by Stella Riley
Eden looked round at them and shrugged.
‘Why not? If you want a share of the fun, feel free.’
Two burly men emerged grinning and set about man-handling Sutton through his own house to the yard behind it and drop him unceremoniously in the dirt. One of them delivered a half-hearted kick.
Flicking a couple of coins their way, Eden said, ‘Do either of you know what happened to his eldest girl?’
‘Jenny? No. She was here – then she wasn’t. And he’s been drunk ever since. You looking for her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good luck with that. The youngsters won’t fare well without Jen.’
Eden waited until they’d gone and Sutton was on his feet again, eyeing him with surly mistrust. ‘Where is Jenny?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I think you do. What have you done?’
‘I ain’t done nothing. Jen got offered work what pays better’n sewing – so she took it.’
‘Really?’ Eden advanced on him slowly. ‘If that’s true, you’ll be able to tell me where and with whom, won’t you?’
‘Don’t see why I should. Ain’t no business of yourn.’
‘I’m making it my business, Mr Sutton.’ He took another step forward, his mouth curling in a disquieting smile. ‘And this is the last time I’ll ask politely. Where is Jenny?’
Sutton told him to do something anatomically impossible. Eden smashed one fist into his jaw and the other to his gut. The air rushed out of him and he fell to the ground again.
Without wasting a second, Eden rolled him over on to his stomach, wrenched his right arm high and flat against his spine and dropped a knee in the small of his back. Sutton whimpered and discovered that he couldn’t move without making everything worse.
‘I’m not wasting all day over gutter-scum like you,’ remarked Eden coldly. ‘But here is a thought for you to ponder. Who’s going to look after you when I break your arm?’
‘You – you won’t,’ grunted Sutton. ‘Not a – a fancy cove like you.’
‘Sure of that, are you?’ asked Eden, fractionally shifting his grip and making Sutton yelp. ‘Let’s start again, shall we? Where’s Jenny?’
‘Dunno,’ Sutton panted. Then, hurriedly, ‘No, stop – I dunno exactly.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘A – a fellow come for her. Some gent’s servant. He had a rattler waiting at the top of the lane. Said … said the gent’s wife wanted our Jen for her maid.’
‘Christ!’ muttered Eden. ‘If you believed that you’re even more stupid than I thought. But you didn’t believe it, did you?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? He said Jen’d get twenty pounds a year and her keep. Clothes an all. He give me six months’ wages and said he’d bring the rest in a week or two if Jen … if she worked out all right.’
Eden found he had to work hard at not smashing Sutton’s face into the ground.
‘You mean,’ he said, ‘if Jenny lifted her skirts any time the gentleman asked.’
‘No! It weren’t that. She was to be a lady’s maid. That’s what was said.’ He groaned. ‘Let me go, will you? You’re crippling me.’
‘Not yet, by any means. So Jenny agreed to this, did she?’
‘Yes.’ The knee in his back increased its pressure. ‘N-no! Not at first. Only when the fellow said the Widow Neville wouldn’t be carrying on much longer --’
‘He what?’
‘It’s what he said. So Jen agreed.’
Eden thought, rapidly sifting lies from truth.
‘I don’t believe that. In fact, I don’t believe three-quarters of what you’ve just said. But here are the things I do believe. You were willing – even eager – to sell your own flesh and blood for a handful of coins and you then spent the bulk of those coins in the wine-shop, not caring that your other three children were going hungry. But what you did not do was to let a complete stranger take Jenny away when there was more money owing and no guarantee that you’d get it.’ He dragged Sutton’s head up by his hair and brought his hold on the man’s arm to the brink of agony. ‘You should think about your next answer very carefully. The man who came here was no stranger to you. Who was he?’
Sutton gasped, spluttered and finally managed to say, ‘I – I dunno his name.’
‘The vast array of what you don’t know is becoming tedious,’ snapped Eden. ‘Talk. And make it count – before my patience snaps and your arm with it.’
‘He – I think he’s one of Quinn’s crew. Seen him once or twice at the Three Cranes.’
‘Who’s Quinn?’
‘Somebody you don’t cross. He – his bullies’ll do whatever you want. For a price. Thieving. Moving on stolen goods. Making folks disappear.’
‘And brothels?’
‘M-maybe. Owns all the knives and dark cribs between Blackfriars and Wapping, does Quinn.’
‘And you let one of his men have your daughter?’ Eden slammed Sutton’s face down into the dirt. ‘Your neighbours are right. You’re a piece of shit.’ And yanking him up again, ‘Where can I find Quinn?’
‘D-Dowgate. Or the Steelyard. Got a place somewhere thereabouts. That’s it. All I know. His men don’t talk. Scared of getting their tongues cut out. Now … let me up, will you?’
In one lithe, economic movement, Eden rose to his feet dragging Sutton up with him. More than anything, he wanted to plough his fists into this useless mass of flesh. But temporarily curbing the impulse, he said, ‘Pray that I find Jenny safe and sound. Pray that I don’t come here again and find your children unfed. And pray, Mr Sutton, that when I find Quinn I don’t tell him it was you who told me about him.’
And finally giving way to temptation, he delivered a massive punch to the man’s jaw … watched him careen off the wall and collapse unconscious on the ground.
Back in the house, he called Becky downstairs and folded her hand around some coins.
‘Take that and get your little brother and sister to the cook-shop for a meal – then hide whatever money is left where your father won’t find it.’
Tears filled the girl’s eyes. She said, ‘You’ll bring Jenny home, won’t you, sir?’
‘I’ll try, Becky. I promise I’ll do my very best.’
* * *
He felt filthy. Contaminated. Moreover, his boots were wet and stank of Fleet effluvia. He needed to wash and change before returning to either Bishopsgate or Strand Alley. But first, because it wasn’t far away, he turned east along Thames Street towards the wharves. Since it would hardly be sensible to go around asking about someone who was some kind of arch-criminal, he didn’t really know what he hoped this might achieve … but he decided to do it anyway.
From Puddle Wharf to the bridge, the riverside was crowded with warehouses, lock-ups and boat-yards, any one of which could be hiding Jenny and the other girls. Eden bought a mug of ale in the Three Cranes and drank it slowly while he discreetly surveyed the other customers. Eventually, forced to conclude that Quinn might be any or none of them, he abandoned his ale and strode back to Cheapside.
Tobias was in the shop, talking to Matthew Turner. Fortunately, for once, there weren’t any doting ladies.
‘God,’ said Tobias, staring at him. ‘What the hell have you been doing? Aside from how you look, you smell like a – a --’
‘I know how I smell, thank you,’ replied Eden. And, taking the stairs at a run, shouted over his shoulder, ‘Have some hot water sent up, will you? I’ve got to go out again.’
* * *
It was mid-afternoon by the time he got to Strand Alley. As soon as he walked through the door, conversations stopped, hands were stilled and every eye became fixed on him.
Lydia took several hurried steps towards him and then stopped, as if realising what she was doing. She said, ‘Did you see Jenny’s father?’
‘Yes.’ And you were right to be worried.
‘So you know where she is?’
‘No. Not yet – though I’ve a thread worth following
.’
‘She didn’t go to a new position,’ said Lily Carter slowly. ‘Did she?’
‘No.’ Eden looked at Lydia. ‘Do you really want the details now?’
‘Yes. Everyone sticks together here. So they should all know.’
‘Fine,’ he sighed. And gave them the gist of his conversation with Jenny’s father but took care to omit all mention of Quinn and the Steelyard. Then he said crisply, ‘Revile Jenny’s father all you like – then forget him. He’s not worth a spit. What matters is that I suspect all three women are now in the same place and, though I’ve an idea of how to resolve this, it may take a few days. In the meantime, let’s not lose anyone else.’
‘We’ve made plans,’ said Lydia. ‘No one is to be out after dark or, if possible, alone.’
Eden nodded. ‘Yes. That will help. Another thing you might consider is varying the route between your homes and here. In addition, I’ll arrange for a couple of troopers to watch the street. If anyone is loitering outside on a regular basis, I’ll know. And now, ladies, if Mistress Neville is ready, I really have to go.’
Walking back to Bishopsgate with her hand once more on the Colonel’s arm, Lydia said, ‘What was it you weren’t telling them?’
‘The same things I’m not telling you.’
‘But I need to know!’
‘No. You don’t. Firstly, I’ve further enquiries to make. And secondly, there’s nothing whatsoever that you can do.’ He smiled down at her. ‘If and when either of those things change, you may be sure I’ll tell you.’
She opened her mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it. She fell silent for a moment and then said, ‘I haven’t thanked you for helping. You didn’t have to.’
‘But you knew I would.’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then you’ll trust me to do what’s best.’
Back in Bishopsgate, Henry greeted them with his usual dignified aplomb and introduced a strapping young fellow with a mop of black curls.
‘This is Peter. He is my nephew. He is also a pugilist.’
Lydia looked up and then up some more.
‘Goodness,’ she said weakly.
Laughing at her, Eden offered his hand to Peter who took it in a bone-crushing grip.
‘Uncle Henry says the lady needs guarding,’ he said simply. And, with some pride, ‘Nobody’ll get to her through me. And that’s a promise.’
‘I believe you,’ said Eden, flexing his fingers to check they still worked. ‘Your main problem may be keeping Mistress Neville under your eye. She’s quite slippery.’
‘I am not!’ protested Lydia.
‘And difficult,’ confided Eden. ‘You’ll have your work cut out.’
Peter grinned. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, sir.’
‘Do.’ Eden turned to Lydia, laughter fading from his eyes. ‘You should sit by the fire and get warm. I’ll call tomorrow – though I can’t say when. Meanwhile, try not to worry.’
‘That’s easier said than done,’ she replied ruefully.
‘I know. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think the women will be hurt.’ Not to begin with, anyway. ‘And now,’ dropping a kiss on her hand, ‘I have to go.’
He took his time descending the front steps and had barely reached the road when Peter materialised behind him holding out a sealed missive.
‘Uncle Henry said to give you this, sir – and to say thank you.’
And he vanished back into the house.
* * *
Eden contained his impatience to read the letter until he was sitting by his own hearth. Then he broke the seal and unfolded the paper. The message, written in an educated hand, was brief and to the point.
If you want your women returned to you – soon and in good order – you will follow my instructions implicitly.
I require that you find and return to me certain records secretly held by your late husband.
It may be that you have not yet found them. If this is so, I suggest you do so without delay.
You will not make copies of these documents. Neither will you speak of them to any other person.
In due course, I shall communicate the means by which you will deliver what I ask for.
If you are foolish enough to either refuse or procrastinate, the women will suffer the consequences.
You have one week.
Eden was still perusing it and considering both its implications and his own options when Tobias walked in, resplendent in beautifully-cut Italian velvet. Looking up, Eden contemplated his brother thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he said, ‘Toby … where might I obtain a suit of clothes of the kind that would make me look like a fashionable fop with more money than sense?’
Tobias stared at him. ‘You? Fashionable? It can’t be done.’
‘Thank you for your opinion. Now … where do I get the clothes.’
‘From a tailor. Where else?’
‘I haven’t time for that. I need them tomorrow evening.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can look like a fashionable --’
‘Yes. I got that bit. But why?’
‘Because, in order to save three women I’ve never met from God knows what, I’ve got to cultivate the acquaintance of a criminal who, amongst other things, kills people for money. And much as I’d like to, I can’t do it with half a regiment at my back … hence the need to seem fatuous, harmless and plump in the pocket. In short, a pigeon ripe for plucking.’
‘Holy hell,’ breathed Tobias. ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning. But first, I need a drink – as, by the look of you, do you.’
‘You were on your way out.’
‘Later. Or not. It doesn’t matter.’ Tobias filled two glasses, handed one to Eden and sat down facing him. ‘Now. What’s this about?’
Eden told him and watched his brother’s normally good-humoured countenance darken.
‘Bastard,’ said Tobias succinctly.
‘Which one?’
‘All of them.’ He took a drink. ‘So. You don’t know who sent the letter. You say Mistress Neville hasn’t found any secret papers. But you think Quinn’s been employed by whoever wrote the letter and that he’s got the women in whatever hole he hides in – only you don’t know where that is. You can’t go asking questions from Queenhithe to the bridge, so you want to tempt him out with the prospect of a well-paid job.’
Eden nodded. ‘A wealthy fop with a grudge against someone or other ought to do it.’
‘Maybe. But tell me something, will you? Were you planning on dealing with this all on your own? Storming in on your white charger like bloody Galahad and riding out with three women over your saddle-bow?’
‘I’m neither suicidal nor an idiot,’ came the impatient reply. ‘Once I’m as sure as I can be where the women are being held, I’ll be enlisting help … including yours.’
‘You’d better.’ Tobias frowned into his glass for a moment, then set it aside with a decisive snap and stood up. ‘Give me a moment. I think I’ve an idea.’
He left the room and ran downstairs to the workshop. When he returned to the parlour, he said, ‘Forget playing the fop. You’d never get away with it. Instead, play the out-of-work soldier who’s down on his luck. If that terrible green coat is still in your closet you’ve already got the wardrobe for that. Pretend you’ve turned to crime … and tempt Quinn out with these instead.’
And he dropped a handful of gem-encrusted jewellery on the table.
Eden picked up a gold necklace inset with rubies and pearls, then a sapphire-studded bracelet.
‘It’s a good idea,’ he admitted. ‘But there’s no guarantee you’ll get these things back.’
‘If I don’t, I don’t,’ shrugged Tobias. ‘The workmanship’s inferior so I’d intended to remove the stones and melt the rest. In truth, I only bought it to help a certain lady. But it’s worth a fair bit. Enough, I’d think, to interest somebody who doesn’t mind stolen goods.’ He paused and then added, ‘Take it and welcome �
� but on one condition. You don’t go wandering round the Steelyard with this in your pocket and nobody watching your back. Let Nick and me share the fun.’
‘Fun? That’s the last thing it’s likely to be.’
‘You think I don’t know that? So try this for size. If it goes wrong, someone needs to get you out. Or who the hell do you think is going to look after the little widow then?’
~ * * ~ * * ~
FIVE
Although, between two hours at Whitehall and devoting a good deal of thought to how best to approach matters in the Steelyard that evening, Eden did find time to call on Lydia, he elected not to mention the letter. She already had enough to worry about. And if he managed to retrieve Jenny, Rachel and Mary, the anonymous demands would become redundant; better yet, if he got his hands on Quinn, he ought to be able to find out who was behind the entire thing and deal with the bastard.
Inevitably, Lydia made another attempt to get him to divulge his plans.
Equally inevitably and with a smile specifically designed to be infuriating, Eden refused.
‘The men at the lorinery know about Jenny and the others,’ she said, trying a different tack. ‘They all want to help.’
Eden already knew that. Nicholas had arrived home full of both the men’s indignation and questions of his own. He’d also volunteered for rear-guard duty before either Eden or Tobias could ask him.
‘Their offer is appreciated. At present, however, there’s nothing they can do.’
She eyed him suspiciously.
‘And you wouldn’t involve them even if there was, would you?’
‘Not,’ he agreed, ‘if I thought it put them at risk. You ought to approve of that.’
‘I do. Of course I do.’ Lydia drew a long breath and then loosed it. ‘But I don’t want you to be at risk either. And I’m very much afraid that you’re going to be.’
Warmed by her concern but unwilling to show it, Eden shrugged.
