Perhaps it was no wonder most of the women she’d grown up with were so weary.
She glanced up briefly at the pub’s sign, making sure that it was the moon and baying hound she remembered. Then she pushed open the door and stepped into a world full of light, sound—and smell.
Not all the smells were bad, at that. The odors of vinegar and fish made Mina’s mouth water, although she’d had an excellent dinner, and the dark, nutty smell of ale was relaxing and familiar. Above those, though, rose less pleasant scents: old drink, too many bodies in too little space, and things it was best not to name.
The pub was having a good night. Fog always helped. The bar was crowded, the tables were full, and the tired-looking barmaids were almost constantly weaving their way back and forth through the crowds. Mina pushed her way forward, using an elbow or two where she had to, and settled herself at the bar.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, somehow sensing a new presence without looking up. She’d seen him a few times growing up. Save for more gray in his hair, he looked the same: tall and square, broken-nosed, pale-skinned. Had his name been Smith? Smitty? She didn’t remember.
“Pint of beer,” she said, letting her voice slip back home, and slid a few pence over the bar. “An’ a bit of talk.” She added a few more. The bartender grunted but took them. Then he turned away.
Mina leaned on the bar—there wasn’t a seat to be had, though fortunately her neighbors all seemed to be immersed in loud discussion—and waited. In a few minutes, a glass arrived in front of her, complete with athunkand an inch of liquid sloshing over the side. She picked it up and sipped.
The bartender looked at her without recognition. Mina had hoped for as much. Her time in pubs like this one had mostly involved dragging George out of them so he could clean up for dinner, and talking with a few friends who served the drinks. It was enough that she knew the ways of the place, and hopefully not enough that anyone would spot her.
“What sort o’ talk did you ’ave in mind?”
She shrugged. “Fred says as how you know ways a body can get work sometimes. ’Igh-toned men as are likely to want things done.” She rolled her eyes as the bartender—Williams? William?—began to leer. “Notthatsort of thing, thanks. A girl don’t need directions to that kind of work. But Fred—”
“Fred runs his mouth considerable, don’t he?”
“Just to me,” said Mina and simpered, or tried to. She hadn’t had much practice at it.
“Then why didn’t you ask him?”
“Maybe I want work as doesn’t go through him,” Mina said. “A bit for myself. He said you know a bloke—”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth worked thoughtfully. He took himself off briefly to pass on more beer and then returned. “Could be,” he said.
“Well, ’as he got anything needs doing now?”
“Now? Nah.”
Mina took another, larger drink. “Is there a name about ’im?”
“John Smith,” said the bartender, and smirked. “Why do you want to know, anyhow?”
“Let’s say I do,” said Mina, with an inward sigh. “’E just comes in and asks for people?”
“Something like that.”
“And how do you tell ’im when you’ve found ’em? You must have some way of getting the word out quick.”
“You seem like you’ve got somethin’ in mind.”
She shrugged one shoulder, trying to look casual. “I might ’ave an offer a man might pay for,” she said. “If ’e was the sort of man who’d got ambition. But I want to put it to ’im myself. Saves misunderstanding.”
“Saves money, too.”
Mina dug a few more coins out of her purse and held them meaningfully in front of the bartender. “A couple shillings ain’t my concern, is it? I’ll mention your name to ’im if you like, and you can take your commission up with the gentleman.”
She put the coins on the table but kept her hand over them. The bartender stared at her for a long moment. She glared back.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “Like I said, the name’s John Smith. Thirty-nine ’Unter Street. I send a note when someone useful turns up. ’E comes in after an’ pays me. And is overdue, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Thirty-nine ’Unter,” Mina repeated. “And if ’e comes back looking, can you let me know?”
Another shrug. “If you come back afore someone else asks. If you’re done with the questions, I got customers.” When Mina didn’t answer, the man moved off.
