Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “Did you get a look at the person who attacked you?” I asked.

  “No, nothing I am afraid that would help. The man wore all black…”

  “He? Do you know this for a fact?”

  “Like I said, it was a large figure in the doorway. With the height and apparent strength, I assumed it to be a man. He wore a hooded cloak, which if I think about it, appeared too large for him.”

  “Why do you say that?” Pierre said.

  “It hung over his face,” he paused and looked at Pierre then me.

  “What is it?”

  “His face, it was pale. No, that is not true. It was not pale. White, yes stark white. There was no expression of shock, anger, or anything else one would expect on the face of a man who just murdered two people.”

  Pierre and I glanced at each other. Without speaking a word, we knew we were both thinking the same thing. The murderer wore the mask stolen from the Reid’s, and unless we were looking at two rare masks, or one being sold, the crimes were committed by the same person.

  “Madam, in the last few weeks or days, have you seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary?” Pierre leaned to one side and peered in the window as he waited for Mrs. Quinn to respond.

  “I do not want to say it was unusual. Perhaps out of character would be a better description. It happened a few days ago. The day after we gave away our tickets to the opera, to be exact.”

  “What happened?” Pierre asked.

  “Mrs. Durant had a bad leg. It gave her fits of pain every day, so she did not get out of the house much. The day in question, our servant was taking our chamber pots out back to empty them. Our servant is a little feeble in the mind, so I was outside keeping an eye on her when I ran into Mrs. Durant. She was coming out of the back door. It was almost as if she was sneaking out of her home. She appeared a bit nervous when I approached. She said she was running late for an appointment, and was not able to stop for one of our chats. I offered to help her, but she insisted it was not necessary.” Mrs. Quinn looked at Pierre then me. “I know it does not sound like much, but you must understand. Mrs. Durant never went anywhere without her husband, never. For her to slip out the back door on her own was peculiar.”

  “Did she take a carriage?”

  “No, at least not that I noticed.”

  “Well, thank you, both.” Pierre bowed.

  “I cannot imagine anything we said was of any significance,” the coachman said.

  “I see you are still lingering where you are not wanted, Mr. Baptiste.” Mr. Wilcox stood at the front door. “I do hope you are not getting in the way of this investigation.”

  “Just a concerned citizen, Mr. Wilcox, looking for answers.”

  “Do you not have someplace else to be, Mr. Baptiste?” Mr. Wilcox turned toward me. “Thomas, I think it is time we discussed the promised debt you owe me. Shall we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning? I believe you know how to find me. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and wait for the constable and coroner.” Mr. Wilcox bowed and took off down the street.

  “Come on,” Pierre said. “We need to check out the place of the murder before he comes back.”

  “I shall whistle when I see Mr. Wilcox approach,” the coachman said. He smiled and nodded.

  “Thank you, sir.” I said as we entered the house.

  The air inside the house was tainted with the faint odor of death. To the left of the foyer was the dining room, and beyond that the kitchen. The sitting room, which was where the murders took place, was to our right. We entered the room. The stench of blood and death was palpable in the small, enclosed space. Mrs. Durant’s body was on the couch with her neck slashed. Blood splatted her pale blue dress, the couch, and the floor. To our left, Mr. Durant’s body lay on his back. Blood soaked his white shirt and waistcoat from a wound in his chest. A lamp lay shattered on the floor near a rather large wooden box. A red tapestry lay to one side of the box. The coffer’s lid was open. I remained quiet to allow Pierre time to think and #determine the order of events.

  Pierre leaned over the sofa and inspected the woman’s wound. He rubbed his finger in her blood, then walked over to her husband’s body. Pierre knelt down and unbuttoned Mr. Durant’s shirt. Lifting the saturated fabric, Pierre inspected the wound, then stood.

  “Well?” I questioned.

  “Mrs. Durant was murdered first.” He looked at me and must have noticed the questioning stare. “Her blood is tacky, whereas Mr. Durant’s blood hasn’t set yet, which means she died before he did.” He turned on his heels. “If she were on the couch when the robber entered the home, he would have had to have come in through the front door and into the foyer. Otherwise, she would have seen him from where she sat.” He walked over to the arched doorway between the foyer and sitting room, following what he believed to be the killer’s steps. “The killer came in here. He, we shall assume, until evidence suggests otherwise, and found Mrs. Durant sitting on the couch—” he walked toward the woman’s body “—he came up behind her and slashed her throat before she had time to make any noise.” He leaned over the body. “There is bruising on the back of her neck, and her ear lobes are bloody, indicating the robber ripped jewelry from her body.” He turned his head and stood straight as he looked toward the second body. “The person would have to have known that the coffer was used as an end table and covered by the heavy cloth. There is nothing else disturbed or out of place that I can see.”

  “Just like at the Reid’s,” I said, hoping to add something to the conversation.

  “Exactly, which means the robber knew the location of the coffer. He, or she, walked over to it, and again opened it, either with its key…”

  “Or perhaps the thief is versed in picking locks.”

  “A good point, Thomas. Mr. Durant must have caught him in the act. They struggled and then he stabbed Mr. Durant through the heart.” A loud whistle came in through the front door. I tapped on the window nearest to where the coachman sat outside to let him know we heard his signal. Pierre and I made our way through the house and left through the back door, leaving Mr. Wilcox none the wiser.

  To my surprise, several of the guests were still lingering in the dining room by the time we made it back. Sheppard and Bess were at the table. He had taken off his shirt, and Bess was wrapping some torn cloth around his arm.

  “How are you doing?” Pierre asked.

  “I am fine, or will be, sir. Thank you for inquiring as to the state of my health. I…” He winced as Bess tightened the knot. “Thanks to Miss. Dutton.” He smiled. “What did you find out?”

  “Not a lot, I am afraid. We believe—” Pierre stopped as Mr. Wilcox walked into the dining room, escorted by one of the constables.

  “My apologies once again for such an unfortunate end to our dinner. This is Constable Gault, who will be assisting me. The coroner has arrived and is over at the Durant’s home inspecting the bodies.” He looked around the room. His eyes locked onto Pierre’s. There was a spark of heat and an air of contention between the two men. “I know it is late, but if you would all bear with us for a few more moments, the constable would like to question each of you about your knowledge of the Durant’s.” Mr. Wilcox stepped aside as the constable made his rounds.

  “Pierre, what did Mr. Wilcox say to you earlier this evening?”

  “This is not the time, Thomas.”

  “I think this is a perfect time, as I have been summoned to see him tomorrow morning. If it is about me, I have a right to know.”

  “It was not about you.” Pierre sighed. “He threatened me if you must know.”

  “What?” Bess looked at me, then to Pierre. “What would he have against you?”

  “Our feud goes back twenty odd years, though until tonight I did not think he remembered me.”

  “I do not understand. Mr. Wilcox never mentioned knowing you to me.”

  “We were both young, rough, and rambunctious. Jonathan was the leader of a gang of highwaymen, who were terrorizing travelers. A
t the same time, I was getting into quite a bit of trouble and had found myself arrested. I was terrified of dying by the noose. I begged the judge to help me right my ways. They promised to spare my life if I would infiltrate Mr. Wilcox’s gang of thieves and bring them in one by one. I used my street name at the time. I thought my real identity was safe. I guess my assumption in that regard was wrong.” Pierre stole a glance toward Mr. Wilcox and Constable Gault. “He does not like us interfering with his investigations, and we were to back off or he would destroy me.”

  “How can he make such threats against you?” Bess asked. “You are not doing anything illegal.”

  “If he wanted to, I suppose he could get us for perverting the course of justice, but much more efficient would be to have me exiled to France.”

  “What in the hell for?” I asked.

  “If he knows who I am, then he knows I am not a British citizen.”

  “You are not?” Bess and I said in unison. I looked at Sheppard he remained straight faced at the news.

  “I assumed you knew, Thomas. My father was French. My mother was a whore. The reason I came to England was to get away from my father. I have no British heritage to claim.”

  “I knew of your parentage. I guess I never made the connection about your citizenship.”

  “I am sorry, Pierre.” Bess placed her hand on his shoulder. “If you think it would be of any use, I could speak to him, ask him to back off.”

  “Thank you, but no. I do not want you to get stuck in the middle of our old feud. Besides, I get the feeling our magistrate does not take your friendship with a bunch of sodomites with a kind heart.”

  “He has no right to judge anyone.” Bess looked around the room before continuing. “He is an arrogant arse of a man.

  “Then why stay with him?”

  “Careful, the arseman cometh.” I nodded in Mr. Wilcox’s direction.

  “I shall be handling your statement.” Mr. Wilcox pulled a chair up and sat down. “Sheppard, is it?”

  “Oui, Nicholas Sheppard.”

  “English is preferred, Sheppard. I take it you are a French citizen?”

  “I am.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Bess asked.

  “It does not” Pierre walked over and stood beside Sheppard. “Stick to the matter at hand, Mr. Wilcox or this interrogation will end now.”

  “As you wish.” He nodded. “Sheppard, I am sure you have told everyone here of the events you witnessed, but I am going to have to ask you to repeat it all for me. Despite the fanciful notions of others, I am the one here tonight who has authority in this matter.”

  Sheppard looked at Pierre. Pierre nodded then Sheppard began to recount the events of the evening. Bess remained by Sheppard side, her hand resting on his shoulder. I could tell by Mr. Wilcox’s reddened face, and constant stare he was not pleased where Bess placed her attention.

  “There is nothing else you can remember?” Mr. Wilcox leaned back in his chair and eyed Sheppard with suspicion.

  “No, sir.”

  “Why is it you keep looking at Mr. Baptiste? Has he given you lines to rehearse or prompted you in any way?”

  “Jonathan.” Bess stepped forward.

  Mr. Wilcox stood and placed his hand on his sword as if ready to draw. “I will not tolerate this, Mr. Baptiste. If I find out you or any of your fuck whores have kept information from me, I will arrest you and everyone else.”

  “Back off, Mr. Wilcox.” I stepped between him and Pierre. “We have done nothing to hinder the investigation, and I will not have you harassing us. Is that understood?” I knew I was overstepping my bounds, but I had to know how far I could push Mr. Wilcox, which would tell me if he still believed me to have documents against him. I saw his jaws clenching and grinding as he held back his anger. He sighed, let go of his sword, then straightened his jacket. His retreat, even the small one he took, told me what I needed to know.

  “My apologies.” He lowered his head. “It has been a long and trying day, and it looks as if the night will be just as long. Thank you for your time, Sheppard.” He bowed, turned to depart, then made a quick turn around on his heels. “Bess, please take one of the spare rooms tonight. I shall take you back in the morning. You know my house is always open to you.”

  “Thank you, but no. I shall ride back with Thomas and Pierre and help them get Nicholas, comfortable. I am sure one of them will take me home.”

  “As you wish.” He shot me a cold glance. “Thomas, tomorrow morning.” He turned and walked out of the dining room.

  “How are you feeling?” Pierre asked Sheppard.

  “Tired and the ache in my head is getting worse. I…” he shook his head and never completed his thought.

  “We need to get him back to Clapton’s and into bed.” Pierre looked at Bess. “Thank you, Bess, for your assistance.”

  “It is the least I can do after the way Jonathan treated all of you.”

  “Thomas.” Pierre bent down under one of Sheppard’s arms. “If you wouldn’t mind getting under Sheppard’s other arm, I think we can get him out to the carriage without too much discomfort.”

  “Hang on, Sheppard,” I said. He looked at me. His eyes seemed distant and not at all with us. “He does not look well, Pierre.”

  “Here, then let me just carry him. If you can get the doors.” Pierre slipped his free arm under the crook of Sheppard’s knees then lifted him. Sheppard groaned. His head nodded and came to rest on Pierre’s shoulders. Bess and I hurried out in front of Pierre to hold the doors.

  “Shall I take the carriage?” Bess placed her hands on her hips as we stopped and stared at her. “Oh, come on. I may be a woman,” she hesitated. “Look, I have ridden a lot of wild stallions in my days, a horse and carriage cannot be that different.” She winked, opened the carriage door for us, before she climbed up front and took the reins, keeping the horses steady as we struggled to get ourselves situated with Sheppard. I knocked on the roof, letting Bess know we were ready. “Hang on.” She called out then took off down the road, guiding us through the city streets.

  The moment we got Sheppard undressed and in bed, I pulled off my wig and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to rid the itchy residue of the powder. I heard Christopher stirring upstairs then his footsteps in the back hallway. I stepped out into the living area and was welcomed with a warm embrace and kiss.

  “How are your parents?”

  “They are well, thank you. We came back here for a while hoping to see you. My parents were getting tired. I took them back to the inn.”

  “Sorry we are late.”

  “I was starting to worry about the two of you.” Christopher glanced over my shoulder and noticed Pierre and Bess standing at Sheppard’s bedside. “What happened?”

  “There was another robbery and double murder tonight. This time in Mayfair just a short distance away from the party.” I snuggled against Christopher’s body as he brought his arm about my shoulder. “Sheppard witnessed the criminal leaving the house and tried to stop him.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Yes, he just needs some rest.” I touched his chin and brought his face back toward mine and kissed him again.

  “What is that for?”

  “Does there have to be a reason?”

  “Not at all. I prefer your affection when no reasons are involved other than you love me.” He winked and gave me another kiss.

  “Oh, I am sorry.” Bess came into the room. “Thomas, Pierre would like some alcohol to clean Nicholas’ wounds. I would get it myself, but I am unfamiliar with your kitchen and where you put everything.” She walked toward us. “How are you, Christopher?” She kissed his cheek.

  “Better than the four of you apparently.”

  “Let me get some for you,” I said.

  “Oh, and a jar of honey to protect the cuts, before he wraps them” Bess walked over to the bar. “This was the famous Mother Claps.” The tone of her voice was one of awe.

 
“Yes, the front half of the public house was the public side of the business where Mr. Clap worked. Before the raids, there was a small hallway connecting the two places. There was not a public entrance to Mother’s. Movement between the two spaces happened in secret. During the rebuilding, I had the hallway removed and a door installed between the two to ease transportation of supplies back and forth without having to leave the pub, walk around to the cellar, and back again.” I smiled at the memories. “Before the raids, this place was always full of men laughing, drinking, dancing, and looking for a little fun.” A tear dampened my eye and rolled down my cheek.

  “I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you.”

  “You did not. Sometimes an unexpected moment of grief comes over me. I miss Mother, and everything she was to me and the other men.”

  “You could make it that way again.”

  “When I found out Mother had left this place to me, I promised myself I would reopen it to keep her memory alive because I thought that is what she would have wanted.”

  “And now?”

  “She’d want me safe and above all happy, and I have that with Christopher and Pierre. I do not want to put them or anyone for that matter in harm’s way. Some of Mother’s regulars have come back, but the memories and fears are too raw even after two years. No one wants to relive those times again. We no longer offer rooms for rent. Sexual interactions happen elsewhere in less public places. It is safer that way.” I handed Bess a bottle of cheap spirits and the jar of honey. “You should get these to Pierre.”

  “You are a remarkable young man, Thomas Newton.” She leaned over the bar and for the first time in our friendship kissed me on the lips. She winked then took the supplies and headed back to Sheppard’s room and closed the door.