A Disappearance in Drury Lane

by Jennifer Ashley

  I did not wait for Denis to initiate the conversation or ask why I’d come. “Leave Mrs. Carfax alone,” I said.

  The flicker in Denis’s eyes might have been humor. “I have no wish to beat upon small elderly widows. I seek merely to ask her why Mr. Spendlove convinced her to tell a lie to the magistrate. If we know more about her, we can intervene and remove Spendlove’s influence.”

  “You mean you will render her more afraid of you than of him,” I said. “You seem confident you can thwart Mr. Spendlove. He made it clear his life’s work is to see you hanged.”

  Another glint of almost-humor. “I am familiar with crusades against me. You have commenced one for a few years now.”

  “I have not necessarily given it up. You murder people, or cause to have them murdered. I am surprised you haven’t murdered me.”

  “I believe I have explained.” Denis folded his hands on the desk. “Though you are a thorn in my side, I find you a very useful thorn. I have no wish to see Mr. Spendlove drag you in for this crime, which I know you did not do. I would not be surprised to learn that Spendlove himself killed Mr. Perry to throw suspicion on you in order to get you into court. There he can put you under oath and ask all sorts of questions about me, or perhaps bargain with you—details about me and my life for your freedom. Such a course would take him nowhere, but he would try.”

  The thought that Spendlove had pursued Perry and killed him in order to pin the blame on me had occurred to me. I was not certain Spendlove would go that far, but I did not know the man well enough to judge. A person obsessed with what he believed could go to any lengths to prove his point. He might even murder to show his disapproval of murder.

  “What do you propose to do?” I asked.

  “About Spendlove? We shall see. About you being accused of murder, I have already taken steps. Consider letting me speak to Mrs. Carfax. It would help.”

  I did not want poor, wretched Mrs. Carfax brought here to him. “She is a timid woman with a weak heart, who has difficulty speaking to anyone but her companion, and certainly not to a man like you. However annoyed I am with her, I will not let you make her ill. Her companion, on the other hand, is a bit more forthcoming. I will persuade Miss Winston to discover what Spendlove threatened Mrs. Carfax with and to tell me. But no hurting either of them.”

  Denis gave me a cold look, this one without any amusement at all. “It is not in my nature to bully the weak for no reason. If I am hard on a man, it is because he deserves it.”

  Admittedly, the murders I had known Denis to commit were of men who’d done terrible things. One had tried robustly to kill Denis and me, and another had helped procure innocent young women for a man of perverse appetites. I’d looked the other way on both. But I’d also seen Denis’s hold over otherwise respectable gentlemen, including me. Denis had located my estranged wife and daughter when I’d been unable to, and then seen to it that my first marriage ended cleanly. I might have found the means, via Grenville and other friends, for the divorce, but I was forever in Denis’s debt for bringing Gabriella back to me, and he knew it. For that service, I now cooperated with him, however reluctantly.

  “You will let me speak to Miss Winston,” I said sternly.

  Denis made a faint gesture with his fingers. “Very well, but I advise you to do it soon. Mr. Spendlove will not wait long to try another way to convince the magistrate to send you to Newgate.”

  I knew he wouldn’t. I was certain Spendlove had someone following me even now.

  I took a sip of the brandy I knew would be very good and stood up. “Stay away from Mrs. Carfax and Miss Winston. I will tell you what I discover.”

  He did not look impressed. “Tell me exactly what you discover, and it will not be necessary.”

  “What about the incendiary device?” I asked. “Have you found out anything in that direction?”

  Denis’s coolness increased, as though I’d committed a social gaffe by asking. “My inquiries proceed. I will send you a message when the person is found. Good evening, Captain.”

  I made him a curt bow. I did not bother to thank him for his time, he made a dismissing motion, and I left him.

  I walked up South Audley Street to my new home, moving slowly now. Because her ladyship was still away, no doorknocker hung on the black-painted panels and no footman waited expectantly in his place outside. My key was still in Bath, and I had to rap with my knuckles on the door of the house in which I now lived to gain admission.

  *** *** ***

  Barnstable had remained in residence while we’d journeyed to Bath. When he found me cold and damp on the doorstep, he had me inside and upstairs in a trice, a hot bath prepared before I was out of my clothes.

  Barnstable had learned of my arrest and was aghast. “Taking a gentleman in the street with no provocation,” he said as he shook out and folded my coat and shirt. “What is the world coming to? If a man gets himself murdered in your rooms while you are far away, why is that your fault? I am certain her ladyship will give the magistrates an earful.”

  I was certain as well. “I was not far away when the murder occurred, unfortunately.” I lowered myself into the hot water and let out a sigh. Barnstable knew how to draw a bath. “I was here, in this house, in her ladyship’s chamber. You might have to swear to that in court, Barnstable. It will not be pleasant. I apologize.”

  “Of course I would swear, sir. We all will.”

  “No lying. That will not help.”

  Barnstable looked offended. “Of course not, sir.”

  He left me to soak. I was happy to let the dust of the road, the stink of Bow Street, and the sweat from my worries float away. Barnstable had learned I was not a man who liked being ministered to in the bath—I preferred to scrub myself—and let me alone.

  Today I did no scrubbing. I lay back in the hot water and let its warmth and that from the fire settle over me. I knew Sir Montague’s presence at my hearing had been the only thing that had kept me from residing in Newgate this night instead of in this comfortable dressing room. I felt a wash of gratitude for the man. I also knew that if I thanked him he’d look surprised, modest, and then wise, telling me he’d only done his duty.

  Melancholia hovered again, but I’d learned in the last few years that activity helped me stave it off. When I was walking about being frustrated by people, my leg hurting, the darkness stayed away. I had no time for it.

  When the water began to cool, I hauled myself out of the bath, wrapped myself in the dressing gown Barnstable had left, and let him shave my face.

  After that, Barnstable wanted me to eat. I humored him by devouring some of the bread Mrs. Beltan had given me, which Donata’s cook toasted and buttered for me, then I left again, clean and warm, out into the cold.

  I took a hackney back toward Covent Garden. Now that Perry’s demise had made her old lodgings safe, Felicity might have returned to them. I could easily see her killing Perry, battering him to death in fear as she fought him. If she had killed him, accidentally or not, I’d send her away, out of Spendlove’s reach. I had no wish to see Felicity hang for someone like Perry.

  I had the hackney drop me where Great Wild Street, Drury Lane, and Great Queen Street more or less came together in a triangle. From there I picked my way north to the passage I remembered had emerged onto Drury Lane. Or thought I remembered—I had been hurt and insensible when Felicity had dragged me out of it, my vision a bit blurred.

  After trial and error, I found the right lane, with the house that had lodged Felicity at its end. A landlady was home in her rooms in the bottom floor and opened the door to me. She was half drunk and said she hadn’t seen Felicity for days.

  I asked to be let up to Felicity’s rooms regardless. I thought the landlady would refuse me, but she must have liked my bearing, not to mention the few shillings I dropped into her palm. She wanted only to return to her gin bottle, so she handed me a large key and waved me away.

  Felicity lived in two rooms, a sitting room in front of the
house, and a bedroom in the rear. I had to light a stump of candle that I’d brought with me in order to see anything, but I recognized the low bed as the one I’d been tethered to. I’d been tied with scraps of linen, which still lay on the floor. The rooms were cold and smelled of damp. Felicity had not been back here.

  I went through them anyway, looking for some clue as to where she’d gone. A few frocks hung on pegs behind a curtain in the bedroom, and a cupboard in the corner held her linens and stockings. One slipper, the beading torn off, the satin soiled, rested forlornly in the bottom of the cupboard.

  The top of the night table next to the bed was empty, but the single drawer revealed a small book bound in leather. I opened it to find a New Testament, printed in small text.

  The book was not new—few but Grenville and those of like wealth could afford new books. Most people bought them secondhand and kept them carefully. This testament was well-worn and much read. Pages had been marked with old ribbons, a few passages underlined with drawing pencil. Suffer the little children, and forbid them not to come unto me, was one. Another was It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

  I closed the book, wondering. Felicity had not written her name in the testament, so it could have belonged to a former lodger, or could already have been in the table when the landlady had purchased it. Or Felicity could be lonely and frightened, drawing comfort from scripture.

  I returned the book where I’d found it, went back downstairs, gave the landlady another coin—which she stared at a moment before quickly dropping it inside her bodice—and departed. I walked Drury Lane to Russel Street and so to Covent Garden, and began asking the game girls there about Felicity.

  “Whatcha want her for, Captain?” one of the regulars said, “When you can have me?”

  They enjoyed teasing me. I dispensed shillings to them, and they gathered around me like birds to a man scattering breadcrumbs.

  “I heard you was rich now,” another said. “Married to a gentry mort, an’ all. Lucky Captain. Now he has money for his girls.”

  “Who are going to tell me where Felicity is,” I said, trying to sound stern. I handed out more coins. I knew much of it would go to their men, or to parents who sent them out to whore to feed the family. But if I gave them enough, they’d manage to keep a little for themselves.

  “I saw her,” one of the quieter girls volunteered. The waif could not have been more than fourteen, and here she was, in worn finery, waiting for a gentleman to take her up for money. “I was walking behind them tonight. She had a bloke. They turned off to Maiden Lane. That was ’bout half an hour ago.”

  “Thank you.” I handed around more coinage. “If you see her again before I do, tell her to come and talk to me. She can send a message to South Audley Street or to Mrs. Beltan’s bakeshop. Tell her I mean her no harm.”

  “She won’t believe ya,” the first girl said. “But we’ll tell her.”

  Hands reached out to me, this time to stroke my back or pat my arms, accompanied by a chorus of thanks and ribald suggestions. I backed away carefully, trying to make certain none of their fingers dipped into my pockets for more of the money I was freely handing them.

  They laughed at me, and I made them a bow, turning away as soon as I deemed it safe. As it was, I discovered as I walked away, one of them had lifted my new handkerchief.

  I made my way out of Covent Garden down Southampton Street to Maiden Lane. I walked along slowly, peering into dark openings or passages. The street was busy, filled with carts and wagons, people passing as they hurried through the cold to whatever errand they had to complete this night.

  I did not see Felicity, with or without a gentleman. I paused to ask a young lady who eyed me hopefully whether she’d spied my quarry. The girl was interested in nothing but my money, but as soon as I gave it to her, impressing upon her that I wanted only information, she told me she’d seen Felicity and a gentleman walk into the tavern opposite.

  I thanked her graciously, receiving a surprised stare, and left her.

  The tavern was not the Rearing Pony, which was my local haunt on this street. This tavern, the Hen and Hound, was further along Maiden Lane, nearer Bedford Street. The regulars peered at me when I entered, but they did not seem unduly hostile to a new face in their midst. I ordered an ale in the taproom and flashed still more coins to ask the landlord whether he’d seen Felicity.

  The landlord snatched up my offering but refused to answer. The barmaid, on the other hand, stepped close to me as she filled her tray with more tankards. “I know that one,” she said. “She ain’t nothing but trouble. She’s upstairs. Are you her gent? Because she don’t deserve you if you are. She’s with another, love, I’m sorry to tell you.”

  “I’m a friend,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  The barmaid gave me a shrug, as if to say, Just as you like. Her look held sympathy for me and disgust at Felicity.

  I waited, sipping ale and keeping my eye on the door the barmaid had indicated led to the stairs. I was halfway through the ale when I heard a thump on the floor above. The landlord, barmaid, and everyone around me either did not hear it or ignored it, but I did not like it.

  The sound hadn’t been the rhythmic pounding of a man and woman taking their pleasure in a rickety bed. The sound had been that of a body falling.

  I set aside my ale, walked to the door to the stairs, opened it, and slipped inside the stairwell. No one paid me any attention. I ascended the enclosed staircase, bracing my gloved hand on the wall close beside me.

  Two doors led off a small landing at the top; the sounds came from the door on the left. That door was locked, but the latch easily broke under the shove of my shoulder.

  The room was small and cold, dimly lit with tallow candles. Felicity huddled in the middle of a threadbare rug, facedown and naked, her skin gleaming with sweat, her back striped with a crisscross of red welts. The man standing over her, his fine lawn shirt open to expose a rather pasty chest and twist of brown hair, was busily beating Felicity with a long strap of leather. She tried to protect her head with her hands, flinching as the strap came down.

  I slammed the door, and the man swung around.

  I recognized the weedy gentleman as a member of one of Grenville’s clubs. I could not remember his name or in which club I’d met him, and at the moment, I did not care. Before he could draw a breath to shout at me, I had snatched the whip from his hands, hauled him across the room, and slapped the whip across his chest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The man’s eyes bulged, but with indignation, not fear. “Damn you! What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “Preparing to beat you senseless,” I answered.

  “Bloody hell, man, what is the matter with you? It’s only a game.”

  Felicity had sat up, arms around her legs, knees drawn to her chest. She rocked a little, her face wet with tears.

  I grabbed the man by the back of his neck and jerked him around to face her. “Does she look as though she’s enjoying your game?”

  “She likes it. They want a bit of the lash, don’t they?”

  I’d heard of gentlemen going to certain brothels for more exotic pleasures than simple coupling, but I could not believe that Felicity, who was bravely trying not to cry, had agreed to this. She’d been hired for the night, and this gentleman had decided what he wanted to do to her.

  I shoved him against the wall and punched him full in the face. The man’s head rocked back into the whitewashed plaster, and blood streamed from his nose.

  He finally started to show fear as I pulled back my fist again. “I’ll have the law on you,” he bleated. “Captain Lacey, isn’t it? Grenville’s toady? I’ll have you in court.”

  Was I to be cowed and apologize? Tell him I did not mean to interrupt him whipping a young woman for his enjoyment?

  I punched him again, and again. It felt good to my fists. When I released him, he slid down the wall,
blood and tears on his cheeks.

  I shoved the gentleman down on his face and cracked the lash once across his back. The whip split his thin shirt, drawing a narrow strip of blood. He cried out.

  “Can’t you take a flogging?” I asked him through my rage. “You wouldn’t last a day in the King’s army.” I’d been flogged, and I’d ordered floggings. Never pretty, and they were damned painful, but they got their point across.

  “I’m not . . . in . . . the army,” he wheezed.

  “Neither is she. Now get dressed, and get the hell out.”

  I raised the whip again. The man scrambled out of my way, snatched up his coat and waistcoat from where he’d folded them over the back of a chair, and fled the room.

  I dropped the whip in disgust and turned back to Felicity. She’d remained curled in on herself, but her head was up, and she tried to smile, though her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears. “Well, now, that was something to see.”

  “Are you all right? Are you badly hurt?” I crouched down but kept myself at arm’s length from her.

  “I’ll weather it.” Felicity raised her slim shoulders. “He was right, you know. He promised to pay to do what he wanted. I just didn’t know what he’d want until too late.”

  “Do not justify that bastard to me.” I was shaking a little, my fists still clenched. “He is filth.”

  “He’s a posh gent, Captain. He’ll prosecute you.”

  “And then I’ll reveal his shame to the world, and possibly pummel him again. I care nothing for him, Felicity. He has no business hurting you.”

  She shrugged again. “It’s the way of the world.”

  “It is a bad way. Get dressed, and we’ll leave this place.”

  Felicity rose from the floor without bothering to cover herself. I spun around and faced the wall, and she laughed at me. She took her time while she dressed, slowly sliding on each piece of clothing, then finally she asked me to do up the buttons of her frock.