Death and the Harlot

by Death

  ‘Your wheedling won’t work on me, hussy. I have work to do and no time for idle chatter. No one is allowed into this tavern until a decent time has passed.’

  It is difficult to argue with decency, even when you know that the real motives are less honourable.

  I sighed.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, we must sadly leave Mrs Bardwell to her cleaning and polishing. This tavern will be the talk of London very soon and the customers will expect the very best when they come to gawp. I only hope,’ I said loudly, sweeping my skirts in exaggerated disdain, ‘that there is still a welcome for Mrs Farley’s girls once the fashionably curious have moved on. We do, after all, attract a good custom in the ordinary times.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The men grumbled at me as they trailed behind. I had suggested the tavern and it was closed. The murdered man was being removed. There was no body, no adventure, no drink and no food. We reached the corner of Wardour Street and I stopped.

  ‘Well, if we can’t poke about inside the White Horse, then perhaps we might ask people outside if they saw anything?’ I said, hoping to encourage a little enthusiasm, but their hope of a daring escapade had dwindled.

  Winchcombe declared that he was off to bed, or perhaps he would find supper first. ‘Or is it breakfast now?’ Herring, too, was yawning.

  ‘What about you?’ I said to Charles, expecting that he would also want to find a bed – possibly even his own. To my surprise, he agreed to join me.

  ‘I’ll come, although you know my thoughts. But if there are cutthroats roaming the streets, even in daylight, I can offer my protection.’

  When the other two had said farewell, we stood and watched the street sellers. An oyster girl sat in a doorway, picking beards from the shells she had yet to sell, and a man heaving a cart of salted pork exchanged a few words with her as he stopped to rearrange his wares.

  Three women turned into Compton Street and passed the time of day together in such a way as suggested they were friendly with one another. Their clothes were clean enough, if a little shabby. Kindred spirits. I raised a hand to them and one waved back. It was Just Sallie.

  ‘Sallie! How delightful to see you.’ I curtseyed to her and she shrieked with laughter. I could smell the gin at five paces.

  ‘Well, if isn’t my big sister Lizzie!’ She seemed impossibly pleased to see me and quickly introduced her new friends Bess and Kitty. Kitty was no more than sixteen, tight blond curls peeping from under her bonnet, a saucy expression and plump lips. Bess, on the other hand, was a plain thing, square-faced and with eyes as small as raisins. She could not have been much over twenty, not much older than me, but already she looked worn out. I wondered at their existence, but knew better than to pry.

  ‘You found a new gown, I see.’ Sallie was in pale pink sprigged cotton with a matching bonnet. It wasn’t a good fit – second-hand clothes rarely are – but it made her skin look less sallow.

  ‘I had a bath, too. What do you think?’ She twirled, and for a moment she was a giggling child.

  ‘It’s charming. You look like a rose bud. I hope that it was a good business investment.’

  She gave me a toothy smile.

  ‘It was the best use of other people’s money that I have ever made, Lizzie. I haven’t been back to Covent Garden in two days.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

  ‘Is that your gentleman?’ Kitty nodded over to Charles, who was in deep conversation with the pork man.

  ‘For now, he is,’ I said. Although Charles would be happy to spend an hour or two with a pretty little nymph like her, I was in no doubt.

  ‘Were any of you ladies out in this street yesterday?’ I wasn’t standing in the street for an idle conversation. ‘In the hours before midnight.’

  Kitty shook her head.

  ‘I was in Thrift Street and then I went to the Bull’s Head until nearly dawn.’

  Bess shrugged.

  ‘I wasn’t in this street at all. I decided to try nearer to Oxford Street and met a couple of culls in the alleys before heading back to wait for Kitty.’ She smiled at her friend. ‘We look out for one another.’ That was kind, but I thought that Kitty wouldn’t look back for Bess if she were snapped up by a decent bawdy house.

  ‘What about you, Sallie? Were you on this street last night?’

  ‘I may have been. I think I was, but I can’t rightly remember. I’m still trying to work out where places are.’

  The drink would not help her memory.

  ‘I want to find someone, anyone, who may have seen a large gentleman in this street last night. He was wearing a dark green coat and probably had a full wig with a plain hat. An old man with a large stomach.’

  ‘Why are you looking for a man like that when you have such a handsome one already?’ Kitty smirked at me.

  ‘Because this gentleman was killed last night, and I am trying to find out what happened to him.’ That took the wind from her sails. ‘He was lately a companion of mine and I was rather shocked to hear that he had died.’

  ‘He died in this street?’ said Bess. Her mouth hung open in horror. ‘I didn’t hear about it.’

  ‘He died in the back yard of the White Horse. He was strangled with his own handkerchief.’

  Sallie swayed a little and steadied herself on Kitty’s arm.

  ‘Lizzie! That’s terrible! And he was a customer of yours?’

  ‘You didn’t kill him, then?’ Kitty was very sharp.

  ‘Of course not, otherwise why would I still be out on the street? I’d be in hiding, surely.’

  She nodded slowly – as if thinking through what she would be doing, had she just murdered a man.

  ‘Sallie, are you sure you can’t recall seeing him? Or anything suspicious, or anyone acting strangely around the White Horse last night?’

  ‘Sorry, Lizzie. I might have had a mouthful of purl – just to keep me warm. I’ll be sure to let you know if I do remember something.’

  I wouldn’t drink purl if I was freezing to death. A disgusting mixture of milk and rancid gin – or whatever else they put in it. It was cheap, and it got you drunk, though. A lot of the street girls drank it just to get through the night’s work.

  ‘Your gentleman is calling for you,’ said Bess. Charles was beckoning me over to the man with the cart.

  ‘Well, I’d better go, then,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘I’ll see you soon Sallie, if you’re staying around here. And very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ I said to the other two, as the three of them danced off along the street. Charles looked up as they went by him and touched his hat. He said something to them and they burst into squeals of laughter. Sallie and Kitty looked with longing at the man who was both handsome and wealthy, presumably offering him their charms, until Bess tugged them away and they skipped off arm in arm.

  I sighed and walked over to him. The oyster girl got up from her step, put the basket on her head and wandered away.’

  ‘Lovely ladies,’ he said, watching them go. ‘Friends of yours?’

  ‘We’re in the same line of business, but I wouldn’t say we’re close.’

  He laughed.

  ‘The little one had rather pretty curls.’

  ‘Kitty? Is she the girl you met last night?’

  ‘No, I think I would have remembered her.’

  I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of my jealousy.

  ‘What did you find out?’ I asked. ‘I hope your conversation was more fruitful than mine.’

  ‘The girls didn’t see anything, then?’ He was still watching them as they pushed and pulled each other, pausing now and again to glance back at him and giggle.

  ‘It seems not. Kitty and Bess were elsewhere last night and if Sallie did see anything at all she now cannot remember it because, as far as I can tell, aside from that badly-made pink gown, she has spent most of her money on gin and purl.’

  ‘I think I may have fared better, then.’ He pointed over to the pork seller, who was tugg
ing his cart down towards St Anne’s.

  ‘He saw something?’

  ‘No, but he’s heard people saying that Swann’s men are around.’

  John Swann again.

  ‘Charles, I really don’t think…’

  He cut my words off with a wave of his hand.

  ‘I know you don’t agree, Lizzie, but it’s obvious. These men think nothing of stabbing and shooting carriage drivers or cutting the throats of the rich. A man like Reed, flaunting his wealth in taverns, rolling out of decent establishments like Mrs Farley’s, a man like that would be an easy target.’

  He kissed me on the nose and declared that he needed a rest, having been awake for two days. I watched him go and made my way home. It made sense to assume that Reed had been an unlucky victim of a robbery, but Reed had not been stabbed, or shot, or surprised even. It was possible, the more I thought about it, that he had gone out to the yard to meet someone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I reached the house, it was Meg who answered the door and not Sydney, which was odd. She pulled me in quickly and put a finger to her lips before I could ask what was happening.

  Davenport was here, then.

  The door of the parlour was flung open and there he was, casually leaning on the doorpost, as if he owned the house.

  ‘Miss Hardwicke, how good to see you again. Do come in.’

  Mr Grimshaw’s fat head poked through the doorway, the look on his face suggesting that I had little option but to do as I was bid.

  The girls would all be out, I guessed. Lucy would be with one of her rich men, tucked up in a mansion for the rest of the afternoon. Polly and Emily would have found a tavern and be entertaining company. Now that I was stuck with Davenport, my own prospects of a lucrative or enjoyable afternoon were diminishing.

  Mrs Farley sat bold, proud, and resolute at the table. Tommy and Amelia were with her. Amelia was not crying, but she looked tiny and pale. Tommy was subdued. Davenport pulled up a chair for me, while Grimshaw leant against a wall.

  Davenport sat down next to me and laid his hands carefully on the table.

  ‘You’ve been back to the White Horse with three gentlemen from the party, I hear. Did you discover anything to your advantage, or to mine?’

  ‘Mr Bardwell was out assisting the undertakers and Mrs Bardwell was reluctant to let us in. She’s keen to polish and clean the tavern before crowds of morbid-minded drinkers begin to visit.’

  A flicker of amusement crossed his face.

  ‘Is that what she told you?’

  ‘Of course not. She talked about keeping the place closed out of respect for Mr Reed, but she was wiping down the tables even when you were there and, by the look of her, she’s not stopped scrubbing since then.’

  He nodded solemnly.

  ‘Your excellent powers of observation failed to find anything beyond the fact that the White Horse is now very clean?’

  Was he mocking me?

  I frowned back at him. ‘I spoke to three very foolish young ladies, two of whom were elsewhere last night and one of whom might have been in Compton Street, but was too drunk to remember.’ I sighed. ‘Mr Stanford had a conversation with a man selling pork who told him that John Swann’s men were, indeed, hiding in many of the corners of the capital. How he came by this information Mr Stanford didn’t say.’

  ‘Well I imagine that Mr Stanford was more interested in the young ladies anyway.’ He had the measure of Charles.

  ‘Still,’ he turned to the other people in the room, ‘at least I have had the opportunity to meet the famous Tommy.’

  Mr Bridgewater’s eyes were anxious. Had Davenport found his murderer? I hoped not, for Amelia’s sake as well as Tommy’s.

  ‘Are you all right, Amelia?’ She was gazing dreamily over my shoulder, eyes not focussing.

  ‘I’ve given her some brandy,’ said Ma.

  That would explain it. It would also mean that Davenport would have difficulty pressing her for worthwhile answers to his questions. Clever old Ma. She nudged a wedge of bread and a plate of meat and cheese towards me, guessing that I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day; so much had happened that I had barely noticed. It’s why Ma is so good at her profession: she supplies what people need before they even know they need it.

  Davenport turned his attention to Tommy while I began to fill my empty stomach in as delicate a way as possible.

  ‘Tommy was just telling me that he is struggling to find any honest work in London, Miss Hardwicke. Why is that, I wonder?’

  ‘I’ve told you, Mr Davenport, there isn’t so much work for a farrier as I thought at first. At least, no one needs help in the places that I’ve asked,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Have you asked widely?’ I cut across Davenport, mouth still full of bread.

  Tommy’s eyes met mine.

  ‘Not really, Miss Hardwicke, I wanted to be with Amelia, to make sure that she was safe and well before I started to look for work in all seriousness.’

  He was a sweet boy. I poured myself a glass of wine from the jug on the table.

  ‘There you are, Mr Davenport, he hasn’t found any work because he hasn’t really looked for it yet. I’m sure that someone will want a strong and willing young man to assist him,’ I said, knocking back the drink and pouring another.

  Davenport didn’t look convinced.

  ‘You haven’t explained to me why you are both in this part of London in the first place; why Miss Blackwood is in a bawdy house rather than in her own home. Where is her father? Why hasn’t he come to take her away from this place of sin?’

  ‘Mr Davenport!’ Mrs Farley put on her most affronted expression. ‘I have a decent home here. Why shouldn’t she come and lodge with me?’

  Davenport raised a hand from the table.

  ‘There’s no need to be theatrical, Mrs Farley. I am here to ask questions about the murder of a gentleman who was lately known to one of your so-called lodgers, but I could just as easily make life difficult for you with Mr Fielding.’

  The mention of the dreaded name quietened her down at once. Davenport was right: he was doing her a favour by ignoring her business.

  ‘Mr Bridgewater? Where is her father and why is she not with him tonight?’

  Tommy took Amelia’s hand under the table.

  ‘We wished to be wed, sir, that’s the truth of it. But he disapproved. A stable boy is not good enough for his daughter.’

  ‘He is an alderman, Mr Davenport. Alderman Blackwood.’ Amelia spoke softly. ‘He thinks that he is very fine, but he was once a mere apprentice himself. He has forgotten that. He wants his daughter to marry one of his new grand friends – as befits his station.’

  So, Alderman Blackwood was a respectable tradesman who wanted to move up in the world and was prepared to sacrifice his daughter for the privilege. I find such men odious. Give me the dissolute aristocracy or the feckless poor any day; at least when they sell off their children it’s for good reason – to pay off gambling debts or avoid starvation. To pimp your daughter to raise your social status is, frankly, objectionable.

  Tommy banged a fist on the table, causing us all to jump – and spilling some of my wine.

  ‘An old man, Mr Davenport! Think of that. My dearest girl wed to a man three times her age.’ There was a temper inside him. Davenport saw it too.

  ‘You have a real passion there, boy. It might be better to learn to tame it before you confront her father again.’

  Tommy and Amelia exchanged a swift glance.

  ‘Is that why you were forced to leave?’ Davenport leaned forward, catching the scent of a truth.

  ‘Amelia told us that Mr Blackwood caught you together and threw her out.’ I wanted to know the truth as well.

  Tommy’s shoulders sank a little.

  ‘That is the truth, Miss Hardwicke,’ he looked at Davenport. ‘Her father threw her out on the street because she loved me. But it’s not the whole story.’

  He ran a hand nervously through his hair.
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br />   ‘I’ll give you the truth, I swear it, sir. When Mr Blackwood had dealt so harshly with his daughter, I went to find him, to plead with him to take her back and bless our marriage.’

  ‘I imagine he was not keen to hear you.’

  ‘No sir, he was not. He was, I must say it, most unpleasant. He wasn’t concerned for Amelia. He told me that I had lost him the chance to marry into quality. Quality! The man he intended for her is downright ugly and riddled with gout.’ Tommy took a breath and calmed his voice. ‘Then he threatened me. He told me that he would have me whipped, or worse, if I didn’t leave his house.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I, well, I hit him. I couldn’t help it,’ he appealed to Amelia, ‘he was shouting and raging at me and my hand screwed itself up into a fist and I punched him on the chin. Like this.’ He showed us an impressive looking swipe.

  ‘And then I ran.’

  ‘You didn’t check to see whether you had killed him?’

  ‘No sir, I ran as far and as fast as I could, and I am sorry for that. But I am not sorry for punching him.’

  ‘Do we know yet the health of Alderman Blackwood?’

  Amelia nodded.

  ‘He is very much alive, Mr Davenport. I was packing my bag to leave when I heard the commotion. One of the servants told me that Tommy had hit him and that he was shouting like the devil. I didn’t stay to find out any more, but he was certainly alive, and very angry, when I left.’ She beamed lopsidedly at Tommy. The brandy was still working.

  ‘You could still marry, Amelia,’ I said to her. ‘Even if your father has disowned you, why are you waiting?’

  She made a hopeless shrug with her little shoulders. ‘I suppose I still hope that he might love Tommy as I do.’

  I narrowed my eyes at her, realising that there were practical as well as romantic concerns. ‘And I imagine there’s your fortune to consider.’

  She blushed. ‘My father was prepared to set aside a considerable sum when I married, Lizzie. Even half of it would be plenty for us to live on. We have nothing, at present.’

  ‘And then, of course, you have no work, Mr Bridgewater’, said Davenport. ‘And no prospect of work without a decent letter for a new employer.’