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After a morning of grisly but productive assisting and learning, Constable Hobbs returned to the Laboratory with a mop, the gentle clicks of his steps coming to a slow halt upon a protesting Jackson and uncompromising Reid.
“…listen, I promised her…”
“We need you more. Right here.”
“Reid, it’s a husband’s…”
Reid ignored his pleas. “Constable, gather these items from the market, and go to Ms. Susan Hart. Offer to perform Captain Jackson’s part for the day.” He looked at the pale, uncertain fingers with the grocery list in between. “Tell her it’s an order from me.”
“Yes, Inspector.”
Hobbs slipped on the dark blue tunic, accompanied by a tiny, sharp glint of sunlight from the silver “H” on the collar. The instructions were clear, nonetheless those he had never heard before. That day, the sight of a very awkward police constable with a big basket shopping at Whitechapel’s marketplace brought amusement to more than a few. After a final check of the list, Hobbs headed to Tenter street, pressing his lips together as he rehearsed his intended dialogue. Stopping in front of the red door, he switched the basket to the other arm, took a deep breath, and gave three firm knocks.
knock knock knock
A vibrantly dressed girl let him in, giggling at his stutter and obvious nervousness. Hobbs kept his gaze intensely on the floor until he greeted Susan, who raised her eyebrows at the colorful delivery, as if questioning his, or maybe Reid’s, sanity. She stared at him coldly after his almost apologetic explanation, sighed, and led him to the backyard.
A few moments later, Hobbs was high up the ladder hammering at the broken downspout “torn off by your good Inspector Reid and lousily repaired by some drunken plumbers.” As he drove one last nail into the wall to hold the metal tube firmly in place, screams from the house nearly threw him off balance.
One of the constables appeared from nowhere and steadied the wobbly ladder, making sure his comrade descended safely to the ground littered with small rocks and other debris. One accidental slip up there, God knew what would happen.
“Reinforcement from Leman Street,” he told Hobbs as they put away the tools and cleared the yard.
Susan rolled her eyes. “Gentlemen,” she said. The mustached “gentleman” had just shoved his way in like a maniac. “Allow me to be grateful for your time and labor, and show you the way out.” And she did not hesitate to shut the door behind them.
Jackson had to deal with a snappy Susan that evening.
“I want no policemen in my house!”
“Come here, darlin’,” Jackson stretched out comfortably in bed. “Are the groceries fresh, the backyard fixed, though?”
Susan settled next to her husband, who wrapped his arm around her, effectively extinguishing the fire. That naive lad would perhaps make an agreeable guest, but not in that uniform, offering to be a substitute for Jackson, and almost falling off a ladder.
Jackson’s breath brushed against her ear. “I’ll cook breakfast, first thing in the morning.”
“Since when did you pick up such a healthy lifestyle?”
Their voices blended into the bustling night. Across the streets and alleys, in a quiet living room, there were a flurry of dress following those light, rhythmic knocks. It was the occasion longed for the most but happened the least. She took off his coat and hung up his uniform–it needed some washing. He pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair, savoring every moment. Next to them on the hanger, the silver “H” reflected a hushed golden tone of the cozy fireplace.