Wicked Intentions 1 (19 page)

She reappeared at that moment, her hair safely confined and hidden under a white cap. She looked sharply between Lazarus and her brother, and he could only hope the younger man had wiped the expression of animosity from his face.

“I’m ready,” she said, and took up a cloak.

Lazarus glided to her side and plucked the ragged thing from her fingers. He held it out. She looked at him uncertainly before donning the garment. Lazarus opened the door.

“Be careful,” Makepeace called behind them.

The night was damp, a grimy mist immediately slicking his face. Lazarus pulled his cloak about his shoulders. “Stay close to me. No doubt your brother would have me drawn and quartered should I bring you back with even a hair on your head misplaced.”

“He worries for me.”

“Mmm.” Lazarus glanced around and then down at her. “As do I. That attack we suffered last time was apurpose.”

Her gold-flecked eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

He shrugged and began walking. “I saw one of the
assassins at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop. That’s quite a coincidence.”

She stopped suddenly, making him stop as well or risk outpacing her. “But that means someone tried to kill you!”

“Yes, it does.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Twice now, I think. The night we first met, I was attacked by what I thought was a common footpad.”

“The man we saw you kneeling over!”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “Now I wonder if he was after my life instead of my purse.”

“Dear God.” She looked down at her toes thoughtfully. “If the man without a nose was at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s, then it stands to reason that the murderer was there as well.”

He inclined his head, watching her.

She met his eyes, her own fearless. “Then we should return to Mother Heart’s-Ease and see if she knows the man.”

“That is my hope,” he said as he set out again. “But I want to impress upon you the seriousness of this business. Before, I merely had to deal with the everyday dangers of St. Giles. Now it seems I may actually have caught the attention of a ruthless murderer.” He glanced sideways at her. “If you wish to quit this hunt, Mrs. Dews, I will still honor my side of the bargain.”

The hood of her cloak obscured most of her profile, but he could still see her lips purse primly. “I’ll not renege on our bargain.”

He leaned over her, bending his head to hers. “Then you had better stay close to my side.”

“Humph.” She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyebrows were knit. “Who had you spoken to the night we met—the night you were first attacked?”

“One of Marie’s neighbors, a prostitute.” His lips twisted. “Or at least I’d tried to talk to her. The woman slammed her door in my face, once she found out what I sought.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“They must be linked somehow—the prostitute and Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop, but I don’t see how.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s only the area—the murderer found out I was questioning Marie’s neighbor and also knew I’d questioned Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

She shook her head. “He’d have to be very quick to take fright, then, if he sent an assassin after you merely for asking questions. No, I think you must’ve found something out.”

She looked at him in question.

“If I did, I don’t know what it is myself.” He laughed a little grimly.

They walked the rest of the way to Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop in silence. Lazarus kept an alert eye out but saw no followers unless one counted a mangy cur, mostly skin and bones, that shadowed them for a minute or more.

When he ducked into the low doorway of the gin shop, the heat and smell hit Lazarus in the face. He caught Mrs. Dews’s arm, scanning the crowded room. A fire roared on the hearth in the back, and a group of sailors were singing drunkenly at one long table. The one-eyed barmaid scurried between tables, avoiding all eyes, especially his own. Mother Heart’s-Ease was not in sight.

Mrs. Dews tugged at his arm and stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear over the noise of the room. “Give me some coins.”

He looked at her, his eyebrow arched, and then took out
his purse and shook some shillings into her hand. She nodded and without a word began weaving her way through the throng, patiently stalking the barmaid. Lazarus wasn’t about to leave her side in this company. He trailed behind, watching her movements, glaring when a sailor tried to catch her hand.

Mrs. Dews finally ran the one-eyed barmaid to ground near the fireplace. The girl reluctantly turned, looking a bit more interested when Mrs. Dews pressed a coin into her palm. There was a whispered conferral and the barmaid slipped away.

Mrs. Dews turned back to Lazarus. “She says that Mother Heart’s-Ease is in the back room.”

Lazarus glanced at the curtained doorway. “Then let’s seek her out.”

He lifted the curtain and led the way. Behind the door was a short, dark passageway. A young man leaned against the wall, cleaning his fingernails with the wickedly pointed tip of a knife.

He didn’t bother glancing up at their entrance. “This ’ere’s private like. Go on back to th’ bar.”

“I wish to speak to Mother Heart’s-Ease,” Lazarus said evenly.

The man wasn’t very big, but he looked like he might be quick. Before he could reply, Mother Heart’s-Ease opened a door behind him. A young girl slipped out, tottering on her heeled slippers. She glanced at the guard dismissively but slowed when she saw Lazarus. He turned sideways to let her pass, and she thanked him with a cheeky grin and a wink. He was quite sure that had he shown any sign of interest, she’d be amenable to a quick tête-à-tête in a corner of the gin shop. He shot a glance
at Mrs. Dews and was unsurprised to see her lips pursed primly.

“Mrs. Dews,” Mother Heart’s-Ease called from her door. “’Aven’t you enough to busy yourself with at that little home you run? ’Tis twice now in but a fortnight you’ve visited my part of St. Giles. And with Lord Caire, I see. I wasn’t expectin’ you back, m’lord.”

Lazarus smiled. “Because you thought I would be killed at Martha Swan’s house?”

The woman tilted her head and smiled coquettishly—a rather repulsive sight. “I’d ’eard you met with some trouble there. Poor Martha Swan! It’s dangerous, walking the streets.”

“Then you don’t find it suggestive that she was gutted in the same way as Marie Hume?”

She shrugged bony shoulders as wide as a man’s. “Many a lass ’as come to a bad end in St. Giles.”

For a moment, Lazarus studied the old bawd. She was undoubtedly playing some kind of game, but whether it was for money, simply to protect her own mysterious interests, or because she had a more sinister intent, he wasn’t sure. “Be that as it may, the man who attacked me was sitting in your gin house the night I came to question you. He wore a patch over his nose.”

She nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen ’im about.”

“Do you know who might’ve hired him to kill me? Who doesn’t want Marie Hume’s killer to be found?”

“Kill you?” She hawked and spat into the filthy straw on the floor. “Look ’ere, it’s not my business what folk do after they leave my place. ’E probably caught sight of that purse you were wavin’ about that night and thought you were a soft mark.”

“Do you know if he has any friends? Men he drank with?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” She shrugged again and turned away. “I ’ave a business to run, my lord.”

Lazarus watched as she shut the door behind her. Mother Heart’s-Ease had seemed eager enough for his payment the first night they’d come, but tonight she’d not even hinted at money. Was she afraid? Had someone warned her off?

Mrs. Dews sighed beside him. “That’s it, then. I don’t think she’ll tell you more.”

The young man who had been leaning against the wall all this time cleared his throat. Lazarus looked at him, but the boy’s eyes were on Mrs. Dews. “You want to know about Marie Hume?”

His mouth barely moved, his words all but inaudible. Still Mrs. Dews nodded silently and placed the rest of the coins Lazarus had given her into the man’s hand.

“There’s a house in Running Man Courtyard. D’you know it?”

Mrs. Dews stiffened, but she nodded.

“Ask for Tommy Pett and
don’t
tell anyone where you got ’is name. Understand?”

“I do.” Mrs. Dews turned and left the back hall.

Lazarus waited until they’d climbed the stairs and walked into the cold night air. “You know the way to this Running Man Courtyard?”

She pressed her lips together as if not well pleased. “Yes.”

Lazarus glanced up and down the dark street. “Do you know that young man? Can we trust him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him before.” Mrs. Dews
pulled her cloak about her shoulders. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“Or a wild-goose chase.” Lazarus frowned. “Mother Heart’s-Ease may’ve ordered him to whisper that information to us.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, damn it.” He blew out a breath. “That’s the problem. I don’t know the players in any of this. I’m too much the outsider.”

“Well, if it helps, I thought his fear of her overhearing him was genuine.”

Lazarus felt a sudden smile tug at his lips. He bowed low, sweeping his hat from his head. “In that case, Mrs. Dews, lead on.”

She almost smiled—he would’ve sworn it on his life—but she schooled her expression and set off, walking briskly, her shoes echoing off the cobblestones. Lazarus trailed close behind, keeping an alert eye out. The mist furled about the corners of buildings and dimmed what lanterns had been set out. This would be a good night for an ambush, he thought grimly.

“When I returned from your house last week, I was met by my elder brothers,” she said suddenly. Her head was turned away, so he could not read her face.

“What did they say?”

“That they didn’t want me to go with you, of course.”

“And yet here you are.” They rounded a corner into a wider street. “Should I be flattered?”

“No,” she said shortly. “I do this for the home, nothing else.”

“Oh, naturally.”

A party of three men staggered out of a doorway farther
down the street, obviously drunk. Lazarus reached forward and pulled her back toward him, ignoring her squeak of surprise. He halted in the shadows and wrapped her in his cloak until she was nearly hidden.

Lazarus bent his head to murmur in her ear, “The sad thing about being virtuous is that when one tries to lie, it doesn’t work very well.”

She opened her mouth and he caught the glint of anger in her eye, but the drunkards were passing by.

“Hush,” he breathed across her ear. This close, he could smell the sweet herbs she’d used when she washed her hair. He wanted to draw her even closer, to press her hips to his, to lick that delicate ear.

But the toughs had passed them by and he let her go instead.

She immediately leapt back and glared up at him. “I have no desire to be with you. I only do this for the home and the children.”

“How very noble, Mrs. Dews. You sound quite the saint.” He felt himself smile, not very pleasantly. “Will you tell me now what this house is in Running Man Courtyard?”

“It’s Mrs. Whiteside’s house,” she muttered before turning quickly and marching off.

Lazarus felt his eyebrows wing up in honest surprise as he hurried to catch up to his guide. This should be very interesting, indeed.

For Mrs. Whiteside ran the most notorious brothel in St. Giles.

Chapter Nine

Very early the next morning, Meg was roused from her sleep by four burly guards. They hustled her up a winding staircase until she was once again in the king’s room. He sat sprawled on a golden throne, his black beard and hair shining in the morning sunlight. Before him were several dozen guards standing at attention in strict rows.

“There you are!” the king snapped. “Now, then, I shall prove to you my people’s love.” He turned to the assembled guards. “My guards, do you love me?”

“Aye, sire!” cried the guards with one strong voice.

King Lockedheart smirked at Meg. “You see? Admit now your folly and I might grant you your life.”…

—from
King Lockedheart

Temperance felt her cheeks heat as she continued walking. She knew about most of the houses of ill repute in St. Giles—they were where many of her charges came from, after all—but she’d never set foot in one after dark. And
Mrs. Whiteside’s house was rather notorious for the types of amusements one could find there.

“Ah,” Lord Caire murmured from behind her. “I believe I have knowledge of this place.”

She bit her lip. “Then perhaps you have no further need of me tonight.”

He caught hold of her suddenly, making her gasp. “You swore you would not renege on our compact, Mrs. Dews.”

She frowned, truly puzzled. “And I won’t, but—”

“Then lead on.”

Temperance gathered the edges of her cloak together and did just that. The wind was bitter tonight, numbing her cheeks. She didn’t know what to make of this man anymore. He’d teased and kissed her, probed for her most shameful secret, and then held her against his warm body to shield and protect her. She still trembled from the scent of his throat, the steel of his arms.