I stared at him, my mouth open.
“Rendered you speechless, have I?” He grinned. “Now promise me you won’t start searching for a suitable duchess for me or I’ll have to kiss you. Hargreaves would not be happy and I’d rather not have to meet him with pistols at dawn. I object on principle to all appointments before noon.”
This absurd statement deserved no reply. He dropped me in front of my house, making a great show first of helping me down from the motorcar and then of kissing my hand. As he leapt back into the driver’s seat, there was an exuberance about him I had not seen for some time, and I resolved to abandon all thoughts of marrying him off. He enjoyed being the Bachelor Duke too much.
Colin was not home, so I asked Davis to telephone Inspector Pickering. Once my butler had passed the handset to me, I made a simple request of my new colleague: bring me everything he could find that relates to the King’s Boys. He did not question what I asked, and promised to come to me within two hours. I passed the time reading The Infidel and wondered if our heroine, now that her mortal soul was saved, would abandon the deathbed promise she had made the night of her marriage. When, at last, the inspector arrived, I hardly heard him, so caught up in the story was I. He was carrying a file box, tall enough that I could hardly see his face above it. He swayed, and I feared he might drop it, but he steadied himself, deposited it onto my desk, and took the seat I offered.
“I brought everything,” he said, “so you can read for yourself, but I am also prepared to offer what I hope is a thorough summary of what I have learned. The King’s Boys is a notorious gang, as you already know. They have been a presence in the East End since the middle of the last century. Like so many others, their leaders recruit children—primarily young boys—and train them as pickpockets. When they’re too big for that, they move onto other targets, like the tills in West End shops. They also run a far-reaching protection racket, but we’ve never been able to hold them accountable for it.”
“Who are the leaders?” I asked.
The young man pushed up his spectacles, which had begun their usual descent down his narrow nose. “We don’t know. Other gangs are not so reticent about their organizations. It’s considered a position of honor to be a captain or junior officer, as some of them call themselves, and we keep close tabs on a number of individuals we know to be at the top. But the King’s Boys never refer to their master, if I may use the word, as anything other than The King.”
“I encountered a number of them when I went to the Black Swan,” I said. The color drained from his face; he pushed his spectacles up again and opened his mouth to speak. I stopped him before he could. “I shall brook no criticism from you, Inspector, for the way I choose to handle my investigation. I shall not be put off from finding the truth simply because doing so involves visiting a brothel.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Emily,” he said. “I meant no criticism. It was just that, as you spoke, your tone reminded me so very much of my late mother, it was almost as if I were standing before a ghost.”
I was not sure I liked a man of his age comparing me to his mother. I was not, after all, nearly so old as she would be now, had she lived. Deciding the best course of action was to ignore his explanation, I continued. “The boys I saw were all wearing emerald green scarves around their necks. Does that serve to mark them as members of the King’s Boys?”
“Yes, quite,” he replied. “They call them stooks. Most unruly youths wear white ones, but not the King’s Boys. I found the file on Gilbert Barton, but none that references anyone who could be our Rodney. Barton has been in and out of jail more times than I can count, but his record ends about five years ago. I have not been able to find an address for him.”
“How long do I have to read the files?” I asked.
“I’ll need to return them by tomorrow morning before eight o’clock.”
“Then I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?” I smiled at him and gave him my thanks. He kept glancing surreptitiously at the door, and I knew he was hoping to see Colin. “I don’t expect Mr. Hargreaves back for some time, but if you’d like to stay and help me go through these, I would welcome the assistance.”
“That’s very kind of you, Lady Emily. Where would you like me to set up shop?”
I directed him to one of the long tables parallel to the library’s bookcases and gave him a blank notebook and a pencil. We divided the files—all of which, presumably, he had already read—and set to work. I admit the task was disheartening. Page after page of crimes committed by boys too young to be out of the nursery. As they got older, they became more brazen, their acts more and more audacious. A group of three of them had descended upon a respectable lady in Hyde Park and managed to make off with her watch and handbag before anyone could come to her aid.
As Inspector Pickering had said, they all seemed to be in and out of jail with a dizzying frequency, and not one of them ever gave the name of the man—or men—at the head of their organization. Their loyalty to their king appeared to know no bounds. Fascinating—and horrifying—though it all was, I found nothing that shed further light on the murders except that I took it as further evidence that Edward VII was not the target of our killer’s ire. Growing frustrated, I started to pace—a habit I had picked up from my husband—and soon had drifted over to the table at which the inspector sat. One of the files next to him caught my eye. I reached for it and started to leaf through.
“Here!” I said, my voice full of building excitement. “I should have thought to ask this before, when you told me about Ned Traddles. Look—the man who did not press charges when the boy was arrested—Prentice Hancock!”
“I’m afraid the name means nothing to me,” Inspector Pickering said. “Ought it?”
“Yes, well, no, you weren’t at the church. Prentice Hancock came to Lizzie Hopman’s funeral, you see. He grew up in the East End and has done all he can to improve conditions there. He knew Lizzie and obviously did what he could to set Ned on a better path—”
“No, no, Lady Emily.” My colleague was growing excited now, too. His spectacles fell right off as his face glowed with enlightenment. “He didn’t want the boy on a better path, he wanted him in his control—”
“Of course. What better way to lure a vulnerable child into his clutches? How could I be so foolish not to have thought of it myself?”
“It is a credit to you that you did not,” he said.
“Mr. Hancock didn’t give Ned a second chance, he recruited him,” I said. “Which means that Mr. Hancock could be the so-called king—”
Inspector Pickering rose to his feet. “If you are correct, he is in a great deal of danger.” I half expected him to rush off in search of the man and realized I ought to rein in his enthusiasm.
“It is too soon for us to draw any firm conclusions. We don’t know for sure what Mr. Hancock’s motives were. It is entirely possible that he was engaged in nothing nefarious, but we need to interview him as soon as possible and can start by going to the address he gave after Ned picked his pocket.”
“Ought we wait for Mr. Hargreaves? I wouldn’t want him to think I had led you into danger.”
“Mr. Hargreaves knows better than to try to keep me out of danger,” I said. I led my companion back into the hall and asked Davis for our coats and hats. “And at any rate, we have no reason to think Mr. Hancock will view us as a threat, should he prove to be a criminal mastermind. He asked me for my assistance in his charitable work after Lizzie’s funeral. We shall let him think my enthusiasm for his cause has got the better of me.” I raced down the steps and hailed a cab in Park Lane. My young friend matched my pace, but the look on his face betrayed his emotions. He was very, very concerned at taking his idol’s wife into a rough part of town.
1415
36
Cecily received one letter from William after the English victory at Agincourt. It was brief—terse, even—but he signed it your devoted husband and said that he would be in Sussex soon. Surely Father S
imon would not have been able to get word to him of Adeline’s foul accusations, but Cecily could not help but worry. She kept to herself, afraid to so much as speak to Master de Morland, and worked on her embroidery. She had covered nearly two-thirds of the panel she had started, but no longer could take pleasure in the scene she had chosen. The lady holding the book was complete, as was the circle of friends around her. They were sitting in a forest with trees and flowers all around them. Off to one side, she had sketched the form of a knight returning from battle, his standard flying high above him. She had styled him after William, but now whenever she looked at the drawing, she worried that he would not be pleased to return. Not if he could be persuaded that his wife was not guarding her virtue with care.
Worry now her constant companion, she found she could hardly eat. Alys, her nurse, the only servant she had brought with her from Lord Burgeys’s house, ordered her to bed, and fussed over her, believing she had fallen ill. But when she came upon her young charge and found her in tears, Alys coaxed the truth out of her.
“My poor child,” she said, drying Cecily’s eyes. “You have fallen victim to your own innocence. Anyone could see Adeline’s scheme—she wanted to create a false scandal that she could use to hide her own affair. No one will be looking at her behavior if they’re busy gossiping about yours. I know you too well to need to ask if you engaged in any flirtation, but is there anything she might have seen and misinterpreted?”
“No, nothing at all,” Cecily said. And then she confessed what she had witnessed in the forest. “I know, Alys, that I have failed her as a friend.”
“She is no friend, and the sooner we leave this place the better. Sir William will be here before long, and that will put an end to all of this nonsense.”
“No, I cannot leave until I have saved her from the treacherous path she is following. It is my penance. I made a sacred promise.”
Alys frowned, but said nothing for some time. “I cannot force you to act against your wishes, but I promise you that interfering with Adeline will bring you nothing but misery. God would not ask such a thing of you.”
“I took the life of one He favored, my mother. There is nothing He cannot ask of me in return.”
The old nurse recognized the stubborn set of her charge’s jaw and knew argument would prove futile. A few judicious words to the visiting priest, however, might be just the thing. Father Simon should not have been so easily taken in by the charming mistress of the house. But Alys never got the chance to speak to him. The next morning, the baron ordered her and Cecily to leave the castle, without even giving them time to gather their belongings.
* * *
William was less than a day’s ride from Sussex when he heard Hugh de Morland hailing him. The knight’s retinue was small—only his two squires, his prisoners, and a handful of men he had fought with in France, who, having heard of the king’s commendation and gift of land in Derbyshire, had pledged their loyalty to him. It was time for him to form a household and set up his fief. He waved to Hugh and called back to him, dismounting from his steed and embracing his friend.
“Your face—” Hugh blanched at the sight of William’s wound.
“It is not handsome, I know,” William said. “I can only hope my bride does not run from me when she sees it. I see the shadow cross your countenance. She is not ill, is she?”
“No, my friend, she is not, but she is no longer at the baron’s estate. There was a controversy and Lord Esterby flung her out. He would not let me, nor anyone else follow. She had only her old nurse with her. I knew you were en route and that I could find you on this road. I came without delay.”
“There is no controversy shocking enough to merit such treatment of a lady. I shall deal with him after my wife is safe.” He scowled. “What is she accused of?”
“Corrupting Lady Esterby, it would seem,” Hugh said. “Enticing her by example.”
“Speak not like that to me, Hugh. What is the specific nature of the accusation?”
“Well, William, he thought that Lady Hargrave’s attachment to my humble self might give his own bride ideas she ought not have.”
William felt heat building in his chest, and recognized it as kin to the rage that had consumed him during battle. He looked at his friend, handsomely dressed, his face unmarred by an ugly scar. He remembered the sweetness of his wife’s kisses. “I would never doubt you, nor her. It would seem someone in the baron’s castle is a liar. He’ll have no more to say when I finish with him.”
He swung himself back onto his horse with an impossibly fluid motion and urged the steed forward at a gallop. Hugh followed suit, though without his friend’s elegant skill. He would do whatever was necessary to match his pace. William must not reach the castle alone.
1901
37
No sooner had Inspector Pickering and I set off in search of Prentice Hancock than I regretted not having asked the man in question to give me his card after I had presented him with mine at Lizzie Hopman’s funeral. This feeling was compounded when we reached our destination. The building in front of us was not a residence, but a laundry. Upon inquiring with the current proprietor of the establishment, a rather intimidating-looking woman who stood nearly a foot taller than my young companion, we learned that she had converted it from a haberdashery.
“Which is precisely what Mr. Hancock ran,” I said, turning to Inspector Pickering.
“He told me I could do whatever I wanted to the place,” the laundress said. Her voice, both in tone and volume, would have shamed a fishmonger’s wife. “It’s not my fault he weren’t asking a fair price. If he don’t need money, what business is it of mine?”
I recalled that Mr. Hancock had mentioned selling his shop upon his retirement. This, combined with the woman’s continued shrieks proclaiming her innocence regarding the details of the transaction, lent credence to his claims that he did what he could to improve the lives of those who dwelled in the East End. Inspector Pickering, pushing up his spectacles, stepped directly in front of her and gripped her firmly by the shoulders.
“I’ve no interest in Mr. Hancock’s business transactions,” he said. “But I have a great deal of interest in his current whereabouts. Tell me where I can find him. If I’m successful as a result, you’ll receive a handsome reward.”
She pursed her lips and looked down at him. “Well … I suppose there’s no harm in it, is there? He lives six blocks over, beyond the Black Swan. Wouldn’t take her that way if I was you.” She scowled at me and then held her hand out to the inspector, palm facing up.
With a quick gesture, he pinned her hand behind her back. “The reward comes only if I’m successful.” I cast a sideways glance at him, shocked that he could sound so authoritative, and then glared at the laundress. I would have liked to have barked out a sharp retort of my own, but confess that, in the moment, none came to mind. Instead, I let Fenimore Pickering bustle me back into our waiting cab.
“Well done, you,” I said, after he’d closed the door.
“I find that appearing meek often keeps my opponents off guard,” he said. “Not that I would say our laundress constitutes an opponent. Still, I do like to stay in practice.” His grin was that of a naughty schoolboy who has just pulled off a grossly inappropriate scheme.
After a short drive, we reached the modest terrace house that stood at the address the laundress had provided. We knocked on the door and were told by a pert young maid, her uniform starched almost to snapping, that Mr. Hancock was not at home.
“Oh, dear, how perfectly dreadful,” I said, doing my best to imitate a female version of Jeremy’s favorite drawl. “Whatever am I to do now? Fenimore, dear, give me your arm, I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit unsteady.” I swayed to lend verisimilitude to my words. The inspector, not missing a beat, caught me and propelled me up the stoop closer to the door.
“Out of the way, girl,” he said. “Can’t you see she’s about to faint?”
Flabbergasted, she stepped aside and let
us into the house. Once there, I flung myself onto a settee and called for water. The inspector prodded her to produce it, and she flew out of the room. He closed the door behind her.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“Search the place, of course,” I said. “See if you can find anything that might prove a connection to the King’s Boys, or any other criminal activities. Or to Harold Godwinson.”
“King Harold?” he asked. “Of the arrow in the eye?”
“Yes.”
He did not question me further, but made quick and efficient work of inspecting every inch of the room. I was doing the same, of course. Neither of us found anything of interest. When I heard the click of the maid’s heels in the corridor, I returned to the settee and draped an arm over my face. She handed me a glass of water, but I pushed it away, insisting that I was no longer in need of refreshment. “Fenimore, go to the study and fetch me some paper. I will have to leave a note for Mr. Hancock.”
The maid did not stop him when he left the room. I took this to mean that there was, in fact, a study, and that Mr. Hancock did not, if I may be permitted a naval analogy, run a particularly tight ship. “Do you need anything else, madam?” she asked.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Hancock? It’s so good to see what he’s done for the old neighborhood.”
“The old neighborhood? Surely you didn’t used to live here, did you?” She was blinking rapidly. Knowing that I would not be able to convince her that I had been reared in the East End, I took a different tack.
“No, no, of course not,” I said. “But he’s told me so many stories of the place that I feel like I know it as well as he. I’ve helped him find work for—”
“That’s so very kind of you, madam,” she said. “I should’ve known when I saw you at the door. Your hat told me you’re a lady of fashion, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“How long have you worked for Mr. Hancock?” I asked.
“Only three months,” she said. “He rescued me from a far worse life.”
Uneasy Lies the Crown Page 21
