Devil in My Arms (26 page)

Vickery was the last to appear, and he looked reluctant to do so. “Sorry, madam,” he said by way of greeting. “But the rules …” He let it trail off.

Eleanor took pity on him. “Of course,” she said with a weak smile. “Should I put on the dress I was wearing when I was released? I wasn’t sure.”

Vickery blushed. “No, ma’am. Just bring it, if you please. They’ll take care of that there.” He coughed in embarrassment.

“James, if you would,” Eleanor entreated the butler. He bowed and turned to take a satchel from a maid behind him. The pretty little maid, not much older than Wiley, was sniffling and trying not to cry. “Thank you,” Eleanor said as she walked over to take the bag.

Hil intercepted her and took it himself. “I’ll take that,” he said gruffly. “I’m going with you.”

Eleanor tried to tug the bag from his hands. “Nonsense,” she said briskly. “I fully expect you to extricate me from this predicament, Hilary. You’ve wasted all morning holding my hand. We’ve no more time to waste.”

“She’s right,” Harry said, her voice strained. She walked around the table, calmer than Hil had expected her to be. “I shall see her to the prison.” She winced a little on the
last word. “You must solve this case.”

“We shall,” Roger corrected her, joining her by the door.

“I shall accompany them,” Julianna said. “I’ve been to Newgate before, with Mrs. Fry and some other like-minded reformers, as well as visits to new mothers there. I’ve several children who came from Newgate at the home.” She kissed Alasdair’s cheek and marched over to stand beside Eleanor. “Let her go, Hil. You’ve work to do.”

Hil felt a choking fear overtake him and he let go of the bag, but so did Eleanor. Without a care for the audience around them, he took her in his arms and held her tightly. Her arms were like a vise around his neck. “I’ll fix this,” he whispered desperately in her ear. “I will. I swear it.”

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling. “I trust you.”

He cupped her face in his hands and stared at her for a minute or more. Her lashes were dark spikes around her red eyes, wet with tears she was unsuccessfully trying to hold back, as several slid down her cheek. “I’m scared,” she confessed in a whisper. “I need to know you’re going to save me.”

“I’m going to save you,” he said, a fierce determination overcoming his fear.

Her trembling smile, broken by the bite of her teeth on her lower lip, was nearly his undoing. He kissed her then. He crushed his mouth to hers and sealed his promise with a kiss.

* * *

After he watched the carriage drive away with Eleanor inside, Hil turned resolutely back to the breakfast room. When he entered, Wiley and Lavender were deep in a whispered conversation, and Lyttle was pushing Alasdair toward the other Bow Street runners, who stood awkwardly at the back of the room.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this morning, gentlemen?” Hil said with outward calm when he entered.

“Here to help,” Taunton said. “Owe you a few, we figured.”

Relief swept through Hil. More hands and heads to help him figure this out. “Thank you,” he said, hoping they could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Have you any
new clues?”

They all shook their heads. “Townsend has given us some background,” Lavender said, “and Wiley was filling some in for me.”

“I understand you’ve been working with Wiley,” Hil said. “Thank you for that as well.”

“No thanks needed,” Lavender said bluntly. “The boy has solved some of my cases for me, no question. Best record in the station.”

“True enough,” Taunton agreed. “Thinking of taking him on.”

“This isn’t about me,” Wiley muttered. “Have we got anything on the watchman?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Lavender said. “Heard they had one holed up, waiting on a trial. Figured it must by your man. My guess, the crown wants to pull him out at the last second, so’s you’ve got no time to question him first.”

“That’s outrageous,” blustered Lyttle. “How dare they? This is a trial, not a theatrical performance. Bastards,” he added in a mutter.

“It would mean a lot to defeat Sir Hilary St. John,” Townsend said, sipping a cup of tea. He’d helped himself to the snacks strewn about the room. “Quite a name for himself if the crown wins.”

“That is not the purpose of the law,” Lyttle said coldly. “And I will make that abundantly clear at trial.”

“Questioning that watchman is the first step,” Wiley told them. “I’m sure he saw more than what was in the report. My gut is telling me so.”

For the first time in days, Hil felt a burst of hope fill him with energy. “Let’s go, then,” he said. “Where is he?”

Lavender was shaking his head. “No, sir. Got an idea, like I said. You show up, they’ll never let you in. But if one of us shows up? We can bring him to you.”

“Will you get in trouble for it?” Wiley asked. “You can’t lose your position over it.”

“I don’t give a damn about his position,” Hil snapped. “I will pay him a handsome income for the rest of his days if it gets Eleanor out of this mess.”

“Well, sir,” Lavender said, “I might take you up on that some day. But not now.
Lot of eyes turned the other way on this one. A lot of us owe Sir Hilary, and that’s been made clear.”

“Then why the bloody hell did they arrest Eleanor in the first place?” Hil cried out in frustration.

“Not really sure who she was,” Lavender said apologetically. “Vickery’s awful sorry for that. But all the clues pointed to her. And nob had a bit of money, didn’t he? Questions were going to be asked. Already were being asked.”

“Either way, there will be a handsome reward for the capture of the real killer. You all will be compensated,” Hil said. He held up a hand to stop their protests. “No. I insist. I realize that helping me is taking you away from your other duties.” He paused, something Lavender had said just a moment ago striking him suddenly. “All the clues pointed to her,” Hil said thoughtfully. “They do, don’t they?” He tapped his finger on the table beside him. “Someone had to know her, or about her. They either knew her and knew Enderby was her husband, or they saw the altercation at the opera. Because they were following her? I wasn’t there. Could it be about Eleanor?”

Wiley was shaking his head. “If they knew either of those things, I’d bet my hat it was in relation to you. They went after her to hurt you.”

“Why are you so sure?” Hil asked. “How can we be sure?”

“We can’t,” Townsend said. “But we must pick a direction. And I agree with the boy, it seems more likely you were the target. Enderby was the only one to have a grudge with your girl, Sir Hilary. But we can’t even narrow down the number of miscreants who would love to see you suffer.”

“Thank you,” Hil said drily.

“I’ll look into anyone who might have a bone to pick with Mrs. Fairchild,” Ruthven said, sounding brisk and efficient. “That will leave the rest of you to focus on Sir Hilary’s enemies. Who’s got a list for me?”

“I’ll make one,” Hil said, walking out the door, heading for his study. “It will be short.” He returned in minutes with a list of several names. “These are the only people in London who bore Eleanor a grudge, that I know of. And most are womanish things. She tells me several women were upset that I had taken up with her, jealous, that sort of thing.”

Ruthven chuckled. “Well, you are the catch,” he joked, making a long face at all the others in the room, who laughed with him.

Hil took their teasing with a good nature. “I quite agree,” he said, laughing. “Women are such an odd sort. Throwing their feelings about at fellows who don’t return them, and mooning and crying over them as if they’d had a great love affair. I shall never understand it.”

“Then I’m off,” Ruthven said, peering at the list, “to see a Mrs. Deeds and her daughter.” He glanced at Hil with unconcealed mirth. “Another hopeful missus?”

Hil shuddered. “Not as long as I’m in my right mind.”

“Well, we’ve bloody lost that battle, then,” Wiley said sarcastically. “She’ll be booking the church.”

“I’ll make sure they understand that it was Sir Hilary who sent me,” Ruthven called out as he left, to the guffaws of the other men.

“Now, then,” Hil said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get down to this business of the night watchman.”

* * *

While Wiley and Lavender went in search of the errant watchman, Hil and Taunton revisited the missing family members in Hil’s cases. After several hours of tracking, it was learned that the wife of the convict who was still in Newgate for blowing up a factory had remarried a veteran of the Fifty-Third Regiment of Foot—without benefit of divorce—and moved to Shrewsbury. Hil couldn’t help wishing Eleanor had been as willing to circumvent the law. He returned home and sent off a letter to the local magistrate to confirm the information, but it was quite frustrating to know he would not receive an answer before Eleanor’s trial.

There were still two missing individuals who had sworn vengeance upon Hil for the arrest of their loved ones: Anthony Weekes Jr., an accountant whose father, also an accountant, was transported for theft after he was caught stealing from his employer, and Bethesda Merrygood, the daughter of a woman executed for poisoning her second husband for his money. Miss Merrygood was now Mrs. Coulier, but that was all they
knew. Her husband had been as mysterious as she, a French Canadian whom she’d met and married within a week, and then disappeared. Hil was relatively sure Coulier had taken his new wife back to Canada, but so far no one could confirm that.

“Have you seen this?” Taunton asked, tossing another broadsheet onto Hil’s desk.

Hil pushed it aside. “I haven’t got time for that nonsense right now.”

“Make time,” Taunton said. He pushed it back.

With a sigh, Hil picked it up and saw it was a drawing of their misadventure on Leicester Street the other day. It was more realistic than the caricatures he’d seen before. It showed Hil holding a fainting, injured Eleanor in his arms as he crouched on the sidewalk. The look on his face in the drawing was tender. Eleanor was looking back at him with a devoted look on her tearstained face. The caption again read, “The Damsel and the Devil,” and below in parentheses it said, “Or the Angel and the Saint?” But the most interesting thing was the man standing behind him. It was the man who’d pushed them. He had a frightening countenance, distorted with glee and evil as he witnessed their suffering, but Hil recognized him all the same. And so had the artist of the drawing. He’d stake money on it.

“Who drew this?” he demanded, standing up.

“It isn’t bad,” Taunton said. “Shows public opinion turning in her favor.”

“It isn’t that,” Hil said. He pointed to the man standing behind him. “Look.”

“Is that him, then?” Taunton asked, peering over his shoulder. “Good likeness?”

“A perfect likeness,” Hil answered excitedly. “Good enough to show around and find out if this is Anthony Weekes Jr.”

“What makes you think it is?” Taunton asked.

“We were on our way to see him,” Hil explained. “We were going to Fleet Street, where he had an office and lodgings. He intercepted us.”

“Perhaps,” Taunton said, unconvinced. He pointed at the signature at the bottom. “Looks like George Cruikshank. He must like you. Usually does caricatures. Very good ones.”

“Yes, he’s done some of me before,” Hil said, distracted. “We must go speak with him. I want to know what he saw.”

“Let’s go,” Taunton said, already heading for the door. “It’s nice to finally have
something that resembles a clue here.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hil muttered as he followed. “At last.”

Before they made it out the door, Lavender and Wiley returned. Between them marched a large man, whose size was incongruent with the meek and confused look on his face. His head was small for his body, his eyes and nose resembling a pig. Hil was instantly alert and met them at the door. “The watchman?” he asked eagerly. He held out his hand to Lavender and the runner shook it.

“Yes, sir,” Lavender said. “Sir Hilary St. John, may I introduce you to Mr. Charles Unger, the nightwatch in Ludgate.”

“Mr. Unger,” Hil said with satisfaction, shaking the befuddled man’s hand. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“I know,” he said, “but can’t imagine why. The whole business is strange, I tell you. First they tell me don’t talk to no one. Now they tell me to talk to you. Haven’t been home in days, since this whole murder mess began. Bad business, murder,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No good can come of it.”

“No, indeed,” Hil said. The impression he was getting of Mr. Unger made Hil cautiously optimistic. He didn’t appear to be deceitful, or the kind of man to take a bribe to lie about what he’d seen. He seemed genuinely distressed by the whole affair. He waved Mr. Unger into the library. He knew the room was intimidating. A large, round room, the walls were filled with books from floor to ceiling. Windows lined one wall, and there were strategically placed tables and chairs around the room to invite cozy chats. In the center, in front of the fireplace, was a central conversation area with two large sofas and several chairs. It was to this central point that Hil took Mr. Unger. “Please have a seat, Mr. Unger,” he said graciously. “Let me explain.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Sir,” the crown prosecutor said, addressing the magistrate, “the crown charges Mrs. Elizabeth Fairchild with homicide in the death of Mr. Jacob Enderby.”

Eleanor flinched in the dock as the charge was read. It was a bleak morning outside, with gray skies portending a storm. Inside, things were not much better. The courtroom in the Old Bailey, just across from Newgate, was dark and the air close, the lack of sunlight quite pronounced. She desperately longed for an open window, and was suppressing her panic over her surroundings with a great deal of difficulty. She wore her prisoner’s garb, her request to change into her own clothes having been denied. She felt exposed and shabby there in front of the court, but she straightened her shoulders and faced the magistrate calmly. She snuck a peek at Roger and caught herself biting her lip. She stopped immediately. Roger and Mr. Lyttle had warned her about any outward appearance of guilt.