The Sign of the Raven

by L. C. Sharp

  “What did he say?” Ash asked as they divested themselves of hats and gloves.

  “Nothing but whine that he did not kill Lord Stanton, that he was just standing there. In the most appalling cant, barely intelligible. When I pressed him, he said the Raven had sent him.”

  Even here, that name sent a chill down her spine.

  “Gone back to the London accent, has he?” Ash turned to the stairs and began to climb them. Juliana followed. After a brief bow to her, Fielding had taken little notice of her.

  She could watch and observe. Strange that now, about to face the man who had caused her distress, she felt no fear, only anticipation.

  The Raven had involved himself in this case because of the safe conduct tokens. She believed that, and that he wanted to know who betrayed him by planting the token on the dead man. Was it the man they were about to meet?

  She was about to find out.

  One side of the house was given over to business. There, the Fieldings had their offices, made rulings, composed government White Papers, and the clerks wrote accounts of the trials for the official sources. A few secure rooms existed, where special prisoners could be kept.

  The dankness of the prison cell crept over the corridor they entered. Not in reality, but in her mind. She shivered. Fortunately, Ash didn’t see her instinctive response because he led the way, only pausing by the door to allow Fielding to open it.

  A burly man followed them. The jailer. His keys did not rattle on a chain in the accepted manner, but he did have the dour aspect and bulky form of the breed. He had a pistol strapped by his side, and a club rested by the cell door. He touched it as if for reassurance before he unlocked the cell.

  Inside, the room was plainly furnished. A narrow bed, a hard wooden chair and a table were the only furnishings. Bars striped the window, and the small opening cut in the door spoke of constant vigilance. A tray of untouched food lay on the table. The jailer grunted, and took it out. Juliana was glad because the smell had turned her stomach. Perhaps she was tenser than she’d thought.

  The prisoner sat on the bed. Chains leading from loops screwed into the plain timber walls were fastened to shackles on his wrists and one leg. The other leg was heavily bandaged. Rivers had a black eye and grazed cheek, probably more injuries beneath the rough but clean clothes he wore. He glanced up when they entered, but didn’t get to his feet.

  She knew him.

  Ash pulled the chair back for her, positioning it as far away from Rivers as possible, although the man’s chains would hardly reach halfway across the room.

  She arranged her skirts, sat with her hands folded in her lap, just as always.

  Rivers leered at her. Unmasked, he appeared a nondescript kind of man, lank, dark hair straggling around his shoulders, slate-colored eyes lowered, full lips. She did not subscribe to the theory that a person’s features revealed their character, but expression certainly did. “I remember you,” she said.

  “You should,” the man answered, his coarse tones as sneering as his expression. He gave her his attention.

  For a second, his direct stare unnerved her, but she saw nothing behind it. No threat, no strength, nothing.

  Ash stood by her side, where she could see him, his hand resting on the back rail of her chair. It tightened. “I remember you too. Did I break your leg?”

  “Nah. Just a sprain, the barber said.”

  “We brought in a surgeon in case it was broken,” Fielding put in. “I would like to see him climb the scaffold rather than be carried up there.”

  “Made up yer mind, ’ave yer?” Rivers demanded.

  Ash tapped his foot, making Rivers switch his focus. “For goodness’ sake, Rivers, give it up. You have the hands of a gentleman, the smooth features of a man not born in the streets. You’re no street ruffian.”

  Rivers’s lips turned up in a sneer and he came out with a stream of seeming words Juliana did not begin to follow. He could have been speaking Russian for all she knew.

  The men in the room, though, appeared to understand his meaning. The jailer stepped forward. “No more of that. Talk proper.”

  Nobody corrected his grammar. The meaning was clear enough. “Got no idea what you’re on about.”

  Ash continued in an easy, conversational tone. “Yes you do.” He turned to Fielding who stood by the door, staring at the prisoner. “We’ve had the unpleasant experience of meeting this man before. He told you the truth. He’s an acolyte of the Raven.”

  “Sent by the man to kill Lord Stanton for his debts?” Fielding said. Clearly he had made his mind up about this case. Get it done, send him to the gallows and claim another case solved, another triumph for the Fieldings.

  “Sadly, no,” her husband said. “He did not kill Lord Stanton.”

  Nobody spoke. Ash let the pause lengthen before he continued.

  “Somebody saw the events. Everything. A gentleman, from the window of the club above the coffeehouse. I thought I recognized this man, so I was on my way out of the coffeehouse when I heard the shot. I wanted to get to him before you escaped.” He turned back to Rivers. “And I did, didn’t I?”

  Rivers stared back. He’d lost his wig somewhere, revealing a largely bald head with a fringe of lank hair around the shiny patch in the middle. It aged him.

  Ash shook his head sorrowfully. “No you didn’t. My friend, whose name I will give to the magistrate, is certain what he saw. Someone else shot Stanton. You ran when you saw me, not because of the shot. You knew me, didn’t you?”

  Rivers swallowed.

  The bare wooden floor depressed when Fielding shifted from foot to foot. His pale face made Juliana want to give him her chair. He surely needed it more than she did. The yellow cast to his eyes, the occasional tremor of his hands and the boniness of his form all spoke of ill health.

  While she didn’t know what was wrong with him, she suspected it was not easy. “What are you saying, man?” Fielding demanded of Ash.

  “My witness saw someone shoot Stanton, then drop the pistol and run. When I chased Rivers, he got away in the confusion.”

  Fielding said “Humph,” or something of that nature. “Are you about to balk me of another murderer?”

  He cast an apologetic glance at Juliana, who merely nodded. Yes, if Ash had not become involved, she’d have probably hanged for a murder she hadn’t committed. She shook the memories off. She could do that now.

  “I might provide you with the real murderer,” Ash said. “It could be another of the Raven’s employees. This man may have been sent to help, to create a distraction, which, unfortunately, he did.”

  “’Ow was I to know you’d be there?” Rivers demanded.

  “Ah, it speaks!” Ash said. “I didn’t have to be there. You could easily have shouted, ‘There he goes!’ or some such.”

  Rivers grunted.

  “Oh don’t stop now! Who are you? That dreadful accent keeps slipping. You’re no street cully.”

  Rivers seemed to shrink, curling into himself. His chains rattled. “I di’n’t do nothing. I’m a poor man tryin’ to earn a livin’. I was born in the country, a poor man wiv nuthin’ but my ole mother to care for. Won’t you show me some mercy?”

  The words rang a bell in Juliana’s mind. “He’s an actor!” she said. “Those lines are from a play, ‘The Poor Soldier.’ Amelia and I went to see it with Gregory last month!”

  Ash gave her his full attention. His lips curved and he turned back to Rivers. “An actor?”

  Rivers swallowed. “I was given a part to play. Paid well for it, but I never bargained for this.”

  “You’re a minor player in the game,” Ash said.

  Fielding spluttered. “What game? I assure you, sir, murder is no game.”

  “I agree, but I fear the Raven does not. He sees it as one more tactic in a game of chess he is playing. Perhaps mo
re of a game against several opponents, a way to walk through a forest without being eaten by a wolf.”

  “Or a falcon,” Fielding murmured. This time he smiled.

  Ash did not. “Ah, that. I daresay it will die once a new story comes along. Although the journalist concerned is a trifle persistent.”

  He shot a warning glare at the man sitting on the bed. “Is Rivers your real name?”

  “It’s the one I was born with.” Now the man spoke excellent English. The slight nasal twang of London remained to color his voice, but none of the heavy cant, or the guttural dropping of consonants. Interesting.

  The man lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug, but dropped them again hastily when his chains rattled. “I’ll tell you everything I know if you promise to keep me here and not put me in Newgate.”

  Ash looked at Fielding, who turned his attention to the prisoner. “If, in return, you tell us all. Including the men you have killed and the offenses you have committed.”

  In any case, he couldn’t run far. His ankle was considerably swollen, and that was taking account of the bandages wrapped around his bare ankle.

  “I’ve never killed anybody,” he whined. “I was with a small company, about to leave London for the provinces. We had a tour planned. But a man approached me and offered me a job at Drury Lane. How could I say no? It could have been the making of me. But it wasn’t at Drury Lane. It was a few streets over, in St. Giles.” He sniffed. “How was I to know? But I met a man who wanted me to imitate him for a while. To act, and he said I was very good.” Despite his bonds and his injury, he preened, sitting up straight and lifting his chin to display his profile. “He said I could carry it off.” He grimaced. “If he knows I’m telling you all this, he’ll kill me.”

  “He’ll kill you anyway,” Juliana pointed out. “He’ll assume you gave us all the information we need, even if you didn’t.”

  Fear etched the grooves on Rivers’s face, whitened the thin scar down the left side.

  “How did you get that scar on your face?” Ash demanded.

  Rivers closed his eyes and sighed. He lifted a hand as if to touch the mark, then dropped it again. “This? A knife wound, years ago. An unfortunate accident on stage, which meant I had to give up the part of Fortinbras to a rival.”

  “Sabotage,” Ash suggested with a tight smile.

  “It surely was. But I can disguise it with face paint. And it got me the position with the Raven. He has a similar mark.”

  Ah. The Raven had a scar? “You know what he looks like,” Juliana said softly. “Why don’t you tell us?”

  He paused, looked down. “He’s tall, thin but strong. Gray eyes, dark hair, which he wears long. Well spoken. I’ve seen him kill. He does it without flinching, and eats his dinner straight after. He’ll do that to me.”

  “Yes, he will,” Ash said. “If he gets hold of you.”

  Rivers jerked up his head, light dawning in his eyes. “Can you help me?”

  Ash pursed his lips pensively. “That would be up to Mr. Fielding.” If Fielding decided to prosecute, Ash couldn’t intervene. “But if he decided to, I could act for you in a legal capacity. I have a good record.” He smiled, just slightly. “But only if I believed you had done nothing worthy of prosecution. I believe in justice, and I won’t stand in its way.”

  “I still need to decide,” Fielding said. He shifted to his left foot from his right very slightly, but enough to tell Juliana he was in pain. “If you can give us the greater prize, and you have not committed a crime, then I could consider it.” His expression turned crafty, his eyelids lowering, his face turning to steel. “However, if we allowed you to walk out of here, once your ankle has healed, you wouldn’t last long on the street.”

  “I know it. I’m a dead man, aren’t I?” the actor mumbled. Rivers was done. The slump of his shoulders, his pallor, the way he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped before him. His head drooped.

  “One witness statement is not enough, however exalted,” Fielding said. “I will send him for trial, unless another witness comes forward.”

  Ash stared at Fielding. “It happened in Pall Mall. I’m sure you can find other people. If not passersby, then coffeehouse waiters, servers at the inn, or one of the shops. Plenty of people saw it.” He pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “If you want the real prize instead of the imitation, you might want to keep him alive. He will draw the Raven out, if the man thinks he knows more, that he’s talking to us.”

  Fielding grunted. “You have the right of it. I have already thought of that. I will not send this man to the next sessions, and I’ve put two of my best men to guard him. I have also ordered that nobody speaks of him.”

  “By now they know he was brought here,” Ash said.

  “I know that, too. I’m giving out that he was moved to Newgate. Let them look for him there.”

  Ash nodded. “But if this man did nothing but provide a distraction, he has done nothing against the law. If you require more proof of that, I will find it.”

  “See that you do,” Fielding said, adding a reluctant “Sir. But,” he added, turning on his heel and heading for the door, “I want that bigger prize. Get me the Raven. Or I might toss Rivers out on his ear one night.”

  “No!” Rivers, newly energized, leaped to his feet. “Please, Mr. Fielding, don’t do that. If you do, I’m a dead man.”

  “Yes,” Fielding said, with evident smugness. His smile cracked his face. “So you’d best remember that. Tell the truth and we will do what we can for you. Transportation might be a good solution for you.”

  Ash breathed in sharply. “Not if he is innocent,” he said. “Transportation kills innocents.”

  Fielding grunted. “Not from my court they don’t. If he’s guilty of murder, he climbs the scaffold. For anything else, I will consider a commutation.”

  He gestured at the guard, who opened the door for him.

  “He may not have killed Lord Stanton,” Fielding said, “but his presence there shows the Raven was interested in Stanton. Bad debts, perhaps.”

  “Stanton had no bad debts. But he was Lady Coddington’s lover.”

  Fielding stopped dead and turned to Ash. “What?”

  “I only discovered that this morning,” Ash said smoothly. “But Stanton was seen visiting Lady Coddington clandestinely. She was not the devoted wife she pretended to be.”

  “And the Raven is involved in the murder of Lord Coddington.” Fielding nodded. “Then we could have the solution to both murders,” he said brightly, no doubt imagining a spectacular hanging day at Tyburn. Notorious murderers always went down well with the crowds.

  Ash merely murmured, “As you say,” and they took their leave, promising to keep Fielding in touch.

  Ash was even paler than usual, and Juliana knew the reason why.

  She had to hurry to keep up with him as he wove his way through the crowd gathered outside. This part of the city was always crowded. “Ash, Rivers isn’t your brother. He isn’t Matthew.”

  Matthew, the doomed brother who Ash had been unable to save. Matthew, whose memory haunted Ash, and made him give up the life of a comfortably circumstanced lawyer for a career in crime detection.

  Matthew had been accused of murder, Assassination, to be precise, of the king. Ash had worked to have him cleared. Matthew had an alibi, but Ash hadn’t discovered it until later, after Matthew had been transported. He had died before his seven-year sentence had come to an end. An accident, they said, but who knew the truth?

  After that, Ash had given up the promising and lucrative profession of a property lawyer, and turned to crime, vowing nobody would suffer the same fate as his brother.

  To ensure nobody else met the full force of the law who did not deserve it.

  She should have guessed that Rivers’s case would lead to this. Ash would not let this
business go, until he’d proved one way or another that Rivers was innocent or guilty. Especially now Fielding had mentioned transportation. She suspected Fielding had done that on purpose. Fielding wanted the Raven, so he could make an example of him, try to condemn him, show the public that he was the embodiment of law and order. Threatening to have an innocent man transported would keep him sharp. She could almost hear the magistrate saying it.

  Ash slowed his pace. “If necessary, I’ll find Fielding a murderer.”

  “So you believe Rivers is innocent?”

  He still didn’t look at her, but allowed her to slip her hand through his, and he slowed down to a more comfortable pace. “I’m sure of it. I don’t think he has committed a serious illegal act in his life. He’s a coward, a fool, and naïve enough to believe imitating one of London’s greatest villains served no evil to anyone.”

  They had worked their way through the crowd that always thronged around the magistrate’s court.

  He halted so suddenly she stumbled. After righting her, he whistled, and a passing cab stopped. “I’m exhausting you.” He helped her into the carriage, easing her gently onto the cracked leather seat before taking his place beside her.

  He stopped, then turned to face her and took her hands. “I have a lamentable temper. I’m so sorry. But the reminder of what is past—” He gave a harsh laugh. “No matter. What is done is done. The best I can do is ensure it never happens to another person.”

  “You are.” She brought them back to the current case. “We are coming to the conclusion that Lady Coddington persuaded her lover to murder her husband. Perhaps she tired of his debts, or perhaps she tired of him. So where does the Raven come into it? Why would he take such an interest?”

  “The debts,” Ash said. “I believe the Raven when he says he didn’t want to kill the man. He wanted his money back.”

  “He sent someone to threaten Coddington, but not to kill him,” she said slowly.