The door behind him opened and he looked up, expecting to see his servant come in with a fresh shirt. It was Hugh. He was worn, and his shoulders slumped, but Hawkshaw could not see any sign of wounds. They looked at each other for a moment with satisfaction, then Hugh held out a long plain bottle toward him.
“Here. Brought this for you. My father sent over a half-dozen bottles of brandy so the mess can toast him and his new wife. We’ll use it to wash out our wounds.”
Hawkshaw took it from him and lifted it high, letting a long draft into his mouth and swilled it over his gums. It found the wound and made him wince. He could not say anything about the quality of the liquor. All he could taste was his own blood and dirt.
Hugh watched him. “Can you talk?” he asked.
“Yes. It looks worse than it is. No long speeches from me though. Who did you lose?”
Hugh kicked out at the wall of the little hut hard enough to make the floorboards jump.
“Four good men. Young, Spicely, Ball and Tom Cartwright. Spicely was one of the first killed up at the bridge. The animals scalped him. And Cartwright died hard. He only joined up six months ago, comes from my home, and took one in the guts. He was looking at me in the eye as he died, rattling back on the cart, and all I could think of was how pathetic that little mustache he’s been trying to grow looked. He was a baby still. And all the time looking at me like I’m a god who can heal him with a handshake and trying to be brave.”
“It was good you stayed with him.”
“Much good it did him. To hell with it! Four good men! And for what? Throwing half a ton of shot into a duckpond, and burning a couple of gun carriages.”
Hawkshaw passed him the brandy bottle and Hugh took a long gulp of it before he continued. “We cannot afford to throw men away like this. Two others wounded, won’t be fit for months. I’ll have to fill the company again. What about you? Seen your injured yet?”
“Of course. Parkinson looks in a bad way. The others who made it back will live. Thank God Percy made enough noise to be allowed to come up and cover the retreat. There’d be a lot fewer of us here now if he hadn’t.”
Hugh sat down heavily on the bed. “I shall send him some of the brandy.”
Hawkshaw watched him in silence for a moment, then began the work of getting blood and grit out from his fingernails.
“It’s true about the marriage, by the way.” Hugh looked at the emptying brandy bottle. “Of course you know. My father writes to say she will be an ornament to Thornleigh and the London scene.”
Hawkshaw took a seat on his trunk, and reached an arm out for the bottle again without comment.
“My father has made us ridiculous, and thinks it all a very fine joke. I hope he chokes on it.”
“I met an old friend of your family today.”
Hugh looked up with his eyebrows raised.
“A man called Shapin. He heard Gregson mention your name and claimed to know you as a child.”
“I don’t recall the name.”
“Seems he was a servant, transported for theft when you were a boy.”
Hugh shrugged and took the bottle back again.
“I am surprised my father didn’t arrange to have him swing. He has never been forgiving of other people’s sins.”
Hugh held the bottle to his forehead, as if he expected to find some cool and comfort in it.
PART IV
1
MONDAY, 5 JUNE 1780
Susan must have slept, but as the light began to crawl between the shutters, and she heard the familiar sounds of a London street beginning to stir like a drunk awakening from bad dreams, it seemed to her she had spent the whole night watching the shadows on the ceiling.
She had asked Graves and Miss Chase if she might be able to tell her brother about his-about their-strange change in situation and expectation, and the three of them had decided to say nothing to anyone else until she had had time to do so. It seemed right to her that she should tell him, but the decision to do so was easier than the telling. She had promised herself it would be after supper, then told herself that Jonathan was tired and needed rest, and now she had lost her own chance of sleep trying to find words that were gentle and right, and would be clearly understood.
She sighed and sat up, then swung her feet to the floor to watch him sleeping in the bed next to hers. His blond hair fell over the pillow, his arms thrown out as if he were racing up some steep slope in his dreams. His skin was as perfect and pale as the first clouds. She reached over and shook his shoulder roughly.
“Jonathan! Jonathan, wake up.”
He stirred and opened his eyes. She saw in them the same confusion she felt whenever she woke in this room. Those first few seconds of peace, then doubt as the familiar objects of their own room in Tichfield Street above the shop failed to appear, then the squeeze of his eyes, the little gulp in his chest as he remembered where he was, what had happened.
“Jonathan, I have to tell you something.”
He pulled himself up onto his elbows, and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”
“Are you awake?”
“’Course I’m awake. You just shook me.”
“Our name isn’t Adams, it is Thornleigh. You are probably a viscount, and you’ll be an earl some day.”
Jonathan frowned at his sheets. “Of where?”
“Sussex.”
He looked across at her. “Oh. Is that where the picture comes from?”
“What picture?”
“The one on Papa’s ring. With the dragon and the bird holding a shield. Perhaps that man knows.”
“It’s a phoenix and you’re talking silly-what man?”
Jonathan sat up properly and said indignantly, “I am not talking silly! The man showed me a picture like the one on the ring and asked if I’d seen it. I told him about the ring and he said I was clever. Then he promised he’d come back and give me a waistcoat just like his. I liked it, it was nice. But he hasn’t come back.”
“When, Jonathan? What man?”
“Days and days ago. I just told you. He was called Carter. Like horse and carter. Why?”
“Perhaps he took the ring!” She let her voice drop and plucked at the bedclothes. “He did not look like … the other man?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No, and he was nice. Why would he take the ring? He had the picture.” They considered this for a moment, then the boy looked at her again with his head on one side. “If I am a viscount, does that mean you are a lady or something?”
Susan swung her feet. “Probably.”
Jonathan yawned and wriggled back among his sheets, and put his head on the pillow.
“They will make you learn French.”
Susan’s eyes widened.
Crowther did not come home till Cartwright’s body had been decently laid out, spending the time between his death and the moment the women told him that the body was clean and at rest in the glovemaker’s kitchen, drinking red wine with Michaels. The huge man had left the house as soon as Crowther had closed Joshua’s eyes with his long white fingers, only to return before many minutes had passed with a bottle of burgundy clasped like a toy in his huge hand, and carrying two glasses which he rubbed briefly on the edge of his shirt and set down on the table without comment.
Crowther took the glass offered him with a nod and drank deep. He wondered if he would be asked to perform an autopsy on the man. He realized he did not wish it. He had seen the effects of arsenic poisoning on the organs of a dog in London, and did not think it would add much to the sum of his knowledge to see what the poison had done to the systems of a man. He felt the wine hit his empty stomach and warm it. Without realizing he was doing so, he stretched his limbs and sighed. Michaels was watching him narrowly.
“All the bottles and jars are locked away,” the innkeeper said. “He had not taken anything to eat before the attack came on since his breakfast. Perhaps, though, you should take away the bottle that was opened from the Hall and lock it up in your
medicine cabinet.”
Crowther looked up in surprise. “You think it unsafe here?”
Michaels shrugged and spread out his thick fingers in front of him.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Crowther. There are two bottles. One had been drunk from, the other not. Take the opened one away with you for my peace of mind. I’d rather not say what I think. Hardly know myself.”
Crowther turned back to his wine without commenting further. They remained in silence till the bottle was empty and the sky outside the kitchen window was beginning to thin from a summer dawn to its first full light. The door opened, and a young-looking woman came in with a firm step and a bundle of linens that she took out through the back door. She returned and laid her hand on Michaels’s shoulder. He grasped it and held it briefly to his cheek. She bent over to kiss the top of his head, and Crowther felt his heart reach out. He had not seen Michaels’s wife before, had not imagined so trim and young a woman, had not imagined they could portray such an allegory of domestic support. She seemed to feel his eyes, and looked up at him.
“Mr. Crowther, you and my husband should go home and rest now. Hannah and I will keep vigil.”
He nodded, but when he stood, his feet took him upstairs again to the sick room. There were herbs burning in a little brass dish on one side of the room, and candles had been set on either side of where Joshua lay. Hannah sat in the chair that Crowther had occupied most of the night, and she stood hurriedly when the door creaked open. Crowther waved her back into her seat, and looked at the face of the body on the bed. How strange it was, how dead the dead looked. Joshua could never be mistaken for a man at rest. The body was empty and senseless; whatever had been human had left him. He noticed Hannah wipe her eyes.
“You were fond of your master?”
She nodded, looking a little frightened. “Yes, sir. And …”
Perhaps tiredness was making him gentle, for his voice was softer than usual. “What, child?”
She sighed and laid her hand on the bed beside her master. “Squire Bridges was asking all sorts of things, about the poison for the mice. I’m afraid they’ll say it was my fault, sir.” Her hand patted the arm of the corpse like a woman settling a child. “As if I’d ever hurt him.”
Crowther was silent for a second, looking at her profile in the candlelight.
“I know you did not.” She smiled up at him, quick and grateful. “And if you have any problem finding another position, you will be welcome in my household.”
“I should like that, sir.” She looked back down at the body beside her. “But my place is here for now.”
Crowther bowed with no less respect than he would have shown to a duchess, left the room, and pausing only to receive a bundle from Michaels with a heavy nod, walked out of the front door and back to his own house.
2
Susan thought that having told her brother her news she would sleep, but she was more awake than ever. She stepped softly over to the shutter and pulled it open a way, flinching as the brightness of the morning hit her eyes. The room she and Jonathan were sharing was on the upper floor of the house, and she could see across the city strange plumes of smoke exhaling into the sky as if half a dozen giants about London were smoking their first pipes of the day. Something caught her eye and she looked down. The thin man who seemed to be interested in Mr. Graves was looking up at her. He caught her eye and swept off his hat with a flourish that made her smile. Then he looked either way along the road and lifted his hand to beckon her. She frowned. He beckoned again. She turned back into the room. Mr. Graves did not like this man, she had seen that. In fact, he did not seem comfortable when this man was around. Perhaps if she asked him, he would go away. She did not want Mr. Graves to be uncomfortable. She wanted him, she realized, to stay as near to her and Jonathan as it was possible to keep him.
Giving herself a firm little nod, she dressed quickly, padding through the sleeping house and turning the key to the street door as quietly as she could. One of the under-maids was cleaning out the grate in the front parlor, and she turned in surprise to look at her. Susan gave her a tight little smile and slipped out into the street while the maid, hardly older than Susan herself, was still looking about in confusion.
The street was quiet still, but Susan approached Molloy bravely enough.
“You are Miss Adams.”
His face was very lined, but not yellow. She found herself strangely reassured, and almost corrected him, before she remembered the dangers of her new name and replied with a nod.
“And you are Mr. Molloy. You make Mr. Graves uncomfortable.”
He let out a crack of laughter that made her jump back a step. He put one hand up to reassure her while producing a handkerchief with the other and dabbing his eyes.
“Oh, do I, miss? Do I indeed? Well, it is an uncomfortable thing to owe money, and a more uncomfortable thing still to be held to account for it. Uncomfortable or not, I must be paid today, or I shall see Mr. Graves taken up for debt by dinnertime. I have a wife and child to feed.”
“What do you mean, ‘taken up’?” She frowned up at him.
“Prison, missy,” he said, folding his handkerchief very carefully again and putting it in his waistcoat. “He must stay there if I cannot have my money.”
Susan put her head on one side. “Are your wife and child hungry?”
He looked rather surprised. “No, sunbeam, not yet. But they may come to be for the want of those twenty shillings, some day. The world has a way of spinning awful quick and sudden, you know that.” She nodded slowly, there was truth in that. “And so we must keep our friends about us, and money is the best friend I know.”
She opened her eyes at him. “Mr. Graves is the best friend my brother and I have. And you want to take him away.”
He stuck out his chin. “I do not. I just want the money.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked past her into the street. Susan continued to examine the end of his chin.
“I don’t have any,” she said. He still kept up his casual survey of the street over the top of her head and shrugged. She bit her lip, then breathed in sharply and began to pull on the gold chain about her neck. “But I do have this ring.”
He looked down quickly enough then. His eyes caught the gold gleam of the ring and the sparkle of the brilliants. His voice became low and lustful.
“That’d do it, girly. That’d do it! We’d be all square if you hand that over.”
“If I give it to you, you’ll leave us and not take Mr. Graves away?”
He bobbed his head. “He’ll be as safe as safe when I have that in my hand, sunbeam.”
“It was my mother’s.” She said it softly.
Molloy glanced up and down the street again. “Your mother would want you to keep your friends about you, don’t you think?”
She thought. She would always have the miniature, and she would rather have Mr. Graves than the ring. Susan felt tears behind her eyes. She blinked them away. Strange how these little things could help keep Graves safe. She wished the yellow-faced man had given her a chance to bargain.
“I must keep the chain so Miss Chase does not know it is gone.”
She reached behind her neck to unfasten the clasp. Molloy paused a moment, then shrugged.
“Aye, aye, keep the chain, just the ring, missy.”
He put his hand out, rubbing his thumb and fingertips. There was a sudden clatter, and he looked over her head again with a curse. Susan heard her name called, and turned, her hands still feeling behind her neck, to see Miss Chase striding across to them, her hair all loose and her eyes glittering. She put her hand on Susan’s shoulder as she reached them. Molloy straightened, and began to look a little pale.
“Mr. Molloy! Explain yourself.”
“Just a bit of business, Miss Chase.” Molloy ran the tip of his tongue over his thin lips. “No need to concern yourself.”
Susan’s heart began to thump heavily in her chest. “Please, Miss Chase! If I just let him
have the ring then he won’t take Mr. Graves to prison. Please let me. I do not want Mr. Graves to go away.”
The last words came almost as a wail. Susan felt Miss Chase’s grip on her shoulder tighten. She looked at Molloy.
“Terrify a child two days after she saw her father killed, would you? How dare you call yourself a man?”
Molloy straightened, though he still struggled to look Miss Chase in the eye.
“All very sad, I’m sure, miss. But business is business. You can give me the ring, sunbeam. Miss Chase has nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, is that so?” Miss Chase was quite flushed. Susan put her hands on the clasp again.
“You must let me. Please.”
Miss Chase pulled a little purse from her waistband. “What is the debt, Molloy? I shall pay it before I let you rob this child.”
He muttered something under his breath Susan was sure she should not hear.
“Twenty shillings. And there is no robbery about it, Miss Chase. You have no right to say so.”
“I wonder what people would say if they heard this story, Molloy.” Miss Chase’s eyebrows drew together threateningly.
“You must not pay it!” Susan stamped her foot. “He wouldn’t like it! You know he wouldn’t. He’d be ashamed and not come near us. It must be me who pays. He looks after me! We owe him and you do not!”
Miss Chase looked confused. Susan stared up at her with desperate seriousness. Molloy gave a thin smile.
“No matter to me who pays, but I have other business to attend to, so if you don’t mind hurrying along, ladies …”
Miss Chase glanced up at him with a sneer. “Oh be quiet, Molloy. You’ve been hanging round here for days, and I am thinking.”
Instruments of Darkness caw-1 Page 19
