Ghost of the Thames (10 page)

“Good morning, Captain.”

“Mrs. Perkins,” he replied. “Couldn’t
get her to come in, I hear?”

“We cannot get the poor thing to
budge. Other than the blanket, she won’t take a thing. She’s
refused every offer of food or drink.” They reached the door. “This
girl is nothing like those other wretches who have been showing up
at the door for reward. There is a refinement, I'd say, in her
speech and politeness. Do you really know her, Captain?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, going out the
door.

There was a sharp tug at his heart
when he saw Sophy shivering on the bottom step, her knees tucked
against her chest. The blanket covered most of her. He hurried
down.

“You will come inside, this
instant.”

“No,” she said. Dark, fearful eyes
peered up at him. She was incredibly pale. “I cannot.”

“I will carry you inside by force, if
I must, Sophy. You are freezing out here.”

She immediately pushed herself to her
feet and backed away from him. “Then if you are not willing to help
me, I’ll go.”

“Sophy, stop. I’m trying to
help.”

“Please, Captain. I shouldn’t have
come here. But I had nowhere else to go.”

“Then come inside. Let me help
you.”

She looked up at the house. Edward
knew that Mrs. Perkins was on the landing behind him.

“No. I cannot come in. This is your
home.” Sophy paused, desperation evident in her voice. “You can
help me, but I hate to ask it. It is too much.”

“Ask.”

“If you could find me a room
somewhere. Anywhere but the Cottage, or here. You offered to
help.”

“Of course.”

Edward stared at her for a moment. He
considered arguing with her, convincing her to come inside, at
least to warm up. But she was already looking hesitant, again ready
to flee.

“You wait right here.” He turned to
his housekeeper. “Mrs. Perkins, this is Sophy. Keep her company
until my carriage is brought around.”

“Very good, Captain.”

“This will take a few minutes. If
you’ll excuse me?”

She nodded, and he went up the stairs
and into the house. Reeves was standing right inside the door,
listening to the conversation.

“The footman has been dispatched for
the carriage, Captain. Your cloak and hat are coming, as
well.”

“And my wallet. I’ll be needing
that.”

“Of course, sir,” the butler said,
passing on the directions. “May I ask you something,
Captain?”

“Certainly,” Edward replied, trying to
hide his impatience about getting back to Sophy.

“This is the same woman who stepped in
front of your carriage a fortnight ago, is she not?” the butler
asked quietly.

“Yes, she is.”

Going out the back door with his cloak
over his arm, Edward was relieved to find her waiting. Wrapped in
the blanket, she was still shivering, and Mrs. Perkins was standing
near her, shaking her head with concern.

“Can you walk with me to the front of
the house?”

“Yes, I can manage perfectly,” she
said stolidly, falling in beside him.

It took great deal of control to not
reach out and help her. Something had gone wrong. This was not the
same woman who had cracked a man’s head with an oar in Hammersmith
Village and then had calmly asked for Edward’s pistol.

“The blanket,” she said when they
reached the front of the house. “May I take it with me?”

“Of course.”

Berkeley Square was quiet this early
in the morning, though Edward knew it wouldn’t be long before the
cries of the street vendors would be heard. The few clusters of
brown leaves in the gutters were speckled with frost.

When the carriage rolled up, Edward
gave the driver directions and helped Sophy climb in. He followed,
sitting across from her.

“I am in serious trouble,” she told
him as soon as the door of the carriage closed behind them. Her
voice wavered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I would not blame you
if you were to decide to hand me over to the police, in fact,
instead of finding me a shelter.”

“What have you done?”

She pushed the blanket off one
shoulder and exposed a bloody sleeve.

“You are hurt.”

“No, this is someone else’s blood. I
stabbed a man in self-defense. He attacked me.”

“By the devil! And no one stopped him?
No one helped you?”

“No one. I stabbed him and fled. I
feared the man's friends might have finished what he had
started.”

“Are you certain you’re not
hurt?”

“I’m not hurt. But I don’t know. I
don’t know if I killed him or not. I think I did.”

“If you did kill him, the blackguard
deserved it.”

“But even now, the police could be
searching for me. The scandal that I could have brought to your
door!” Her chin sank to her chest and tears gushed down her
cheeks.

Edward looked at her in silence for a
moment. How could this one woman get into so much trouble? Ill
fortune seemed to be haunting her. He reached across and took her
hands into his.

“Sophy, tell me everything. Where did
this happen?”

“Chelsea. I left the cottage last
night, and I found myself in Chelsea.”

Edward had to force himself to refrain
from lecturing her on how dangerous her actions were.

“I arrived at the gates of a place
called Cremorne House. There were hundreds of people inside,
dancing and drinking and—“

“I know the place. Pleasure gardens
owned by some count or something.”

“Yes. There were two men just inside
the gates. One of them—he seemed to be in charge of supplying women
to gentlemen—he forced me into a dark wooded area inside the garden
walls. They called him Jack Slade.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“He would have,” she said, looking up
at Edward, fire coming back into her eyes. “But I stabbed him. I
put the knife into his ribs before he could hurt me. And then I
ran.”

She freed her hands from his grasp and
wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were like blown
embers.

“I apologize for bringing my troubles
to you. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I had no where to go.
I couldn’t go back to Urania Cottage, not like this.”

“You were perfectly right to come to
me.”

“But your reputation. I am probably an
outlaw already.” She stopped. “I should just step out here and hand
myself over to some constable on the street.”

“Stop the dramatics,” Edward snapped.
“Do you understand the word ‘danger’? This is the second time you
have placed yourself in harm’s way.”

“Yes, but I—“

“You are a woman alone in a dangerous
city. Out there at night, you are exposed. Vulnerable to the
villainy of any man who comes upon you. And a woman who shows up
alone at those pleasure gardens wants only one thing. Money for
selling her body.” He stopped short. “Is that what you were
after?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him. But she
made no sound, no argument. If not for the fresh tears rolling down
her cheeks, she might have been a statue.

“Answer me. Did you go out there to
sell yourself for money?”

“No.”

“Then why did you go
there?”

“I followed . . . .” She shook her
head. “I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know what kind of
place that was. I found myself standing there, looking in the
gates, but there was no premeditation. Please believe
me.”

She looked so shaken, so vulnerable,
more beautiful than he could stand. He wanted to strangle her, but
he also wanted to protect her, possess her.

Edward leaned back against the seat,
unable to tear his gaze away from her face. Nothing she said made
sense. Nothing about her made sense. Wandering through the night,
exposing herself to dangers, was hardly the act of a sane woman.
And that first night when she’d found herself in the river could
have been the outcome of the same crazed recklessness.

He knew he was not going to let her
turn herself over to the authorities. If this blackguard Jack Slade
were truly dead, the world would be a better place, he had no
doubt. No, Edward thought, he needed to try to discover who this
woman really was. What was about her past that she was desperately
trying to forget.

But those queries would have to wait.
He had more pressing matters to attend to first.

“I do believe you,” he
said, leaning forward. “But I will help you only if you will
do
exactly
as I
say.”

She nodded.

“No varying from my
instructions, do you understand?” He waited until she nodded again.
“First, no more exposing yourself to the lowlifes of this city. You
will leave the place I secure for you
only
in the company of someone I
know and only with my approval. And that must occur only in
daylight. Do you agree to my terms?”

She hesitated, staring at him with
more unshed tears hanging on her long lashes. Edward wished he
could read her mind. There was something that she wasn’t telling
him, something she was holding back.

“Sophy, these are my terms.” His sharp
tone clearly jarred her; he saw the flash come back into her
eyes.

“The decision of going where I have
gone has not been mine to make.”

Now she was talking nonsense. He shook
his head.

“You need to take control of your own
actions. If you cannot do that, then you can get out of this
carriage right now.”

He didn’t know what he would do if she
chose to leave, but he wasn’t going to give her any time to
consider that he might be bluffing. He called to the driver to stop
the carriage, and the vehicle rumbled to a halt.

Sophy stared at him and then looked
out the window for a moment.

“I will. I will abide by your
conditions,” she said finally. “But that’s only for as long as I
must depend on your generosity. I refuse to be slave to anyone for
the rest of my life.”

He nodded curtly, realizing that he
had been holding his breath.

He signaled to the driver to proceed,
and then explained to Sophy the exact terms of their
arrangement.

CHAPTER 11

“Let us be clear on this, Mr. Warren,”
the coroner bellowed.

“This is a travesty!” the old man
growled, banging his cane on the floor.

The coroner held up two meaty hands,
silencing the crowd and glaring at John Warren and the lawyer
sitting helplessly beside him.

“Let us be clear. If we
are
not
convinced
that your niece is indeed deceased, we will be forced to declare
her a ‘missing person’ and wait the prescribed period of seven
years to declare her dead. Or . . . . ” The man leaned forward in
his chair and laid his hands, with a sound thump, on the papers
before him. “Or, if the facts of the case indicate that the
unfortunate young lady took her own life and threw herself
overboard, then, as a suicide, her properties will all be forfeited
to the Crown.”

With all the solemnity of a country
fair, the inquest broke out in a burst of hilarity, with the jurors
and audience laughing and cheering. And Peter Hodgson sat frozen in
his chair. No one, in his experience, had ever lectured John Warren
like some schoolmaster berating a truant school boy. And the
onlookers were loving it. Watching in horror, Hodgson thought for a
moment that the coroner, Mr. Harmon, was going to stand up and take
a bow.

This was
not
going
well.

The inquest, held to determine the
legal status of Catherine Warren following her disappearance, was
certainly well attended. The ancient meeting room of the
temporarily requisitioned guild hall was packed. Every table and
chair was occupied. People stood two deep along the walls and
leaned against stout pillars. There was not enough space remaining
to let in even one more person.

Hodgson had a sense from the comments
of those around him that many in the crowd were regulars that
attended every inquest in London. This one, however, had evidently
brought a larger crowd because of the rumors circulating of the
offer of a large reward that was being announced after the hearing.
Cash was to be offered for any news of the young heiress, whether
she be dead or alive.

“Silence there, damn you!” the beadle
shouted, shoving his way in front of the dais where the coroner’s
table sat. “Come to order, I say!”

Hodgson stole a glance at his
employer. The old man’s normally ruddy cheeks were blazing purple.
The muscles in his jaw were clenched so tight that they were sure
to crack whatever teeth were left in the ancient mouth. Blue veins
bulged in his temple, his neck and even on the back of the gnarled
fist wrapped around his cane. John Warren appeared ready to
explode.