Ghost of the Thames

by May McGoldrick

  “Now,” he whispered the command.

  She lifted herself slightly, and her fingers wrapped around him before she slowly guided him into her. He raised his hips as she lowered herself, encasing his shaft in that exquisite warmth that had no equal, and each of them groaned with pleasure.

  He sat up and kissed the tip of one breast before taking the other one into his mouth and suckling deeply. She held his head and cried out softly with pleasure. He dropped back onto the pillow and watched the wonder in her face as she moved by instinct, finding her own rhythm in the love dance.

  Never had making love meant anything to Edward as it did now, here with Sophy. Never before had he wanted to spend time with any woman as he wanted to be with her. Never had any woman bewitched him, entertained him, challenged him, stirred him with such passion. He had to keep Sophy safe.

  She was his to cherish and to protect.

  CHAPTER 28

  Peter Hodgson read with great interest the letter John Warren handed to him. There was no mention of the coroner Harmon anywhere on the page. “A summons for a coroner’s inquest. In two weeks.”

  “Yes.”

  “And a new coroner on the bench.”

  “Yes. This one will settle the bloody business once and for all. Catherine will be declared dead that day.”

  Hodgson thought back over the past couple of days and the shooting in the Hyde Park. The girl had escaped. There had been some arrests, but they didn’t concern him, at all. Those men were paid too well to disclose any information about who hired them.

  And no one working for Shill would talk, anyway.

  But the heart of the matter was that, so far, not one newspaper had discovered any link between the young woman on horseback and John Warren or himself. And no one, including his hired thugs, had even an inkling that their victim was Catherine Warren. The attackers had decided on this woman based on descriptions and the fact that she had met with the novelist Dickens. As far as anyone knew, she could have been the Queen of Sheba.

  And now, Miss Warren was about to be declared legally dead, and the cause of death would be ‘accidental’, of course.

  Hodgson frowned. He couldn’t stop from asking the question that was burning on his tongue.

  “But sir, even with the coroner on your payroll, will you not need a body. And with so much of the case already in newspapers, would it be wise to expose yourself to a charge that an officer of the court might be in your pocket. You wouldn’t wish for further investigation.”

  A rare but mirthless smile stretched the old man’s thin lips. “There is so much that you need to learn about this business, Hodgson.”

  “Yes, that could not be truer, sir,” Hodgson said in the humble tone that he’d mastered over the years. “And as you know, I am eternally grateful for every opportunity that you honor me with.”

  “You know what a corpse dredged out of river looks like after having the fish nibble at it for a week,” Warren said.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve seen the corpses with you at the riverfront police station.”

  “Yes,” he sneered. “But how about after two weeks?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A month?”

  Thankfully, they’d stopped looking at bodies in recent weeks. “No, but I am quite certain they are hideous.”

  “And how about six weeks? Or two months?”

  An uncontrollable shudder ran through Hodgson.

  “How much of her do you think would be left of my niece if her corpse were to be dragged out of the Thames after that length of time?”

  “I must say, sir, that I wish never to lay eyes on such a sight.”

  “We live in a great city where anything can be bought and sold. And this includes corpses,” Warren explained. “You will order me the corpse of a woman who has been in the water that long. Her hair must be the same color as Catherine’s. And with some piece of jewelry belonging to her father found on the body, I dare anyone to deny the identity. And this includes the Gaali witch Priya . . . if they decide to bring her into it.”

  For the first time, Hodgson could see why his employer had insisted on waiting before identifying a corpse belonging to his niece.

  “Are you with me, Hodgson?”

  “Always, sir. I am always at your service.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Let us assume that you wish, most of all, to put a stop to your uncle’s schemes.” Angela Burdett-Coutts suggested, bypassing the pleasantries and getting straight to the purpose of her visit.

  “Absolutely,” Sophy responded.

  Angela looked across at her companion, who was gazing back at them with a conspiratorial air. “Mrs. Brown and I have, just this morning, concocted a little plot of our own.”

  “I am anxious to hear it.”

  “As far as the law and the courts are concerned, you are missing. Whether you died the night you fell off your ship and drowned or whether you were shot in the park a few days ago, it makes no difference. So long as your uncle is able to produce a body—and nothing ties him to the death—you will be declared legally dead, and he inherits your fortune.”

  “Unless I stop him.”

  “Unless,” Angela said in a confidential tone, “you are publicly and formally acknowledged to be alive.”

  “He cannot injure you then,” Mrs. Brown added. “If something happens to you after you are known to be alive, every suspicion will fall on him.”

  “John Warren knows there is too much interest in you as a missing person. There will be even more interest in you once you are presented in public.”

  “But the Captain and I have discussed this. Because I cannot recall the details of the night of my disappearance, he does not want me to hand myself over to the very man who might have intended violence--to the man who is very likely behind the attack in the park. My uncle could still do me in and never make a public acknowledgement of my appearance.”

  “Well, this is where my society connections can be of help.” Angela patted Sophy on the knee. “Tell me, did you accept an invitation from Lord Beauchamp for next week?”

  “Actually, in light of the incident in the park, I didn’t.”

  “That is of no consequence. In fact, it will be better this way. I will write to him and mention that I am bringing a very dear friend with me. Also, we will make subtle inquiries and make certain John Warren is going to be in attendance.”

  “You are going to introduce me to my uncle in front of Lord Beauchamp?”

  “Yes, and not as Miss Howe of Boston, but as Miss Catherine Sophia Warren. And I can guarantee that almost everyone of importance in society who will be in London at this time of the year is present at that ball.”

  Sophy’s mind turned to the events she has already attended. “But some of those people have already met me. What will I say to them? And what am I going to say publicly when I am asked where I have been?”

  Angela again looked in the direction of her companion. “As Hannah will tell you, Dickens’s friendship has helped me to develop storytelling talents of my own. We will say that you fell from the deck of your ship and were able to swim ashore. And as it happened, I came upon you in my carriage . . . and on and on and on.”

  “No one will question her,” Mrs. Brown said confidently. “Your friend here holds a place in British society second only to the queen.”

  Angela laughed and shushed her friend.

  “But what of the ruse of being the daughter of Mr. Dickens’s friend?”

  “That was done at my request,” Angela stated, immediately serious again. “To allow you time to recover and still travel among society.”

  “And what if my uncle insists that I move into his residence?”

  “For one thing, as we said, he would not dare harm you. But more importantly, I will insist that we have become quite fond of one another, and that you will be remaining with me as my guest until . . . say, Easter?”

  Sophy let out a shaky breath. She knew she could not allow John Warren to
get away with stealing her inheritance. She had to face him.

  Angela’s suggestion seemed to be the answer.

  CHAPTER 30

  Sophy glanced into a dark corner of the room, thinking about how scarce Amelia had become. Still, she was thankful to her for bringing them together. She looked over at Edward’s profile. His shirt lay partially open in the front, exposing the skin of his throat and broad chest. She loved pressing her lips there and tasting the saltiness of his skin.

  After dinner, they'd made love in this very room. They'd never had time to make it upstairs.

  His attention was focused on the fire. His demons had returned. She wanted to reach up and smooth the lines of concern that were again etched in his face.

  “Before we were distracted tonight, I was telling you about the clothing I was wearing.”

  “Distracted?” he asked, a glint of humor in his eyes.

  “All right. Before I decided to seduce you,” she corrected, moving away from him on the sofa so that she could face him. “We were talking about the men’s clothing--most likely some sailor’s shirt and pants--that I was wearing when you found me.”

  He reached down and lifted her slippered feet onto his lap.

  “They might provide some clue about what happened,” she continued.

  “Perhaps. Why do you think you were wearing those things?”

  “It could be that I knew I wouldn’t fare too well, arriving on shore in the middle of the night dressed like a woman. Never mind that it is far more difficult to swim in layers and layers of material that women wear.”

  Edward nodded, considering it. Sophy was happy to have his attention. She was also glad that he did not lecture her on how many flaws were in that plan, including the fact that wearing men’s clothing was hardly enough to make her look like a man.

  She hurried on. “I have been talking to Mrs. Perkins about Amelia and what she was wearing the night she left.”

  He put the glass of wine down and turned toward her. “Go on.”

  “She chose the oldest dress in her closet, apparently, and she borrowed an old cloak from one of the servants. We now know she left every piece of her mother’s jewelry behind, including the cross and chain that was her favorite. On her person she had only enough money to hire a carriage and very little more.”

  “Did Amelia tell you any of this?” he asked.

  “No. I wish things were so simple,” she admitted. “She always comes to me with a purpose. Perhaps she tries to communicate with me, on occasion, in other ways. I need to pay closer attention, I think.”

  “Perhaps.” He paused. “Why this fascination with what she was wearing that night.”

  “It might help us to discover where she was going,” Sophy suggested. “She left the house with Henry Robinson; that we know.”

  “And they have never been seen again.”

  “Yes, but why would she dress that way?”

  Edward shook his head.

  “Taking tea with Mr. Reeves and Mrs. Perkins tonight, I asked them to tell me every little detail they remembered of that day. Everything from what Amelia was doing before Henry arrived to what her plans were for the following day or the following week. I asked if any of her friends had called that morning or the day before. And I asked them what Henry said when he was here and how he behaved.”

  It was obvious she had piqued his interest. “I have to confess, this is more than I ever asked.”

  “I’m a woman. I know how our minds work,” she said softly. “I know the popular opinion is that young women are thoughtlessly romantic and impulsive. But for all that, there is a certain degree of seriousness that accompanies any decision as life-altering as eloping.”

  “Though I have hoped, in a way, that she is safely married somewhere, I know that she was not one to elope. That would not be her way.”

  “Going off in that old cloak and dress, and carrying almost no money or jewelry tell us she was going to a place nearby—in London, to be sure—a place she thought would not be safe.”

  “I have searched the most wretched slums of London,” he told her. “Nothing has turned up. But I cannot believe Henry Robinson would expose her to danger. It makes no sense.”

  “What about Henry Robinson?” Sophy asked. “When had he arrived on shore?”

  “The same morning that he came here,” Edward answered.

  “Mr. Reeves tells me he asked for you when he came to the door.”

  "He would do that even if he was here for the purpose of meeting Amelia."

  Sophy nodded. “But Amelia ran into him by chance. She arrived home just when Reeves was speaking to him. She invited him inside. Mrs. Perkins said she served them tea in this very room. The two of them were alone here, talking together for only fifteen or twenty minutes. In fact, Henry Robinson left before they’d even finished their tea.”

  “I know all of this. But he didn’t really leave,” Edward said. “The footmen told me he returned in just a few minutes and waited in front in a hired carriage.”

  “Yes, and in the meantime, Amelia was busy changing into old clothing and tucking her jewelry away,” Sophy said, trying to relay everything she put together after speaking to the butler and housekeeper. “Mrs. Perkins told me that she asked Amelia where she was going. Your niece was deliberately vague. But she was definite in saying that she would return in time for a late supper, however.”

  “Amelia was always too polite and considerate to cause extra work. She would have found an excuse not to keep the household waiting if she thought she wasn’t coming back.”

  “That is what Mrs. Perkins believes, too.”

  “So where would the two of them go?” he asked.

  “Somewhere that Henry wanted to take you,” Sophy told him. “We know he came here looking for you.”

  Edward thought about that. “If he had a question, or a concern about something that happened aboard his ship.”

  “Where was that ship?”

  “Deptford. The ship moored that morning at the Royal Dockyard in Deptford.”

  Suddenly, Amelia appeared in the corner of the room.

  “Oh!” Sophy came to her feet, but the apparition disappeared as quickly as it came. For a moment she wondered if Amelia had ever been there, or whether it was her imagination.

  “What is it?” Edward asked, standing and following her gaze to the empty corner.

  “We have to go,” she said, taking hold of his arm.

  Edward glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly two. Where are we going?”

  “Deptford. To the Royal Dockyard.”

  CHAPTER 31

  He knew better than to doubt her.

  The easiest way to reach the Royal Dockyard was to take a carriage to Limehouse and try to find a riverman willing—or hungry enough—to take them by boat. Depending on the tide, they might have some luck.

  As Sophy hurried to change her clothes, Edward arranged for his driver and two footmen to get ready. He wanted to have as much protection for her as possible without bringing too much attention to themselves. He also sent another man ahead to search the taverns and see if he could get the name of someone with a boat who would take them across the river.

  Reeves appeared as Edward was pulling on his boots. He explained to the butler where they were going and how he planned to get there.

  “Is it safe, Captain, to take Miss Sophy with you?”

  Edward couldn’t say anything of what Sophy had told him about seeing Amelia’s ghost. This had been their agreement. “She has made up her mind to go with me.”

  “I have noticed she does have a mind of her own.”

  “And I will take a good care of her, I promise.”

  Sophy was downstairs and ready to go sooner than Edward could have expected. Reeves pleaded with her directly to wait until morning before going out.

  “It would be best to go now. There is less chance of anyone following,” she said reassuringly to the butler.

  “I believe Amelia approves
of where we are going,” she whispered to Edward as they were climbing into his carriage.

  “Have you seen her again?”

  “I told you that I saw her briefly in the study at the very moment that you mentioned the dockyard. When I was upstairs, she appeared to me again.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No. Again her presence was fleeting, but she was definitely there.”

  “Did she give you any sign?”

  Sophy took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. “The night that you took me back to the Isle of Dogs, she appeared to me half a dozen times before she told me what I should do.”

  It was so difficult to accept a notion that none of his senses recognized. Every time Amelia’s name was mentioned, Edward was ready to ask dozen questions. Like a wounded man led in the dark, he had to be patient and trust his guide.

  The riverside district north of Millwall was known as Limehouse Hole. The area stretched southward from the parish boundary to the south West India Dock entrance lock, and inland along Garford Street, a narrow lane lined with humble, ramshackle dwellings and shops. This was the area where many dockworkers and watermen lived.

  The footman Edward had sent off earlier was waiting for them, as directed, at the top of Limehouse Hole Stairs. A bent, gray-bearded riverman stood with him, a tattered blanket pulled around him like a shawl. The weather had taken a turn for worse since they’d left Berkeley Square.

  Edward left Sophy in the carriage first and spoke to the riverman—giving him directions as to where they intended to go.

  Seeing Edward’s money, he said cheerfully, “Oy’ll a row ye to France ‘erself, if ye wisht it.”

  By the time Edward went back to get Sophy, the wind was blowing so hard that it slammed the door of the carriage shut on her before she could step out. He tried not to think of it as a sign.

  An ancient lamp on a corner building flickered and shop signs groaned, swinging back and forth. They started down the stairs from the street, and he tried to shield her from the driving spray of water from the river. As they went down the slick stone stairs to a wooden pier he could barely see through the worsening weather, her hand clutched tightly to his arm.