by Rose Lerner
Polly, older and female and learning to be a housebreaker, said, “He come sneaking and prying and wants to get into yer bits and pieces. There’s allus one of us sees ’e don’t.”
“Thank you.” She lay on her back with her eyes wide open, listening to negotiations for the warm spots and squabbles over the blankets.
She’d been naïve. Because nobody stole from a fellow of the Brotherhood, she’d thought her little leather trunk was safe.
Nobody should have found the banknotes hidden in the secret hollow in that novel. She almost had enough to buy fare to New Orleans and establish a little business when she got there. She was so close.
The street rats knew about her money. If they knew, Lazarus knew.
Chapter 12
* * *
The den of thieves looked more respectable in daylight. The guards were less in evidence. The streets and alleys of the neighborhood had filled up with a middling sort of people, minding their own business. Gideon had a feeling Lazarus did not allow his thieves and bullies to practice their craft this close to his headquarters. This might, in fact, be one of the safer places in the city of London.
Two men he didn't recognize stood in the vestibule with almost-identical expressions of threat. These would be the day guards. His slight acquaintance was with the night men.
“I’m here to see Lazarus.” He added, “He wants to see me.”
One nudged the other. “They was looking for this cove last night. Escaped or walked orf drunk or somefing.” Then, doubtfully, “He was chatting wif Lazarus, friendly-like.”
They eyed Selim, silent at his side, with a different set of misgivings. Another knotty problem for them.
The question of what to do with them was solved when the left-hand guard said to the right one, “Go get Hawker.”
Aimée was in a deep well of sleep when she heard Hawker say, “Hey, French girl. The sun’s up.” He poked her shoulder, the better to get her attention.
She knew instantly this was no alarm. Around her the dogs and the human puppies snored peacefully, not disturbed by the sound of a voice. Hawker was amused. Nothing truly dreadful was wrong. Probably.
It took a little while to locate her mind in that country between asleep and awake. “What do you want?”
“The pleasure of your company.”
Sunlight, bright, with sharp edges, attacked her eyes. She sat up, her braid falling down over her shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Nine, more or less.”
“This is an obscene time to be awake.” She had become a creature of the night, working for Lazarus. His business was conducted in darkness. She only saw sunrise from the wrong side, as it were, at the end of a busy night of work.
She threw off the sable. Getting out of a warm bed at this time of year required steely determination and was best done quickly. “Why am I awake? For that matter, why are you awake?”
“Up with the chirping chickens, that’s me. Lazarus set me to following a certain nob of our acquaintance, and if ’e ain’t the busiest cove in London first thing in the morning I don’t know who is. I been up and down half the Thames shore keeping an eye on ’im.”
“So I must join you in your misery. Merci beaucoup.”
The huddle of children on the floor was sprouting interested ears so she padded away to do her talking at a bit of a distance. Her gown, shift, and stockings were folded neatly on a chair by the hearth, waiting for her.
In the night the fire had burned down to soft gray ashes over a few embers. Faint suggestions of warmth remained but not enough to be of any comfort while she dressed.
“Why am I needed?” She didn't say Lazarus’s name because of the ears listening.
“Our friend Gideon just showed up. I’ve brought him inside and set him in a lordly chair. If his men come storming in, you can hide behind ’im.”
“It is always good to have someone to shelter behind. I will hurry myself.” She turned her back and pulled her nightdress over her head and stood naked. There was no privacy in all this great house. She had become used to that.
And this was only Hawker. He was older now than when she’d met him three years ago, but he was still Hawker.
“Go keep an eye on Gideon,” she said.
Her clothes were warm to the touch from lying near the fire. She put them on quickly, her linen shift, her pretty little corset, pockets, the dull-colored dress, stockings, shoes. She took time over reloading her pistol that went into her pocket. Then she braided her hair as she walked toward the ballroom and Gideon.
It was daylight. She hoped she’d be less disturbed by Gideon Gage in the daylight.
Gideon turned his chair so he could keep an eye on the alcoves up and down the room where thieves and beggars slept. Selim, soft footed, wove through the disorder of the place, doubtless planning attacks and retreats.
They’d attracted attention. Women hugged blankets to their breasts and emerged from the depths of those alcoves, being curious. Men pulled on shirts and rummaged for their breeches.
Aimée wasn’t one of the chattering, disheveled women sleeping in this room. He searched from female face to female face, looking for her.
“We walk among jackals.” Selim paused beside him. “Don’t trust anybody.”
“You always say that.” Nobody more pessimistic than Selim.
“It’s always true. Especially, don’t trust that woman you spoke of.” Selim went off to explore more far corners.
Attention stirred. Lazarus came in, the black bodyguard close behind him. Daphne followed, walking stiffly, wearing the same dress she’d worn yesterday. Her eyes were red from crying but there were no signs of mistreatment on her.
When she saw Gideon sitting there by the fire she gave a start of surprise and ran to him. Silently. Silent all the way across the room except for the sound of her feet. She held onto him fiercely, dry-eyed. In its way, it was as disturbing as yesterday’s sobbing.
“I see my people have made you free of the house.” Lazarus looked at Hawker. “Your idea?”
“I don’t get ideas,” Hawker said. “I get orders that send me out in the cold dawn without benefit of breakfast. Then I has to deal with visitors. Speaking of breakfast, what would you like? Sausages? Buttered toast? Human hearts?”
“Nothing.” Lazarus sat in his chair, slowly and carefully, frowning, using the arms of the chair to ease himself down. “You’re talkative at this time of day.”
“I’m asleep at this time of day by preference. But then I wouldn’t ’ave the opportunity to become better acquainted with our mercenary captain”—the boy’s unreadable gaze shifted to Selim, who was poking into things up and down the room—“and ’im. Maybe I’ll bring Gideon some tea.”
It didn't take much imagination to guess the entertainment Hawker had in mind. Gideon said, “Nothing for me.”
“I don’t know if I could resist the impulse to put something in it, just to see if I could.” Hawker hunkered down with his back against the wall, eyes alert. Lazarus was looking in the same direction. They were obviously expecting another of this company.
And there she was. Aimée came through a door in the tiled foyer to walk toward them, blinking and sleepy eyed, plaiting her hair between her fingers, lines from her pillow still creased into her cheek. The feral children stalked in a single tight pack not far behind her, assessed the situation in quick whispers, and scattered out, helping themselves to any food left on the tables. They pretended to be watching anything but him.
Lazarus raised his voice. “Aimée, why am I dealing with Gideon Gage at God’s own hour in the morning?”
She circled her braid into a complicated bun at her neck and tied it with a ribbon she’d been holding. “I’ll get rid of him if you like. But I’m inclined to hear what he has to say. Hawk, if anybody’s in the kitchen making coffee, bring me some. Please. My brain’s still asleep in bed.”
“That’ll wait,” Lazarus said. “Daffy’s got something to tell us, don’t you, D
affy? This is as good a time as any.”
Hawker and Aimée exchanged glances. There was more of that wordless communication they were so good at.
And in his arms Daphne stiffened. He felt the rigid determination inside her, also tremors that might have been fear. She whispered, “I’ll do this. I can do this.”
She turned in his hold to face the world and leaned back against his chest and pulled his arms around her as if he were a blanket or a shawl. For warmth. For comfort. For protection. Maybe a brother, even the absent, neglectful brother as he’d been, was shelter of some kind.
Daphne said, “I’m ready now. I’m glad you’re here. I thought I’d be alone.” She stared at Lazarus and the words came slowly, as if she forced them out one at a time. “You have to keep your side of the bargain. You have to tell me where he is.”
Daphne’s face was white. Her voice wobbled all over the place, but she faced King Thief and made demands. She was so full of bravery he wanted to clap.
“I’ll need brandy if she’s going to start confessing.” Lazarus pondered the street rats occupying their inconspicuous corners. Picked one. “Mole,” he shouted and beckoned. “There’s a decanter on the sideboard. Put it here.” He pointed to the table in front of him. “Bring the glass too. Don’t drop anything.”
Aimée said, “That crystal’s from—”
“There’s plenty of expensive glasswork in the world.” Lazarus didn't watch as the Mole made two trips, carrying the decanter first, then going back for the glass. He motioned for the boy to pour and didn't seem to notice as brandy slopped over the rim onto the table. The boy bit his lips and set the decanter down and backed away.
Lazarus studied Daphne instead. “So I have to keep my side of the bargain,” he murmured. “Can you possibly, possibly, be doubting my word?”
“Not that,” Daphne said quickly. “I just want to hear it again.”
“The bargain is, you tell the truth. Tell it out loud for all of us to hear. Then I let your brother ransom you and I’ll tell you what you want to know. Fair enough?”
“I agree.” Daphne’s voice was small and thin.
“That’s enough,” Gideon snapped. This had gone on long enough. Lazarus could find somebody else to torment. “No more games. No more playing with her. I pay the ransom and we end this.”
“Ransom isn’t enough,” Lazarus said. “Daffy knows that. She has to admit what she did.”
Daffy said, “When I was fifteen—”
“Don’t say anything.” Because he knew what she was going to say. It had come to him in the middle of last night, that crime a young girl like Daphne could commit. What she must have done. Who she must have killed.
Daphne patted his arm. “I have to do this. Let me get it over with while I still have the courage.”
“You don’t have to admit anything.”
Lazarus’s men lounged their way closer, not wanting to miss a word. As Aimée’d said, this public confession was a great entertainment. They’d placed bets on what crime Daphne was guilty of and they were hoping for the worst.
Under all those eyes, Daphne breathed heavily and didn't speak.
Hawker had come to mop up spilled brandy. “Daffy, look at me.” He waited till she did. “Now listen. This morning, earlier than I like to be up, I watched eleven violent-looking men meet with yer brother. That’s not counting the cove standing there behind you who also attended. And that’s not the worst of it.”
So Hawker had been watching him this morning. There’d been no sign of it. The boy must have a considerable level of skill.
“The worst of it,” Hawker went on cheerfully, “is yer brother got hisself enough weaponry to stage a raid on Parliament. I do not want to be blown to pieces by grenades because your brother takes a unaccountable dislike to Lazarus and those working for ’im.”
Hawker gave the decanter a final polish and stuffed the cloth back into his jacket pocket. “So if you will recount the tale of your misdeeds we can all go back to our regular business without further bloodshed. I hate bloodshed when it’s mine.”
No matter what Daphne had done in a time of desperation and madness, she didn't deserve this. He didn't want her confessing to murder. It was fodder for blackmail for the rest of her life. He said, “I won’t let you—”
Daphne stepped out of his hold and stood alone, shaking her head. “Gideon, if I don’t confess everything, Lazarus won’t tell me where my baby is.”
Chapter 13
* * *
Aimée breathed out in relief.
This was not what she’d feared. A missing baby, not a murdered one. But Lazarus wouldn’t kidnap a woman for giving birth to a bastard. Most of the Brotherhood were bastards. There’d be more to it.
Daffy stared resolutely at the floor. “I was fifteen. There was going to be a child.”
No mention of a father. From Gideon’s expression, somebody was going to pay for that.
Daffy whispered, “I was so afraid.” She stopped, like an automaton when the winding ran out. She didn't move. She barely breathed.
The Brotherhood would get impatient soon and start commenting, loud and derisive. Gideon would pay no more attention to that than he’d give a pack of snapping dogs, but Daffy might break down. They had to finish this and get Daffy out of here.
Aimée went to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “What happened?”
As if that unlocked the mechanism, Daffy spoke, quickly, without expression, her words running together. “Aunt Cicely sent me to Winnow, in the south, near the sea. One of her friends lived there. I stayed with her and had the baby. No one knew. No one at home knew. I knitted little clothes for him. Caps. And socks. But I couldn’t…”
“You couldn’t take the baby home,” Aimée said.
Lazarus’s other women had been vain, selfish creatures, boasting of how clever they were with their poison. They’d made her angry, most of them. They’d all killed for money. They were as bad as the worst of the Brotherhood.
But this? This was just sad and horrible. Daffy had been fifteen.
Enough. Enough. The hell with Lazarus and his games. She pulled Daffy away to the side, away from all those staring eyes, and held her while she cried. “You left the baby behind with your aunt’s friend?”
Daffy shook her head, hard, fiercely. “They wanted that. They wanted to take him away from me and put him in a foundling home. I didn’t let them.”
Good for you, Aimée thought.
“I had money. I hired a maid and got on the stage and headed home.” Daffy wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dress. “He was such a good baby. He slept most of the time. I named him Augustus after the hero in the book I was reading. Gus. My little Gus.”
Gideon came to take her and she cried against him and slowly got quiet. He found a handkerchief. He said, “While all this was happening, I was on the other side of the world. I wish I’d been with you.”
Time ticked by. The Brotherhood whispered and coughed and shuffled. Aimée said, “Tell me what happened.”
“We stayed in the coaching inn in London. I went out in the night and walked and walked. I was going to take him home and find a family to take him in, but I kept thinking everyone would know. All my friends. They’d pretend not to know but they all would know. I could hear them talking about me. In my head. I think I went a little mad.”
“And the baby?” she said.
“I went back to the inn and I stood and down looked at him. I thought, ‘Nobody has to know,’ and I wrote a letter to the maid. I told her I’d send for her when I got home. I gave her all the money I had except just enough for the coach and then I went out and got on the stage and left them asleep.”
Daffy whispered, “I wrote to London. I swear, I wrote. The innkeeper said they’d gone away. I waited and she never wrote to me. I thought they’d died. I don’t know what I thought.”
Pitying, critical, dismissive murmurs arose among the men and women watching. The crime seemed tame compared t
o poisoning of an aged grandmother. No one had won a bet on this. They stayed, an interested audience, to see what would happen next.
Daffy said, “I have to find him.”
“You were happy enough to leave him six years ago,” Lazarus said. “What do you want with him now?”
“End this.” Gideon’s growl was a reminder of the small, disciplined band of men he commanded and the weapons he held in a warehouse across town.
“It’s an honest question,” Lazarus said mildly.
“She’s fulfilled her part of the bargain. Tell her where the boy is. They say you’re a man of your word.” Gideon steered a limp, exhausted Daffy to the chair across from Lazarus and helped her sit down. It was the equivalent of declaring her a guest, not a hostage. “Two hundred guineas is the price you set. Is my note of hand good enough?”
“From you, good enough. They tell me you’re a man of your word.” But Lazarus inspected the paper before he handed it to Hawker and said, “Put this away somewhere. You, Daffy, are free to leave.”
Shaking, Daffy stood up. She said, “No.”
She kept her hands on the table for support. Anyone could have knocked her sideways with the poke of a finger. But there she was, defying Lazarus.
“No what?” Lazarus, at his sarcastic best, could strip the skin off.
“No, I won’t leave. Tell me where he is.”
“You did damn all to take care of him so far. Now, when it’s convenient, you want him back. Are you going to put him in an orphanage to save your precious reputation? Or pay some clodhoppers to raise him, mucking out the cow shed and pulling his forelock when the squire drives by? He’s better off here.”
There had been a certain shoulder-shrugging disinterest among the Brotherhood. That was gone when Lazarus said, “He’s better off here.”
Someone did calculations out loud and said, “Five or six years old. Which one?” People started sizing up candidates among the street rats and criminal apprentices.
