The Sign of the Raven

by L. C. Sharp

  “Which indicates he didn’t know the person.”

  “It does.” Ash ran his finger along the front edge of the case, searching for the button or lever that opened it. Knowing his impatience with devices, she took it from him. There should be a catch just below the center of the slim box. Ah yes.

  A stentorian throat clearing at the opening drew everyone’s attention, including hers. She knew that sound, had dreaded it most of her life.

  “What is Coddington doing here?” demanded her father.

  Chapter Two

  When Juliana moved closer to Ash, he knew who stood before them. How he had got in here was a matter Ash intended to take up with the men he’d tasked to secure the entrance. But he could guess how. The man’s arrogance was notorious, even in the highest echelons of society.

  Ash didn’t consider himself a man of violence, but he wanted nothing more than to punch Lord Hawksworth in his privileged, smug face. That man had condoned the abuse of his daughter, all to perpetrate his title, to consolidate his name. Well, he was doomed to disappointment.

  What he’d allowed that man to do to Juliana was beyond admissible. The earl had lost even more weight recently, his face resembling a cadaver’s more and more. He’d read that Hawksworth followed a special diet. His wife obviously had not joined him. She appeared far less unhealthy than he did.

  Instead of answering the earl, Ash spoke to the man who’d found the card case. “Have these people removed,” he said. And meant it.

  But Juliana put her hand on his sleeve. “Wait.”

  With anyone else, he’d have shown a little impatience in order to clear the scene. But he listened to her. He had married a woman of great understanding and perception. And she was touching him, something she did rarely, even now.

  “They know him,” she reminded him, and held something out for him to read.

  Ah yes. A card from the case, the embossed pasteboard announcing the same name Lord Hawksworth had just said. James, Baron Coddington. He mulled the name over in his mind, and the pieces fell into place.

  He’d heard of the baron because of his exploits around town. Known in the gentlemen’s clubs and the hells alike, a man who had inherited a fortune from his father and a female relative. Gaming and womanizing were his preference. Ash had read about his exploits, assumed most of them were inventions. He supposed he was about to find out.

  He might as well use Juliana’s father, since he’d pushed into the scene. “A baron, yes?”

  He turned to the men behind him. “Nobody else is to get past you. If anyone does, I’ll require an answer from you personally.” They should understand he would ensure any of them who transgressed would be dismissed. He could do without this crime scene becoming the purview of the great and arrogant.

  Lord Hawksworth, two ranks above Coddington, inclined his head. “But a friend,” he added. “He’s drunk. You can release him to me. I’ll see he gets home safely.”

  Hawksworth’s wife nudged him. Ash would not give her the satisfaction of calling her Juliana’s mother, even in his mind. She had birthed Juliana. And exploited her. “Coddington will not be going home tonight,” she said. “Or any other night.” She remained totally calm. Ash had noted the way Juliana had gone pale when she’d seen the body. She had retained her dinner, and her calm, but it had taken effort. On the other hand, Lady Hawksworth showed no reaction at all. Her carefully painted mask gave her a look of blankness, but even her eyes remained cool and uncaring.

  His lordship took another look, closer. The blood had soaked into the grass, but the gaping exit wound on his chest was hard to miss. And yet, his lordship had missed it until he concentrated on it.

  After a pause, he bellowed, “What has happened here? I demand an answer!” For good measure, he glared at Ash.

  “So do I,” Ash said, keeping his voice soft and unchallenging. He had no mind to involve this man in any case he might take. And yes, he wanted this one. There was a puzzle to be solved here, and that always drew him to a case. He didn’t need the money. He did it for the pleasure of solving a conundrum, and the even greater pleasure of seeing justice done.

  Juliana had moved closer to him when her father yelled. The movement enraged him, that Hawksworth still had that effect on her. He could not expect her to recover from the habits of a lifetime in a few months.

  “I repeat. What has happened here?” Hawksworth demanded.

  What business was it of his?

  Ash moved closer to Juliana, his shoulder in front of hers. “If you could kindly moderate your tone, we would attract fewer people,” Ash told him.

  Lord Hawksworth glared at him. Ash met his stare levelly. After a moment, the earl swallowed. “Go on,” he said, the pitch of his voice considerably lower.

  “As you see, Lord Coddington has met an untimely end.” Should he ask his lordship for discretion? Asking this man for anything stuck in his throat. No matter, the story would get out soon enough on its own.

  Ash glanced at Juliana. She appeared unmoved, but he was well acquainted with her ability to keep her expression clear. She met his inquiring gaze and he saw the assurance in her eyes.

  Ash turned back to the body. Ideally he would have made a sketch of the scene, but he would have to make do with remembering it. They had not the light to do it, nor the equipment he needed. No pen, no charcoal stick, since he’d worn what his new valet termed as one of his good coats. Never mind, because he had the best observer he had ever met standing next to him.

  “Who would do such a terrible thing?” his lordship demanded.

  “Obviously that is why we are here.” Ash turned his back. The earl would not like that, but he would have to put up with it. Ash had more important things to do.

  Hawksworth’s outraged exclamation told him as much, but Ash ignored it until the earl shoved his way past, heading for the body. He bent, as if to touch Coddington, even try to lift him. “I will not allow poor Coddington to be left here for every ruffian to see!”

  Juliana moved to block him from touching the body. “Father, please do not make a scene. It will do nobody any good.”

  Ash glanced at a man standing by—one easily as large as his lordship, but in better condition—but there was no need. After glancing at Juliana, the earl gave a reluctant nod, then stepped back.

  Ash addressed his lordship. “After we leave here this evening, Lord Coddington will be placed in the morgue, where he will remain until the coroner releases the body.”

  Lord Hawksworth turned to Ash. “You, sir, have no manners.”

  “One does not discover the truth by politeness,” he answered. Juliana touched his arm and he turned his head and smiled at her. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  Perhaps he did slather on the honey, but Hawksworth annoyed him at best, infuriated him at worst. Anything he could do to make his existence less comfortable was welcome.

  “We should, perhaps, draw this unpleasant encounter to a close.” She indicated behind them with a jerk of her head. “People are gathering. You can always count on the instinct of the mob.”

  Yes, that was true. At least Lord Hawksworth had not tried to pick up the body in his arms. Instead, Hawksworth faced Juliana directly, staring at her. Her hand trembled on Ash’s arm, and he covered it, pressed gently. “Coddington is married?”

  “Yes, and he has children,” Lord Hawksworth said. “I will pay a call to Great Jermyn Street directly.”

  Ash’s heart sank. That meant he’d have to go to see her even earlier. He needed to see the woman’s response to the news before anyone else broke it to her.

  “Do you intend to deal with this matter?” the earl demanded.

  “As much as I can. It might be a simple case.”

  The countess, silent until now, burst out. “Simple? You call a murder like this simple?”

  He had to ease his wife’s hand away so he cou
ld turn and face the woman. Even more than her husband, he despised the Countess of Hawksworth.

  Ash’s anger came out cold.

  “Madam, murder is never simple. Whatever the cause, the perpetrator will end his or her life on the gallows. But we have to find them first.” If it was simple attempted robbery, it would be relatively easy, but there were aspects of this scene that troubled him. Cutpurses and pickpockets stuck together, but this had been done by no professional thief. No thief would have left such valuable items behind. Most did not carry firearms. Too messy, too noisy. And pistols were expensive compared to the cost of a knife.

  The countess lifted her head and stared at Ash down the length of her nose. Difficult, because of his superior height, but she managed it. She must have practiced the gesture, which was, in any case, wasted on Ash. “You would do better to mark your station in life and give my daughter the respect she deserves. She is a delicately reared female, and she should not be here.”

  He caught Juliana’s little huff of suppressed scorn, but he doubted anyone else did.

  “Why? You gave her none.” The answer came before Ash could control his tongue.

  The earl opened his mouth to reply, but Ash turned away, feigning indifference.

  Juliana was right. People were gathering.

  With a sigh, he addressed the attendants. “Mark that I have made a note of everything we found. I will take the card case and this token. Carry the baron and his belongings to the nearest church and tell the magistrates at Bow Street what has occurred. Let them know that I was here. Tell nobody else who this is, and what has happened. In particular, do not spread gossip. It will spread itself.” He plucked out his own case and handed one of his cards over. “I will visit Mr. Fielding first thing in the morning.”

  He had another errand to see to first. His evening was not yet done.

  He dropped the items in the pocket of his coat, which he rescued from its precarious perch. After he thrust his arms through the sleeves and someone handed him his hat, and so rendered him respectable, he collected Juliana. But as they prepared to walk past the countess and quit the scene, someone else came at him in a rush.

  A tall, gangling man faced him from the back of the area, away from the shade of the torches. Ash couldn’t recall seeing him before.

  “Mr. Americus Ransom at your service, Sir Edmund.”

  He knew the name. The man had been writing lurid accounts of Ash’s cases for months now. He’d ignored them, but the articles had not gone away. In fact, they were growing in popularity. Unfortunately, Ransom had the knack of turning an intriguing phrase.

  “At my service?”

  “I have admired your work for some time, sir. I happened to be here tonight when I heard of this dreadful occurrence. I wondered if I might ask for your opinions on this murder?”

  “You own a journal, do you not?”

  Eagerly, Ransom nodded, the light in his eyes not merely from the torches. “The Daily Ransom. I will be reporting this story in the morning edition.” He carried a leather folder.

  “What is that?” Ash asked.

  “I like to detail my first impressions of a scene, when I have the opportunity. I sketch them in words.”

  The longer they stayed here, the more people they would attract. They needed to get this scene sorted out quietly, and time was of the essence.

  Ash glanced at Juliana. “I have read the stories, even if my husband has not,” she said. “I found your accounts remarkably accurate, even if you emphasize the more sensational aspects of a case.”

  Her words made Ash pause. He studied Ransom more closely. The man could not be above thirty, and probably younger, but in this city, age meant nothing. Not even experience, since street urchins had to face real life from the day they were born. But he could use someone else’s impressions. “Did you see what happened?”

  He shook his head. “No, sir. But I think I heard a cry, which was why I moved in this direction. I couldn’t say if it came from the dead man, but it was different enough for me to take notice.”

  “You may call on me tomorrow at noon.” He indicated the folder. “Bring that.”

  “You will know more by then?”

  “Probably.” He would know more for sure, but he didn’t yet know if he’d be telling a journalist. But if what he held proved useful, he wasn’t above telling him a few details. In his own time.

  “Come, my dear.” He gave the countess a nod every bit as haughty as anything she could produce on their way past. Clamping Juliana’s hand under his arm, Ash carried on briskly, not giving any quarter. As he expected, people fell back and allowed them to walk through to a clearer part of the gardens.

  “Are you game to walk a little?”

  Anything to get out of this crowd. “You have a way out of this press of people?”

  “Well, while we’ve been dealing with this situation, life elsewhere has gone on. The ushers are doing a good job of clearing the area.”

  The seats above them were mostly bare. He assumed they’d be moved to Green Park, where the main display would be happening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a richly dressed man heading briskly in their direction. Abruptly he turned, and walked in the other direction. Juliana peered over her shoulder, and then back again. “That’s Mr. Tyers, isn’t it?”

  “The very same.” Jonathan Tyers owned Vauxhall Gardens. “He’ll want a long discussion about the murder, but I’m in no mood to give him one. Let him call on me if he wants to. But not now. I wanted to get you out of here.”

  “Oh no, Ash. Where you go, I’m going.”

  They didn’t have time to argue. Damned determined, his wife, and by the time he’d argued the case with her, Tyers would have caught them. With a little weaving and pushing through the crowd, they lost him. Then he headed to the nearest exit, a quiet side entrance few people used. “People assume that the best policy is to head for the river exits and the nearest ferry. That is not always the case.”

  They walked the half mile or so upriver to the Horse Ferry quickly. Of course, others had found the jetty, but not as thick as the crowds that would have been here an hour ago.

  The ferrymen were plying a good trade. They stood in line, but the ferrymen would be rowing as fast as they could, in order to take the greatest number of passengers.

  A mere twenty minutes took them to the nearest ferryman, and half a guinea persuaded him to take them on their own, instead of cramming as many people in as he could carry. Ten times his usual price worked well. They climbed in and settled on the hard benches. The damp, stinking river below made Juliana shiver. After waiting for her approving nod, Ash pulled her shawl tighter around her. “I do not care for you to take cold.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, and laughed again. That high-pitched laugh didn’t bode well for her mood. But she was holding on, and he admired her for that. Many women would have descended into powerful hysterics, but not Juliana. “It wasn’t a robbery, was it?” she said quietly.

  The dip of the oars, steady and strong, accompanied them. “No, it wasn’t. Not even a botched one. Coddington made absolutely no effort to fight back, and a thief, however clumsy, would not have left so much behind. As far as we know, nobody saw the deed. I will speak to Ransom and get him to ask for witnesses in that rag of his.”

  “But you don’t think there were any.”

  “No hue and cry, no screams, no shouts for help. He died before the end of the firework display.”

  “So he didn’t see that final montage,” she murmured.

  Remembering the spectacular representation of the king and the army, with fireworks substituting for gunfire, Ash laughed. At that moment, he shared the joke with his wife. Too much, too pompous, too triumphal. And too complicated. He would wager against them repeating that again at the real performance. He gave way to impulse, releasing the laugh bubbling up inside hi
m, finishing with, “Minx!”

  But the reminder lightened his mood and he suspected that was what she’d planned. He put his hand close to hers, and was gratified when she placed her own over it. They passed the rest of the short journey to the other side of the great river in companionable silence. The dip of the oars in the water, the sound of the wood in the rowlocks added a rhythm to his thoughts, and he could reason clearly again.

  Chapter Three

  He’d called her sweetheart. Oh, she knew he’d done it to annoy her parents, to make them believe that her marriage to Ash was a true marriage in every way, but still...when he said it, she’d felt a deep, corresponding thump in the region of her heart, as if it had been answering him.

  Ash had been nothing but kind since their wedding, and before it, for that matter. At first, after her late husband’s abuse, she couldn’t bear to be touched, but now, nearly a year later, she was trying to get over that. She still flinched sometimes when someone touched her, especially when she wasn’t expecting it, but she would recover. She refused to allow that brute to control her life even after he’d left it.

  Ash always stepped back from any situation, separated himself from it. He was a man of intellect, not of passion. He either asked for her permission before he touched her or drew back if she responded with a flinch. She felt safe with him.

  She did not want passion.

  The oars dipped in the water, the distant sound of life on either side of the wide expanse muted, occasionally echoing off the surface as other ferries passed close by. The stink of burning, harsh at the back of the throat, and the ever-present river stench assaulted her nostrils. Having lived in London most of her life, she had become inured to the smells of a big city, but occasionally, they crept in. The difference between the burning and the dank water made a piquant contrast, but not one she wanted to experience again.

  “Do we go to the official performance?” she asked him.

  “Do you want to?”