Ghost of the Thames

by May McGoldrick

  Trencher appeared and lumbered over to them. He patted a pocket of his jacket. “Don’t forget, Jack. Ye got to pay up with Shill tonight.”

  Jack looked at the brute with obvious annoyance. “Shill gets what’s coming to him on time. I’ve got something I need first.”

  Jack began to drag Sophy, struggling all the time, toward a shadowy, tree-lined lane that led off the plaza inside the gate.

  Trencher was grinning at the sight with enjoyment. “Ye want me to—?”

  ”Wait for me,” Jack snapped, yanking Sophy into the darkness past the first line of trees.

  He was much stronger than she was. Her mind raced, knowing that she would only have one chance to get free.

  A dozen steps more and he slung her down onto a wet grassy opening, immediately sitting on her and tugging at the buttons of his pants.

  Everything was moving too quickly.

  “Wait,” she said. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

  “You wait, love,” he growled. “And you just tell me in a minute if I got anything wrong.”

  Sophy bucked and turned, managing to slide the knife out of her sleeve and get a good grip on the handle.

  He grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her onto her back. Leaning forward, he jammed his forearm up against her throat, choking her as he yanked at her skirts with the other hand.

  “I enjoy a wild one, now and again,” he said, his voice raw with anticipation. “I’m going to enjoy this, I am.”

  He forced her knees open and shoved himself into position between her legs, and she saw a flash of animal wildness in his face.

  Lifting the knife, she jabbed it hard into his side and felt him stiffen as the blade slid deep between his ribs.

  CHAPTER 10

  “One of the servants found her crouching by the kitchen entrance when he unlocked it, Captain.” Reeves helped Edward with the shirt and coat his master was yanking on. “Covered in dirt from head to toe, I must say, and the young woman refuses to come inside. Something about her stopped our lad from running her off."

  “He would have had his hands full, if he’d tried,” Edward replied.

  “She wouldn’t answer any of Mrs. Perkins questions, but she’s clearly no guttersnipe, if I may say so. She simply asked that a message be brought up to you that ‘Sophy is here’ and that she wishes to speak with you. She claims you know her, sir.”

  "How long did you say she's been waiting?"

  “We don't know, Captain. Mrs. Perkins said the young woman was shivering like a leaf when she went out to her. Naturally, she took a blanket out to her.”

  Edward hurried out of his dressing room with Reeves on his heels.

  “Seeing your reaction, Captain, I am quite relieved that we didn’t wait to awaken you.”

  “Yes. Good decision, Reeves.”

  “Would she be connected in any way with Miss Amelia’s disappearance, sir?”

  “No,” Edward replied curtly, going down the steps two at a time and moving quickly through to the back of the house. His long strides left the butler trailing behind.

  The mystery of Sophy’s past and her lost memory were far too complicated for him to even venture a guess what brought her to his door during the night. As he entered the kitchen wing, the clock behind him chimed six. No matter what happened, he knew that the matron at Urania Cottage would not dare to put Sophy on the street before first sending him a message.

  The buzzing voices of the servants gathered in the kitchen went silent when they saw Edward stride in. Quick curtsies and bows all around, and in an instant the housekeeper was beside him as he moved to the door.

  “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Mrs. Perkins,” he replied. “Couldn’t get her to come in, I hear?”

  “We cannot get the poor thing to budge. Other than the blanket, she won’t take a thing. She’s refused every offer of food or drink.” They reached the door. “This girl is nothing like those other wretches who have been showing up at the door for reward. There is a refinement, I'd say, in her speech and politeness. Do you really know her, Captain?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, going out the door.

  There was a sharp tug at his heart when he saw Sophy shivering on the bottom step, her knees tucked against her chest. The blanket covered most of her. He hurried down.

  “You will come inside, this instant.”

  “No,” she said. Dark, fearful eyes peered up at him. She was incredibly pale. “I cannot.”

  “I will carry you inside by force, if I must, Sophy. You are freezing out here.”

  She immediately pushed herself to her feet and backed away from him. “Then if you are not willing to help me, I’ll go.”

  “Sophy, stop. I’m trying to help.”

  “Please, Captain. I shouldn’t have come here. But I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Then come inside. Let me help you.”

  She looked up at the house. Edward knew that Mrs. Perkins was on the landing behind him.

  “No. I cannot come in. This is your home.” Sophy paused, desperation evident in her voice. “You can help me, but I hate to ask it. It is too much.”

  “Ask.”

  “If you could find me a room somewhere. Anywhere but the Cottage, or here. You offered to help.”

  “Of course.”

  Edward stared at her for a moment. He considered arguing with her, convincing her to come inside, at least to warm up. But she was already looking hesitant, again ready to flee.

  “You wait right here.” He turned to his housekeeper. “Mrs. Perkins, this is Sophy. Keep her company until my carriage is brought around.”

  “Very good, Captain.”

  “This will take a few minutes. If you’ll excuse me?”

  She nodded, and he went up the stairs and into the house. Reeves was standing right inside the door, listening to the conversation.

  “The footman has been dispatched for the carriage, Captain. Your cloak and hat are coming, as well.”

  “And my wallet. I’ll be needing that.”

  “Of course, sir,” the butler said, passing on the directions. “May I ask you something, Captain?”

  “Certainly,” Edward replied, trying to hide his impatience about getting back to Sophy.

  “This is the same woman who stepped in front of your carriage a fortnight ago, is she not?” the butler asked quietly.

  “Yes, she is.”

  Going out the back door with his cloak over his arm, Edward was relieved to find her waiting. Wrapped in the blanket, she was still shivering, and Mrs. Perkins was standing near her, shaking her head with concern.

  “Can you walk with me to the front of the house?”

  “Yes, I can manage perfectly,” she said stolidly, falling in beside him.

  It took great deal of control to not reach out and help her. Something had gone wrong. This was not the same woman who had cracked a man’s head with an oar in Hammersmith Village and then had calmly asked for Edward’s pistol.

  “The blanket,” she said when they reached the front of the house. “May I take it with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Berkeley Square was quiet this early in the morning, though Edward knew it wouldn’t be long before the cries of the street vendors would be heard. The few clusters of brown leaves in the gutters were speckled with frost.

  When the carriage rolled up, Edward gave the driver directions and helped Sophy climb in. He followed, sitting across from her.

  “I am in serious trouble,” she told him as soon as the door of the carriage closed behind them. Her voice wavered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I would not blame you if you were to decide to hand me over to the police, in fact, instead of finding me a shelter.”

  “What have you done?”

  She pushed the blanket off one shoulder and exposed a bloody sleeve.

  “You are hurt.”

  “No, this is someone else’s blood. I stabbed a man in self-defense. He attacked me.”

  �
��By the devil! And no one stopped him? No one helped you?”

  “No one. I stabbed him and fled. I feared the man's friends might have finished what he had started.”

  “Are you certain you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m not hurt. But I don’t know. I don’t know if I killed him or not. I think I did.”

  “If you did kill him, the blackguard deserved it.”

  “But even now, the police could be searching for me. The scandal that I could have brought to your door!” Her chin sank to her chest and tears gushed down her cheeks.

  Edward looked at her in silence for a moment. How could this one woman get into so much trouble? Ill fortune seemed to be haunting her. He reached across and took her hands into his.

  “Sophy, tell me everything. Where did this happen?”

  “Chelsea. I left the cottage last night, and I found myself in Chelsea.”

  Edward had to force himself to refrain from lecturing her on how dangerous her actions were.

  “I arrived at the gates of a place called Cremorne House. There were hundreds of people inside, dancing and drinking and—“

  “I know the place. Pleasure gardens owned by some count or something.”

  “Yes. There were two men just inside the gates. One of them—he seemed to be in charge of supplying women to gentlemen—he forced me into a dark wooded area inside the garden walls. They called him Jack Slade.”

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “He would have,” she said, looking up at Edward, fire coming back into her eyes. “But I stabbed him. I put the knife into his ribs before he could hurt me. And then I ran.”

  She freed her hands from his grasp and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were like blown embers.

  “I apologize for bringing my troubles to you. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I had no where to go. I couldn’t go back to Urania Cottage, not like this.”

  “You were perfectly right to come to me.”

  “But your reputation. I am probably an outlaw already.” She stopped. “I should just step out here and hand myself over to some constable on the street.”

  “Stop the dramatics,” Edward snapped. “Do you understand the word ‘danger’? This is the second time you have placed yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Yes, but I—“

  “You are a woman alone in a dangerous city. Out there at night, you are exposed. Vulnerable to the villainy of any man who comes upon you. And a woman who shows up alone at those pleasure gardens wants only one thing. Money for selling her body.” He stopped short. “Is that what you were after?”

  Eyes wide, she stared at him. But she made no sound, no argument. If not for the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, she might have been a statue.

  “Answer me. Did you go out there to sell yourself for money?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you go there?”

  “I followed . . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know what kind of place that was. I found myself standing there, looking in the gates, but there was no premeditation. Please believe me.”

  She looked so shaken, so vulnerable, more beautiful than he could stand. He wanted to strangle her, but he also wanted to protect her, possess her.

  Edward leaned back against the seat, unable to tear his gaze away from her face. Nothing she said made sense. Nothing about her made sense. Wandering through the night, exposing herself to dangers, was hardly the act of a sane woman. And that first night when she’d found herself in the river could have been the outcome of the same crazed recklessness.

  He knew he was not going to let her turn herself over to the authorities. If this blackguard Jack Slade were truly dead, the world would be a better place, he had no doubt. No, Edward thought, he needed to try to discover who this woman really was. What was about her past that she was desperately trying to forget.

  But those queries would have to wait. He had more pressing matters to attend to first.

  “I do believe you,” he said, leaning forward. “But I will help you only if you will do exactly as I say.”

  She nodded.

  “No varying from my instructions, do you understand?” He waited until she nodded again. “First, no more exposing yourself to the lowlifes of this city. You will leave the place I secure for you only in the company of someone I know and only with my approval. And that must occur only in daylight. Do you agree to my terms?”

  She hesitated, staring at him with more unshed tears hanging on her long lashes. Edward wished he could read her mind. There was something that she wasn’t telling him, something she was holding back.

  “Sophy, these are my terms.” His sharp tone clearly jarred her; he saw the flash come back into her eyes.

  “The decision of going where I have gone has not been mine to make.”

  Now she was talking nonsense. He shook his head.

  “You need to take control of your own actions. If you cannot do that, then you can get out of this carriage right now.”

  He didn’t know what he would do if she chose to leave, but he wasn’t going to give her any time to consider that he might be bluffing. He called to the driver to stop the carriage, and the vehicle rumbled to a halt.

  Sophy stared at him and then looked out the window for a moment.

  “I will. I will abide by your conditions,” she said finally. “But that’s only for as long as I must depend on your generosity. I refuse to be slave to anyone for the rest of my life.”

  He nodded curtly, realizing that he had been holding his breath.

  He signaled to the driver to proceed, and then explained to Sophy the exact terms of their arrangement.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Let us be clear on this, Mr. Warren,” the coroner bellowed.

  “This is a travesty!” the old man growled, banging his cane on the floor.

  The coroner held up two meaty hands, silencing the crowd and glaring at John Warren and the lawyer sitting helplessly beside him.

  “Let us be clear. If we are not convinced that your niece is indeed deceased, we will be forced to declare her a ‘missing person’ and wait the prescribed period of seven years to declare her dead. Or . . . . ” The man leaned forward in his chair and laid his hands, with a sound thump, on the papers before him. “Or, if the facts of the case indicate that the unfortunate young lady took her own life and threw herself overboard, then, as a suicide, her properties will all be forfeited to the Crown.”

  With all the solemnity of a country fair, the inquest broke out in a burst of hilarity, with the jurors and audience laughing and cheering. And Peter Hodgson sat frozen in his chair. No one, in his experience, had ever lectured John Warren like some schoolmaster berating a truant school boy. And the onlookers were loving it. Watching in horror, Hodgson thought for a moment that the coroner, Mr. Harmon, was going to stand up and take a bow.

  This was not going well.

  The inquest, held to determine the legal status of Catherine Warren following her disappearance, was certainly well attended. The ancient meeting room of the temporarily requisitioned guild hall was packed. Every table and chair was occupied. People stood two deep along the walls and leaned against stout pillars. There was not enough space remaining to let in even one more person.

  Hodgson had a sense from the comments of those around him that many in the crowd were regulars that attended every inquest in London. This one, however, had evidently brought a larger crowd because of the rumors circulating of the offer of a large reward that was being announced after the hearing. Cash was to be offered for any news of the young heiress, whether she be dead or alive.

  “Silence there, damn you!” the beadle shouted, shoving his way in front of the dais where the coroner’s table sat. “Come to order, I say!”

  Hodgson stole a glance at his employer. The old man’s normally ruddy cheeks were blazing purple. The muscles in his jaw were clenched so tight that they were sure to crack whatever teeth were le
ft in the ancient mouth. Blue veins bulged in his temple, his neck and even on the back of the gnarled fist wrapped around his cane. John Warren appeared ready to explode.

  Hodgson guessed that the coroner was also a man who could be bought, if it were done tactfully and discreetly. But it was clearly too late now, he thought, for Harmon was also famous for taking offence easily and holding a nasty grudge. And John Warren had started off all wrong by interrupting the coroner, speaking to him condescendingly, and finally objecting openly and vigorously to Harmon’s direction that Catherine Warren’s traveling companion needed to be produced as a witness.

  “Well, gentlemen, you can see it comes to this,” the coroner said gravely, addressing the jurors, but in a voice that could be heard in the farthest corners of the hall. “You have been summoned here to inquire into the death of a certain young lady. Evidence will be given before you as to the circumstances attending the death, and you will give an honest verdict, honest citizens that you are. But before any of that is to take place, we need to view the body, do we not?”

  As the jurors nodded in unison, the coroner stretched out a hand toward the police inspector.

  “There is no body, Mr. Coroner.”

  Another wave of noise rumbled through the hall. The beadle leaped up and glared everyone into silent submission.

  “So I understand. No body has been identified as the young lady in question. And therefore,” he paused and looked down fiercely at John Warren. “Are you listening, Mr. Warren? And therefore, by the authority of this court, I declare that no dead body can be identified as Catherine Warren’s unless it is positively acknowledged by . . . by . . . what was your niece’s traveling companion’s name, sir?”

  Warren’s lawyer shot a glance helplessly at the old man.

  “Priya,” John Warren said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, the body will be positively identified by Priya of Bengal.”

  “She is only a servant. I am Catherine’s uncle, the only living kin. I know my own niece.”