An Unlikely Alliance

by Patricia Bray

  The meeting had been arranged for a tavern known as The Pickled Egg. Alexander helped Magda into the carriage, then took the opposite seat. They rode in silence, and he used the opportunity to study her. She wore a red countrywoman’s cloak, borrowed from one of the maids. It was a good color for her, bringing warmth to her features. With a few decent meals she would be almost pretty, he mused. It was a strange direction for his thoughts to be taking, and he blamed it on the awkward silence.

  “Er—” He opened his mouth to speak, then realized he had nothing to say. “Are you comfortable?” he asked lamely.

  Magda gave a brittle laugh. “Isn’t this amazing? We really have nothing to say to one another.”

  It was absurd. There ought to be some topic they could converse on. But they were also from two very different worlds, and every topic that came to mind was unsuitable. If she were a gentleman he would speak of business affairs and politics. If she were a lady he wouldn’t need to make conversation, for a lady would already be chattering away with the latest on-dits. But what did one say to someone who was the next thing to a servant? For a moment he wished he had Luke’s free and easy way of dealing with people. Luke would have no trouble making conversation, of that he was sure.

  Luckily they arrived at their destination before he was reduced to mentioning the unseasonably cold weather.

  “Pull the hood over your face before we go in,” he warned her. “No point in drawing more attention than we need.”

  At this hour of the morning The Pickled Egg was mostly empty, and the few patrons paid them no heed. Alexander led Magda to a high-backed booth in the rear of the tavern. She sat down and then he slid in next to her, where he could keep an eye out for Bob Parker. The booth was so narrow that his body pressed against hers in an enforced intimacy.

  Bob Parker and his assistant Harry arrived a few minutes later. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Magda but he made no comment as he and his assistant slid into the opposite bench. An imperious look brought the tavern-keeping scurrying over with four tankards of ale.

  “Would you gents like anything else?”

  “No,” Alexander said shortly. The tavern-keeper bustled off, and Alexander pushed a tankard in Magda’s direction. “This is for show, but I wouldn’t drink it if I were you,” he advised. “You ate so little it will go right to your head.”

  Bob Parker took a deep draught of ale, then sighed with contentment. “Ah, that tastes good after a hard night. I had news for you, my lord, but I think you have news for me as well,” he said, nodding in Magda’s direction.

  “Yes,” Alexander said. “This is our mysterious Gypsy. I found her last night, after she’d had a little accident.” He reached over and pulled back her hood, revealing the white bandage around her throat.

  “Nasty bit of work,” Bob commented. “And now she’s had a change of heart and is going to help us find her old mates that are looking to get rid of her?”

  “What my lord forgot to tell you is that I don’t have any accomplices,” Magda said frostily. “I know nothing about what was done to the horse, or why anyone would want to attack me.”

  Both runners looked at her skeptically but Bob was too canny to put his thoughts into words. His assistant, however, was not as discreet. “You saying you know nothing?”

  “I tell you it’s true,” Magda insisted.

  Galling as it was to admit that he might have been wrong, Alexander knew it was time to speak up. “I know it sounds strange, but for now let’s give her the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

  Bob Parker looked over at Magda and then again at his employer for confirmation. “If you say so. But where does that leave us?”

  “You tell me. Last night someone tried to grab Miss Bowman so they could have a private chat. A friend of hers intervened and got himself killed for his trouble.”

  “Sloppy,” Bob mused. “You got that from a knife?”

  “Yes,” Magda answered. “The man held a knife to my throat so I would come with him. When Matt Sweeney came by I was able to break free. I think that’s when I got hurt. Luckily for me it wasn’t serious.”

  The runner was staring at Magda with an odd look on his face, as if she was part of a puzzle he couldn’t place. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then turned his attention back to Alexander. “Well, my news is old news now. I came to tell you that word is out over the East End that you’ve tied this Mamzelle to the men who fixed the race.”

  Damn. So much for a quiet investigation. Now anyone could be looking for Magda, in hopes of making a quick reward or of silencing her before she could speak. It could even have been one of the runners themselves that attempted to bring her in for questioning. “Do you think any of your boys would have done this?”

  “No,” Harry said quickly.

  “The lad’s right,” Bob said after a moment’s consideration. “I used a new man on the job and he opened his mouth in front of the wrong people. I won’t use him again, but in the meantime, we’ve got a problem.”

  That was an understatement. Their one promising lead had turned up empty. And now Alexander had to accept the fact that his actions may have placed an innocent woman in deadly jeopardy. If the men behind the scheme thought she could identify them, they would have ample motive for trying to silence her permanently.

  “It seems we have a new problem. How to keep Miss Bowman safe until we can clear up this mess,” Alexander said.

  You could almost see the wheels turning in Bob’s head. “Bowman,” he repeated. “You are Magda Bowman?”

  “Yes,” she replied cautiously. “Most people call me Magda.”

  “But your real name is Magda Bowman?” There was something odd in the way he stressed her last name.

  There were undercurrents here Alexander didn’t understand. Pressed together as they were on the narrow bench, he could feel the sudden tension that gripped Magda’s body.

  “And your mother was Katerina Beaumont?” Bob asked. This time Alex could hear the French pronunciation of the name.

  Magda gave a small nod.

  “You were so little in those days I doubt you remember me, but I knew your mother in the old days. She was a fine lady,” Bob said.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. But her fists were still clenched, and she did not look Bob Parker in the eye.

  Bob Parker, a respected investigator for Bow Street, was an old family friend of his mysterious seamstress? This was the last thing he had expected. If lightning destroyed the tavern in the next minute, Alexander could not have been more surprised.

  “I want you to know I haven’t given up hope. I—”

  “It was a long time ago,” Magda said. “Some things are better left alone.”

  It was as if the two of them were speaking in a secret language. Alexander could sense there was something vital going on here, but was frustrated at his inability to grasp what they were talking about.

  “Be that as it may,” Bob Parker said. “One mystery at a time. Why don’t you tell Harry what happened last night, while I have a word with his lordship.”

  Rising from the booth, he led Alexander through the kitchen and out into the yard in back. The stench of the privy was overwhelming but privacy was assured.

  “So what was all that about?” Alexander asked impatiently. He didn’t like leaving Magda alone, but he hated even more the feeling that events had moved out of his control.

  “We’re in a fair pickle to be sure,” Bob said. “How could I have been so stupid? It was plain as the nose on my face. I should have known it was her from the start.”

  “Should have known what? Do you still think she is guilty?” His own feelings about her were so confused Alex hardly trusted his own judgment.

  “No, of course not. Not Madame Katerina’s daughter.”

  Now there was an answer that explained nothing at all. “Who is this Madame Katerina? And why did you call her Magda Beaumont?”

  “That’s her name. Magda Beaumont. She and h
er mother came over from France after the revolution.” Bob Parker fixed Alex with a look that made him feel all of twelve years old again. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you’re going to be watching out for her you’ll have to know.”

  “Know what?’ It was not like Bob Parker to be so secretive.

  “You were just a lad back then, but for a while Katerina Beaumont was famous for her visions. She called it consulting and many a lord and lady came to her to have their future told. But what none of them knew is that she also worked for us.”

  “For Bow Street?”

  “Yes. Not often, but sometimes the magistrate, Sir John, called her in when there was a difficult case. When the mood struck her, she could see what had happened and what was going to happen as clear as if it were a play.”

  So much for his faith in his own judgment. Now Bob Parker, someone he had trusted for years, turned out to be a credulous fool.

  “And you believed this?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t normally hold with such things myself. But Madame Beaumont was different. She knew things that no one could possibly know. I tell you, if she came to me and said the great flood was coming, I would have gone home and started building an ark.”

  It was clear that Bob was sincere in what he was saying. Alex decided to reserve judgment for now. This strange belief hadn’t affected Bob’s work in the past.

  “I know you don’t believe me, but if you weren’t there then you can’t say what went on. And there’s one thing more you should know. We weren’t the only ones who believed in Madame Katerina’s powers. There’s also the matter of the person who killed her.”

  It was a day for surprises. “She was murdered?”

  “Back in December 1799 it was. She sent a message to Sir John asking for a meeting. But she never came.” Bob paused as if the next words were painful to say. “Three days later we found her body in the river. Someone had tortured her and slit her throat when they were done.”

  It was a gruesome tale. Alexander’s gut tightened as the implications sank in. “So now you think someone may try the same with her daughter?”

  “I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But it gave me the shivers to see Magda there with that slash on her neck. I always felt I should have been able to save Madame Beaumont. Or at least to find out who killed her. But feeling guilty over that is nothing to the way I’ll feel if someone harms her daughter.”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be safe with me,” Alexander promised.

  He didn’t believe in Gypsy fortune tellers or mystic powers, but he protected what was under his care, and for now Magda fell into that category. If anyone wanted to harm her they would have to go through him first.

  Chapter 6

  Seeing Bob Parker after all these years had been a shock. Magda remembered him well enough. He had always had a kind word for her, although his infrequent appearances seemed to upset her mother. Maman went with him willingly enough but once after such an excursion Magda had found her mother weeping. “I have seen terrible things this day,” Maman had once explained, holding Magda tight and hugging her fiercely.

  “Don’t see anymore,” Magda had urged her mother. “Don’t go with the bad man who makes you sad.”

  Madame Beaumont had laughed ruefully. “Oh ma petite, if only things were that simple,” she’d said. But she could not refuse the power of her visions and she’d continued to go on the errands that brought her pain. Until the night she’d left and never returned.

  Magda wondered what the two men had spoken about in private. Had they spoken of her mother? And if so, how much had Bob told Lord Kerrigan? Magda had put the past firmly behind her, and she didn’t want anyone dredging it up again.

  Whatever they’d discussed, it had changed Lord Kerrigan’s mind about letting her leave. Instead he had insisted that she return with him to his residence. She still didn’t trust his motives, yet in the end she agreed. For in truth she knew of no other safe refuge, and if someone came after her again, Lord Kerrigan could take care of himself. Mrs. Brightwell could not.

  Accepting his offer of temporary shelter was one thing, but she refused to accept his arrogant assumption that he could rule her every action. When he refused to allow her to return to her lodgings to see Mrs. Brightwell, she threatened to cause a scene that would scandalize his household. Eventually he relented, on the condition that his friend Luke accompany her.

  Magda would cheerfully have walked but instead Luke insisted they use the same plain, unmarked carriage that she had ridden in that morning. Unlike Lord Kerrigan, Luke had no difficulty at all in making conversation. He chattered easily about everything and nothing, quizzing Magda on her impressions of the new Regency, whether this season was bound to outdo the previous years, and if such frenzy was good for the dress trade. He was astonished to find that despite her connections she had never been to see a performance at the theater, and was forming schemes to remedy this sad lack when the carriage turned onto Damon Lane.

  “Just let me know when we’re there,” Luke said.

  Magda nodded. Luke’s banter had briefly distracted her but now that she was here she felt again the terror of last night. Passing the fateful alley she averted her eyes, knowing in her rational mind that Matt’s body would not be there, yet still afraid of what she might see. The wound in her neck began to throb, reminding her how lucky she had been to escape with her life.

  “There it is,” she said. “Over on the left, the one with the red door.” Her lodgings looked even worse than she had remembered, and she was grateful that it was the amiable Luke and not the forbidding Lord Kerrigan who had accompanied her here.

  “Are you all right? You’ve gone pale as a sheet,” Luke said. “There’s no need for you to go up. I can carry a message and fetch whatever it is you need.”

  “No, if she doesn’t see me for herself Mrs. Brightwell will worry.”

  Luke opened the carriage door and helped her climb down. A carriage on Damon Lane was such a rarity that passersby stopped to gawk. Magda had never before been the focus of so much attention. She felt exposed, and drew up the hood of her borrowed cloak, hoping that the crowd held no unfriendly eyes. At that moment she was glad Lord Kerrigan had insisted on sending Luke along with her.

  The front door stood open, which was lucky since when she had lost her cloak last night she had lost her key as well. She felt like a stranger here, and saw as if for the first time the unswept hallway, the scarred walls and worn staircase with its decrepit banister.

  “There’s no need to come up with me,” Magda said, resisting the urge to apologize for her lodgings. After all, it was only dire necessity that had driven her here. And poor as it was, Damon Lane still clung to the fringes of respectability. It was not a slum. Yet.

  “No trouble,” Luke said. “I’d better come up and make sure everything is fine. Besides, Lord Kerrigan would have my head if anything happened to you.”

  As she climbed the stairs the muscles in her legs began to ache, reminding her of how far she had run in her panicked flight last night. She couldn’t help worrying over what she would find. Having lost her, would her attackers have known to come here next? If Mrs. Brightwell had been harmed she would never forgive herself.

  At the top of the stairs Luke stepped in front of her. He knocked once at the door to Mrs. Brightwell’s rooms.

  “Who’s there?”

  Magda’s heart felt a thousand times lighter as she recognized the familiar voice. “It’s me—Magda. And I’ve brought a friend.”

  There was a brief sound of something heavy being dragged and then the door opened. “Magda!” Mrs. Brightwell exclaimed, rushing forward to fold her in her arms. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Ever since you didn’t come home last night I thought the worst had happened.”

  “I’m fine, truly I am.”

  Mrs. Brightwell released her hold and looked at Magda critically. “But what’s this?” she said, pointing
to the bandage.

  “It’s naught but a scratch,” Magda reassured her.

  “Who is this handsome gentleman?” Mrs. Brightwell asked, her eyes assessing Luke with the skill of an actress who had seen a thousand green room suitors. “And where did you meet him?”

  “This is Luke Stevenson. Luke, this is Mrs. Brightwell.”

  “Enchanted to make your acquaintance,” Luke said, taking Mrs. Brightwell’s hand and bowing over it in the manner of a polished courtier. But Magda noticed that his eyes took everything in, and he didn’t relax until he had seen for himself that there was no one else lurking in the room.

  “As delighted as I am to make your friend’s acquaintance, we don’t have time to linger,” he reminded her. “I’ll wait outside while you pack.”

  “I will only be a moment,” Magda assured him, grateful for the opportunity to speak in private with Mrs. Brightwell. She was discovering that for all his stage mannerisms, Luke was actually a very kind person.

  “Magda, what’s this about packing? He seems a charming rogue, but it isn’t like you to go off like this,” Mrs. Brightwell fretted. She seemed to have aged overnight and for the first time Magda realized that her friend was no longer merely middle-aged.

  “What did you hear about last night?” Magda asked. She took her old brown shawl and laid it out on the bed.

  Mrs. Brightwell sank down on the chair. “Oh, Lord, it was terrible. First I heard that they’d found Matt Sweeney dead in the alley. Then you didn’t come home and I feared you’d been murdered, too.”

  So Matt Sweeney was dead. She’d cherished a faint hope that he’d only been wounded in the attack.

  “I can’t tell you everything, but it seems someone thinks that I know more than is good for me,” Magda said, pulling her two good dresses off the hooks on the wall and folding them neatly before placing them on the shawl. She added shoes and stockings to the pile, then her clean set of undergarments.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Brightwell said. “But what is it they want?”

  “I don’t know, and I have no intentions of finding out.” Magda added her sewing box to the top of the pile. The cherished tools of her profession, she’d need them to earn a living when she left Lord Kerrigan. Reaching into the sewing box, she withdrew her accumulated savings.