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"Where does she live?"
"Oh, I can't tell you that, Mr. Burton. It's againstpolicy."
"To hell with your policies, Sister! They obviously count fornothing!"
The nurse's eyes widened in shock. "Sir!"
Burton pulled his wallet from his pocket and took out a foldeddocument. He showed it to the nurse.
"Look at this signature, young lady. Do you recognise it?"
"No. Yes. It's-my goodness!-it's the same as the one on poundnotes!"
"Now read this paragraph here," he instructed, indicating ashort block of text with his finger.
She did so, pursed her lips, and nodded.
"Very well, sir. It seems I have no choice. Sister Raghavendralives here-" She scribbled an address onto a sheet of paper andhanded it to him.
"Thank you," he said, and turned to leave, satisfied with theeffectiveness of the document Palmerston had issued to him thatmorning.
"Sir Richard!" she called after him.
He looked back.
She smiled. "Rub castor oil around your eye. It will reduce thebruising."
He winked at her.
Outside, Burton found the hansom still standing at the curb. Hehailed the driver: "Hi, cabbie, still here?"
"Oh aye, sir. Thought it best to wait for the fares to come tome, 'stead o' drivin' through this stinker lookin' for 'em!"
"Can you take me to 3 Bayham Street, near MorningtonCrescent?"
"Wiv me eyes closed, sir-which in this 'ere mess o' fog is justas well. 'Op in!"
Burton settled on the seat and closed the door. He rubbed hisitchy eyes as the steam-horse growled and the cabin lurched intomotion. His skin felt grimy, thinly coated with soot and otherpollutants. He wondered whether Limehouse had been evacuated.During the previous fog-two weeks agotoxic gasses had settled intothe Thames basin and a great mob of sailors, criminals, drugaddicts, and illegal immigrants-mainly Lascars, Dacoits, Chinamen,Africans, and Irish refugees-had swept into Whitechapel, wherethey'd rioted for three days. When the fog cleared, and theyreturned to their hovels and opium dens, it was found that they'dpiled hundreds of corpsesasphyxiation victims-along CommercialRoad. With the risk of a cholera epidemic and a boom in the alreadyunmanageable rat population, the government had called in the armyto clear and burn the bodies. Ever since, the newspapers had beencalling for an all-out assault on Limehouse, demanding that it becleared and razed to the ground. This, thought Burton, was unlikelyto happen. The opium trade needed Limehouse and, he suspected,there were powerful forces in the Empire that needed the opiumtrade.
It took far longer to reach Mornington Crescent than it shouldhave; the cabbie took two wrong turns and, when he finallydelivered his passenger to Bayham Street, he seemed beside himselfwith embarrassment.
"Never done that 'afore, I swears to you, guv'nor!" he moaned."As sure as me name's Montague Pe
Burton knew what the man meant; some ingredient in the fog wascausing him to feel slightly dizzy too, which, after a hard night'sdrinking, was the last thing he needed.
"Don't worry yourself about it, Mr. Pe
"Cor blimey!" Pe
Burton laughed. "Wait here, then, if you don't mind. I shan't belong and I promise you another shilling!"
"Me lucky day!" The cabbie gri
Burton left Montague Pe
After a minute, the portal was opened by an elderly woman inmourning dress, her face concealed behind a weeping veil of blackcrepe.
"Yes?" she whispered. There was an edge of suspicion to hervoice, for though her visitor was obviously a gentleman, his facewas cut, bruised, and barbarous in aspect.
"My apologies, ma'am," said Burton, courteously. "Do you have aSister Raghavendra here?"
"Yes, sir. On the third floor. Are you from the sanatorium?"
"I've just come from there, yes," he replied. It wasn't quite ananswer to the question she'd asked but she didn't seem to noticeand appeared to be mollified by his deep, polite, and melodiousvoice.
"If you wish to see her, sir, I should act as chaperone," shenoted, in her frail tones.
"That will be acceptable, thank you."
"Pray, come in out of the fog, then. You can wait in thehallway."
Burton ran the soles of his shoes over the iron boot-scraper onthe doorstep then stepped into the dingy hall, the walls of whichwere crowded with framed paintings and photographs, display platesand crucifixes. The landlady closed the door behind him and took asmall silver finger-bell from her sleeve. In response to itstinkling ring, a sturdy young girl hurried out from the parlour.Flour powdered her hands, forearms, and nose. She gave a clumsycurtsey.
"Mum?"
"Run up to Sister Raghavendra, Polly, and tell her she has avisitor; a Mr.-?"
"Captain Burton." He always preferred to use his military rank;"Sir Richard" sounded a mite pretentious.
"A Captain Burton. You may advise Sister Raghavendra that I willescort the gentleman up to her sitting room if she wishes toreceive him."
"Yes, Mum!"
The maid thumped up the stairs and out of sight.
"An ungainly girl but she serves me well. My name is Mrs. EmilyWheeltapper, Captain. My late husband was Captain AnthonyWheeltapper of the 17th Lancers. He fell at Balaclava. I have beenin mourning these seven years since. He was a fine man."
"My sympathy, ma'am."
"Will you take a cup of tea, Captain?"
"Please don't trouble yourself. My business will be brief."
"Is the poor girl in difficulty? She came home in tears thismorning. Has something happened at the sanatorium?"
"That's what I'm here to find out, Mrs. Wheeltapper."
Polly's heavy tread thundered down the stairs. "She says to comeon up, Mum," she reported.
"Thank you, Polly. Now back to the kitchen with you. Thosescones won't cook themselves. Follow me, please, CaptainBurton."
The old widow slowly ascended, followed patiently by hervisitor.
On the third landing, they were met by Sister Raghavendra. Shewas, Burton guessed, in her midtwenties. She was also extremelybeautiful, with dark almond-shaped eyes and dusky skin. Her nosewas small and straight; her lips full and sensual, with a squarishshape more often found in South Americans; and her black hair,though pi
His nostrils detected the scent of jasmine.
She reminded Burton of a Persian girl he'd once bedded, and athrill of desire rippled through him as her eyes met his.
"You are Captain Burton?" she asked, in a soft, slightlyaccented voice. "You are here about Lieutenant Speke, I suppose?Come into my sitting room, please."