The Edwardian era has always been one of my favorite time periods. A golden era for America, filled with a rush of new inventions, exciting new literature, fascinating characters, beautiful music, bold men, and brave women. As C.S. Lewis reminds us, every era has their own vices and virtues; there were plenty of horrors to be found in the 1900s, of course. But on the whole (to employ an overused phrase), it was a time when men were men and women were women. And both enjoyed their roles, and the world around them.
A few years ago I wrote a novella set in 1905, about an old master thief attempting to outfox the New York police. Joy Gruben helped me research various things, and we included a "Facts and Tidbits" section about the time period. Here is the first section, and the link to read the rest.
Enjoy!
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The bread stank. It offered Eddy an uncomfortable combination of damp spongy bits and hard crust. He studied it in the early sunbeams that managed to slip under the huge pier, trying to decide how long the mold had crept over the spongy side. A sigh slid from him. He wouldn’t get a better breakfast, not as things stood. Eddy pulled his holey, sweaty cap closer over his eyes, ignored the seagulls gathering and calling under his pylon, tore a piece of the hard crust off, and tossed it into his mouth. It was better than he feared.
A movement caught his eye, farther up the beach. Eddy turned gratefully away from his breakfast to watch.
A leg dangled over the edge of the wooden wall which sectioned off the bay from the sprawling metropolis of New York. Another leg joined it, then a man leapt down, yellow sand spraying around him as his polished black boots hit the beach. Eddy’s grimy eyebrows rose toward his cap brim. He had leapt the wall to get to this section of beach, certainly. But this man boasted the smart navy blue uniform of the New York Police; it seemed a little undignified, especially in one who took the time to polish their badge to that gleaming perfection. Eddy had to look away as a sunbeam caught the long navy coat. The brass buttons gleamed just as bright.
Another man leapt over the wall, and Eddy pushed his cap up to see better, letting a line of dirt-smeared blond hair see the sun. This one wasn’t like the smart, young policeman. This one had gray hair brushed under his panama hat. His mutton chop whiskers were bushy and untrimmed, his white suit rumpled and a little stained. But his spats hit the sand with the same energy as the policeman. And the way he darted forward (head tipped toward the sand, broad back bowed as he studied the trail) told Eddy the man didn’t need the silver tipped cane he carried. At least not for walking.
The two men stalked along the beach, close together as they murmured about something, pointing occasionally at the damp ground. Eddy watched as he absently began to pluck moldy pieces from the soggy side and toss them to the flock of seagulls bobbing and cawing around him. The policeman studied more than the sand, his quick brown eyes rose and swept the area every few steps. For a moment, those brown eyes found Eddy. The policeman’s gaze swept on, indifferent to the urchin with the pack of seagulls around him. Eddy felt a pang inside him at the briefness of the glance. It told the boy he considered Eddy entirely unimportant.
The old one in the white suit moved under the pier and stopped abruptly. His spats turned to the ocean and the water lapped at his shoes. A low, frustrated cry slid from him. His cane slashed out to thump into the nearest pier support beam casting its dark shadow over the men. The policeman stepped beside him, silent and stiff. They stared out at the expanse of ocean. The waves lapped the beach, seagulls crying behind them. The cane slid up and poked at a wet strand of tarred rope looped around the beam.
“He had a boat tied here,” the man murmured, his whiskers bobbing with each word, his accent European.
“Yes,” the policeman stated, his voice chopped and even. “Bartlett has escaped our grasp.” The two stood silent for a moment as Eddy watched curiously. The old man’s cane rose and smashed viciously into the beam, the sharp bang of it echoing around the beach. The cane’s silver tip slammed down, spraying sand over his spats.
“A solid clue, Roger!” His gray whiskers quivered with the words. “That man was one solid clue to the Ermine. Bartlett was a sloppy connection, one man who might tell us something of the Ermine himself!”
“Might have. But it seems we have reached the end of this clue’s trail.” The policeman sighed, a small defeated sound. “Come Frank, we will keep hunting.”
“For what?” the old one growled. “In all my years chasing him I have never seen the Ermine make a mistake like Bartlett, someone so weak he might actually be used to trace the master thief. We have no other clues to follow. Nothing left to do but wait for the Ermine to make his move while we watch helplessly.”
The policeman and the old man stood silent, still staring out at the bay. Unwilling to turn away and admit they had lost.
Eddy crumpled the last of the bread, tossed it among the seagulls, and hopped off the pylon. He absently wiped his grimy hands on his knickers as he strolled toward the two men. The two turned and watched as his bare feet scrunched into the sand. The boy stopped just before coming within arm’s reach. A smile quirked over his face and he rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“I saw him leave.”
Roger and Frank blinked at him. The policeman’s frown deepened, a suspicious glint tightening his eyes. But Frank leant forward, his expression twitching with hope.
“Bartlett, you saw the man Bartlett leave from here last night?” he prodded, his accent thicker in his excitement.
“Tall, frail character,” Eddy said, “thin as a sign post, twitching and muttering to himself. He looked like his father hit him once too often around the head when he was younger, as if a part of him never quite made it all the way to manhood.”
“Did you notice anything about his face?” Roger asked.
“The matching scars on his cheeks, you mean?” Eddy grinned at him. “Knife, I would say, maybe last year? Long enough to heal, but not long enough for the scars to fade.” The two men glanced at each other. Frank’s hands slapped together and he rubbed them, a smile creeping over his face and making laughter lines appear around his eyes.
“When did you see him, and where did he go?” the old one demanded. Eddy stirred the sand with his toe. His easy confidence began to fade and two spots of color showed under the dirt and soot on his face.
“See, the thing is Franky–” he started, but Roger cut him off sharply.
“Inspector Frank, to you, urchin,” he snapped.
“Choosing to use your first name?” Eddy asked with a commiserating frown at the old one. “I do understand that, I’m not fond of my last name either, no one can pronounce it.” A rumbling chuckle bubbled up from Frank and surrounded the little company. Tight shoulders eased, and even the seagulls calmed their constant pecking and screaming at each other under the infectious sound.
“No, no, young man, I am Inspector Luka Edvard Fynn Johann Frank. ‘Frank’ as in the ancient name of my people, you understand.”
“You’re a Frank?” the boy asked his grin so wide a patch of mud cracked on his cheek. “As in, bag o’ mystery meat?”
“No,” Roger broke in, his voice tired and patient. “‘Franks’ were the original name of some of the Germanic tribes, and the name stuck for centuries.”
“Oh. German,” Eddy said, his blue eyes running up and down the man in the rumpled white suit.
“Enough with my ancestry!” Inspector Frank burst out, hopping from one foot to the other. “Where did Bartlett go? When did you see him? Did he meet with someone?” Eddy took a deep breath and stood a little taller.
“I haven’t had any breakfast,” he blurted out. “‘Nor dinner, not really. I could explain what I saw better over a meal.” It was the inspector’s turn to run an eye over the gangly boy in front of him. But Eddy found he didn’t mind. Frank’s look was curious, sympathetic; Eddy knew this man was interested in him and his own story, not just what he had to tell them. Roger just nodded and waved a hand for the boy to follow. He began to retrace his steps back toward the city.
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