Miss Minnie and the Brass Pluggit Read online

  Another woman’s body had been found in the cold ocean waters near the Brass Pluggit.

  This would make four.

  Minnie was amazed and somewhat disturbed by the actions of the two men. Dusk hadn’t hesitated when it came to bursting in on a private conversation. That, in and of itself, was surprising.

  Then there’d been Pierce’s reaction. He’d dashed from the room after his manservant, as if all the devils in Hell were after him, and without a word to her.

  Hurrying after them, she realized she wasn’t offended at all by their behavior—it was the fact that they hadn’t told her what was going on. That omission seriously irritated her, so she did her best to follow them in order to satisfy her own curiosity.

  The small stairway wound down a level to a door leading outside. It was ajar, letting sunlight shine brightly and bringing the tang of sea air into the curved entry. She cautiously stepped outside, squinting a little and endeavoring to find her host.

  The breeze gusted sharply, reminding her that she was now on the ocean side of the Brass Pluggit. Light flashed almost painfully from the two greenhouses that nestled a few steps away, perched on the very edge of the cliff. She would have liked to explore them, having a passing interest in plants herself.

  But voices sounded below her and she noticed a set of steps leading down, presumably toward the edge of the water. There was a wooden banister, a simple affair but sturdy, which Minnie appreciated, since the steps were hewn into the cliff and not as wide as a more carefully constructed staircase.

  Gathering her skirts in one hand and holding on to the smooth wooden rail with the other, Minnie began her descent. She wasn’t afraid of heights, just didn’t care much for them. And the steps were tricky—she’d not have liked to try negotiating them in bad weather. They curved around the natural flow of the cliff and in some places were wide enough to be called a landing.

  She noticed distinct patterns in the face of the cliff and realized that perhaps amateur fossil hunters might have used these makeshift landings to pursue their own hobbies and dig out something interesting from the chalk. It was but a passing thought, since she was now over halfway down and could see a knot of people gathered in a very small space beneath her.

  A boat had been moored to a convenient rock and in that boat… She gasped and put her hand instinctively over her mouth to stop the sound.

  It was a body. A woman’s body. And the poor thing was clearly no longer amongst the living. Her skin was blue white, her eyes cloudy and unfocused—wide open in a silent and deathly stare. She was partially clad in something light, torn in several places and lying damply over her skin.

  As Minnie stared, aghast, Pierce leaned over the boat and moved a long lock of blonde hair away from the dead woman’s neck. Once again the breath caught in Minnie’s throat.

  A thick band of purple bruising was quite visible on the pale skin.

  She must have made some noise because Pierce quickly turned his head, saw her on the bottom step and then tugged a light blanket over the body, hiding her from sight.

  He stood and brushed his hands together, his face a blend of anger and sadness. “John, can you sail her around to Yarmouth? Take her to Mr. Edward’s place. Tell him I’ll notify the authorities on the mainland.”

  A man nodded, touching his cap. He was obviously a sailor—his complexion and the white beard screamed of years on the sea. He carefully eased himself back into the boat, avoiding the body as he grasped the oars with hands tanned to the color of walnuts. “Aye, I will that, Doctor.”

  Pierce helped him away from his mooring as Dusk watched and the other man ran his hands over his face.

  “I don’t know about this, Pierce. I don’t know at all.” He turned and caught sight of Minnie standing stunned at the base of the cliff.

  “Oh gracious. I’m so sorry. Pierce, I didn’t realize you had a guest.” He moved to her. “I’m Stanley Fotheringay, my dear. A neighbor of Pierce’s.” He nodded over his shoulder. “How terrible that we should meet under these circumstances.”

  Pierce moved beside them as Dusk eased past and mounted the steps. “Miss Minnie, forgive me. I should have introduced you, but…” He looked frustrated. “These are trying times.”

  “I quite understand.” Minnie tilted her head toward the newcomer. “Mr. Fotheringay. It’s delightful to meet you and I too wish it could have been at a happier moment. I was simply paying a call on Dr. Lowell at the request of a mutual friend. In fact, I should be leaving very shortly. It appears you have a serious problem to deal with.” Her gaze drifted to the rowboat, now some distance away and heading around the coastline toward Yarmouth. “Poor woman.”

  “Indeed.” Fotheringay began to fuss around her. “Come, my dear. This is no place for a lovely lady. You should be enjoying the sunshine and the sea air, not worrying about a sad event.” He took her arm and escorted her up the steps to the top of the cliff, chattering incessantly about nothing in particular.

  “There we are. Much better to be up here, don’t you think?” He patted her hand and beamed.

  Amused, she thanked him politely. “It is quite lovely.”

  “Indeed it is. I live about a mile down that way.” He pointed over her shoulder, farther along the coastline to the southwest. “You must come and visit me if you have time during your stay, my dear. How long did you say you’d be here?”

  She smiled, used to such questions and not at all worried about deflecting them. “My schedule is flexible at the moment, so I haven’t really decided when I’ll be going back to London.”

  “Well, well then.” He tutted and patted her hand once more before dropping it with a gentle squeeze. “Just come and say hello whenever you wish. I’m always happy to welcome visitors, eh, Pierce?” He smiled and gave a soft giggle. “I’m trying to explain the principle of hospitality to Pierce here. Up until now I’ve had little luck, but after seeing you…well, perhaps my lectures are working after all.”

  “Goodbye, Stanley.” Pierce was not amused, apparently.

  “I can take a hint, old chap. Don’t blame you either. Lovely lady, sunny day, blue sky…well, I mean it’s all here, isn’t it?” He spread his arms wide. “And I’ll let you both enjoy it.”

  With a coy wave of his fingers, he left them standing side by side and staring after him, the sound of his merry whistling traveling back to them on the breeze.

  “He seems quite charming.” Minnie spoke cautiously, unsure of how to handle Pierce in his present mood.

  “He’s an interfering old busybody with a good heart.”

  “Ah.”

  “You should leave, Miss Minnie.” Pierce ran his hand through his hair and blew out an exasperated breath of air. “This development will take up my time. To be blunt, I’ll have no interest in polite social conversation for a while.”

  She turned and looked at him, noting the flash of vivid green as the sun hit his irises. She saw the concern and what could have been banked fury in their depths. Yes, she should leave.

  But she simply couldn’t. Not until she knew more about the situation.

  “You’re correct in your statement about my leaving, but incorrect in your assumption I’ll actually do it.” She held up a hand to forestall his argument. “Dusk said, and I quote, ‘they’ve found another one.’” She paused for a moment. “How many have there been?”

  He sighed. “This one makes four.”

  Minnie swallowed down her shock. “In that case, I’m certainly not leaving. I want to help.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s find out.” She spun on her heel and marched back into the Brass Pluggit.

  He found himself almost chuckling as Minnie strode ahead of him, taking the stairs in a hurry and climbing rapidly toward his living room. She ripped her hat from her head, tossing it onto a table as she entered the room, following it with her gloves and then rapidly undoing the buttons of her jacket.

  “Do you have a telegraph?” She fired the question at him as she
pushed a wayward hairpin back into the mess of tousled and shining silk on her head.

  “I have something better.” He led her across to a tall cabinet and slid the doors open, revealing the mass of dials and lights.

  Her eyes shone and she rubbed her hands together. “Oh marvelous. A Mark IV telegraph console. I’ve heard about them but never seen one.” She ran her fingertips over it in delight.

  “Um. Yes.” Pierce didn’t know what to make of her. An infamous London denizen, a woman who lived amongst the highest members of the aristocracy, and here she was, standing with a look of fascinated joy on her face as she stared at one of his devices.

  Sometimes, the world astonished even him.

  “All right, which one is London?” She tapped her foot impatiently. “And where exactly does it terminate? Do you have one that links to anywhere in Fleet Street? I know a couple of journalists who might be able to help.”

  “Help how?” Desperately trying to straighten his scrambled thoughts, Pierce nudged her away from the console and began activating his system. “I don’t think we need a news story plastered over the front pages of the London papers. That’ll do nothing but bring us boatloads of gawkers.”

  She flashed him a quick frown. “Of course not. I was thinking more about information.” She rested a palm against the shining wood which comprised the faceplate to the device. “Isn’t that why you have the Mark IV? So that you can get instant and up-to-date information?”

  “Yes.” He flicked a few switches and connected the power, watching in satisfaction as lights turned on and the system began its happy hum. “Is that how you know about it?”

  “Of course.” She moved to stand behind him as he seated himself in his chair and watched the initialization process complete itself. “I run a shipping company. I need accurate information as rapidly as I can get it.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.” He gently adjusted dials.

  “Many do.” The words were uttered in a dry tone of amusement.

  “There.” Satisfied, he flipped open a small glass container, a half-tube which covered a slender brass mechanism with a round pad of the same metal affixed to the top of it. Without a moment’s thought he began tapping out a message.

  With one part of his mind, he felt two hands rest on the back of the chair. Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft click of the telegraph key beneath his fingers. He finished the message.

  “Another body found. At Edward’s in Yarmouth. More later.” Minnie quietly spoke the words he’d just sent over the telegraph.

  “Good Lord.” He turned in his chair. “You can read that? Just by hearing the clicks?”

  She stared steadily back at him. “Of course. You did.”

  He shook his head. “I…um…”

  Her eyes were clear, her expression intense as she looked down at him. “Don’t underestimate me, Pierce. I usually care little what people think of me, and I don’t worry if they assume breasts and dresses mean I’m fundamentally an idiot. However, for some reason, it’s becoming more and more important to me that you understand I’m not an idiot.”

  “I can assure you I won’t make that mistake.” He met her gaze. “I’m not one of those people you describe. Breasts and dresses may distract me—I’m a man and therefore totally susceptible. But I don’t now, nor have I ever, associated those assets with intellectual abilities.” He took a breath, unable to avoid a frisson of pleasure at her scent, rich and womanly and oh-so-near… “Now. I have one link to The Parliamentarian in Fleet Street. Will that help you at all?”

  “Yes. They’ll pass the message along.” She nodded. “Can I sit there?”

  He rose and watched her take his seat, tucking her skirts out of the way and leaning in to the telegraph key as he adjusted the dials for her.

  Her white lacy blouse glowed against the wood and the brass, her hair shone even more brightly than the dark mahogany of the console and she looked for all the world as if she belonged exactly where she was. As if the entire Mark IV had been designed with her in mind.

  Blinking away the oddly fanciful notion, Pierce imitated her actions and listened as she placed her own message to London.

  For Arthur O’Reilly, The Fleet Times, Urgent. Stop. Multiple deaths, Yarmouth vicinity, Isle of Wight. Stop. Women, death by strangulation. Stop. Please locate similar. Stop. Contact me here. Stop. Minnie. End Message.

  “Are you sure that won’t set off some sort of reporter frenzy?” Pierce touched her on the shoulder. “I really don’t want the press messing around with this.”

  She shook her head. “The Parliamentarian—which you link to—is not that sort of paper. Probably why you link to it.” She glanced at him and raised one eyebrow.

  He nodded. “Point taken. And they’re discreet.”

  “Secondly, these journalists and reporters—they’re sort of like a brotherhood. Whoever gets my message will send it to Arthur. Arthur, being the truly brilliant reporter he is, will know that I never contact him with silly rumors or false assumptions. He’ll do some digging and find out what he can.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s smitten with me.” She shrugged. “I’ve never encouraged him and he’s finally gotten himself a fiancée, but he’s still very fond of me. I like him too, but not that way. We seem to be getting onto more sound footing these days. Daisy is good for him…” She caught herself up. “But that’s neither here nor there. He was one of the few men who realized that I was legitimately interested in current events and had the mental capacity to understand them. So when I suggested we keep in touch, he agreed. The upshot has been that I’ve been able to slip him a couple of newsworthy scoops and he keeps me informed of anything that might impact Dalrymple Shipping.”

  “Nicely symbiotic.”

  “Indeed.” She nodded. “Now. Do you have a floating channel, by any chance?”

  Biting back another little jolt of astonishment, Pierce nodded. “Here.” He pointed to a set of dials and knobs at the far side of the console. Still mentally reeling from her ability to decipher telegraph key-clicks into the words they represented, he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear her ask for one of the latest and most complex developments, only recently included as part of the Mark IV.

  “Excellent.” She reached for the controls and paused. “May I?” Her glance over his shoulder clearly told him she was asking out of politeness and that she fully expected his answer to be yes.

  Miss Minnie was turning out to be one surprise after another. He rather liked it.

  “Yes.”

  He watched, impressed with the facility she demonstrated as she adjusted the controls and selected settings. His eyebrows drew together as he attempted to place a location alongside the numbers she was using.

  It was London, but more than that he couldn’t guess. “May I ask…”

  “Who I’m contacting?” She finished his sentence. “Yes. In a minute.”

  Chastised, he fell silent and waited. Could this woman be any more surprising? A tingle of arousal shot through him. Could she be any more attractive?

  Well, yes. She could be naked and operating the Mark IV. Somewhat embarrassed at the direction his thoughts had taken, Pierce gave himself a mental scold and dragged himself back to the matter at hand.

  Something else flashed into his head. Minnie had announced that the body she’d seen had been strangled. Another surprise to add to the list growing beneath her name.

  The clicks of the telegraph key started, and Pierce silently translated them in his head.

  Need your skills. Stop. Martinson will make arrangements. Stop. Come as soon as possible to Isle of Wight. Stop. Four murders so far. Stop. Minnie. End of message.

  Disappointed, he wondered if she was sending for Roger, her rumored lover. Or someone else who would whisk her away from the rather appalling events.

  She turned in the chair and pushed back from the console. “Thank you, Pierce. That will get matters underway. Between our sources, we may well be able t
o find out some information.” She stood and walked absently into the center of the room, staring at the ocean, her mind clearly busy on the current matters. “Four murders. It’s unusual for this area, I’m guessing?”

  Pierce nodded, curious to find out where her thoughts were leading her.

  “We must find out if there are any connections between the victims. And if there have been similar crimes reported elsewhere.”

  “All the victims have been young women. All washed up along the northwest shores by the cliffs. None have been locals—two were reported as having been seen on the ferry to Cowes. The other was not identified. We’ll look into this latest one shortly.”

  He sat in his favorite chair and joined her in staring out over the ocean. “All were, as you so accurately noted, strangled.”

  She took the matching seat and stretched out her legs, crossing them at her booted ankles in a pose that was purely masculine, but on her looked completely right. “I’d guess they were prostitutes?”

  “Why?”

  “Unaccompanied young women, probably attractive on a certain level, no hue and cry raised when they went missing? It’s a logical assumption.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, perhaps we’ll find out whether there have been other incidents of this nature recently. When did the first body wash ashore?”

  Pierce had a moment of surreal confusion. He was discussing a series of brutal killings, prostitutes no less, with an incredibly beautiful social butterfly. Who was anything but a butterfly and apparently possessed of a mind sharper than a steel trap.

  He didn’t think there was much left in the world that could surprise him.

  Miss Minnie was proving him wrong.

  Chapter Three

  Minnie’s mind was awhirl with ideas, possibilities and avenues of inquiry. The sunlit vista glittering around her as she sat in Pierce Lowell’s living room barely registered on her consciousness.

  In one quick flash of enlightenment, she realized she’d been bored up until now, and that she was bored no longer. She had a challenge, a dreadful set of events which demanded her full attention and her every avenue of focus.