Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(69)

“We all wear masks, Inspector: by necessity, by circumstances, or by choice. The face you reveal to your fellow police officers, for example, is not the same face you show to the young lady in your life. The face you show to your superiors is not the face you would use with a criminal.”

He nodded. “So Madam Kitten is an invention created to frighten and intimidate.”

“All the other madams in Dublin are harridans and shrews, ex-working girls. So, Madam Kitten should be cut from the same cloth. It is something people expect, and once they get what they expect, they will not look any deeper.”

The carriage lurched across sunken tram lines and the ambient sound changed. Katherine peered beyond the blind. They had entered the courtyard of Dublin Castle. The cobbled square was swarming with police, most of them concentrated around the imposing facade of the circular Bedford Tower. The carriage halted and Mickey slid back the panel in the roof and peered down. “End of the road. Place is alive with coppers.” He winked at Dermot. “I’m guessing that a few will know me and it might not be good for you to be seen in my company.”

“Good thinking, Mickey,” Madam Kitten said, fixing the cap on her head and tucking in any stray hairs. She looked at Dermot. “How do I look?”

“Like a man,” he grinned.

Mickey swung the carriage to a halt close to one wall and jumped down to open the door on that side. No one would be able to see who exited the carriage. He took her hand and helped her down. She squeezed his fingers. “I know,” she said. “You were about to tell me to be careful.”

“I was,” he admitted. “If there’s a problem and anything . . . happens,” he said carefully, “just sit tight: we’ll come and get you.”

“I know you will. But I can look after myself.”

Mickey didn’t quite manage to disguise the look of disbelief on his face.

Dermot Corcoran climbed out of the carriage, blinking in the afternoon sunlight. Mickey’s hand fell on his shoulders, fingers biting not quite painfully. “I’d be upset if anything were to happen to the Madam,” he said.

“So would I,” Dermot said, surprising them both.

“Mickey,” Katherine said. “Wait for me in the street outside; I will be back within the hour. Inspector, I will see you at eight.” Then, shoving her hands in her pockets and dipping her head, she strode across the cobbled courtyard, weaving her way through the assembled police officers.

“It has been a pleasure meeting you.” Dermot stretched out his hand. Surprised, the big man took it. “And you were right,” the inspector added, looking across the courtyard, but not finding Katherine in the mass of people. “I’ve never met a woman like Madam Kitten before.”



At precisely eight o’clock, Dermot Corcoran stepped into Madam Kitten’s private drawing room. Mickey clapped him on his shoulder and pulled the door closed.

Madam Kitten and Tilly Cusack sat on either side of a small circular card table, playing two-handed patience. Katherine was in her widow’s black, but without the veil, while Tilly was wearing a spectacularly low-cut gown which had gone out of fashion a decade previously. Katherine looked up, green eyes glittering in the low gaslight, and smiled. “Why, Inspector, you look quite pink.”

Tilly slapped down her cards and then wordlessly scooped half a dozen buttons from the center of the table, then twisted in her chair to look at the policeman. “Goodness me, I do believe he is blushing,” she said, almost wistfully. Turning back to Katherine, she asked, “Can you remember the last time someone blushed in this house?”

“Mickey led me in through the kitchen,” Dermot said. “Some women were having their supper. None of them were wearing clothes,” he added. “Well, some were almost wearing clothes.”

“Tilly, get Mr. Corcoran a drink. I don’t think he’s seen that much naked female flesh before.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Oh, and I don’t drink alcohol,” he added, just as Tilly was about to pour a brandy.

“I’ll get you a hot chocolate,” Tilly said. She stopped before the inspector, enveloping him in lavender, and looked him up and down. “A policeman who doesn’t drink and blushes more often than any man I have ever met. Have you ever been in a brothel before?” she wondered.

“Never,” he admitted.

She looked at him with something like awe. “Are you sure you’re a real policeman?”

“Don’t tease, Tilly,” Katherine said. “Get the inspector his hot chocolate and I will have a coffee. Inspector, come sit with me by the fire.” She moved away from the card table and took a deep wing-backed leather chair set at an angle to the glowing fire. Dermot settled into the facing chair.

“I know there’s really no need of a fire in the middle of summer,” Katherine said quietly, “but I love the light, don’t you?”

“I do. But I usually don’t light a fire in July.”

“Why not?”

“By the time I’m finished for the day and get back to Drumcondra, where I live, it’s close to nine and too late to light one. And, I couldn’t afford it on my salary.”

Katherine sat back into the chair, until she was almost lost in shadow. Firelight danced red and golden in her eyes. “If it is difficult for you to survive on your salary, then how will your young lady cope? Would you be able to tell her not to light a fire, to scrimp and save her pennies? She is obviously used to better things?”