record of this sort of purchase, so that we can provide the additional pieces as the customer purchases others," he explained and then went into a room behind the counter.

He returned, leafing through the pages of a ledger book, talking to himself as he read through the entries, turned a page, then another one.

"Here it is. A locomotive with that registration number was purchased on 4 December, the past year, by Mrs. Adelaide Matthews. No doubt a gift for the coming Christmas."

If there was more, I failed to hear it except for that name.

Adelaide Matthews had purchased the locomotive. And had then given it to Ellie's son? It was the only possibly answer!

"Are you certain?" I asked.

"Yes, it's right here. There were additional purchases made as well. Quite remarkable, as the pieces are quite expensive—twelve in all. There are entries for each one along with their registration numbers. It appears that Mrs. Matthews hasn't yet returned for the other pieces to the set.

"Look at this!" Lily exclaimed as she returned with something in hand. "It's full of all sorts of colors and patterns. You look through here, and then turn the cylinder..."

She was as excited as a child, then her expression fell when she saw my face. "Have I done something wrong? I didn't mean any harm." She handed me the kaleidoscope.

I forced myself past what I had just learned.

"Not at all," I assured her. "And they are quite marvelous, aren't they?" I could only imagine what this was like for her, having spent so many years working in a brothel, her childhood stolen from her.

"We will take the kaleidoscope," I told Mr. Hamley.

"Shall I have it wrapped for you?"

"Not at all, and I would like a list of those other pieces if it's not too much trouble."

What did it mean? And did Brodie know who had purchased the toy locomotive for Ellie Sutton's son?