Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01]

by The Pretender

  The clock on the mantel chimed ten bells into the low hum of conversation, silencing them all by the last ringing note.

  “We’ve a long night before us, lads—sorry, Sarah Cook, and ladies. James’s sister Agatha, who is known to some of you as Nellie Berth, has been taken by the opposition.”

  There were nods and angry mutters at this, and Simon was struck again at Agatha’s ability to win the loyalty and affection of others.

  “As James escaped from an old fishing boat moored off a small village west of here, and Winchell’s servants confirmed that they had delivered supplies to the dock twice in the last two months, we are going to focus our search on the docks. Hopefully, the enemy has not had time to flee local waters.”

  James moved to Simon’s side. “We have reason to believe the boat is named the Mary Klar, formerly owned by a fellow named John Sway. Kurt, you and Stubbs comb the dockside taverns. Find Sway and determine if he has any idea where his boat may be now.”

  Kurt nodded grimly. Of course, Kurt was always grim. He and Stubbs stood, waiting to be dismissed.

  Simon nodded. “Yes, go. Bring any new information back here.”

  Then they were gone, his deadliest man with one of his youngest. Simon suppressed the automatic worry that always rose at this moment. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now.

  “I need two men to work their way into the dockside registration offices. All boats must be registered with their destinations and their docking locations. The information will possibly be falsified, but that may tell us something as well.”

  Feebles stood. “Sounds like my kind of job, guv’nor.”

  “Excellent. Take someone with you to provide any needed distraction.” Simon scanned his little army. Button straightened hopefully as Simon’s gaze passed him. Simon nodded. “Yes, Button will accompany you. That theatre background of yours should come in handy here, Button.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Rain.”

  Feebles looked askance at his new partner but obviously wasn’t going to debate Simon’s choice. “Right, then. We’ll be off. Mary Klar, you said?”

  “Or anything remotely close. Shay isn’t much for spelling.”

  They left. Soon others followed, as Simon assigned sections of the docks to search. In pairs and teams, they left the room until only Simon, James, and Sarah Cook remained.

  “Aren’t we going out, Simon?”

  “Yes. We’ve enough evidence to move on Lavinia now. It’s time for a little talk with the lady. James, let’s go before Lavinia gets wind of the search and absconds. Sarah, can you make note of any new information that comes through that door?”

  “I can feed a dinner party of two hundred, on time and hot. I think I can handle bein’ your secretary.” She waved a hand. “Go. Bring my madam home.”

  As he ran for the street accompanied by James, Simon had a terrible feeling that they were fast running out of time.

  * * *

  The boat was sinking. She was sure of it now.

  An hour ago she had hoped it was her imagination. It was merely the river becoming rougher with the changing current. Only the darkness making her hear the sloshing of water from inside the vessel.

  Now there was no denying it. Even the list and roll of the boat had become sluggish and heavy, slow to return to its upright position in the water. And the process seemed to be accelerating.

  There would be no daybreak for this pathetic vessel. Or for its solitary passenger if she couldn’t divine a way to untie her bonds. If she weren’t bound, she might have a slight chance to float her way to rescue clinging to something buoyant.

  A very slight chance.

  Well, there was no help for it. She was going to have to find something sharp with which to cut her way free. Fortunately, the deck was rife with trash. Surely there was something broken in the mess.

  Carefully Agatha swung her legs over the frame of the companionway. She had a bad moment when she thought she might slip through the opening and fall headfirst into the darkness below. She managed a panicked heave of her body and rolled onto the littered deck instead.

  The moon was only half-full, but Agatha couldn’t see where her hands were anyway. The best method of search turned out to be a backward scoot into the rubbish, while her bound hands searched each item frantically for a cutting edge.

  It was quite the most revolting thing she had ever done. What wasn’t smeared with slime was stiffened with filth. Still, she kept on. She needed something sharp. Jamie had used the torn metal edge of a pail, but even that had taken him several hours.

  Deep in her soul, Agatha was very much afraid that she hadn’t that much time.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Simon and James were able to hail a cab directly out of the door, but that’s where their luck ended. The rain ensured that everyone was driving their largest closed vehicles, and the streets were jammed at every junction.

  When they finally pulled to a stop in front of Lord Winchell’s house, Simon wondered rather desperately if he could not have run the distance faster.

  “Careful, James,” he cautioned as they climbed the steps. “And calm yourself. We don’t want to be refused. Ask for his lordship first.”

  The severe fellow who answered the door led them to the very study where Simon and Agatha had seen much adventure. Lord Winchell sat at the fire, one foot bandaged and raised on a footstool before him, and a damp cloth raised to his forehead. From the look of the empty brandy decanter beside him, his lordship was on the outside of a considerable drunk.

  The man blinked dully at them. “Applequist? Thought you were dead.” He didn’t seem much concerned by that. “I’d offer you gentlemen a brandy, but I seem to have drunk it all.”

  He removed the compress from his brow, and they could see a sizable lumpish bruise. Winchell rang a bell that sat on the carpet beside him. The butler reappeared.

  “More brandy, Pruitt! These men want brandy—”

  Simon interrupted. “Lord Winchell, you should know that we are not here for a social visit. Could you please call your wife—”

  “Got no wife,” the man muttered.

  “What?”

  “Got no wife! Got no blunt, no horses, no wife.”

  “My lord, where is Lady Winchell?”

  “No lady. Lord w’ no lady…”

  “Sir—”

  “She left me!” Winchell roared, sitting up. “The little snake left me for a Frenchman, run off with her Frog Count.” Abruptly he began to giggle. “A snake and a Frog. Snakes eat frogs, don’t they? Well, he’ll be sorry he hooked up with Vinnie, won’t he?”

  “Without a doubt,” James said with feeling.

  Winchell seemed to sharpen somewhat. “What do you want with Vinnie, eh? She doesn’t need any more lovers. Got herself a slimy Frog.”

  “Has she left permanently? Did she take anything?”

  Winchell snorted. “Just all her clothes, my best carriage horses, and every damned bauble she ever coaxed out of me. Took my mother’s jewels, all the notes that were in my safe-box.” He pointed to his foot, then his head. “Tried to prevent her. Still, I would’ve caught her if she hadn’t bashed me with a pistol from my own gun cabinet.”

  He peered into his glass mournfully. “Didn’t even know the slut had a key,” he muttered into his snifter.

  Simon didn’t have the heart to tell the man that his wife wasn’t only a slut, but a traitor as well. He looked at James. “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere here. His lordship doesn’t seem to be involved.”

  James shook his head slowly. “He’ll be investigated anyway. Likely it’ll ruin him.”

  As they left and reentered their hack to head back to the Liar’s Club, Simon could see that James sympathized with the man. Likely he was thinking of his own fall at the hands of Lavinia. “James…”

  James held up a hand. “I should have been more careful, Simon. I was cocky, too convinced of my immortality. I fell right into her hands.”


  Simon nodded. “The investigation will be a tough road. You may never regain your post. But you should know … I would trust the Griffin with my life.”

  James smiled, a mere twist of his lips. “That means something, Magician. It means something indeed.”

  Then he seemed to forcefully shed those thoughts. “There’s no tracing Lavinia now. Let us return to the club. I wonder what Kurt and Stubbs have discovered?”

  * * *

  Stubbs burst through the doors of the grimy tavern and collapsed onto a table, as if he scarcely had the strength to hold himself up by his grip on the splintery wood.

  His hair clung damply to his forehead, and he breathed with desperate gulps. The tavern owner regarded him with brows raised in surprise.

  “Who be chasin’ ye, God or the Devil?”

  Stubbs mopped his face with his begrimed sleeve. “The Devil himself, I swear it.” He buried his face in his hands briefly. “You should have seen it. It was like Hell come to earth.”

  The others began to gather round in curiosity.

  “What? What ’appened to you?”

  Stubbs shook violently. “I was in a place just like this one, not two lanes south, havin’ a pint with me mates. Just sittin’ there, when suddenly in walks the biggest bloke you ever saw in your life. A bloody giant, I’m talkin’. The evil in his eye would kill a man, even without the knife in his fist.”

  “Knife?” blurted the tavern owner in alarm.

  “More like a colossal butcher’s blade. He raised it high—” Stubbs swept his arm up to demonstrate, and his audience ducked in unison. “Swish, swoosh, that knife moving like a great ax—and two blokes was dead. Blood went high as the rafters, spraying everyone there. And they never even touched him.”

  Stubbs shuddered and continued.

  “Some went as to run out the back, but the rush and trample soon blocked the door. I was at the bottom of the pile, trapped under another bloke, but I could see it all.” His voice dropped to a whisper and his audience shuffled closer.

  “It was like killin’ time at the piggery, I tell you. He’d pick a bloke up by his very hair and slice him from gullet to guts in one swipe. The floor was covered in slime and blood, and he just kept killin’. Hot blood splashed me face and I couldn’t see! But I felt his great paw grab me—”

  The tavern door slammed open, shaking the shabby building with the force of it. Nerves already strung tight by the gory tale, every man in the place jolted in alarm and swung to face the terrible apparition entering the door.

  The fellow was so giant that he needed to duck nearly double to avoid the lintel. His shoulders were as broad as a plow horse, and his hair hung tangled over his eyes like that of a wild man.

  And from his fist hung a great knife, no longer shiny—but now dripping red slowly to the floor.

  No one breathed. No one had the air in their lungs to yell. The monster raised both massive arms and shook his fists high.

  “Boo!” he roared.

  Every man in the place ran for his life in a mad rush out the back. Every man, that is, but for Stubbs and the tavern owner. The tavern owner didn’t move because Stubbs had him down on the floor and was sitting on him, tossing back a pint he’d snatched in the rush.

  Stubbs burped delicately. “About bloody time you showed up, Kurt.”

  “Oh, shut it, boy. I was givin’ ’em time to get good and scared. Didn’t want to have to kill ’em all.”

  “Kill ’em all, that’s a good one.” Stubbs laughed uneasily, but Kurt didn’t join in.

  “Get off, now. I want to have a little talk with Mr. John Sway.”

  “You can’t. He’s done fainted away like a girl. No stomach to ’im, if you ask me.”

  Stubbs stood, but the tavern owner lay still on the floor. He poked the man with the toe of his boot. “Blimey, I think he’s dead.”

  Kurt leaned over and eyed the downed man closely. Then he grunted. “Best not be. I’d have to kill him if he was.”

  That did the trick. John Sway moved, then climbed shakily to his feet. He stared at the two of them, eyes so wide the whites showed.

  “Don’t kill me! I ain’t done a thing, I swear it!”

  “Now, see. That’s the trouble, ain’t it?” Stubbs shook his head. “You ain’t done a thing about them as bought that boat o’ yours. I’ll wager you’ve kept your eye on ’er, haven’t you? You’ve seen what been going on.”

  Sway shook his head. “No! I haven’t seen her in months, not since I sold her to that French bloke.”

  “What French bloke?”

  “’E was a skinny fellow, with a light voice and an even lighter way o’ walkin’, if you take my meaning.”

  Kurt glanced at Stubbs. “The Winchell hussy herself, you think?”

  “Sounds like. So you sell this boat to a woman dressed up like a bloke, and then you never see it or hear about it again, eh?” Stubbs pushed Sway roughly in the chest and the man staggered backward. “Well, I know you’re lying. You captains might give up the sea, but the sea’ll never give you up. I’ll wager you know just where she is, and who’s on ’er right now.”

  Sway began to shake his head until Kurt growled and flexed his arms. The man’s eyes fixed on the dripping knife, and the last shred of resistance seemed to leave him. He slumped onto one of the few benches not overturned in the scuffle.

  “You’re right, I kept an eye on her. She wasn’t much of a boat, but she was the best I had. Me wife made me sell her and buy her brother out o’ this stinking tavern. Now I’m nothing but a landlubbing alewife.”

  Stubbs rolled his eyes. “My ’eart bleeds for you. Now get on with it, or your ’eart’s going to do a bit o’ bleedin’ as well!”

  “I ain’t seen her in a week or more, I tell you. First she’d come in once a month and pick up some supplies, just docking overnight. One o’ the blokes aboard her come into the tavern, but he was a Frenchie fellow what didn’t speak much English. He come in with Johnny Dobb, who runs a skiff through the port, picking up them that wants to come ashore.

  “I asked Johnny what was about, and he told me that a crew of dirty Frenchies was on the Marie Claire an’ that they was braggin’ about some poor sod they had beaten near to death belowdecks. But I ain’t heard or seen nothing of her since.”

  “Marie Claire? That’s the name of the boat?” Stubbs glanced at Kurt, who nodded.

  “Well, sure. Didn’t you know that?” Sway eyed them suspiciously. “Who are you, anyway? Who sent you here?”

  Stubbs ignored the question. “When she docked, where’d she tie up?”

  “East India Dock for some reason. Must’ve had to pay a pretty pence to be let in over there. Didn’t look the type to throw money away, that sailor. The light bloke, the one you say is a woman, must have paid a hefty bribe to use them there company docks.”

  “Anythin’ else?”

  “I did see somethin’ today. Don’t know if it means anything.…”

  Kurt growled. The man swiftly continued.

  “I seen that bloke, the Frenchie from the Marie Claire, walkin’ down the quay with a bunch of his mates. All of ’em had their duffels on their backs, like they was leavin’ the boat for good.”

  Stubbs looked at Kurt, who jerked his head toward the door. Stubbs nodded and turned back to Sway. “That’s all we need to know for now, but we might be back. Best you remember who let you live, you bounder.”

  “Wait! You don’t think they’d just leave her somewhere like that, do you? She’s not the tightest against the water, you know. If she ain’t bilged regular, she’ll hove to for sure.”

  Kurt grunted. “The Magician will want to know that.” Stubbs nodded. Ignoring the tavern keeper, Kurt and Stubbs left the dingy place to hurry for the club.

  Stubbs grinned at his giant companion once they were out in the night. “You were a right nightmare come walkin’ in there! How’d you fake the blood on the knife?”

  Kurt didn’t even glance at him. “What makes you think it’
s fake blood?”

  Stubbs stopped in mid-stride, letting Kurt move ahead. When there was safe distance between them, Stubbs followed the big man. “Blimey, ’tis a good thing he’s on our side,” he muttered. “I think.”

  * * *

  Feebles took one look at Button and swore. “Whose bloody side are you on?”

  For Button was clad in a shining silk example of what short tyrannical French generals with delusions of grandeur were wearing that year. He waved his plumed hat at Feebles with glee.

  “If I’m to provide distraction, I’ll need the proper costume. Moreover, it was my favorite role until the revue closed. Ah, those glorious nights…”

  “Right. Get on with it, then. They’s a crowd before the offices, but it don’t look like anyone’s inside this late. You get ’em all lookin’ your way, and I’ll get into the files.”

  Button gestured grandly. “Lay on, Macduff!” Then he gasped, clapping one hand over his mouth. “Oh, dear! I’ve quoted the Scottish play! We’re doomed for certain!”

  “You’ll be doomed if you don’t get your shiny self down on that street to distract them as is still on the docks!” Feebles gave Button a friendly boost out of the hired hack, leaving the valet to dust fruitlessly at the boot print on the seat of his silk pants.

  “Hmph! Philistine!”

  Then Button was off. Feebles watched him strut down the way, attracting attention with every step. Of course, the fact that he was loudly conversing with an invisible “Josephine” about the offensive hygiene habits of the English might have had something to do with it.

  “God help him, for he’s goin’ to die,” muttered Feebles as he kept to the shadows on his way to the side of the dock registration offices. He’d never been here before, but offices was offices. File clerks were all the same, bless their borin’ little hearts.

  With a simple twist of his picks on the lock, he was in the rear door. A right joke it was, how everyone always spent their money on the front lock, when no right-minded thief would ever use the main door. The rear-door lock was usually some simple device that a child could open with a hat pin.