It seemed like the whole of Montmartre was suddenly awake and running towards Le Hôpital de Municipal, long lines of strong arms and purpose passing buckets of water to douse the flames. The elements plainly didn’t intend for this to be the night that the citizens of one of the poorest sections of the city lost their hospital, and for once, smiling eyes looked thankfully up to the black sky as the rain made short shrift of the most fearsome flames. Lily watched patients being lifted tenderly from the ruins while Inspector Abberline frowned at the frantic gestures of firemen anxious to be the one with the correct supposition about how a fire should come to start in the laundry room. “Une cigarette naturellement!” bringing howls of derision from others and a frown from the matron. The talk was such rapid-fire Paris French that Lily could see him struggling to keep up, evidently school linguistics didn’t stretch to boilers and combustibles, but he seemed to understand the words “incendie criminal” well enough, and Lily stepped a little further forward to listen to the theories and expositions.

After several minutes a considerable woman clapped her hands, “Anyhow Inspector, the truth of it will no doubt be revealed when this devilish night is through, but in the meantime I have a hospital to run. It is fortunate that you are here. I have a young woman who will tell me neither her name nor how she came to be here, but I have grave doubts that the cuts and bruises that cover her were caused by falling down stairs. She will say nothing except ‘Le Bourgeon Blanc’.”

Lily intuitively covered her mouth to stop the cry that threatened to escape and held her breath instead. If Abberline responded any slower she would have assumed he had not heard, just the tensing of his jaw revealed him. “Is that so, Matron? And where would I find this young woman?”

The matron sighed, “She was, to tell the truth, disturbing the other patients with her sobbing and carrying on, so I moved her to a private room at the end of the corridor. Most irregular, you understand,…she has no money. It was fortunate for her that I did, because the ward she was in bore the brunt of the fire.”

Fred nodded sagely. “A most judicious decision, Matron. If I could prevail upon you still further, I would like to be informed personally should this woman have any visitors.” Leaning close to her he spoke quietly, “It is a matter demanding some considerable discretion.” The matron nodded her head slightly and, in a night that appeared to keep getting more surprising, she watched the Inspector, accompanied by what a woman dressed for the pleasure of men, march quickly down the polished wood floor. She really did have other things to worry about than the company apparently sought by the police these days.

“Mon Dieu!” The blood drained out of Lily’s heart at the sight of her friend, pale blue eyes surrounded by red and purple, vivid colour stark against that white skin. Lily was at once adjusting bandages, stroking blonde curls, and crying her own tears as she whispered, “Who did this, Aimee?” her question only answered by the thanks in Aimee’s grip.

Fred Abberline had been thinking hard as he stood watching, his quick brain was already making several connections between the comte, government officials, and Russians with half-heard conversations in the corridors of police headquarters and lines of enquiry that had been closed to him in no uncertain terms and without explanation. He was brought back into the room however by Lily’s eyes raging at the smallest thought of Aimee underneath a man who would do this to her and overcome with fear at what it seemed now was more than an accusation of theft. Instinct had him reach to put his hand on her shoulder, the shake of her very frame calmed for just a second’s grace until it was broken by the voice of a man walking heavily down the corridor, drawing ever near, and the matron protesting, “This is a hospital, Monsieur! I am sorry I didn't catch your name…but you can’t just...” Abberline was on his feet seconds before he stepped out of the door pulling it closed behind him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Fred Abberline knew how to use his body and stood squarely to the door; if this man intended to enter, he would have to have a good reason to decide to force the issue. Dark eyes eventually settled back on Abberline’s face, though there were seconds more before the man decided to speak, in a thick accented voice that matched his moustache, “I was informed that zis is the room of Aimee Blanchard, a friend of mine.”

Abberline took a deep breath and shook his head. “Then I am sorry to have to be the one to break bad news to you, mate. Your information was correct except for one small detail…this WAS the room of Aimee Blanchard. Sadly it is now occupied by another unfortunate, seems they are two a penny round here.” If Lily hadn’t been holding her breath she might have laughed, or else shouted at him to watch his mouth. Instead she listened hard, “Sorry, where are me manners? I am Inspector Fred Abberline, and you are…?”

The tall man nodded, “I have heard of you.”

Abberline’s mouth turned just a little at the edge. “Somehow I assumed that you would. Now please accept my sympathies. I believe the morgue is downstairs. No doubt your identification of the body will prove most enlightening. If you will excuse me for one moment, I have a personal matter to attend to.” The door closed quickly behind him. “You should leave with Aimee right now,” their bodies moving at exactly the same moment brought Lily and Inspector Abberline face to face in the middle of the room. “Do you have any money, Lily?”

She would burn him up with those eyes, “You know that I don’t.”

Without a second thought Fred dipped into his pocket and withdrew his palm full of coins. He took her hand and extended her fingers, “Take this to pay for a room, I will get you more, just don’t tell anyone where it is. I don’t want to know where it is. Do what you have to, keep her safe, and I promise you I will have this sorted out in a few days. Trust me, Lily.”

Lily turned to look at Aimee, to get some agreement, some support, anything that would tell her to do what went against every thought she had ever had in her head—to trust a copper. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, “Oui.” Grabbing whatever bottles of pills she could find and helping Aimee to stand took some strength. She spoke hurriedly again, “Abberline, come to the boarding house late this afternoon. Us women can help you…we can help with the evidence.” There was a small smile of recognition on his beautiful mouth and Lily could have kissed him, but instead she opened the window and, with Abberline’s assistance, got Aimee out onto the street. She waved her arms wildly at the sight of a carriage waiting for a fare and helped Aimee inside. Fred Abberline watched the cab disappear around the curve of a corner and breathed deep.

Lily put an arm round Aimee and sat back to let her mind settle for a moment. Only a few minutes had passed before they arrived at their destination. Montmartre was like a warren, its streets only distinct to those who knew them like the palms of their hands, and Lily did. She climbed down and helped Aimee out of the carriage, gathering her friend against the cold wind. “Merci Monsieur,” and for the first time in her life, Lily tipped a cab driver, well the first time in her life she had been in one with occasion to pay, and she smiled.

A loud knock brought Madame Tousson to the door, and the scowl on her face ready to greet whatever enquiry was disturbing her from her sleep disappeared instantly at the sight of Lily. As Lily had dared to hope, she and Aimee were sitting in the parlour with a kettle on the fire and a mound of pastries before she could say “Bon nuit.” Lily had been lucky the 2 years ago when she arrived in Paris, much as many of the women she danced with had, with nothing except dreams and a good helping of hope, it had been Madame Tousson she had chanced upon, who had taken her in and showed her where to go for work. Granted she wanted paying and a generous donation of gin whenever luck allowed, but she was honest and direct and just the sort of person Lily liked. She also liked intrigue, and to have the faintest whiff that she might be involved in something clandestine had Madame Tousson practically begging Lily to let her have Aimee stay.

Aimee for her part was weak and tired, and Lily looked over and felt her heart twist. “Please look after her, Madame Tousson. Whatever she needs, I will pay you, you have my promise, but no one must know!”

The older woman took Lily’s hands, “She will be as ma fille, chérie, as are you. Come I will make you both up a bed.”

Not so far away Fred Abberline stepped out of the hospital doors alone, the dissatisfied Russian seeming to have a sudden urgent engagement. Despite the strenuous cerebral activities that this case seemed to be demanding, what he found himself contemplating was the desire to be back in that bar, watching the gentle rise of that white cream skin which disappeared down into heat, and the fullness of Lily’s red mouth as she talked. Where he was headed, though, wasn’t his police-issued rented quarters that still smelled of the strong cleaner used to scrub them out between ‘tenants’ and which stood unpacked and under furnished even after all these months. If he had escaped the ache of London it was only to a half life in gay Paris, the half of the life he chose being a little further on in the opium dens of Montmartre. Abberline lengthened his stride. If he couldn’t have her in his hands, perhaps his dreams might be tempted to co-operate.

His arrival was no surprise and Abberline sat in a familiar chaise longue that was more home than home with his eyes focused on the pipe in front of him. The glass bowl at the bottom was a deep ruby red, like one of those southern French wines with no name sold in whatever container you had, hand blown into the shape of Aladdin’s lamp and etched with an intricate whisper of gold paint to catch the firelight and whose swirls only suggested the effect on the sensibilities. An elegant brass neck and smaller suspended bowl in perfect jet sat regally on top. Abberline reached for a thin pipe, its mouth piece glowing amber in the shape of a cobra.

His fingers lingered over the warm undulations of the glass and cold of the brass, slipping along the red woven cover of the pipe and then with a soft smile he put the amber end of the pipe between his lips. Breathtaking bones jutted that much more as his cheeks hollowed to draw the smoke down into the water, dragging a stream of cool smoke deep into his lungs, flooding warm liquid to his fingers and toes. Abberline swayed in his skin with the surge of the drug through every vein. His body sunk into soft and warm, and he smiled to think of her for the seconds that it took before Aimee crashed into the red of his mind, her hitting the dark wall of an alley and crying to be spared.

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