I knocked at the first-floor door just off the entrance and inquired about Lizzie and the young woman she shared that room with.
The older woman who answered was obviously the landlady with a sign beside the door that reminded rents were due on the first of each month. I explained that I was making inquiries on behalf of Lizzie’s family.
“The girl has been here, regular, when she gets off work,” she replied, but didn’t recall seeing Lizzie for several days. She reminded me that the rent was in three days. It if wasn’t paid in full she would clear out the room and put in new tenants.
“There’s lots of people want a room. You might tell her family, so they can pay up. I don’t give no tenants charity,” she sniffed. “The owner of the place would cut what he pays me to mind the place.
It was a harsh reality in the tenements around the poorer parts of London. I inquired if I might see the room.
“You’ll be sure to tell her family, if she’s to keep the room?”
I assured her that I would.
“I don’t see as how there’s any harm in lettin' you see the place,” she replied and went to get her keys for the room.
“Is that animal with you?” she inquired about Rupert when she returned, eyeing him. “I don’t allow no animals. The rats is bad enough!”
I could have pointed out that it might be helpful with that problem if an ‘animal’ like Rupert was kept about the place. However, I did not intend that I would be overlong inspecting the room. And then there was the look at Rupert that I’d seen before.
It was not a good indication that he would be willing to put up with the woman or the rats. I told him to stay on the front landing. It was far safer for everyone.
The landlady made a sound that I took to mean approval, and I followed her down the hall to the back of the building and a set of stairs that obviously led to the cellar.
Once there, she continued across the basement to a door on the street side of the building.
“I never had no trouble from them,” she explained about Lizzie and her flat-mate. “They’ve always paid rent on time before. But it’s a worry if the one hasn’t been around for several days with rent comin’ due.”
Another reminder, which I chose to ignore and made no comment, as I had no idea when Lizzie might return.
The term ‘flat’ was somewhat of an exaggeration for the small room that she opened for me.
It was neat and clean, but just large enough for two narrow beds, one against each wall with a small table between and hooks at the walls for clothes, and pale light that struggled through the smudged window that faced out to the sidewalk and street beyond.
There were a few personal items on a shelf beside each bed. It appeared that nothing was missing, as if Lizzie planned to return at the end of the day. Yet, where the wall opposite was bare, the wall beside one bed was covered with postcards.
“That girl,” the landlady exclaimed. “Always showin’ me the latest ones she bought from a street vendor. Said they were places she was goin’ to visit.”
There were at least two dozen postcards with pictures from France, Italy, and Portugal.
I thought of Archie at the Garden. If Lizzie was determined, it did seem that he might have to wait a few years for her to return from places I recognized and had been fortunate enough to see.
I retrieved the photograph of Lizzie and Gwen Tavers from my bag and showed it to the landlady.
“Do you recognize the other young woman in this photograph?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I never seen her before.”
“What about the other young woman who rented this room?” I asked with the possibility that I might question her about Lizzie.
“That would be Carrie Anne.”
“Do you know where she works?”
There was a sharp laugh. “She works most days at a tavern, and most nights out and about with a man, if you know what I mean. But not here. I don’t allow none of that.
A man gets to thinkin’ he’s been done wrong with a woman, and the next thing you know there’s a brawl and the place is crawlin’ with the bloody peelers. ”
Carrie Anne. I made a mental note of that, obviously an enterprising sort, her profession unfortunately all too common with young girls who were turned out on the streets to starve, or worse.
A service bell rang at the floor above.
“I need to tend to that.” She eyed me sharply. “I don’t s’pose you have a mind to pinch anything, by the looks of you. Latch the door when you leave.”
My visit at least confirmed that Lizzie had not failed to appear for work at the Garden due to some illness. But where was she?
With a glance at the wall covered in post cards, it would be easy to assume that she had taken herself off on one of her travels. Except that, like Gwen Tavers, nothing was missing … not clothes, nor personal items—meagre as they were—that sat on that side table.
I tried to imagine Lizzie in this cramped room, attaching another postcard that she’d purchased to the wall.
Had she and Gwen Tavers planned something together?
If so, they would surely have packed their clothes and personal things to take with them. Yet, both had not.
I thought of my own somewhat rebellious younger years—escaping lessons at the exclusive French school for girls, preferring adventures to the restrictions of the station I had been born to.
Yet I had never simply left, leaving everything behind.
I was beginning to get a very uneasy feeling about this.
The landlady said that Lizzie’s roommate, Carrie Anne, worked at a tavern by day and walked there. That meant it had to be nearby.
It was now very near midday, a time when taverns were open for business. It was obvious that Carrie Anne had not returned to the room the night before—likely because of that other ‘work’ the landlady mentioned—though it was possible that she would be at the tavern for her job during the day.
I closed the door and returned to the main floor of the building and discovered that Rupert was no longer there. Not a surprise.
I was about to set off to find a driver, when the hound came running across the thoroughfare with something in his mouth.
I did hope it wasn’t something dead, although he did have a preference for those, and of course, attempting to pry something away from him was almost impossible. I did not look forward to riding in a cab with him and something dead.
To my relief it appeared that it was a rather large bone. I would take a bone over the body of some rotting carcass.
He dropped the bone at my feet, a treasure to be shared as a driver arrived.
I ignored the bone.
The driver knew the district well, and indicated there was one tavern nearby, withing walking distance. He looked askance at me when I asked him to take me there then climbed aboard the cab, with the hound and the bone.
A young lad had just set out a sandwich board announcing that the tavern was open for business as we arrived. I explained that I was looking for a young woman by the name of Carrie Anne.
“Carrie Anne? She’s in the back, gettin’ ready for her shift,” the boy replied, taking in my appearance.
“Is that yer hound?” he then asked.
In a manner of speaking. I told Rupert to stay, thanked the young man, then entered the tavern.
I have become used to curious stares when entering such places that have often been part of our inquiry services. The barman nodded at me, with a curious expression and I explained once more that I was looking for Carrie Anne.
He made a gestured to the room behind the bar.
“She’s just there,” he hooked a thumb to indicate the back room, and called out to her.
“Someone here to see you, girl. A lady by the looks o’ her.”
Carrie Anne came from the back room, in the process of tying off her apron. She was small, with fine blonde hair pulled atop her head, blue eyes, and a ready smile. I thought of that ‘other work’ her landlady had spoken of, a reminder of the poverty in the East End.
She gave me a curious look. “Wot can I do ye for?”
I explained the reason I was there.
“Lizzie?” she replied with a frown. “I ain’t seen her, must be three days now. Could be she took herself off on one of those travel adventures she’s always goin’ on about with them postcards she put on the wall. Daft to my way of thinkin’. How is she goin’ to pay for that?”
“Was there anything different recently in her manner, or something that she mentioned that seemed unusual?”
“She saved every extra penny, put it in a jar, said she was goin’ to Paris. Spoke of it just the other week.” She frowned. “Come to think on it, that jar is still there,” she added.
“And there was an advertisement on the personals page that a friend told her about, somethin’ about bein’ a travel maid. I thought about it meself.” She looked around. “Leave this place and me other work? I could do that—be a maid.”
A travel maid?
“Did she mention the newspaper?”
“It’s the one the landlady picks up, free the day after it comes out. She likes to read the personal columns, all them daft people advertising for a mate … The Times, that’s the one.”
An advertisement on the Personals page of the newspaper, answered by two young women.
“I got to get to work, or Harry will dock me pay. When you find her, remind her that the rent is due,” she said in parting. “The place ain’t fancy, but it’s dry and rooms that cheap are hard to find.”
I thanked her and assured her that I would.
Rupert was where I had left him. Of course, it did help that he had that bone to occupy himself.
I was eventually able to find another driver.
“He’s a pet,” I explained at the look the man gave me. “From my dear departed husband.”
I suspected the ‘husband’ in question would take exception to that, as he was more or less not departed nor was the hound a pet.
Yet, in consideration of ladies of my great-aunt’s acquaintance who went about London with their small, fluffy pets. Except perhaps for the size of the hound, and there was that bone.
I thought about what I had learned. It was not all that unusual for someone of means to have a travel companion, I thought, as we returned to the Strand. A lady on one of my excursions travelled with her maid.
That was distinctly different than advertising for a companion.