“Mr. Hutchings?” she said loudly.
The man jerked awake; spittle clung to the corner of his mouth. Blinking his bloodshot eyes, he grumbled, “Who are you?”
“Jones and Courier, solicitors,” Pippa said crisply. “One of our firm’s clients recently departed and left a large bequest. We are looking for her beneficiary, a Miss Lillian O’Malley. We were told that she worked here.”
Licking his thick lips, Hutchings sat up fully. The movement pulled his shirt out of his waistband, revealing an overhang of hairy flesh.
“’Ow large is the bequest?”
“That is a matter for us to discuss with Miss O’Malley, sir,” Fi said. “There may, however, be a reward for anyone who helps us to locate her.”
“As much as I’d like to ’elp, I don’t know any Lillian O’Malley.” Hutchings’s regret seemed genuine, likely stemming from self-interest rather than a desire to assist.
“Miss O’Malley might have used a different name.” Pippa removed Lillian’s daguerreotype from her satchel, placing it on the desk. “Here is a likeness of her.”
Hutchings studied the image with glinting avarice. “Oh, ’er I do know. She was one o’ my performers. But she went by the name o’ Sarah Mallery.”
Like me, Lillian thumbed her nose at her detractors. Empathy swelled in Fi.Her peers mocked her dreams by comparing her to Sarah Siddons, but she took on that identity with pride, combining it with a variation of her own surname.
Hutchings waved Fi and Pippa to the pair of rickety chairs on the other side of the desk. Opening a drawer, he withdrew a flask and some grimy glasses. “Care for a libation while we talk things o’er?”
“No, thank you,” Pippa said. “About Miss Mallery, then. Do you know her address?”
“Not exactly. But I get paid if I ’elp you find ’er?”
“If the information you provide assists us in locating her, you will be rewarded,” Fi promised.
“Well, it’s been a while since Sarah worked ’ere...”
“How long?” Fi persisted.
“Seven months, maybe eight, I reckon.”
Although the trail was colder than Fi hoped, it was better than nothing.
“She worked ’ere for maybe six months. Popular with the gents, if you know what I mean.” Hutchings waggled his brows. “Couldn’t sing in key to save ’er life, but she could dance. Always got a standing ovation when she did one o’ those ’igh kicks that showed off ’er legs.”
Slimy bounder.Fi forced herself to stay in her role. “Why did she leave?”
“She said she was ’eading off for greener pastures.” Hutchings’s gaze shifted. “You know ’ow these young girls are. Always thinking they’re be’er than they are and ne’er satisfied wif the job they’re fortunate to ’ave.”
“What did Miss Mallery’s job here entail, precisely?” Fiona narrowed her gaze. “Beyond showing off her legs, that is.”
“Now see ’ere,” Hutchings huffed. “Ain’t none o’ my girls forced to do anything they ain’t signed up for. But if some o’ them want to give private performances to earn extra coin, it ain’t my business.”
Fi recalled the rooms she’d passed. “You mean you turn a blind eye and take a cut.”
“I give ’em a safe place to conduct their business and take a small fee for the trouble.” Hutchings spoke with a righteousness that Fi associated with pimps and proselytizers.
“Did Miss Mallery take part in any of these transactions?” Pippa asked quietly.
“Only once. A gent wanted an introduction after a show. ’E must ’ave made an offer she couldn’t refuse because she went into a room wif ’im. Ne’er did that in all the weeks before. And ne’er did it again because she left soon thereafter. Without a word, and I ain’t seen ’er again.”
“Can you describe this gent?” Fi asked.
“Good-looking cove, as I recall. Brown ’air with blond mixed in, light-green eyes. In his thirties, maybe.”
That matches the description of the man with Lillian at the Royal Arms. Did she first meet him at this music hall? Was he a “customer” who became something more?
