Frost Fair

by Edith Layton

  Will forced himself to keep his face smooth. He hunkered over his ale, staring into its golden depths so the man he spoke with couldn’t see his eyes. He’d never got the trick of hiding the emotions in them as well as he wanted to. But then, he’d have to be dead to do that. “Aye. And if what you got to say is worth my while, you’ll get more—in time—if it leads to the capture of said individual. Now out with it. I’m late.”

  “Rumor has it that the old gent was topped after he paid a visit to a pushing shop.”

  “You hauled me here to hear such eyewash?” Will said in honest surprise. “There’s no one in London who hasn’t heard that.”

  “True, but has anyone the location and the name?”

  “You’ll earned your guinea if you keep talking,” Will said, sitting up straight now.

  “Double or my lips are sealed.”

  “The name,” Will said adamantly.

  “For such a paltry fee?”

  “For more, if it puts me on the right road. But anyone with a grudge can name a name.”

  “This one is certain. See, as I hear it, and I can’t divulge who I heard it from, on my oath… Don’t smirk, Mr. Corby. In my line of work, if I can’t keep my word I’d be out of it. And well you know it.” He leaned low over the table and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper. “But see, there’s a ladybird in a certain snoozing ken in Spitalfields who’s mad as fire at her aunt. And so, she’s willing to peach on her.”

  Will showed his white teeth in a curling smile. “That’s news? If I’d even a ha’penny for every trull in Spitalfields wanting to get back at her bawd, I’d be a rich man.”

  “You are.”

  “A richer one, then. I’ll buy the name for what it’s worth. Which ain’t much, and well you know it.”

  The young man leaned closer. “It begins with a J.”

  “What I most wanted with my breakfast, a riddle,” Will said angrily. “Damn you, enough sauce. Give me the name.”

  “I can’t,” the young man shrugged, “the initial’s all I have. But I have it on the highest authority. All right, here’s the way the rig runs. The mort seen the gent, first in her aunt’s shop—though she swears she wasn’t the one who serviced him—and then dead on the fishmonger’s doorstep. She heard he was there and ran all the way to join the crowd to be sure of it. She even saw you there. But she can’t squeak for fear of retribution. The old bawd would skin her if she found out she’d blown the gab. The initial is all she dare peach. It ought to be enough.”

  “Enough?” Will laughed. It only means I’ve half a hundred brothels to see to instead of a hundred. J? That will bring me to Madame Jessop’s. Or send me to Mrs. Janeway, or Auntie Jane or Auntie Jennings. Let me think… Aye, and Aunt Janet, Mother Juniper—and Mrs. Jinever. That’s only off the topmost part of my brain. In that district? An abbess with a name starting with J? Ho! And that’s if your informer can spell. It could start with a G as well, couldn’t it?”

  Will stood, fished a coin from his waistcoat pocket and put it on the table along with some small ones to pay for his ale. “But I’m a fair man. You gave up what you could. I’ll pay the piper. If it leads to more, you know I’m good for more. At least everyone’s saying it’s a bawd who supplies females. That cuts down my inquiries—some. Though why the old fool had to trek all the way down to Spitalfeilds, I don’t know, when there’s so many nunneries closer to his home. Maybe that’s why, at that.

  “Give you good morning, Peter. Come to me if you hear more or can tell me the whole. But stay away in every other way. I’ve a fondness for you because you remind me of another man I once knew. A much less fortunate one. He was as clever as he could hold together too. But Jack Ketch was more clever. He always is, in the long run. So, in that spirit…a word of advice.”

  Will leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “There’s a set of fine china, good silver, and a gold watch took from a grab at a house in Grafton Mews the other week. Little blue flowers and gold trim on the china. I wonder your fingers didn’t get seared. There’s a fine reward posted and our Mr. Hardcastle is on the trail. He’s almost as good at his job as I am. I’d get myself as far away from little blue flowers and all that grew in that garden as fast as I could, lad.”

  “Thank you for the gardening advice,” the young man said merrily, but his eyes were sober.

  Will walked to Bow Street, deep in thought. He’d lied. There weren’t half a hundred bawds with a name starting with J in Spitalfields. There were, so far as he knew, about thirty. And about the same number whose name began with G. But he’d visit each one if he had to, and listen for what wasn’t said. Because there wasn’t a Procurer alive who wanted to be involved with a murder. Rumor thrived in London, and no man wanted to go to a whorehouse where he might lose his life for a little pleasure. Except for certain ones—but even then, it was only the threat of it that those men sought. His shadow on the doorstep of a brothel would close mouths, he knew that. He’d have to watch as much as listen.

  He arrived at Bow Street and went into his small room. And checked at his doorway, his head snapping up at what he saw.

  Viscount Maldon was sitting by his desk, waiting for him. He was dressed neatly, as always. His legs were crossed negligently. He looked totally at ease. And half dead. A white plaster covered one side of his face. It was about as white as his face itself. His hair was brushed back from his forehead, showing up the purpling surrounding one eye. Beneath that half-closed slit there was the unmistakable round red circle left by the mouth of a leech, recently applied. If it had brought down the swelling, Will hated to think of what it had looked like before it had been used.

  “Relatives usually give notice of a funeral,” Will said, entering the room. “This is the first time the corpse himself has done it. When are the services to be held, my lord? And do you expect flowers?”

  “Amusing,” Lucian said. “Forgive me if I do not laugh. It is a trifle painful to do so.”

  “It looks painful to breathe,” Will said. “What are you doing here, my lord? I doubt your sawbones advised it.”

  “Perspicacious, as ever,” Lucian drawled. “He, in fact, told me he washes his hands of me. I only wish he’d done it before he treated me. Nevertheless, I am here and ready to go.”

  “Your sawbones may not care, but I’d think you would. Not about dying from your old wounds, maybe. But from new ones. Someone may have attempted your life last night. Is it clever to give them a chance to get it right today?”

  Lucian patted his breast. “I’ve a pocket pistol. My walking stick is also a sword stick. My Mama has sent her stoutest footman to my brother, to play keeper. I do not need a nursemaid.”

  “You think you’re quick enough with sword and pistol as you are now?”

  “I think I will not cower in my house, Mr. Corby,” Lucian said. “It is not my way. Shall we go? My face should make inquiries go more smoothly for you. We can always say you did this to me.”

  Will grinned. “Aye. There’s that. A man bent on finding who did that to him will make a powerful impression on someone being asked information about it. And I feel a deal safer about your continuing to breath if I’m with you.”

  “Ah. You are invulnerable then? Interesting.”

  “I’ve lived this long, haven’t I? Then let’s to it. This is a good time. Whores and panders are not at their best in the morning. They’re half-asleep and not up to snuff after their long night. But mind!” he said, holding up one finger as though the nobleman were a boy, and he, a schoolmaster, “do you feel faint, or ill, or in any way discomposed, we leave. I can protect you from everyone but yourself. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

  “Gratifying,” Lucian said, rising, with difficulty. “I didn’t know you had one.”

  “I’ve new information,” Will said, ignoring the comment. “I’ll tell you about it on the way. Shall I get a hackney or have you one outside?”

  “I’ve my own carriage. It will be easier on what’s le
ft of my bones,” Lucian said through clenched teeth. He moved stiffly, trying to stand erect even though he had to lean on his walking stick. “I think it hardly matters now if the world sees me visiting whorehouses of any sort, high or low. They’ll know it’s not for pleasure. And the more who know I am involved in this now, the better.”

  “Aye,” Will agreed. “But maybe first we should pay a call on Mrs. Pushkin and arrange for her meeting with the lady Louisa?”

  The viscount began to smile at the thought, only stopping when he felt his skin stretch and his abrasions protesting. He hoped Will and the fishwife would be somber. Laughter was definitely a mixed blessing today. “Yes,” he agreed, “certainly. I don’t know how she’ll feel about you, but she may yet be grateful for my appearance at her door. The sight of me may cause her to loose her freckles.”

  But Maggie’s freckles only stood out in bolder relief when she saw him. What she lost was her breath. Her heart had picked up its pace when she saw the two elegantly dressed gentlemen enter her shop. But she actually gasped when she saw the viscount clearly. Her customers stood back, fascinated and appalled. Spanish Will himself was enough to create that effect. But the battered gentleman beside him eclipsed him this time.

  “A word, Mrs. Pushkin?” Will asked.

  She nodded, eyes wide. She recovered herself enough to tell Alice and Mary to mind the shop before she went out the side door with the two men. Once in the hall, she hauled her apron off and peeled off her gloves. Then she opened the door to the sitting room, all the while staring at the viscount.

  “Please wait,” she said distractedly, “my hands, the fish…. Oh dear, does it hurt? Can I get you something? How did it happen? Who did such a thing?”

  Lucian gave her a tilted smile. “It does hurt. I need nothing but your sympathy, thank you. And it was either an accident or someone tried to kill me. We don’t know which, which is why we’re here now.”

  “Tried to kill you?” Maggie squeaked.

  “A horse attempted to run me down. I doubt it was the one with murderous intent.”

  Maggie fled to scrub her hands.

  Spanish Will settled himself in a chair. Lucian seated himself with exquisite care, muffling the inadvertent gasps of pain that threatened with every movement. He’d just got himself still, if not comfortable, when Maggie appeared again, scented of lemons, still flushed with surprise.

  “Lady Louisa came by my house the other day,” Lucian said without preamble. “She asked me to go through my uncle’s correspondence to find your direction. It seems you made quite an impression on her. She wants to see you again.”

  “We’re hoping she’s got something to tell you she might not want to tell us,” Will said, “so we’d like you to pay a call on her again, if you’re willing.”

  “Well, of course,” Maggie said, her eyes never leaving Lucian’s face, “but…” She looked up suddenly, dismayed. “How am I to tell her where I live?”

  “We’ll give you an address in a respectable, but remote part of the kingdom,” Lucian said. “You’re only visiting a relative in Hampstead at the moment, you see. In fact, if you are willing, we—rather say, I, can take you to see her today. I’ll say I contacted you, and nothing would do but you see her right away. I’m such an obliging fellow, I brought you instantly.”

  Maggie stared. “Begging your pardon, my lord, you’d have to be more than obliging. You’d have to be mad. You look far too ill to be tooling about London today. It’s cold as death, and you look…”

  “Like Death himself,” Will supplied. “Aye, and so I told him.”

  “But we must know what it is she has to say,” Lucian said through clenched teeth. “Someone may have tried to run me down like a dog in the street. I am naturally anxious to get to the bottom of this, and cold and bruises be damned! Begging your pardon, Mrs. Pushkin,” he added more gently, “but this is a subject most naturally close to my heart. Someone may have also attempted my brother the same night. In any case, I think my injuries may work for us now. Perhaps Louisa, seeing me thus, will become more anxious to confide in you—if she has anything to confide. We’re grasping at straws, Mrs. Pushkin. But at least, in this case, there may be a straw to grasp at.”

  “If you’ll wait,” Maggie said quickly, “I’ll just change my clothes. I won’t be long. But I can’t pay a call dressed as I am.”

  Lucian inclined his head like a liege lord bestowing a boon. But only because it hurt too much to actually nod. All the things that had been singing with pain last night were aching and throbbing today. He’d never realized there were so many shades of pain.

  Maggie rushed from the room. She hesitated only a moment, getting her priorities in order. Davie was too young to do anything outside the shop. The girls were too inexperienced to run the shop all day. But Jack, the runner’s watchboy, was a boy, and knew his way around London’s dangerous streets the way a small shark knew the darkest waters. Besides, he enjoyed running errands. She found him quickly. He was waiting in the hall, obviously hard at work eavesdropping.

  “Go to Mrs. Gudge, in Billingsgate Market,” she told him. “No, wait…she’s started on her rounds. No, go. They can tell you where she is at any hour. Ask her if she or Mrs. Gow would mind coming to watch the shop for me for a while today. Tell her the runner and the viscount have an errand they want me to run. But be sure to tell her to come soon as she can, and that I’d appreciate it.”

  As he took to his heels, Maggie ran to tell the girls the same, adding, “Mrs. Gow or Mrs. Gudge can judge how much more fish we’ll need, for I don’t doubt the neighborhood will be developing a passion for our fish again. More than that, no one will dare take advantage of either of them. I’ll be back soon as I may.”

  But first, she told herself as she ran up to her bedchamber, I’ll dress for another masquerade. For I’m to be a lady again.

  When she came downstairs, her hair was neatly bound and topped with a handsome round bonnet. Her gown was speedwell blue wool. The vivid color made the little of her shocking hair that was showing look almost charming.

  “You look bright, pretty as a gypsy on fair day,” Will commented.

  “Yes, a perfect antidote to this wretched gray day,” Lucian agreed. He took out his watch. “Good, we can be there in time for a decent morning call. I’ll tell you more in the coach. Put on a warm coat. It’s colder today than yesterday.”

  “Only your wounds talking,” Will said, as he helped Maggie on with her heavy cloak. “It’s just as cold as yesterday. If it got any colder London would crack in two.”

  They chatted about the birds dropping frozen from the trees as they went out to the waiting carriage, walking more slowly than they’d wish on such a frigid day. But the viscount could move no faster, and they didn’t want him to try.

  *

  Louisa was smiling when she rose from her chair as they came into her sitting room. Her smile stiffened and her face grew white when she saw Lucian. “Maldon!” she exclaimed. “Whatever happened to you?”

  “Lud! Here’s a coil? A jealous husband? Or a rabid dog?” Lieutenant Pascal asked with a heavy attempt at humor as he rose from his chair. He filled the drab room, his jacket red as blood on the snow on this bare winter day.

  Will stared. Maggie blinked. Lucian’s good eye narrowed. He made a sketch of a bow to show his contempt for the jest. And because he couldn’t do more even if he’d wanted to.

  “I went through my uncle’s papers,” Lucian told Louisa, ignoring the jape and the lieutenant, “and discovered Mrs. Preston’s late husband’s correspondence. The address was in Maidstone. But in reading through the letters I discovered he’d a cousin he often visited in Hampstead. I went there yesterday to discover if they knew whether Mrs. Preston was still in London, as she obviously couldn’t have paid a call from so far. As you can see, she was. I made arrangements for her to pay a visit to you. I thought it would be a charming surprise, my gift to you. I didn’t know I’d have a slight misfortune later. But I refused t
o let that make me disappoint Mrs. Preston.”

  “But what happened?” Louisa asked.

  Maggie was watching her closely. Of course, anyone with any sensibilities would be concerned for the viscount. But Louisa had wanted to see her and now she’d obviously entirely forgotten she was there. It seemed she’d forgot everything in the world as she stared at the viscount, her heart in her eyes, her hands twisting together in anxiety.

  Oh dear, Maggie thought, seeing Louisa’s shocked, and so, unguarded eyes. So that was how the wind blew. But to marry a man so you could see his nephew more often? Perhaps, she mused, perhaps, if you were consumed with futile longing, and that was the only way you thought you’d ever get to see him. Maggie nodded to herself. She was an expert on futile longing.

  “This?” Lucian smiled the half smile he was capable of. “A horse and cart decided to try to run me down last night. It may have been an accident. Or someone may have wanted me to visit Uncle sooner than I’d planned.”

  Lieutenant Pascal exclaimed something under his breath, and then realized he’d drawn every eye to himself. “What makes you think that?” he asked Lucian, trying to sound merely interested.

  “The old jade was stabbed in the flank to make her fly,” Will said, looking hard at him. “She’d usually have trouble going above a mile an hour, I’d think. But she was thundering down the road like a thoroughbred heading for the flag when she made for the viscount here. Someone pushed his brother Arthur into the street last night as well.”

  “Luckily, the hackney coach bearing down on him was more reasonable than Old Bess, my adversary,” Lucian said quickly. “He was merely upset by experience.”

  “Damn!” Lieutenant Pascal muttered. He raised his eyes and locked glances with Will. “I’m naturally concerned for his lordship. But might as well admit I’m also worried for myself.” He squared his padded shoulders. “I’m not a fool, Mr. Corby, whatever you think of military men. You see, I met a chap at a masquerade the other night. He was dressed like a Spaniard. Quite like you in size and height, Mr. Corby. Quite like your nickname, too. I suppose there was a jest in that. I thought everything a jest that night. I’d had more than a drop to drink. Well, I’ve been doing that these days.