The House in Birdgate Alley

The House in Birdgate Alley Anel Viz Published by Silver Publishing Publisher of Erotic Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK Y...

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The House in

Birdgate

Alley Anel Viz

Published by Silver Publishing Publisher of Erotic Romance

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000." Cover Artist: Reese Dante Editor: Devin Govaere The House in Birdgate Alley © 2010 Anel Viz ISBN # 978-1-920468-51-4 All rights reserved. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model. PUBLISHER http://www.silverpublishing.info

Acknowledgment I should like to thank Liz Nicholson of the U.K. for her help in transcribing a reasonably authentic Cockney accent and determining whether certain expressions were current in 19th century England.

The House in Birdgate Alley

Anel Viz

~*~

It was with the utmost reluctance I committed to paper the adventure contained in this document and which I am determined to withhold from the public. It would compromise a number of respected members of society. Some of them deserve no better. The hero of these pages, however, although an obscure individual without social standing, is someone I admire and of whom I am truly fond. I would not expose him to condemnation and persecution. Indeed, the mere fact that I did not shun his company, knowing what I knew, would open me to public censure. Why, then, have I chosen to recount these events at all? For one, it is, in a sense, a confession. I used to share the general opinion. I, too, once closed my mind to understanding, my heart to compassion, and my ears to what I preferred to ignore. This is the story of how I came to shed those prejudices. As a result, I twice describe in detail acts which, had I but alluded to them, would raise an outcry. I had to force myself to write those passages and found it an unpleasant experience. The acts themselves, however, no longer offend or embarrass me.

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It is also the story of my cousin Cyril Fosterby's first case, a story which has never been told for reasons I have made abundantly clear. Readers will take no little interest in learning the circumstances that turned a talented amateur chemist into the now famous detective, should that unforeseeable day arrive when the people of our great nation will tolerate—no, not only tolerate, but accept and welcome in their midst—such men as those who play a part in my story.

John Williams, MD, FRCPS London, 24 October 1906

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~1~ Early one cold, blustery, rainy morning in November 1889, I received an urgent summons to the bedside of Sir Hugh Cockburn, Baronet, whose condition had taken a change for the worse. I had become used to such calls. An outbreak of influenza was running me ragged, my duties as a physician often keeping me out until past ten o'clock. Still, it came as a surprise. My patient was suffering from bronchitis, not the influenza, and appeared to be on the mend when I had seen him two days earlier. I promised to come directly after breakfast. Lady Cockburn, a handsome woman who looked younger than her forty years, met me at the door herself. Though impeccably dressed as always, she showed every sign of having passed a sleepless night. "Oh, Dr. Williams, here you are at last!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I fear that Sir Hugh has come down with pneumonia. His cough had moved deep into his chest when he got home last night, and his fever is alarmingly high." "Got home? Did he go out, then? I gave him strict orders to remain indoors for at least another week and to

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get as much bed rest as possible." "So I told him, Doctor, but he insisted he was feeling much improved and would spend the evening at his club. He claimed the fresh air would do him good." "Fresh air! In that downpour?" If anything, the previous night had been rainier and more blustery. "I pleaded with him not to go, but he saw no reason to change his habits for a slight cold, rain or no rain. He spends every other Thursday at the club." "That was most unwise. I hope at least he did not stay out too late. At what time did he return?" "At nearly three in the morning." "Three in the morning! Does his club stay open so late?" "My husband didn't go to the club, Doctor. He instructed our coachman to pick him up at ten, but he wasn't there when Johnson returned for him. He waited over an hour before returning alone. No one had seen him there all evening." "Where did your husband go, then?" "He won't say. I was frantic with worry and on the point of calling in the police when he staggered in, drenched to the skin, trembling like a leaf and more agitated than I've ever seen him. He seemed nearly

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delirious. I woke his manservant to draw a hot bath, and tucked him into bed myself. I sent for you as soon as I decently could. I know how little rest you must get with all the influenza going about." "Let us hope that he has not succumbed to that contagion! Well, I shall have a look at him." Her diagnosis proved right on the mark. The Baronet's bronchitis had become full-blown pneumonia. Fortunately, only one lung was affected. I prescribed a stronger syrup for his cough and laudanum to help him sleep and reduce the fever. While Lady Cockburn sent the order round to the apothecary, I delivered him a stern lecture. He listened meekly, but categorically refused to tell me where he'd gone. "I was foolish enough to disregard your advice, Doctor. What more need you know?" "It would help to know the cause of your agitation. The fever alone does not explain it." "I don't remember." "And I don't believe you. But I shan't press the point. We'll speak of it again, shall we? Later this afternoon, when I return to check your condition." Circumstances prevented me from getting back until about five-thirty. Lady Cockburn was waiting to speak with

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me in the drawing room. She appeared so very worried and upset that I asked if Sir Hugh had taken a turn for the worse. "No, Doctor. The medicine has helped, and he's sleeping peacefully. It is on another matter that I seek your advice." "My professional advice?" "No, as someone who takes a personal interest in my husband's welfare. But first you must promise not reveal to anyone what I am about to tell you." "I assure you, Lady Cockburn, that as a physician I would never repeat what any patient has told me in confidence." "Please, don't take offense, Doctor. As I said, it is not about a medical issue that I wish to confer with you, but as a family friend." "Have you any reason to doubt my discretion? However, if you deem it necessary, I shall make that promise." As she still seemed hesitant, I added, "I've given you my word." "Forgive me if I press the point but, you see, your association with the police—" "The police! Is there a crime involved?" She said nothing, holding herself stiffly, her face

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set, waiting for some reassurance that I would not betray her confidence even to the authorities. "I do not work for the police, Lady Cockburn. The coroner is my friend and colleague, and he asks me to assist him. Nor am I bound to tell the police anything I learn second hand. At most, I may advise you to go them yourself." "Very well, I am satisfied. I know where my husband went last night and why he went there. Someone is blackmailing him." "Sir Hugh told you this?" "No, I found a note in his overcoat pocket, the one he wore last night. It had been out in the rain, you know, so I gave it to our footman to be laundered. It was then I found it." "May I see the note?" She handed it to me, three short lines on a dirty, and from the look of it, old scrap of paper, written in a childish hand, the grammar and spelling perfectly ghastly: Pay me 25 guineas or I'll tell the papers what you done. 10 oclock top of the old stares. "Well?" she asked. "Ought I to go to the police?" "Behind your husband's back? Indeed not, unless you wish to spy on him. The Baronet should go himself.

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Send for them, rather, as he is not well enough to leave the house. But that is for you to tell him, not I." "How can I?" she exclaimed. "Really, you must. Keeping secrets from him can only harm your marriage. Except for what my patients tell me in confidence, I have no secrets from my wife." Tears welled in her eyes and began to trickle down her face. "He kept this secret from me." "Pray don't distress yourself. I'm certain he did so for the sake of your peace of mind. Nor do I think you need tell him immediately, not while he's seriously ill." "But the note, Doctor. It says he did something terrible. What could it possibly be?" "I'm afraid there's no way of telling, unless…" "Unless?" "Well, as we have a mystery in need of a solution, with your permission, I should like to show this note to my cousin, Cyril Fosterby. He may be able to make more of it than either of us. His intuitions as an experimental scientist often astound me, and when he applies his powers of reason to those intuitions, he can shed light on the thorniest problems." "Can we trust him?" she asked doubtfully. She had had occasion to meet my cousin and did not think highly of

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him. He was known as an eccentric, and many people considered him unreliable. "You should not allow his social ineptitude to mislead you. I admit he can be a crashing bore when he gets going on a subject that interests him, but he's an astute observer of people." "It's rather his lack of tact that concerns me." "Yes, Cyril is quite blunt in expressing his opinions and can make a person feel a veritable fool when he disagrees with him, though he would never call someone that to his face. He may give the impression that he blurts things out unthinking, but the truth is he's a man who weighs his words. I've known him all my life. Cyril is no gossip. If he possesses information he doesn't think another person should be privy to, he's tight as an oyster." "And you believe he can help us?" "He may. He will certainly see more in it than you or I. How much more I cannot say. But he will have to see it. My telling him what it contains will not suffice." "Very well, then." "Now, if our patient is sleeping, I shall not disturb him. I'll return tomorrow morning and examine him then. Good day, Lady Cockburn. And don't fret about the note. Let's concentrate on making him well, shall we? Keep me

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informed of any change in his condition."

I proceeded at once to my cousin's house in Sussex Gardens, where I found him sitting bundled up by the fire, sipping a steaming mug of his housekeeper's beef broth. I had not seen him in over three weeks. The influenza left me little time for social calls, nor would Cyril have wished to see me, who came in daily contact with those infected. When disease stalked the city, he kept to his rooms. Only the most extraordinary circumstances would lure him out. "Cousin John! What a welcome surprise! I'm in need of company. No, keep your distance and kindly refrain from exposing me to the ailments you've carried back from the sick house." He motioned to a table in the far corner of the room. "To what do I owe your visit? I did not expect to see you at the height of an epidemic." "I should hardly call it an epidemic, Cyril, though it is certainly going round. Have you some new discovery to show me?" "I've done one or two little experiments that may interest you; nothing important. My laboratory can wait. First tell me your business here. You would not have come without some express purpose in mind."

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"You are quite right. I should like your opinion on an anonymous letter." "Somebody sent you an anonymous letter?" "Not to me. The recipient is Sir Hugh Cockburn, and I should have said a note. Just a few scribbled words, actually. The Baronet is quite ill, by the way, though not with influenza. He went out last night despite the rain and against my orders, and stayed out until three in the morning." "The note, John, the note. There you go off on a tangent again. You were saying he showed you a note sent to him by a person or persons unknown. Have you this note with you, by any chance?" "I do, but I suspect the note and Sir Hugh's leaving home last night are not unrelated. Nor did he give it to me; Lady Cockburn did. She stumbled upon it, she says, in the pocket of the overcoat the Baronet wore last night. She was distressed at how muddy it was." "Stumbled indeed! Poking her nose about is more like it! She has servants to take care of soiled overcoats. Her snooping bespeaks a woman's curiosity to discover what keeps her husband out until three in the morning. Hand it here." He studied the note for some time, then folded it

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carefully and returned it to me. "And what do you make of it, may I ask?" "I should say that someone is trying to blackmail the Baronet." "Someone is obviously trying to blackmail somebody. Even an empty-headed woman like Lady Cockburn must have had no difficulty concluding that. What else?" "I would not call Lady Cockburn empty-headed." "Empty-headed women go through their husbands' pockets. I will take your word for it, however, that she is quite competent in domestic matters. Now please answer my question." "The 'old stares' must be the docks in Wapping. I conclude that Sir Hugh went there last night as instructed." "It would seem so. However, if I had occasion to examine a gentleman's overcoat, I should have paid as much attention to the mud on it as to a note left in the pocket. The one might have confirmed what is contained in the other. But I fear we shall never see the mud. Their footman will have seen to that. Do go on." I looked over the note again. "It seems clear enough," I said. "Read it."

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"I have read it." "Aloud." "'Pay me twenty-five guineas or I'll tell the papers what you done. Ten o'clock, top of the old stairs.' I fear, Cyril, that the note supplies very little information indeed." "It supplies rather too much information, and requires some thought to sort out what is relevant and what is not. It only discloses its secrets to those who apply their reason to what they read in it. You do not lack analytical ability. Tell me what you think." "Well, twenty-five guineas does seem a trivial sum for blackmail. Sir Hugh is a wealthy man." "Very good. How do you account for that?" "Perhaps 'what he done', as our blackmailer so quaintly phrases it, was not a particularly serious offense." "But blackmail is. Why, then, take the risk at all? I surmise that Sir Hugh's behaviour shows that he is most anxious not to be exposed." "I find this quite unfair. You are obviously privy to more information than I." "I assure you I am not. Think, Cousin John. Why has this note upset Lady Cockburn enough to seek your help?" "Oh, come now, Cyril! Her husband is the target of

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a blackmailer!" "Is she not curious to know 'what he done'?" "Why, of course she is!" "Does she suspect that her husband is involved with another woman? Because if my line of reasoning is correct, you may assure her that he is not." "Then you have reached a conclusion?" "A provisional conclusion. Well, does she suspect Sir Hugh of infidelity? You know her better than I." "I doubt it crossed her mind. I should say that other than her fear that Lord Alfred's father will call off his forthcoming marriage to Adelaide if word gets out, Lady Cockburn has no interest whatever in his possible wrongdoings." "The Earl does have a Puritan streak to his nature… unlike his profligate son." "Lord Alfred is no profligate, I assure you." "You know him?" "He's a Cambridge friend of the oldest Cockburn boy." "I see. From what I hear, the Earl agreed to the engagement in hope that marriage will steady the young gentleman. But let us return to the note. What does it tell you about the blackmailer?"

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"That he is uneducated." "And a very inexperienced blackmailer, and of very modest needs. From that I deduce that he is young. That he does not ask for more shows that he knows very little about Sir Hugh and his daughter's engagement to the son of an earl, yet he knows 'what he done', something his wife does not." "I see your conclusion has to do with the man's identity." "Only his profession, not who he is. Our blackmailer is a renter." He fell silent, as if expecting some reaction. "So he pays for his lodgings by the month. I don't see—" "A male prostitute, Cousin." "What? Good Lord, Cyril, are you suggesting—" "That the Baronet is an invert? My dear boy, is it not obvious?" "Preposterous! A respectable man, married, and with six children!" "I did not say that he was sterile, nor have I any reason to believe he neglects his marital duties. If only single gentlemen frequented them, we should have far fewer boys providing those services in the city of London."

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"Do you think it possible I, his physician, wouldn't know something like that?" "It is evidently quite possible. Do you honestly think Sir Hugh would have confided his secret to you simply because you are his physician? A serious felony is involved, and the reputation of the head of a prominent firm is at stake. Would he have told you if he had embezzled funds or accepted a bribe or murdered someone?" "Indeed not. I meant that as his physician I have examined him on numerous occasions and have never observed… I'm not sure I can find a way to put this delicately." "One of the glories of our English language is that there is nothing, however indelicate, one may not express delicately. You mean you have never found any symptoms that would lead you to believe that he practises the vice. What does that prove? Nothing. Your naïveté astounds me. Sodomites take pleasure in any number of disgusting acts. The worthy Baronet need not have indulged in all of them." "But might he not have committed one of those offenses you mentioned —though certainly not murder— sometime in the past, and the blackmailer has come to know of it?"

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"And why not murder? I have considered all those possibilities and more. The evidence will not support them." "Why not embezzlement?" "Embezzlement was the first thing that occurred to me. But would a person capable of uncovering that have written so illiterate a note? I am confident that we should find nothing amiss if we examined the company's books. As for bribery…" He shook his head. "You extrapolate this from a cursory perusal of a few ambiguous words?" "Cursory? Not at all. I have been pondering their import even as we spoke." "But sex with a boy! No, no, I don't believe it for a second. There must be some other explanation." "I assure you, there is none." "Perhaps he fathered an illegitimate child and is being blackmailed by the mother." "Then I should not call it blackmail. As an honourable man, he ought to support the child and the woman he has disgraced. Come, come. You've read the note. One needs no expertise in handwriting to see that a woman did not write it." "Some male relative may have written it for her."

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"And only asked for twenty-five guineas? You can't be serious, Cousin. But let us assume for a moment that Sir Hugh did father an illegitimate child. Is that, in your estimation, a piece of information he would have gone to such lengths to withhold from his physician? No, I tell you. If he has committed a crime —and you agree the facts all point in that direction— then it is the crime against nature." "Are there no other conclusions one may reach?" "I briefly entertained the possibility that he was trying to cover for another person— one of his sons, perhaps, or his brother. The note is not addressed to anyone in particular. That it was found in the Baronet's possession is at best circumstantial and does not prove that he is the target of the blackmail. His brother he would have left to muddle through on his own, and his younger sons are below the age of consent. No blackmailer would dare threaten to tell the world he'd buggered them. Don't look so shocked, John. This is no time for genteel euphemisms. That leaves the eldest, Robert," he added, reaching for his pipe. "I would advise against smoking too much with all these respiratory ailments going around." "Nonsense. Tobacco smoke is an excellent prophylaxis against the influenza. Now, where were we?"

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"Cock Robin… er, young Robert Cockburn. He does strike me as a trifle effeminate." "So the Right Honourable Robert Cockburn, a friend of Lord Alfred Ashton, goes by the name of Cock Robin? That is most interesting." "A family endearment. I've known him from a baby. But the note could not possibly be his. He's up at Cambridge, has been since the beginning of term. The blackmailer would not have demanded to meet him in Wapping." "Even if he had, I cannot imagine that the young man would have forwarded it to his father. He would not have risked a confession and losing a generous allowance for a paltry twenty-five guineas. And if any Cockburn went to Wapping last night, it was Sir Hugh. So many reasons point to the Baronet as the recipient of the note that I doubt I could enumerate them all." "Might he not have been acting on behalf of a friend?" "A man in his position would not have been so careless as not to give back the note. I'm afraid, Cousin, that our invert can only be the Baronet himself." "So you arrived at your distasteful conclusion by process of elimination?"

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"By observation, pondering the facts, reconstructing what may or may not have occurred, and only then did I gradually eliminate those that didn't hold water." "Might I ask you to share these observations of yours?" "I have already laid them out before you." "Oh, dear. How perfectly dreadful! What am I to tell Lady Cockburn?" "Nothing. You said yourself she prefers to know nothing about it. Besides, I am not a detective, nor is she my client. The blackmailer will stop once he knows I've unmasked him. And I shall find him. We'll have little difficulty in silencing the audacious young degenerate. That is, if he has not been silenced already." "What on earth do you mean?" In reply, he picked up the afternoon paper and began reading: Shortly after dawn, Mr. Elias Andrews, a bargeman, found the drowned body of a naked youth floating in the Thames by the Wapping docks. He brought the body ashore for collection. The victim, who has yet to be identified, evidently suffered a severe blow to the head, and the police suspect foul play… "Suspect foul play!" he snorted. "A clear case of

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homicide. As if he'd accidentally hit his head while going for a swim in the middle of winter!" "So you were privy to information of which I had no knowledge! You remembered the article when you saw the note mentioned the Old Stairs. Had you it in mind when you implied that Sir Hugh was capable of murder?" "I did, but I make no accusations. There's nothing except the victim's age and state of undress to suggest he was a prostitute, and if it turns out he was, I'm sure any number of men would have better reasons to kill him than Sir Hugh's twenty-five guineas. Now I should like to hear what Lady Cockburn told you about Sir Hugh's doings last night. I'm curious to see how the pieces of the puzzle fit together." I related as best I could our conversation of that morning. Cyril frowned. "They do not fit. If he told his coachman to come for him at ten, he could not have intended to meet his blackmailer in Wapping at the same hour. I have a job for you, Cousin. You've assisted the coroner on occasion. Go to the morgue first thing in the morning —no, go now— and have a look at the body." "But it's past seven o'clock!" "No matter; they'll let you in. Let's see if my renter

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theory holds up." "You want me to examine his anus?" "Examine all of him, or you'll arouse suspicion. But I think it will suffice to see if he was pretty enough to ply that trade. Then, tomorrow, armed with that knowledge, this article and the blackmail note in hand, go confront Sir Hugh. He is not our murderer, nor does he appear to take this attempt at blackmail seriously—" "Why do you say that?" "Because it appears he did not follow the blackmailer's instructions. As I was saying, that he is unwilling to account for his whereabouts last night means the flimsy evidence you will present will be enough to frighten him. Badger him if you must. I should like to solve this mystery, if possible without leaving my flat, and he may have the information I need to do so." "Which mystery, Cyril? The blackmail or the murder?" He smiled knowingly. "How much are you ready wager that they are one and the same?" "The blackmailer and the murdered boy?" "Perhaps, but I meant the same mystery."

****

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My cousin Cyril did not need my opinion to confirm his theory. A constable from Southwark had recognised the victim as Lionel Buckham, a suspected male prostitute. "We're bringing in one of his cronies for a positive identification," said Inspector Ealing. "Another of his sort who goes by the name of Johnny Rice. The coroner has already determined the cause of death. The fellow didn't drown. But come have a look anyway, as long as you're here." Johnny Rice arrived while I was examining the body. Upon seeing his friend, he started to cry. "That's Nelly Buckham, all right," he told the constable. "'E was me mate." "I dare say!" Johnny Rice responded with a cold stare. The boy had spunk, and except for his tears was not at all effeminate. "'Oo coulda done somethin' like that?" "We intend to find out. Now if you'll come with me, we'd like to ask you a few questions." I waited outside the morgue until their interrogation finished. While I should have liked to hear his statement, I

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thought he would probably not tell the police everything he knew and that, if I handled him rightly, the information I got out of him would be more reliable. I did not have to wait long. Either the police wanted no more than an identification or the young man refused to co-operate with them and was not under suspicion. As I did not want the police to know I questioned him, I followed him a distance of a few hundred yards. He sensed me behind him and turned suddenly, as if alarmed. Seeing that I was a gentleman, however, he relaxed, stepped to the side and waited for me to pass. Instead, I approached him. "Mr. Rice?" "Yes, guv'nor?" "I should like to have a word with you, if I may. About the murdered boy." "You a copper?" "No, a doctor." "Then what's yer interest in Nelly?" "I have reason to believe he was —shall we say, involved— with one of my patients." "'Oo?" "I'd rather not say." "Then I'd rather not say. Good evenin' t' yer." "No, this is important. Can I count on your

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discretion? My patient is a prominent and well-respected gentleman, and I may be wrong." "Yer know what I does fer a livin'? Same as Nelly Buckham did." "What of it?" "A renter 'as to be discreet same as a doctor or 'e won't get no business. Now, you gonna tell me 'oo 'e is?" I hesitated. I had intended to ask him questions, and here he was questioning me! "You thinking that patient o' yers murdered 'im?" he asked defiantly. "Oh no, nothing like that. Very well. It's Sir Hugh Cockburn. Ah, I see I was not mistaken." "Nelly's baronet wouldn't never a hurt 'im. If it's on 'is be'alf ye're come, ask away." "What exactly can you tell me about their relationship?" "No more'n yer've already guessed. Yer'd do better t' ask yer patient. As I said, us renters 're a discreet lot. Now, if yer was t' ask what I'd do with my gen'leman, supposin' I 'ad one—" "Don't be impertinent." "Sorry, Dr…" he glanced at my card, "Williams. No offense intended, but I 'ad 'oped yer'd ask me somethin' more t' the point."

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Clearly, Rice was eager to co-operate, but as I had not anticipated meeting him, I had no idea what to ask. I therefore said I wished to think on the matter before discussing it further, ascertained where he worked and how to contact him, gave him my card, and hailed a cab.

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~2~ The first thing next morning, I proceeded to Kensington to interview Sir Hugh Cockburn. Lady Cockburn had seen the article in the morning newspaper and was distraught over her husband's possible involvement. I brushed her fears aside, pointing out the inconsistency between the time specified in the note and when he'd told Johnson to pick him up. "Thank you, Dr. Williams. That's a great weight off my mind. My husband is waiting for you upstairs." My patient was more comfortable, but his condition had not changed since the day before. "Now perhaps you'll tell me what business you had in Wapping the night before last." "Wapping? But I didn't go to Wapping! What makes you think I did?" I produced the note. "Oh, that. That was months ago. Wherever did you find it?" "Your wife found it in your overcoat pocket." He tried to hide his anxiety. "It's nothing, I assure you. Can you imagine? Twenty-five guineas! I paid it no attention."

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"My cousin Cyril Fosterby has seen the note, and he had no difficulty deducing that you have dealings with renters." Sir Hugh understood the word, and blanched. "I see that he was not mistaken. Don't upset yourself. I'm not here to lecture you." "You lectured me yesterday." "About your health, not your morals. I have come here to get information, not to give advice, though I dare say you could use some. For shame, Sir Hugh! Renters!" "Not renters. A renter. And you promised not to lecture." "A renter named Lionel Buckham, to be precise." "You know that too?" I showed him the newspaper. "Good God!" he exclaimed. "Has Lionel been murdered?" "He has, and all the evidence points to you, so you'd do well to tell me everything you know. He was blackmailing you?" "In a sense, yes, though I never believed he'd act on his threats. I paid him fifty guineas a month, twenty-five every other week, and got more than his silence in return. I was infatuated with him." "Pray continue."

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"We used to meet up in a room I rented in Shoreditch. To keep my anonymity, you understand, sooner than risk being seen with him in his usual haunts in Southwark, where how he earned his living was generally known." "You had no compunction about going to Southwark in the first place. I assume you made his acquaintance there?" "Yes. My suspicions about my son Robert brought me to Southwark at the beginning of summer. I followed him there, and saw him and Lionel enter a house of ill repute together. Rather than make a scene, I waited until my son had left, then went inside to have it out with the boy." "And?" "He seduced me. You know the rest." "Not all of it. You went to Shoreditch Thursday, to indulge your pleasures despite your bronchitis?" "Those were not our plans. He knew I was ill. But that morning he sent word saying he absolutely had to see me. It was most urgent. He never came. You can imagine my anxiety. I waited for him for hours." "His need to see you must have some connection with the murder. Was it a written message? Do you still

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have it?" "I destroyed it." "I shall report back to my cousin and let him work it out. It was he who deduced you were involved with a renter with no evidence to go by other than the blackmail note. In the meantime, set your mind at rest. As far as I'm aware, the police have no inkling that you and Buckham—" "Don't say it, Doctor. This interview has been painful enough as is."

****

"Well, what do you make of it?" I asked Cyril after filling him in on my activities of that morning and the evening before. "Very little, except that I find the baronet's story entirely credible. He can tell us nothing of interest." "The victim's anus was dilated. The police conclude the boy was raped." "They would." "But you do not?" "Should I? The fellow was a male prostitute. No, dear boy, this Johnny Rice offers a more promising lead, and you say he's willing to help. The question is, do you

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think we can trust him?" "I'm quite certain of it. He wept when he saw the body." "The fellow may have been bluffing. But if he can fool you and the police, he will make an invaluable ally. I shall be the judge of that. Describe the young man." "Scarcely a man, Cyril. A pretty boy, some seventeen or eighteen years old, slender, about five foot eight, neatly groomed, with blond hair and blue eyes." "I suggest we wait a while before getting in touch with him. In Southwark, was it not?" "Birdgate Alley." "No doubt the police will check out the house, and we shall get nothing out of the proprietor until the fuss dies down. But tell me, John, could it be coincidence that Sir Hugh and his son share the same tastes to the extent that they both have relations with the same prostitute? I've long suspected that the tendency may be inherited." "Which would make it no more excusable." "Hmmm… Your Cock Robin may have a better idea who killed Lionel Buckham. I've another job for you. Go up to Cambridge and find out what he knows. We must bide our time until the police investigation reaches its inevitable dead end, but I will not sit idle while the

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evidence grows cold." "How shall I find the time? I have half a dozen patients down with the influenza. And how shall I explain a trip to Cambridge to my wife?" "Is it vital for her to know you're going? As for your patients, seeing him needn't take longer than half a day." "And what exactly am I supposed to ask him?" "Exactly what I told you: what he knows. You can put it to him directly. Tell him what you know and ask if there's anything he can add to it. Robert is no fool. There is something else, though — another distasteful possibility I should like to lay to rest. This Cock Robin may have been blackmailing his own father with Buckham acting as intermediary in order to free himself to indulge his vices without his father's intervention. Not a word when you see him; there's probably nothing to it. But keep your ears open. Don't bother coming here as soon as you get back. I have more than enough to think about. First see to your influenza patients, then pay a visit to Birdgate Alley. I feel confident that we shall find the solution to this mystery there." "You want me to set foot in a brothel!" "Why not, in a professional capacity? Say that one of your patients has contracted syphilis and fingered one of

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their boys as the source of infection. For your patient's sake you prefer not to involve the local health board." "Go here, go there… Really, Cyril, you expect me to do all the work while you sit at home and mull over what I turn up." "That's the best way to go about it, don't you see? Keep the murderer in the dark as to the mastermind's identity." "The mastermind, is it? You have quite a high opinion of yourself, it seems." "Do you think yourself capable of finding the murderer?" "I am satisfied in knowing Sir Hugh has no connection with the crime." "Oh, but he does." "I meant that he is not implicated. I have no desire to play detective." "But I do. I like puzzles. Solving them, that is. Besides, this isn't play. Murder is no game, Cousin."

****

Three o'clock the following afternoon found me in Cambridge, sipping port wine in young Robert Cockburn's

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rooms. Having no idea how to begin, I set right down to business. "I've come on your father's behalf, seeing that he has pneumonia and cannot come himself. Are you aware of the predicament that your behaviour has landed him in? You may not know it, but he followed you to Southwark last summer." "I know about that," he answered in a cavalier tone. "I also know he's taken up with Lionel, the lucky devil! I'd hardly call that a predicament." "Buckham has been blackmailing him." "Rubbish! Strange to say, Lionel took a fancy to the old man. That nonsense about twenty-five guineas was just an excuse to get to see him again. I suggested it to Nelly myself. To go on paying them was Father's idea. Nelly would have been happy with five. So you see there's no predicament." "You're mistaken. The boy has been murdered." "No! Who would want to hurt Nelly? Don't let his calling deceive you, Doctor. The boy is a darling, wouldn't hurt a fly. Surely Father isn't under suspicion?" "Not at present, but if his liaison with Buckham should come to light…" "I see. How can I help?"

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"You can start by telling me everything you know about the boy. Where he worked, his favourite haunts, what clients he serviced, his associates…" "His best friend is… was Johnny Rice. He can tell you more than I. He works—" "I know where he works. I've already met the fellow." "My, my. You are on top of things, aren't you? What did you think of him?" "I thought him rather brazen, to tell the truth." "Doesn't know his place, eh? Well, it's true he doesn't mince words. A minor failing. You'll change your tune when you get to know him." "I have no intention of getting to know him." "You will if you mean to find out who killed Nelly Buckham. He's an honest chap, and very intelligent. Quite capable of getting to the bottom of this murder business on his own, if you ask me. You'll find it worthwhile to cultivate his friendship. Not in the way I cultivate it, of course." "You young puppy! Why, you're as brazen as he is!" I sorely regretted having followed my cousin's advice and having broached the subject of his and his

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father's sexual practices as bluntly as I had, which, it seemed, he had taken as an invitation to frivolity. At that moment Lord Ashton burst into the room unannounced. "Sorry, love. I didn't know you had company." "Freddy, I believe you know Dr. Williams. Have you heard? Somebody murdered Nelly Buckham!" Lord Alfred collapsed in a chair. "I just knew no good would come of his association with your father. People were bound to get wind of it who wouldn't be pleased to learn one of the Birdgate Alley boys was carrying on on the side." "You don't think Lansing… Rough him up a bit, but lose as valuable an asset as Nelly? I don't believe it!" "Poor Nelly! I shall sorely miss his attentions." "Not you too!" I exclaimed. "Why, Robert, he's engaged to marry your sister!" "What of it? I can vouch that Freddy here is capable of providing the most intense pleasure to any woman… or man. Does that shock you, Doctor? I see no point in pretending since you know about us already. If you haven't denounced my father, you won't denounce me. Nor Freddy, either." "No, I shan't, which is not to say that I approve of any of this. I have no wish to create a scandal, but I fear I

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am powerless to prevent you from causing one." "No-one's asking you to approve. As for a scandal, what Freddy and I do in private need not go beyond these four walls or whatever four walls happen to surround us at the moment. Nor, I might add, is what we do all that uncommon. There are plenty of chaps like us, aren't there, Freddy?" "Plenty, Robert?" I remonstrated. "Oh, come now, Doctor," Lord Ashton interrupted. "You were at school once. You must know what goes on here." To my horror, he thereupon turned and kissed his friend on the lips. "Stop this, stop this at once!" I ordered. "Do be serious." "We are being serious. I meant every word I said." "That's no excuse for saying them. I thought both of you were better brought up. Some things are better left unsaid." "Because polite society doesn't like to hear what it knows perfectly well and wishes it didn't." "If I can expect the same of your friend Mr. Rice, I shall have nothing to do with him." "Don't worry, Doctor. If you stick to the subject of Nelly's murder, so will Johnny."

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Their kiss, however, proved a mild prelude to what I was to witness in Southwark the next morning.

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~3~ Mrs. Lansing, the proprietress of the brothel, took me for a client and greeted me effusively. Few came by on Sunday morning. When she learned the object of my visit, she turned stubborn. "Not again! First the coppers, and now the 'Ealth Board! They was 'ere yesterday, askin' questions about that boy what was drowned." "A boy drowned?" I asked in a tone I hoped would sound like a mixture of surprise and concern. "Nelly Buckham. 'E worked for me. Found 'is body in the river Thursday mornin', they did. Ain't you read about it in the papers? Anyway, 'ere they was, an 'ole lot of 'em, showin' up out o' nowhere, askin' questions and pokin' their noses in ev'rywhere. Gave us quite a scare, it did. Luckily they didn't drop by durin' business hours. Weren't nobody 'ere except me boys, Mr. Lansing, and myself, so they made no arrests." "Well, you have no cause to worry that scene will be repeated. As you see, I have come alone with the sole purpose of examining your boys. There need be no fuss; in fact, I prefer there be none. I was not sent by the Health Board, nor have I informed them of my visit. It is

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imperative that my patient remain anonymous if at all possible, but if he contracted the disease here, they shall have to know. We can hope I find no trace of infection. Come, come. Will you co-operate, or shall I call in the authorities?" "Very well. Which o' me bugger-boys did 'e go with?" "I didn't ask. It is my duty to inspect them all. How many boys work here?" "Seven, now that Nelly's gone. They're all 'ere. Fast asleep they are, except Johnny Rice, 'oo's otherwise occupied, and will probably be at it a while yet. 'E escorted 'is gen'leman upstairs just a few minutes ago. Still, I expect 'e'll finish up afore you do. Now, it won't do to have all me boys drop their knickers right 'ere in the parlour, will it? One never knows 'oo may drop by, and we don't give out free shows. Come this way, please, Doctor." I followed her to a small storage room in back. Several cases of Malaga wine were stacked in the corner. "A drop o' wine perhaps, whilst I rouse 'em for ye, Doctor?" she asked, pointing to an open bottle. "I won't be but a moment." "Thank you, but I'm working." I took advantage of her absence to run over in my

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mind the questions Cyril wanted me to ask and to plan how I would phrase them. He made it clear that I must not simply go down the list, for they would certainly talk amongst themselves afterward and would easily guess the true purpose of my visit if I asked every boy the same questions in the same way. I must make casual conversation, as if to put them at ease whilst they underwent what most men would consider a disagreeable and embarrassing inspection. "Pity about the poor dead boy. How do you think it happened? Didn't anyone notice he was missing? Was he a close friend of yours?" and so on. I had a notebook with me in which to record their names, ages and such —standard medical procedure, that— and also jot down between examinations what I learned from each, pretending the information was of a medical nature, as Cyril had insisted I remember exactly who told me what. Mrs. Lansing returned shortly, accompanied by six bleary-eyed young men, yawning, shuffling their feet, looking very bored, and clad only in their undergarments. I requested to inspect them one at a time. "Why not right all together?" she leered. "They got nothin' to 'ide." "I am not accustomed to performing medical

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examinations in front of an audience." "You won't 'ave an audience. Wouldn't be decent o' me to stand by an' watch. Just line 'em all up an' look 'em over, each one in turn, like is done in the Army." "I am not a military physician." "'Ow will I know yer ain't just looking fer free entertainment?" "I assure you, Madam, I do not find my business here in the least entertaining." She cast me an appraising glance. "Seven of 'em. No, I suppose I overestimated you. Colin, ye're first. You others, come wait with me in the parlour." I spent the next two hours prodding genitals, retracting foreskins, their members stiffening in my hand, lifting testicles, checking chests and armpits for rash, and sticking tongue depressors down the throats and my finger up the backsides of six well-built and perfectly healthy young men who took a good deal more enjoyment in the procedure than I. I took my time about it, for my true purpose was to question them without letting on, but Johnny Rice, who, they all agreed, had been "thick as thieves" with Buckham, was still "otherwise occupied" when I finished. Mrs. Lansing went to "'urry 'im up". He came

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downstairs about ten minutes later, fully dressed, in the company of a seedy-looking individual, swarthy, with a beaked nose and bushy eyebrows, whom I took to be a regular visitor in that den of iniquity, for he chatted most amiably with the proprietress in a heavy Scots accent before passing her a handful of banknotes. He must have paid more handsomely than expected, for she beamed with pleasure and said, "Might ye be wantin' another drop o' me Malaga?" "A full glass, and no wee drop, if ye dinna mind. Be sure the boy gets some o' that," he added, indicating the banknotes. "Pleased with 'im, are yer?" "Aye, that I am." "Well, 'e'll get what's owin' to 'im. Our boys earn a set fee, not that some clients don't give 'em a bit more for services we don't require 'em to provide." "And those be?" I concluded he was not familiar with the establishment after all. She whispered something in his ear, whereupon his face lit up with a degenerate smile. He turned, walked up to Johnny, and pressed more banknotes into his hand. The three boys who had remained in the parlour nudged each other and snickered, and Johnny

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blushed a deep crimson. I would not have cared to speculate on what he and the Scotsman had done. Mrs. Lansing, who had momentarily disappeared into my examining room, returned with a glass of the Malaga. To my horror, the Scotsman gulped down his wine —I had seen by the label that it was of excellent quality— nodded to all present, and left hurriedly. Johnny Rice had showed no sign of recognising me. "Ye're t' go with this gen'leman now," she told him. "But, Mrs. L… I just been—" "This ain't yer usual work, Johnny," she interrupted. "This gen'leman ain't a payin' customer." "It won't take but a quarter-hour, Mr. Rice," I assured him. "Mr. Rice 'e calls me! What's this all about, anyway?" He shrugged and followed me meekly to the examination room when she had explained my mission. He began undoing his trousers as soon as I'd shut the door. "That won't be necessary, Johnny," I said. "You know why I'm here. I rely on you to make sure the others do not." "Yer'd better 'ave a look at me anyway," he replied.

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"Someone might just open the door to see what we're up to." "I've had no interruptions yet." "Don't wanna chance it," he said, and pulled his trousers down around his ankles. "So you suspect her too…" I began. Then my eyes bulged. "What's the matter, Doctor?" he grinned. "Aincha never seen a naked man afore?" Now I am not particularly enamoured of the male organ, and I'd had more than my fill of them that morning, but if any penis could be called beautiful, it belongs to Johnny Rice. Although I could reasonably assume that the fellow had ejaculated a quarter of an hour ago, perhaps several times within the last two hours, it pointed straight out, significantly larger and thicker than the range of sizes cited in medical textbooks, its bright pink glans exposed. The taut skin was smooth and very white, the tracery of light blue veins on the shapely shaft fine and delicate. It pleased me to see he was cleaner than the others, and I presumed he had washed after performing the recent perversions I preferred not to think about. Below it hung a recently emptied and all but hairless scrotum, the large testicles

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within clearly outlined, and the patch of curly pubic hair at the base of his flat stomach shone as brightly as the blond shock on his head. "Don't be afeared. 'E don't bite. That's me Little Johnny," he said. "Go ahead an' shake 'ands. Little Johnny, meet Dr. Williams." And he waggled the thing up and down less than six inches from my nose. "Mr. Rice," I said sternly, "this is no time for levity." "It ain't time to sit an' stare neither. Go on, touch 'im, squeeze 'im, do whatever it is ye do. Look 'im over real good, like yer done with the other boys. They'll be talkin' about it an' comparin', an' if I can't say nothin' or get it all wrong they'll be wond'rin' why I got the special treatment. Yer can ask yer questions while yer looks me over." I gulped, and did my best to carry on in the most professional manner I could muster. "You also suspect Mrs. Lansing, do you?" "Mrs. L? No. 'Oo suspects 'er?" "I had a conversation with Robert Cockburn and Lord Alfred Ashton yesterday." "A conversation, or an inspection as well? Big as me, Lord Freddy is. But yer'd know that, wouldn't yer, yer bein' 'is doctor an' all."

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"I am not Lord Alfred's physician." I was by now completely flustered and in no condition to ask the fellow anything. He went on unprompted. "Word leaked out about Nelly's private client. I known that already when I seen yer at the morgue. 'Where's Nelly?' I asks the Missus the day after 'e disappeared. 'Gawn. Run off with 'is rich nob is what I think,' says she, which weren't bloody likely, knowin' 'oo the bloke was, which she didn't. 'Give 'im a week an' 'e'll come crawlin' back,' she says then, which weren't bloody likely neither, but I keeps me mouth shut. Quite the disciplinarians, the owners are. Think they owns us. I s'pose they do, too. Never thought 'e'd get killed fer it, though." So the young man already had his suspicions when he had gone to identify the body! I remembered his ingenuous "'Oo coulda done somethin' like that?" and realised that he had a good head on his shoulders. It had been most wise of my cousin to suggest we enlist Johnny Rice as an ally. "Perhaps it was meant as a warning for the rest of you." "Some warnin' if yer don't tell nobody! Anyways, then Nelly turns up dead, an' I'm called t' the morgue, an' there's coppers runnin' all over the 'ouse. Shocked 'er it did,

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that much I'm sure of. 'Ad yer fun with me cock now, Doctor? Ready to stick yer finger up me bum? Don't be shy. I'm used to it. Yer won't 'urt me none." He bent over and spread his buttocks wide with both hands. I applied some petroleum jelly to my finger and placed it on the opening. It slipped in, and he wriggled up against it, turning to wink at me as he did. I find the human anus of both sexes even less attractive than the penis, but Johnny Rice's shapely rump… I've said enough. I assure you, however, that I could detect no evidence of his having engaged in any but the usual perversions with his most recent client. Mrs. Lansing was relieved when I told her her boys were clean. "You're off the hook. My patient must have picked up the filthy disease elsewhere, or got it from the drowned boy. A colleague in the Coroner's Office will provide the information. The autopsy will have found if he was infected."

****

I had much to think about, so I decided to walk as far as the river before hailing a cab to take me to Sussex Gardens. I sensed someone following me. I looked back

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and saw the Scotsman who'd dawdled so long over his frolics with Johnny Rice. A few more blocks convinced me I was not mistaken. I turned, and he looked quizzically at me. I strode up to him, determined to demand an explanation. Before I could open my mouth he said, "Hello, Cousin John. I'm glad to know my disguise is effective." "Cyril!" "Yes, I've been to see Johnny Rice." "He didn't say a word to me." "No, he wouldn't. Who would have thought to find such a noble character in a renter? Your initial impression of the lad was spot on. He's bright, and anxious to help in any way he can. I've enlisted his aid. If he does well, I shall continue to use him in future, for I find this detective business most enjoyable. My first case won't be my last. Funny, our paths crossing like that. I could use someone like our young Mr. Rice, a reliable and intelligent member of the lower classes who could gather information in the less fashionable parts of London without arousing suspicion." I had not expected my cousin to show so much enthusiasm, neither for the lad nor criminal investigations. "Reliable? In this case, yes," I agreed, "since the murdered

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boy was a friend of his. But, Cyril, the fellow is a prostitute!" "And who better qualified to move among the criminal element? No, Cousin, Johnny will do admirably. He's honest — I mean he has principles, in spite of his profession." "I should hardly call how he earns his living a profession!" "His trade, then. In any case, I believe I can answer for his loyalty, and that's what counts the most. You'll see for yourself once you've seen more of him and got to know him better." "I've seen quite enough of him already, thank you. More than enough." Cyril obviously caught my meaning, for he smiled, wickedly, I thought, with a twinkle in his eye, much the same smile he had given when he tipped Johnny Rice. "Oh," he said, "I think you shall —be seeing him again, that is— before I've closed the case." Then suddenly changing the subject, he asked, "By the way, did you sample the Malaga? A superlative vintage, I wish I could have savoured it. Contraband, obviously." "You think so? Then I'm surprised the police didn't confiscate it when they searched the house."

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"Surely they would not have left it in plain sight. Besides, Scotland Yard did not go there looking for contraband. They were investigating a murder." "Perhaps it arrived afterward." "That must be it. Now let's get a cab, and you'll tell me what you learned just now at Mrs. Lansing's and about your meeting with the Cockburn boy." He listened intently, nodding at my every sentence. "Capital!" he said when I revealed that Cock Robin and Lord Alfred were lovers. "Then we can rely on him as well. I was hoping we could." "You knew of their relationship, then?" "I thought you understood that, dear boy. Didn't you catch my implication? They'll be down for the vacation in a few weeks, and I'll put them to work immediately if we haven't finished this business already. Now that I've established the murderer's identity I can put my plan into action. Johnny Rice will be in mortal danger, and someone must keep an eye on him round the clock. That will be their job. Fortunately, we have a week or so of grace, if not more." "So you know who murdered Lionel Buckham?" "Yes. That is, fairly certain. I solved it not five minutes ago. I unravelled the mystery quite easily, having

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more than motive to go on. I'll explain later." I marvelled at his prodigious intellect, which allowed him to sift through the evidence, weigh it, and draw conclusions whilst he listened to me recount what I had done, paying close attention to my every word. "Who was it then? Mrs. Lansing? Johnny Rice doesn't think so." "That is a secret I shall not share with you. I have another task for you, and if I let you know who the murderer is, you may not be able to dissimulate your loathing and distrust, and that would put him onto us. He believes himself safe, and therein lies our advantage." "But the boy. You say he'll be in mortal danger? Have you told him who murdered his friend?" "When would I have? I didn't know when I questioned him. I'm fairly sure he knows, though. The lad is quicker than you, Cousin John." "Is he in on your plan?" "Don't be ridiculous. Would I have formulated it before I discovered who did it? I'll let him know soon enough. I shan't keep it from you, either. Listen. It won't be long before word gets around that young Rice has a private client." "He has? I'm surprised he'd chance it after what happened to his friend."

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"Pretence, John, to flush out the murderer and entrap him." "And who, pray, is this pretend benefactor of his?" "Why you, dear boy! Who else?" So that's what he had meant when he said I'd be seeing Johnny Rice again! "Me!" I exclaimed. "When would I have met the likes of him?" "You did just now. What do you think of your protégé? Isn't he delicious?" "So that explains his brazen behaviour when I examined him!" "Made advances to you already, has he? I told him we might go that route. No doubt he played his role to the hilt. A fine specimen in every way, don't you agree?" "Why ask my opinion? You remained closeted with him six times longer than I. I trust you found the experience pleasurable?" "Informative, Cousin; most informative. It was what inspired me to try my hand at other cases. Seldom has anything other than a chemical experiment so stimulated me." "Harrumph! I find the prospect of being in league with a gang of perverts less than enthralling." "You needn't return to Birdgate Alley. Rice will see

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to putting the killer on your scent." "On my scent! Will I also be in danger, then? But I meant Cock Robin and his lover. And Rice. May I ask where these simulacra assignations are to occur?" "When I said 'your scent', I meant both yours and Johnny's. But you have no cause for worry. You'll be perfectly safe; our murderer won't go after a gentleman." "Mightn't he attempt blackmail?" "Do you honestly believe he would be so foolish as to blackmail a man involved with someone he intends to do away with? What if you went to the police? He can't risk leaving any clues that would point to him. As for where you shall meet, I shall invite your new admirer to dine with you this Wednesday in Sir Hugh's room in Shoreditch. Explain to him that I shall use the premises to track down the murderer, and he'll give you the key." "Sir Hugh will hand it over without asking for an explanation. But how, pray tell, am I to explain all this to my wife?" "Tell her the truth — that you're assisting me with a case. It won't surprise Belinda to learn I've taken up detective work. She thinks I'm eccentric. I dare say you do, too." "I couldn't tell her you've set me up as bait to catch

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a murderer. It would terrify her. And as for telling her I'm pretending to have an affair with a male prostitute—" "You needn't tell her the whole truth. Make up any story you like. Rest assured that whatever you do with Johnny Rice will remain private. I shan't ask questions." "If you go on like this any longer, Cyril, I shall refuse to play your little game."

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~4~ I did not see my cousin again for a long while. Solving the Buckham murder kept him busy, and it seems he temporarily abandoned chemistry to undertake one or two other cases as well. I was curious to know how the investigation was progressing, but he did not want me to get involved. My role was to act as bait. More exactly, Johnny Rice was the bait and I the fisherman dangling him from the end of my pole while we waited for the murderer to bite. So while I saw Cyril not at all, I did spend a great deal of time with Johnny, whom I found to be keenly intelligent and, despite his atrocious grammar and pronunciation, a congenial and most entertaining conversationalist. I would go so far as to call him charming. My wife was surprised I should have acquired a patient in Shoreditch until I explained that he was a lad whom my cousin had taken to pursue his investigation in parts of the city where my presence would be conspicuous, which was not all that far from the truth. We spent every Monday evening in each other's company in Sir Hugh's former love nest. According to Johnny, as a rule very few customers visited the Lansings'

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brothel on Mondays. We sometimes met up on a Wednesday or Thursday as well, for he would come to Shoreditch if business was slow, so unless I had seen him the day before, I stopped by every weekday. It was essential that I be seen there in the event Johnny was followed. Even if he didn't come that day, someone might be watching the building. The room was furnished with a lavatory, a table, two chairs, a lamp, and an oversized bed which, I hasten to add, we did not use. In short, except insofar as I never solicited him for sexual favours, Sir Hugh was wrong to deem me incapable of appreciating the pleasures of a têteà-tête with a handsome young man. We dined together at the little table on viands I ordered from a nearby caterer. He enjoyed even the most unfamiliar dishes and ate heartily. Though his beverage of choice was stout, he quickly developed a palate for fine wines. One night he brought two bottles of superb Malaga. "Pinched from the cellar at Birdgate, Willie," he explained. He had invented that pet name for me, and always gave me a conspiratorial smile when he said it. When I objected to his forwardness, he countered that it was not enough for people to see us together. They also needed to overhear something that would lead them to

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believe we were on intimate terms. I made him promise not to use it in the presence of my cousin, Cock Robin or Lord Alfred, and to call me "Doctor" instead. Knowing that the evenings he spent with me were for him income lost, I offered to pay him, but he adamantly refused. "I'm doin' this fer Lionel, and it would cheapen it if I took yer money. Not that I don't like bein' with yer. Ye're a peach!" "You realise that Lansing may turn you out if he learns what you're up to, and you'd be left without a house to work from." "Oh, there's other places where they treat the boys nicer. Maybe Lord Freddy can find me a job in a real 'ighclass 'ouse." He always thanked me for my hospitality. In every way Johnny behaved as the nearly perfect gentleman. Nearly — the boy was naturally flirtatious. For example, in addition to calling me Willie, he insisted that I "make myself comfortable" when with him, by which he meant take off my vest and collar, and at least loosen my tie. One can imagine my embarrassment when, on our first evening together, I demurred and he took care of removing the offending garments himself. I protested that he not make so

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bold as to undress me. He laughed merrily and blew in my ear, but went no further than making me what he called comfortable. After that, I took care to "get comfortable" before he arrived. Of course, being a married man, I took care to rearrange my apparel before I left him. I always lit a good fire in the grate for Johnny, because he made himself a good deal more comfortable than I, taking off his shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks — everything but his trousers— and passed the rest of the evening in that state of undress. Then, his shirt off, he gave me a big hug and asked for a kiss, on the excuse to get into the part he needed something that made him feel close to me, or so he said the first time he asked for one. "Has it occurred to you that I do not wish to 'get into the part', as you so obliquely phrase it?" "Nor should yer. Bein' a gen'leman, ye're expected t' show reserve. Now me, I'm a renter, and us renters is—" "More effusive." "Exactly! I knew yer'd understand. Now, 'ow about that kiss?" "On the lips?" "Yes, just a peck. I won't thrust me tongue in yer mouth." And that is the way we always greeted each other,

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with a hug and an innocent kiss, after which the young man would strip down to just his trousers. He never went so far as to remove every article of clothing, and I can assure you that we never did anything unseemly. We dined and had a friendly chat, and then I left. I once asked if he weren't afraid the killer might be waiting for him in the shadows after I'd gone. "Nobody's followed me 'ere yet," he answered. "I'd know if they 'ad." "Yes, my cousin said you were a clever lad. You impressed him right from the start." Johnny laughed. "That's because I saw through 'is disguise. Soon as we got to the room, I turns to 'im and says, 'What is it yer want with me? Yer ain't no Scotsman!'" "And I, who've known him for years, was fooled! How did you penetrate his disguise?" "I didn't; I just knew 'e weren't no Scotsman, not 'oo 'e was. But 'e asked me the same thing, 'ow I was able to tell. 'On account o' the Malaga,' says I. 'A real Scotsman would ask fer whisky if the lady of the 'ouse offered 'im a drink, so I knew yer 'ad to be a nob.'" "Well, if you have that good an eye, I suppose you're safe enough. But what if you notice you have been followed? What will you do then?"

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"Why, I'd 'ave yer send word to yer cousin Cyril and then come back and wait 'ere with me until 'e sends an escort to see me 'ome safely." "So you are in contact with him, then." "Not me. 'E told me 'ow to get in touch with 'im if I need to, that's all." I had often asked Johnny how the investigation was going, and always he denied he knew anything. I wondered if he was telling the truth. One never knows with a canny boy like Johnny — and him a renter, too! Since turning detective, Cyril had delighted in mystifying me, and he might have instructed him to say nothing.

****

I saw much of Sir Hugh as well. The Baronet's pneumonia lingered on, and I stopped by every other day to see how he was doing. I attributed his slow recovery to his state of mind. Sir Hugh was in very low spirits, sorrowing for his Lionel. I mistook his depression for sexual deprivation, and was indiscreet enough to tell him so. "That is the least of it, Dr. Williams," he said. "Don't think for a moment that I shall go in search of a replacement. Henceforth I shall again become a faithful

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husband. It's him I miss; I miss him terribly. I miss his company, his youth, his beauty. You don't know what it is to fall in love with a young man, nor will you ever. In this you are denied one of life's greatest joys and are at the same time most fortunate." Sir Hugh's words were very much on my mind when I saw Johnny the following day. Despite his son's assurances that Buckham had not blackmailed him and the fifty pounds a month was Sir Hugh's idea, it was quite clear that lad had had him wrapped around his little finger, and I suspected he had been taking advantage of him. I pressed Johnny for details of their relationship. "There ain't much I can tell yer about that, Willie," he said earnestly. "Yer don't imagine Nelly went around talkin' about it, do yer? I knew what 'e was about, more or less, because Nelly was me best chum, but 'e didn't let on much. Us renters 'ave our principles, after all. I will say that 'e was fond of 'im, though. That much I'm sure of." "Fond of him? Is it possible for a boy Buckham's age to be fond of a man so much his senior?" "I'm fond of you, Doctor." "That's not what I meant by fond, and you know it." "Well, I could be fond of yer in the way Nelly was fond of 'is baronet. Not that it'll happen, yer understand, yer

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bein' a married man and all." "Sir Hugh is a married man." "As are most of me clientele. But you didn't come to Birdgate Alley lookin' fer company—" "Sir Hugh didn't either, at least not the first time; or so he says." "But 'e come back. You didn't, an' yer wouldn't be 'ere with me now if Mr. Fosterby 'adn't insisted on it." "Nonetheless, I find our evenings together quite peasant, Johnny. I enjoy them very much. You mustn't think I find the assignment disagreeable." "Yeah, I know 'ow to please a gentleman," he sulked. "Admit it, yer wouldn't gi' me a shillin' fer me time." "I pay for our dinners." "An' eats 'alf of 'em, yer do." "We're not going to quarrel, are we? What have we to quarrel about? That I'm not one of your clients?" He brightened up. "I'm glad yer ain't," he said. "It means when yer say yer likes me yer ain't sayin' it 'cause yer want somethin' in return." "But I do want something in return. I want you to be open with me." "That I am. I wasn't lyin' when I said I was fond o'

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yer." I did not like the direction in which our conversation was headed, but I had to ask: "How fond, Johnny?" "Fond enough t' 'ope we'll be seein' each other again sometimes after all this is over." He cocked his head to one side and smiled at me. He had a wonderful smile.

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~5~ Christmas was fast approaching, and as yet we had had no sign that anyone was aware of Johnny's and my supposed liaison. I received a message from my mastermind cousin. We have been too discreet, and must alter our strategy. Please come see me as soon as possible. Tomorrow will be too late. I proceeded at once to Sussex Gardens. I found Cyril engrossed in perusing a stack of papers that I took to be a police report, a suitcase on the floor beside him. He glanced up from his reading and said, "Ah, Cousin John. Good of you to come on such short notice." "You are about to leave on a journey, it appears. Will you be away long?" "No, no. A couple of days at most. I have been called to Sheffield on a case. Would you believe I'm working on four of them simultaneously? And I'm having the time of my life. Quite the career change, isn't it? You look well, I must say. And your young man, how are things with him?" "Johnny Rice is not 'my young man', and as far as I can tell, he's doing splendidly," I said, wishing he would

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stop teasing and get to the point. "I hope you do not find the time you spend with him too much of an imposition. I had not thought your assignment would drag on so." "On the contrary, I've grown quite fond of the lad. He's a pleasure to be with. Bright and easy-going. Not at all what I expected." "I thought you would come round to my way of thinking. But it is most disappointing; our murderer ought to have snapped at the bait by now. We must be more daring and bring your liaison into the open. To do that I shall have to tell you who he is, unless Johnny has told you already." "He has not. Who is it?" "Haven't you guessed? Why Lansing, who else? Dick Lansing, the man who runs the brothel. You met his wife when you inspected the Birdgate Alley boys." Cyril was right; it ought to have occurred to me, and it would not surprise me if the readers of this adventure have already solved the mystery for themselves. It made perfect sense. "Think they owns us," Johnny had said of his employers. The man must have been furious when he discovered Buckham had another source of income he'd been withholding from them, income which he no doubt

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imagined to be more profitable than what the boy earned as his renter. Yet Cyril had said he had not based his conclusion on motive alone. What evidence could he have possibly turned up that day in Birdgate Alley? "So I'm sending you back to Southwark to meet Mr. Lansing," he was saying. "It will be an accidental meeting, of course." "Have you met him?" "Never laid eyes on the man, though Johnny has described him to me." "So you have been conferring with him." "Not often. Once or twice, three at most. But he described him at our first meeting, when I went to Birdgate Alley in disguise. All that is irrelevant. It's high time it dawned on him Johnny has been seeing you on the sly. Lansing will move swiftly once he knows of it." "Then surely we should wait until you return from Sheffield. As you say, he'll move swiftly. I want no harm to come to Johnny. Who's to look out for him?" "Young Robert Cockburn and Lord Alfred will be down for the vac tomorrow. They will act as his invisible bodyguards in my absence. Well, not exactly invisible. Since they frequent the house where he is employed, they will be able to keep an eye on him openly."

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"What new strategy do you propose?" "Weren't you listening? Your next assignation will take place in Southwark." "You mean I am to go to Birdgate Alley. In what capacity?" "No, to Southwark. You need not return to Lansing's establishment. He seldom leaves the neighbourhood, and Rice will arrange for him to catch sight of you in the street somewhere. I leave that up to him; he's a resourceful lad. You will invent some business to attend to at Guy's Hospital and run into your Johnny —excuse me, our Johnny— entirely by chance. This chance meeting will occur tomorrow at precisely twenty past eleven at the corner of Borough High Street and Mermaid Court. He will pretend to recognise you and engage you in conversation, and you will invite him to join you for fish and chips at a nearby restaurant. Somebody is bound to see you together, and word will get back to Lansing. That should suffice to put him onto the scent, after which you and Johnny Rice will continue to meet in Shoreditch as before."

****

Everything went exactly as Cyril had planned it,

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though how Johnny managed to be crossing Borough High Street at the exact moment I reached the end of Mermaid Court I shall never know, and of course even Cyril had no way of controlling what would happen after we entered the fish and chip shop. The bustling intersection at midday was as heavily trafficked as the street outside our room in Shoreditch was deserted after dark. With hundreds of passers-by there to see us, I thought it just as likely we would be overlooked in the milling throng. Johnny hurried across the road to greet me, dodging two carts stacked perilously high with crates of produce and nearly getting himself crushed in the process. "Why if ain't Dr. Warrens!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise. "Warrens?" "So Lansing won't make the connection with Cyril Fosterby when word gets back to 'im I was seen with a gen'leman," he explained, lowering his voice, though I doubt anyone would have heard him over the noise in the street. "Or didn't yer know yer cousin's built a bit of a name fer 'imself in the detection field?" "For which you deserve some credit." He shrugged and said more loudly than I thought necessary, "Fish an' chips is it, then? Let's go eat. I'm

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starved." We sat at a table facing each other, my back to the window. No sooner had the waiter placed our meal in front of us than Johnny said, "It's Lansing. No, don't turn round. I don't want 'im to know I spotted 'im. 'E's standin' there in the street glarin' in at us. No tellin' what 'e'll do t' me when I gets back. I was countin' on 'im 'earin' about it first and then 'avin' me followed to see if it was true." "You're afraid he'll take revenge immediately?" "Can't say fer sure what 'e'll do. Prob'ly rough me up a bit an' leave it at that. I 'ope 'e does somethin', 'cuz if 'e means t' do worse, 'e'll wait fer night." "Then I shall summon a constable." "Lor' no. We wants 'im t' 'ang fer Nelly's murder. A constable 'd just lock up the lot of us. All I'd 'ave is a criminal record to show fer it, an' yer cousin Mr. Fosterby 'd never get 'is proof." "What do want me to do?" "Come back t' the 'ouse with me and say we just 'appened to meet in the street —that's true enough, ain't it?— an' yer thought yer'd stop by an' pay yer respects t' the Missus." It seemed an innocent enough proposal, so I agreed to it.

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Lansing had vanished by the time we finished our meal. "Where do you think he's gone?" I asked. "Expect 'e's waitin' fer me back at the 'ouse an' lookin' forward t' black'nin' me eye. 'E enjoys whalin' on us boys. Let's go." We walked the short distance to Birdgate Alley. A bell on the inside of the front door alerted the proprietors to a customer's arrival. Hearing it, Mrs. Lansing came out of the parlour. We saw no sign of her husband. "Look 'oo I run into walkin' down the 'igh street!" Johnny called to her cheerily. "Yer remember Dr. Warrens what gave us all the medical examination?" She seemed pleased to see me and took no notice of the change of name, which, I believe, had only been spoken when I introduced myself, and I had not given her my card. "Come all the way 'ere t' see me boys again, did ye, Doctor? They're clean." "I had just left Guy's Hospital when I happened upon Johnny here, and decided to stop by and inquire after them. I'm not here for medical examinations this time, Mrs. Lansing." "Except o' Johnny." Lansing stood in the open

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doorway behind us, a large, burly, ill-favoured man, squinteyed under bushy eyebrows, with a dark beard and yellow teeth. I turned to confront him. "I beg your pardon, sir. What did you mean by that?" "I'm Richard Lansing," he growled, "the owner o' this 'ere establishment an' this boy's employer. Ye didn't just stop an' say good day t' each other. I seen yer 'avin' lunch with 'im." "And what of it?" "Yer 'ave to go through me if yer wants the comp'ny o' one o' me boys. They don't work independent. Johnny knows that. I'll deal with 'im later." "Mr. Rice was not working. We were having lunch. And he paid for his own fish and chips." "Mr. Rice, is it? I 'eared yer call 'im Johnny just now. Our boys' time don't come free." Lansing was seething with anger, otherwise he would not have addressed a potential customer in that tone. His wife came forward to stand beside her husband and took him by the arm. "Dick, love, don't be cross with the Doctor. It don't matter none where Johnny finds 'is gen'lemen." "'E can find 'em where 'e pleases," Lansing snarled,

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"so long as 'e pleases 'em 'ere an' they pays us fer it." "Whatcha carryin' on fer?" Johnny whined. "I brought 'im 'ere, didn't I?" I had come with him in order to corroborate his story. His employers, however, took it for granted that I had accosted him with a mind to soliciting his favours. I reflected that, after all, such had been our purpose from the start. Now that we had accomplished it, I could beat a hasty retreat and leave Lansing to find out for himself whether we had been meeting on the sly. It then occurred to me he might do so by trying to beat a confession out of the boy. It was imperative that I mollify him, if only for Johnny's safety. I reached into my pocket and handed him a guinea. "Here," I said coldly, "for half an hour of the young man's time." "We charge five quid fer an hour or any part thereof." Fuming, I took out my wallet and gave him a fivepound note. Lansing accepted my money with a sneering smile, both the note and the guinea. "Take the gen'leman upstairs, Johnny, an' show 'im a good time." He turned to me and added, "Deal with me honestly an' yer'll get what yer paid

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for." I started to protest, but Johnny grabbed me by the hand and said, "Yes, guv'nor. Come with me. I told yer that's 'ow we gotta do it." His eyes were pleading with me. I understood that the only way to convince Lansing this was —might be— the first time, was to follow Johnny's lead and play along. I followed him upstairs.

"Well, how do you propose we spend the next halfhour?" I asked when we had reached Johnny's room and closed the door behind us. He answered somewhat louder than necessary, I thought. "Very pleasurably, Doctor. You leave that to me." "Meaning…?" He quickly laid a finger on my lips and whispered, "Not so loud, Willie. The walls are paper thin." Then, in a normal tone of voice, "Aincha gonna take off yer coat?" I hung my coat on a hook on the back of the door while he began removing his clothing, tossing it aside in a heap. Before I knew it, he had made himself as comfortable as he did in Shoreditch and stood before me in only his trousers.

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"Are you in danger, do you think?" I said softly, but even that was too loud for him. He came and stood just a few inches in front of me, where he could whisper into my ear. "No, I'm safe fer now," he said. "Lansing don't know what t' think no more. I may be doin' some trade on the side, and then again, maybe I ain't. But we've roused his suspicions, which is what we wanted. 'E'll bide 'is time until 'e's sure, but that won't be long. 'E'll be on the look—" Suddenly, without warning, he flung his arms around me and kissed me on the mouth, pulling me against him — not a peck, but a real lover's kiss, and when my jaw dropped open in surprise, he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I struggled to free myself, but he held on tight, making our struggle appear to be some kind of dance and turning me around in the process so I was now facing the door. At last he pulled his face away. I took a deep breath. Before I could say a word, he had clamped his hand over my mouth, the ball of his palm pushing up under my chin and his fingers pulling down on my nose, and brought his lips close to my ear. I thought he meant to give me a love bite. "Someone's list'nin' at the door," he whispered, as quiet as a breath. "Maybe 'as 'is eye to the keyhole." Then

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he took a step back and began unbuttoning my waistcoat, and after that my shirt. "Do you mean to undress me completely?" I mouthed, hoping he could read my lips. Apparently he could, for he shook his head no. He left both shirt and waistcoat on, but open, every button undone. Next he walked me backward and sat me on a chair in the centre of the room. I had no idea what to expect. On the one hand, I was fairly confident that he would not force himself upon me; on the other, I did not see how we could avoid it. I placed my trust in his ingenuity. Moving sinuously, Johnny slowly unbuttoned his trousers, let them fall about his ankles, and stepped out of them. Then, clad only in his drawers, he came and sat in my lap, straddling me. He laid his face against mine, so both our mouths were close to the other's ear. "How far do you intend to take this charade?" I whispered. "As far as we must." "I shan't—" "…do anything. Don't yer think I know that? Just play along with me. An' fer God's sake relax, an' pretend ye're enjoyin' it." He ran his fingers through my hair. "Now kiss me on the neck," he whispered, "an' run yer 'ands up

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an' down me back. Yer can do that much, cancha?" That much I could do. As he leaned into me, pressing hard against me, I realised that his penis had become engorged; I felt it hard on my abdomen. And to my distress, I discovered that I, too, had an erection. He must have noticed my confusion, for he murmured, "Don't let it embarrass yer, Willie. Them things 'ave a mind o' their own. Don't worry, neither. 'Ooever's watchin' us can't stay there forever." He wriggled suggestively in my lap, rubbing it with his bum. "Johnny, please…" He slithered backward and slid onto the floor, kneeling in front of me. Then he raised his head and mouthed, "Trust me," and set about unbuttoning my trousers. I sat frozen in place, unable to move, my eyes bulging. He did no more than unbutton me and spread the front of my trousers so a flap hung over my legs on either side. Once again he glanced up at me —"Trust me"— before bending forward and pretending to fellate me. I could feel his breath, but his face never touched me. He kept at it for half a minute at most. Then he sat back on his haunches and said —not whispered, said—

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"Whatsa matter, ducky? Ain't I doin' it the way yer like?" "It feels wonderful!" I sighed, hoping I sounded sincere. "Then show it," he pouted. "Put yer 'ands on me shoulders." I obliged, and he resumed his play acting. I did my best to make a show of the most extreme ecstasy. Fortunately, I did not have to feign an orgasm (nor, I'm ashamed to admit, should I have had to — I might have ejaculated without him so much as touching me), because without warning, as suddenly as he had first kissed me, he stopped and said, "They're gone." He rose to his feet. "May we dress now?" I asked. "You may, but I think I 'ad better leave a wee stain on them bed sheets. As a precaution, yer understand. Yer needn't watch." Nor did I. I kept my back turned to him until he had finished. Unfortunately, I could not close my ears to his panting moans. "I'm decent now," he said. (He had put his trousers back on.) "I'll accompany yer back downstairs. It's expected of us." "Has it been half an hour already?" As long as we were being spied on, time had seemed to drag on forever.

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Now that it was over, it felt as though we could not have spent more than ten minutes in his room. "An' ye'll 'ave to give me a goodbye kiss. A real kiss, tongue and all. Just this once." "Must we?" I said coldly. "Wasn't your recent display of affection humiliating enough?" That was unfair. He had conducted himself like a perfect gentleman whilst playing the prostitute. It was also dishonest. What humiliated me was my own involuntary reaction to his feigned sexual advances. Crestfallen, Johnny replied, "I don't see 'ow else we could've 'andled the situation." I ought to have apologised, but my offended dignity would not allow it. "I'm quite aware of that," I said. "We shan't speak of it again. I suppose I ought to tip you, too." "What fer?" he asked, offended. "We ain't done nothin'. An' I wouldn't take yer money if we 'ad." "I thought it was expected." "Our clients tip us in private." "I thought what precedes the tip was also done in private. Apparently I was mistaken." Then I remembered what I had been about to tell him when he spotted Lansing. "Don't come to Shoreditch Monday—" I began. "But… Lansing…" he interrupted, looking

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devastated. He must have thought me angry with him and feared I never wanted to see him again. I hastened to reassure him. "Come Tuesday. Our mutual friend Robert Cockburn is down from Cambridge for the Christmas vac. It seems he passed some examination or other or won some prize at sports, and Lady Cockburn is hosting a small dinner party Monday evening to honour his success. My wife and I are invited." He did not seem entirely convinced, so I added, "And I shall give you that kiss when we get downstairs." His face relaxed, and he broke into a smile. "You won't be getting one when I see you next Tuesday, however," I continued. "Today's…" I hesitated, unsure what name to give to what we had done. "Today's escapade—" "No, indeed. Today's escapade will not be repeated, Doctor. Not ever. I promise."

We kissed in the parlour, with Mrs. Lansing looking on. Johnny made the kiss last longer than I had imagined a kiss could last. I wondered if the boy might not have fallen in love with me. Either that, or he was the most skilful actor in England and only sought to confirm Lansing's suspicions. I was tense at first, both because of Mrs.

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Lansing's presence and the novelty of passionately kissing another man, but as his tongue explored the recesses of my mouth, I felt myself yielding, and the tension slowly ebbed from my body. When at last we disengaged, I discovered I had once again become erect. "I found meself a new favourite among me clients, I 'ave." Johnny declared. Then he winked at me, turned and hurried back upstairs. "Will ye be wantin' a glass o' me Malaga perchance?" Mrs. Lansing asked, eyeing my arousal. "No, thank you," I said, and fled the house.

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~6~ On Tuesday afternoon, Cyril sent word he had returned to London. It was like a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders. That evening would be Johnny's first visit to Shoreditch since our supposed tryst in Birdgate Alley, and I did not trust Lord Alfred and Cock Robin to watch him as carefully as the situation required. I was uncertain how to receive him after what had passed between us. On the one hand, I was apprehensive lest he renew his advances and no less so that I might succumb. On the other, I felt guilty for having implied he had humiliated me. Guilt won out in the end, and I made myself more comfortable than usual while I waited for him. I took off my shirt. As it turned out, I had no cause for apprehension. The Johnny who knocked at the door that evening —on other evenings he had simply opened it and walked in— was full of remorse and made no move to get comfortable. He reminded me of a beaten dog. "I have something to say to you," I began. He hung his head. I do believe he expected me to lecture him. "I want to apologise." "Apologise, Doctor? To me?"

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"Yes. You no doubt thought I was furious with you when… Well, you know when. I came close to accusing you of humiliating me. You did nothing of the sort. I did feel humiliated, but only because of the compromising situation in which I found myself. You kept a level head under very difficult circumstances. I ought to have thanked you." He looked at me, astonished. "There," I went on, "I've said it, and we shall not speak of the incident again. We shall put it behind us and pass a pleasant evening as we always do. So make yourself comfortable, as you call it. I'm not used to seeing you all buttoned up and standing at attention. You may even kiss me, only not the way you did in Mrs. Lansing's parlour." "I thought we weren't goin' to speak of it again," he said, looking happier than I'd ever seen him. "What did yer get fer our dinner?" "Steak and kidney pie." I pointed to the table, where our places had been set. "Come sit down. It's one of your favourites, isn't it?" "Yer dinner with the Cockburns, did it go well?" he asked, reaching across to help himself to the pie. "A small, intimate affair. Just the family and six guests. Belinda and myself, Lady Cockburn's sister and her

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husband, the Earl of Haslemere, and Lord Alfred, whom you know well." "The Earl of 'Aslemere? 'Oo's 'e?" "Lord Alfred's father. Did you know he's to be one of the family?" "Yes, Freddy's betrothed to Robbie's sister. I assume 'e was on 'is best behaviour, what with 'is da there an' all." "We can only hope that he will abandon his profligate ways once he's a married man." "My Freddy give up 'is pleasures? Not if 'e was married to the Duchess of Argyll. Not if 'e married the Duke." "I should advise you not to repeat nasty rumours concerning the Royal Family." "But ev'ryone knows the Duke—" "Say no more. It's unseemly and disrespectful." Perhaps it had been a mistake not to lecture him. "As for Lord Alfred's behaviour, his father's presence made not one bit of difference. Above the table he was all attention to Adelaide, who sat demurely beside him, blushing like a schoolgirl, but the dreamy smile on her brother's face told another story. Below, he had his calf pressed against that of his friend, who sat across from him. I found it most

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distracting, and throughout dinner was unable to attend properly to the conversation, speculating on how Sir Hugh, who knows of his son's liaison with his daughter's fiancé, would have reacted to their covert indiscretion. I'm happy to say he's mending —not Lord Alfred, the Baronet— but he's still too ill to leave his bedroom." "Robbie flirting with 'is sister's fiancé seems innocent enough compared to 'is da's affair with Nelly. D' yer think Freddy's father knew what they was up to?" "He noticed nothing, I'm sure. The Earl would have his son horsewhipped if he had the least inkling of his peculiar tastes." "Not all that peculiar, Willie." "I admit that kissing you was a less distasteful experience than I had fancied. Not that I care to repeat it." "Of course yer wouldn't. I ain't no acquired taste, yer know. Fellers is just born that way. Ever since I can remember I always been attracted to gents." "Don't you think girls are pretty?" "Very pretty, some of 'em are. They just don't do nothin' fer me." "You've never…?" "Never. An' I 'ope I never do. Now, the gents, I can't get enough o' them. Whatta yer 'ave t' say to that? I mean,

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as a medical man." "That something must have gone wrong with your upbringing, because it simply isn't natural to feel the way you do. But as a friend, I'd say that you're well suited to your line of work." Johnny laughed. "That I am!" "Now, shall we leave it at that? This is not something that interests me." "Not even as a man o' science?" "Not even as a man of science. Scientific opinion is unanimous on the subject, so the matter is settled. I see no reason to delve into it further." "Mr. Fosterby, now, 'e delves into ev'rythin'." "Did he question you on the matter, Johnny?" "'E did… a little. To 'elp 'im form an opinion about Sir Hugh an' Nelly." "And what did he have to say?" "'E didn't. 'E listened. Would yer care t' 'ear what I told 'im?" "I. Would. Not." His spirits appeared to have sunk back to the level they were at when he'd arrived. "What is it, Johnny?" I asked kindly. "Nothin'. It's just… Yer know, it ain't easy bein' the

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way I am." "I don't imagine it is." "I used to 'ate meself fer it. Still do sometimes. D' yer think I'm wicked, Dr. Williams?" "We all have our imperfections, Johnny. I'm not about to condemn a man for where he places his affections. A thief or a murderer, now, that's different. Dishonesty of any sort, in fact. So, no, I wouldn't call you wicked, not on account of that. On the other hand, prostituting yourself is disgraceful. A boy of your intelligence and abilities!" "I'd give it up in a second if I found a man I could love an' 'oo'd love me in return." "Buckham found one, or so you tell me. Yet he remained a renter." "First of all, I ain't Nelly. An' second, 'e an' 'is baronet couldn't live together. Not ever." "Is your situation all that different? Would you be able to, if you found a man to love?" "It weren't Nelly's choice they couldn't be together. Maybe if my gen'leman was a proper gen'leman and unmarried, he'd take me on as 'is manservant an' nobody wouldn't suspect what we was fer each other. Whattaya think o' that idea?" "You'd have to learn to speak proper English first."

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"'Ow 'ard 'd that be?" I shook my head sadly. "Such dreams are futile. Society would never tolerate it. Think of that, Johnny." "No, it wouldn't and it don't, so we 'as t' 'ide what we are, chaps like me. Ain't that dishonesty of a sort? Would yer call that kind o' dishonesty wicked, too?" I remembered what the Cockburn boy had said in his rooms at Cambridge, that polite society doesn't like to hear truths it chooses to ignore. That, too, I reflected, was dishonest. I fell silent. After a few minutes, he asked, "Yer look pensive, Willie." "I'm reflecting on what I said before about not condemning a man for whom he chooses to love. I would not have thought that a month ago, before I met you." "Then yer do like me a little." "I like you very much."

****

Cock Robin and Lord Alfred unexpectedly showed up in Shoreditch the following Monday while Johnny and I were at dinner. We would not have had enough to go round if they hadn't brought some provisions with them. They were amused by my informal attire and pretended to raise

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an eyebrow at Johnny's half-nudity. "I can see you two are getting along smashingly," Lord Alfred remarked. "Ow, there's a wonderful fine feller in the Doc 'ere, there is, 'idden be'ind 'is 'eavy curtain o' propriety," Johnny said merrily. "I don' tease 'im no more like I done the first time we met." "It was the second," I said. "So you like him, do you, Johnny?" "'Oo wouldn't? 'E treats a body with respec', real respec', not like the Lansings, 'oo act all nice an' frien'ly t' get yer in their clutches an' then acts like they own yer." "And don't I treat you with respect?" "Yer polite enough, Freddy, an' better'n most, but I ain't one t' kid meself. I know that fer you I ain't much more'n a plaything." Lord Alfred looked offended. "So you've developed a taste for older gentlemen now," Cock Robin said. "Me an' the Doc don' do nothin' untoward. 'E's a married man!" "As are most of the gentlemen you service in Birdgate Alley," Lord Alfred dryly commented. I was quite incensed. "A fine one you are to talk! Or do you forget you're engaged to your lover's sister?"

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"Adelaide? She'll make an excellent mother for my children and she's a fitting companion for a drive through Hyde Park —unlike our Johnny— but after all, she is only a woman." "That's what I meant, Freddy. I know I ain't no respectable escort fer yer in public, but yer needn't a gone outta yer way t' say it. An' I ain't partial t' the older gen'lemen, neither, I'll 'ave yer know. But I think I understan' what poor Nelly seen in yer da, Robbie, if 'e's 'alf as decent as Dr. Williams. 'E never asked nothin' fer 'imself, Nelly didn't." "Fifty guineas a month," Lord Alfred snorted. ''E'd a gone with 'im fer free, 'e would, but the Baronet wouldn' 'ear of it. If yer asks me, 'e was afeared that without the business side of it 'e'd've 'ad t' face 'ow deep 'is feelin's fer 'im run." "Come now," I said, "if we go on like this much longer we shall find ourselves involved in a serious quarrel. Let us resume our meal and speak of less factious matters." Yet I could not help but wonder if Johnny had indeed been speaking of Buckham and not his feelings for me. How dreadful for him if he should fall in love with me, I thought. How dreadful for us both! As I knew the young men were in contact with my

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cousin and visited him daily in his rooms in Sussex Gardens, to change the subject I inquired about the progress of his investigation. Cock Robin answered evasively and would only say that everything was proceeding as planned and that I should hear more presently. "Has it stalled again? Did my meeting Johnny in Southwark have no effect whatever?" "Quite the opposite. It was extremely productive. Lansing has been nosing about ever since." "I find it most annoying to be kept in the dark like this." "Patience, Doctor, patience," Lord Alfred admonished. "As Robert says, you will hear from him ere long."

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~7~ The morning of the twenty-fourth I received word from Cyril to spend Christmas Day in Shoreditch. He stressed that it was imperative I do so, as Robert and Lord Alfred had to be with their families on the holiday. I did not see the connection, but followed his instructions to the letter, though my wife was quite put out, for we were to spend the day with her parents. However, it was clear my cousin needed me, and I stressed the importance of his work. As he had not specified how late I would have to stay, I said I might be able to join her at her parents' that evening. I arrived at first light in hopes of finishing whatever he wanted me to do there as early as possible and found Johnny asleep under the quilt and a wrapped Christmas present for me on the table. The fire had burned low. I threw on some wood and stirred the embers. The noise woke him. He sat up in bed, stretched, rubbed his eyes, and wished me a merry Christmas. Then he threw off the quilt and got out of bed. He was stark naked. "What are you doing? The room's as cold as ice. Get back under the covers while I make some hot tea."

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"'Ave to piss, Willie." "So I see." His urgent need to relieve himself was unmistakable. The symptoms had subsided when he returned. His Little Johnny was lovelier flaccid than aroused. It did not unnerve me as it did standing proud and tall, and able to gaze unabashed on Johnny's nakedness, for the first time in my life I found myself responding to the male form. For he was beautiful, more beautiful than I had imagined a young man could be. The graceful lines of his sleek, muscled body were as perfect as an alabaster Renaissance sculpture. He sat on the bed, the quilt around his shoulders but open in the front. "Aincha gonna open yer gift?" he asked. "I bought you one too, but I didn't expect to see you until Monday. Shall we wait and open them together?" He nodded. "When did you get here?" I asked. "Yesterday afternoon. I didn't want to spend Christmas alone. Ain't nobody comes round Birdgate Alley on Christmas, an' all us boys go 'ome to our fam'lies." "Why aren't you with yours?" "'Ave none." "Doesn't Lansing know that? Won't he be

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suspicious?" "I told 'im I was stayin' with Nelly's mum. I don't dare be alone with 'im. 'E's onto us fer sure, an' 'e'll find out soon enough I ain't at Nelly's." "When must you be back?" "By tomorrow night. The other boys'll be there then." "Are you frightened?" He shook his head. "You're trembling!" "It's the cold." "You are frightened, aren't you?" He nodded, pale as death. "Sure I'm scared, scared like a rabbit." "Who wouldn't be? There's no shame in that." "Hold me, Willie." I took him in my arms. He nestled close against me, as if seeking safety. Only then did it hit me how frightened and vulnerable he was, and his courage in undertaking to flush out his friend's murderer staggered me. I realised that his joking innuendos and thinly disguised attempts at seduction were acts of bravado so the world would not see the terrified orphan boy sheltering behind the mask of a prostitute's insouciance. Not that I doubted the sincerity of

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his affection for me. "What's gonna 'appen now?" he whispered. "You're safe for now; my cousin Cyril is looking out for you. But if we're to sleep in the same bed you'll have to wear a nightshirt." "Ain't got none. But yer won't be sleepin' 'ere. Robbie's comin' t' relieve yer soon as 'e can get away from 'is fam'ly." I felt a twinge of disappointment on learning that I should not be spending the night there. "Willie…" he began. "Yes?" He hesitated. "May I call you John? It's my name too, you know." "Yes," I answered. "I'd prefer that to Willie. In fact, to be honest, I should like it very much if you called me by my Christian name." How shall I describe my feelings in that most intimate moment? Strictly paternal, I do assure you. It warmed my heart to hold the frightened, naked boy in my arms, yet at the same time I felt uncomfortable doing so. Of course, he did not remain unclothed all day. Cock Robin arrived at eight o'clock. It would give me time to spend an hour with my wife's family, yet I felt

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reluctant to leave my charge, and I said so. "Be assured, Doctor, that it will be my pleasure." I am sure I blushed, for Cock Robin winked at Johnny with an all but imperceptible jerk of the head in my direction. I hastily bade them both goodnight, and left.

****

Johnny did not come Monday evening. I waited, growing more anxious with every passing moment. I remembered Sir Hugh telling me how he had waited for Buckham the night he was murdered. To distract myself, I unwrapped the gift he'd left on the table, a gold locket with his miniature inside. And I had only bought him a scarf! How had he earned the money to afford such a gift? With other men, no doubt, men who meant nothing to him. The full weight of Sir Hugh's loss hit me, and I wept. Finally, toward eleven, a messenger knocked on my door with a note from Cyril. The mousetrap has sprung. Come immediately to the warehouse, Newcastle & Sunderland, 2 streets east of the Old Stairs. I rushed out into the night to rescue my young friend. The light fog had begun to thicken, and there were a

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few snowflakes in the air. I ran all the way. The massive brick building was shut tight and apparently deserted. I heard a low whistle and saw Cyril beckon from a nearby alley. Lord Alfred was with him. "What's happening?" I asked. "Is Johnny safe?" "Touch and go. Lansing's got him on the flats, but Cockburn has them in his sights. We await his signal." They had anticipated that Lansing would not let Johnny out of the house, so Lord Alfred went to find him. Sure enough, he was held prisoner. "I asked for him, paid the fee, and went up to a room. Just look at the Doctor! I do believe he's jealous!" "Impatient, rather, to hear what happened. Go on." "One of the boys let us know when the coast was clear, and we sneaked out. Colin and two others created a diversion, a fist fight on the floor above us. Robert was posted outside to tail Lansing if he came after us. Johnny and I separated at the Embankment, whence he was to go by underground to Whitechapel. We couldn't stay together, you understand. If we did, Lansing wouldn't make his move." "How did he catch him?" "We wanted him to," my cousin said. "I was waiting outside your building. I wrote you a note and instructed the

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lodger on the ground floor to deliver it the moment I left. Then Lord Alfred came, and we walked toward the station along the route he told Johnny to take. We saw it all and went into action." A stone landed on the pavement not five feet from us. "The signal!" cried Cyril, dashing toward the stairs. We hurried after him. I heard Johnny's voice protesting loudly. "I ain't never took a farthing off the bloke. I'm fond of 'im, that's all. Taken a fancy to 'im, I 'ave." "Like 'ell yer 'ave! Let's see 'ow yer fancy me!" Johnny screamed. We reached the stairs. On the embankment, some fifty yards beyond, Lansing held Johnny pressed up against the wall, naked, his clothing in a pile beside them. Lansing's right hand cruelly clutched the boy's testicles as he reached into a pocket with his left and pulled out a knife, which he put to his throat. He turned Johnny to face the wall and began fumbling to unhitch his own trousers. For a few seconds time stopped. Loathing for Lansing welled up inside me, but it was as nothing compared to the pain I felt for Johnny. What the man was about to do to him must have been done to him many hundreds of times —I had no illusions on that score— but

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never, I hoped, in hatred. Cock Robin, who'd been watching from above, threw himself over the embankment, landing directly on Lansing and knocking him over. The knife flew off several yards to one side. Lansing looked up, saw us coming, got quickly to his feet, and ran in the direction of a row of barges moored upstream. Cyril and Lord Alfred chased after him, while I stopped to see to Johnny. "Go with them, Dr. Williams," Cock Robin said. "I'll stay with the boy. I've hurt my ankle." "Then I should have a look at it." "Good Lord, Doctor! It's only a sprain. You can examine it later. You have a murderer to catch!" The tide was low. Lansing made a jump for the mooring rope of a barge anchored at the shore, swung himself aboard, then ran across to the port side and jumped over onto another. His foot slipped, and we heard a loud smack. We hurried past the first barge and found him lying in the mud, blood dripping from his skull. "Just like Nelly," said Lord Alfred. "Serves him right." And with his foot he pushed him into the water. We stood watching the motionless body floating face down in the river. Johnny, no longer unclad, and a limping Cock Robin came slowly up to us. Johnny was

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bleeding from a minor cut near his left ear, where the knife had grazed him. "Is 'e dead?" Johnny asked. "Unless he's part fish," my cousin replied. "Now let's go back to Shoreditch for some hot rum toddies." Cyril and Lord Alfred supported Cock Robin on the walk back. The snow was falling heavily now, and the pavement was slippery, so they clasped hands to make a seat for him on their arms. I walked with Johnny and listened to his story. "Lansing's face told me there was trouble the moment I reached Birdgate Alley. I didn't dare be alone, so I slept with Colin and played cards in the parlour when 'e 'ad clients. Paid 'im with me bum. That's fair enough, ain't it? Colin's a good lad. Then Lansing calls fer me an' says there's a gen'leman waitin' in me room. I thought it was a ploy so's 'e could at me alone. Imagine my relief when I seen Lord Freddy!" We had fallen a few paces behind the others. Johnny squeezed my arm and whispered, "Yer know that nothin' 'appened 'twixt me an' Robbie t'other night, don't yer, John? 'E only said what 'e did to tease yer." "I assure you, Johnny, what you do with other men does not concern me."

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Cyril turned and called to us, "Don't lag, you two! It's a cold night, and we need your keys to open the flat."

****

"Now, Cousin," I said over our drinks, he and I sitting at the table and the three others on the bed, "you promised to explain how you solved the mystery." "I known all along," Johnny said. "That, young man," said Cyril, "is intuition, not logic. Motive is not proof; at most it may point us in the right direction. Once I looked, however, the nut was easily cracked. You told me that Lansing was left handed, which matched the head wound. And Mrs. Lansing can be a most voluble woman if approached correctly. I had my suspicions even before you told me she'd known what Buckham was up to. It seemed to me that the lady did protest too much her fondness for the 'poor drowned boy', as she called him, though she knew he'd been murdered. But the chief clue was Wapping. She hinted that her husband did a bit of smuggling on the side, never expecting that I would recognise the names of his associates. While you, dear boy, were admiring her young men's genitals, I inquired at the police station off Blackfriars Road about

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cargo stolen from the docks on the night of the murder. Those cases of Malaga wine in their back room put him in the right place at the right time. Whether he learned they were for the taking when he brought Buckham there to murder him or chose to murder him there because he had already arranged to pick them up matters little. That he waited before bringing them home showed he knew the police would be coming by. Bit by bit, the evidence piled up." "But you told me the police didn't find the Malaga because they had hidden them." "A mere detail, Cousin, although I certainly cannot fault your memory. I had only just solved the case. The exact sequence of events I worked out afterward. I have you to thank for that." "Me, Cyril?" "The police would have found the wine even on the most cursory inspection. You pointed out that it need not have been there when they conducted their search." "Extraordinary!" I said. "That he held our Johnny prisoner and tried to kill him proves that you were right," said Lord Alfred. "Circumstantial. That he wanted to murder one of his boys is not proof he did away with the other. But see

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how late it is! It's time we all returned to our respective dwellings. You can spend the night here, Rice, and pick up your things at the Lansings' in the morning." "Won't I be under suspicion, what with bein' gone from the 'ouse when 'e was murdered?" "What murder? The man hit his head while climbing around the barges. I've tied him to known smugglers, and his blood is on the side of the barge to prove it. Moreover, I shall vouch for you. You were in Sussex Gardens answering questions about Lionel Buckham." We rose to leave. "Please, John, don't go. Stay 'ere with me tonight," Johnny pleaded. Cyril raised an eyebrow on hearing my Christian name. At that moment Johnny emitted a loud sneeze. "I see exposure to the cold night air has already had its effect," my cousin said, smiling broadly. "I don't suppose you will want to get too close to him and catch his cold, but our friend may need medical attention." "For a cold, Cyril? But I think I shall stay. I'll dash off a note to Belinda saying I must spend the night with a patient. You'll see she gets it, won't you? The boy's been through a terrible ordeal and oughtn't to be left alone."

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I scribbled a few words, folded the paper, and handed it to Cyril. Then he, Cock Robin and Lord Freddy bade us goodnight and left. I turned to Johnny Rice and said, trying to sound stern, "That wasn't a real sneeze, was it, my young friend? You were play acting." "I s'pose there's no foolin' a doctor that way," he answered sheepishly. "Indeed not, nor did it fool Cyril Fosterby." "Then why did you stay?" "As I said, you've been through an ordeal. Besides, I want to give you your Christmas present." "Sleeping in the same bed with yer is the best present I could ask fer." "I know that, Johnny, but I bought you something anyway." "Yer know what, John?" he teased. "I thought yer didn't believe a boy me age could be fond of a older gen'leman like you. I don't 'ave me nightshirt 'ere, yer know." "I don't imagine you ever wear one." "I don't." "Nor do I. Have mine here, that is." "Then we'll be naked together?" "If you behave yourself. And I shall see to my own

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undressing, if you don't mind." "But yer will 'old me, won't yer, John? — let me sleep in yer arms? I was only pretendin' to be unwell, but I do need comfortin'. I ain't so brave as I let on. What 'appened down there by the embankment shook me up bad."

We undressed for bed. Johnny watched me avidly the whole time, and I dare say he found me handsome. At least he seemed to appreciate what he saw, and he had no reason to flatter me since he was getting what he wanted. By force of will I compelled my membrum virile to behave itself, and I hoped Johnny's would do the same. Johnny climbed into bed and smiled at me. I extinguished the gaslight and got in beside him, my arm extended for him to rest his head on, and with my free hand I gently stroked his hair. He nuzzled up close to me, and my heart melted. Had he reached out to caress me at that moment, I should not have been able to restrain myself. The day's adventure must have worn him out, for within a few minutes his soft, regular breathing told me he had fallen asleep. Sleep eluded me, however; my every nerve was on edge, and my soul was in turmoil. I lay awake

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trying to sort out the maelstrom of emotions that swirled in my brain. I could no longer deny that I was enamoured of him, that I wanted him. I moved my hand down and let my fingers graze the smooth skin of his upper arm. A shiver ran through my body. Was I prey to animal lust, then, or was I hopelessly in love as Sir Hugh had fallen in love with poor Buckham? I could countenance neither explanation, both equally painful, yet I was powerless to stifle my desire. In love with a boy, and him less than half my age and of a class so much lower than mine! How was this possible? I sought to console myself, remembering how the Ancient Greeks considered a relationship like ours, the bond between erastes and ephebe, the most noble kind of passion. I asked myself: "What I feel for Johnny, may I honestly call it noble? Here in London, on the eve of the last decade of the nineteenth century? And I so thoroughly English, a solid citizen and loyal subject of Her Majesty the Queen, a man of honour, respectably married, and an upstanding member of the Church of England? How we used to snicker in school, whispering shameful secrets about 'Greek love'! Face up to it, John; call it by its real name: buggery, filthy, depraved buggery. Dear God, what am I do!"

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How I ever managed to fall asleep that night I cannot imagine. I awoke about an hour before first light. The fire had gone out in the grate. Carefully, so as not to disturb my young companion breathing quietly alongside me, I got out of bed, put on my clothes and left for home, determined never to see Johnny again. I left the locket he had given me for Christmas on the table. Although I occasionally had news of him through my cousin Cyril, who sometimes enlisted his aid when investigating a case, it was to be five years before our paths crossed again. But that is another story.

~*~

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About the Author Anel Viz, a native New Yorker transplanted with only mild success to the Midwest and who has spent much of life in French-speaking countries, returned to his childhood passion of writing fiction and poetry a few years ago. He looks forward to devoting himself to it full time after he retires from college teaching in a couple of years. He writes in a variety of genres and enjoys pushing the envelope, both in his literary experiments and his treatment of sex. His stories appear regularly in Wilde Oats online magazine.

Also by Anel Viz Available at Silver Publishing: The City of Lovely Brothers P'tit Cadeau (coming soon)

Available at All Romance Ebooks: The Memoirs of Colonel Gérard Vreilhac Dancing for Jonathan Val in the anthology Night Moves vol. 2 The Stray in the anthology Queer Wolf

Available at Dreamspinner Press: A Perfect Gift for a Voyeur (2010) There Are Fairies in the Bottom of the Garden (2010)

Available at Doppelganger Press: Our Acreage and Lux Carnis (2007)

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