Dahlia’s eyes went wide. “Elizabeth, be careful. Such talk is dangerous.”
Elizabeth smirked. “I should hope so.” She lifted her chin dramatically and pointed at the ceiling. “And we shall call ourselves the Dangerous Bluestocking Sisterhood. I like the sound of it. Positively scandalous.”
Vivian patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Perhaps it is a bit too . . . controversial.”
Dahlia nodded. “To say the least.”
Elizabeth looked as if she would argue with her cousin but stopped when Hazel cleared her throat.
The shy woman glanced at the others hesitantly. “In India the orchid represents femininity.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “And there is a blue variety of the flower.”
“I have never seen one; it must be very rare,” Sophie added.
“To the ancient Greeks, deep blue symbolized strength and bravery,” Vivian added. “A blue orchid, therefore . . .” She spread a hand in front of her, as if leaving the others to deduce the meaning for themselves.
“Blue orchid,” Elizabeth said slowly, tapping her lip with her forefinger. “It’s perfect.” She grinned.
“I like it.” Hazel smiled.
“I do as well,” Dahlia said, glancing at the others and for the first time looking a bit excited.
Vivian and Elizabeth nodded.
“Then, ladies,” Sophie said, “we shall officially be the Blue Orchid Society.”
Chapter 1
Detective Jonathan Graham of London Metropolitan Police Force’s Criminal Investigation Department stood in front of the bustling Paddington Railway terminal. He took a paper sack from his pocket and retrieved a peppermint, popped it into his mouth, and nodded to the constables accompanying the prisoners—the jewel thieves Alvin Marley and Boyd Wardle—as the wagon started east toward the H Division police headquarters in Whitechapel. Once they were well underway, he turned and strode to where Sergeant Gordon Lester waited, holding tightly with both hands to a leather satchel. Two blue-uniformed constables, Brunswick stars glinting on their helmets and collar numbers shining in the few rays of sunlight that pushed through the afternoon fog and smoky air, stood on either side of the sergeant.
The small amount of space the Duchess of Attenborough’s jewels occupied inside the bag was at odds with their immeasurable value. One small gem was worth more money than any of these men would see in their lifetimes, and yet they’d not hesitated to risk their lives in returning the jewelry to the duchess. Jonathan felt a swell of pride as he looked at the men. Agents of law enforcement were, at best, offered grudging respect, typically disregarded or criticized, and more often than not, treated with contempt and outright hostility. Yet, there they were, walking their beats day after day, putting in long hours to return a lost child or apprehend a thief, and doing all within their power to protect the citizens of a rapidly swelling city.
As Jonathan approached, one of the constables caught his eye. Constable Ernest Merryweather looked dead on his feet. His uniform was rumpled, and his eyes were red. The man had been working since the day before, when they’d been called to the scene of the robbery. He’d proven himself to be tireless. And hadn’t it been Constable Merryweather who’d discovered the broken latch on the cellar window?
The onlookers who had gathered to watch as the arrests were made had dispersed, but the street was still crowded.
Jonathan noticed Merryweather shift closer to the sergeant as a group of young lads darted past. The man’s movements were subtle, his eyes alert. Good instincts, that one.
Sergeant Lester held out the bag of jewelry. “Still too early to knock off for the day.” His smirk pulled at a scar that ran through the thick muttonchops on his cheek. The sergeant’s voice was gravelly and low, but he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of carriages and crowds.
Jonathan waved for the sergeant to retain the satchel. “Suppose so.” He glanced at his pocket watch, then raised his brows and gave a small smirk of his own. “Pity we apprehended them so early. Left ourselves time to write up the reports.”
“Congratulations, sir,” Sergeant Lester said, and his mouth spread into a genuine smile. “Nice bit of detective work.”
The praise made Jonathan uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off, looking away across the street and rubbing the pocket watch fob between his fingers. “It was a group effort, Sergeant. All of the men contributed.” He motioned with his chin in the direction the prisoner wagon had gone. “Even Mr. Wardle and Mr. Marley contributed—unintentionally, of course. Only a matter of time before a criminal makes a mistake; that, you can count on.”
Sergeant Lester laughed. “You’re being modest, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. Poor blokes had no way o’ knowing you’d investigate them so thoroughly. And I’ll not soon be forgetting the look on their faces when we stormed the passenger carriage.”
“Their disguises really were terrible, weren’t they?” Jonathan grinned.
Beside them, Constable Merryweather snorted.
Jonathan watched the street traffic for a moment longer, then gave a sharp nod. “Right, then.” He motioned to another of the constables. “Constable Hutchings, we’ll be needing two hackney cabs, if you please. Direct them to wait. You others, be on your guard.” He motioned to the satchel in the sergeant’s hands. “I’m not interested in hunting down this bag a second time.”
Seeing the men’s acknowledging nods, Jonathan crossed Praed Street to a vendor and purchased a bag of tarts. The small gesture was by no means adequate compensation for his comrades’ work on this case, but he wished to express his gratitude all the same. One solved theft hardly made a dent in London’s crime situation, but it was still commendable, and he wanted the men to have a moment of celebration.
An hour later Jonathan stepped through the door of the H Division station and removed his hat.
Bert Abner, the desk sergeant, glanced up. “Detective Graham, I’ve some mail for you.” He pulled a pile of envelopes from a compartment and reached forward to hand the bundle over the tall desk.
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Abner grinned, showing missing teeth beneath an enormous red mustache. “Been an exciting day, sir.” He chuckled. “Appreciated the package ye sent.”
Jonathan smiled at the reference to the jewel thieves in their ridiculous disguises. Sergeant Abner had no doubt signed them in only moments earlier. “Thought you’d enjoy that.” He leaned an arm on the tall desk beside the sergeant’s penny-dreadful novel.
“The wig . . .” Abner chuckled again, the sound growing into a full belly laugh that had the man holding his sides. “And the lady’s gown with the”—he waved his hands in front of his chest—“the cotton padding. Wish we’d a photography camera here at the station.” He wiped his eyes. “There’s a photograph I’d keep framed on me mantel.”