The Body in the Garden

by Katharine Schellman

  The porter attempted a smack, which Jem dodged easily, and then Mr. Lacey was leading Jack upstairs to his private office. As he passed by, the boy dropped one lid in the barest wink, and Jack struggled not to laugh. As the office door closed behind him, though, he sobered. He had a task to complete, and there was a good chance the man in front of him was dangerous.

  “We have generally handled only the business side of things—arrangements, as it were,” Mr. Lacey explained. “But we’ve recently purchased two ships. Crews must be assembled anew for each voyage, but my partners and I wish to have captains that work for us exclusively.”

  “I should be happy to provide references, if you wish.” Jack took the seat that Mr. Lacey indicated, setting down his hat and gloves.

  “All in good time,” the shipping agent replied, settling comfortably behind his desk. “Tell me about your work during the war. Did you see much action?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked, or I’d not need to look for work.” Jack laughed ruefully, and Mr. Lacey chuckled along with him. Many navy captains had made their fortunes capturing enemy ships; any officer who had not would be a little bitter. “But I saw my share. I mostly patrolled around Dover and across the channel to Normandy. Spent a bit of time sailing to the West Indies too.”

  “Excellent, excellent.” Mr. Lacey made a few notes in his book, and Jack took the opportunity to look around. The shipping agent was clearly a meticulous man. The wall behind his desk was lined with files and ledgers, all carefully arranged. “Those are routes we—” He broke off at the sound of raised voices. “Excuse the noise; I’m not sure what …”

  He was interrupted by a quick knock, and Jem poked his head in. “Beg pardon, Mr. Lacey, but there’s a lady ’ere to see you.”

  Jack hid a smile. Act two in their drama was beginning.

  Mr. Lacey frowned. “A lady?”

  “Yessir. Says she’s ’ere on behalf of ’er father’s business.”

  Mr. Lacey’s frown deepened. “Did the lady give her name?”

  “Oswald, she says, from th’ West Indies. Mr. Lacey, she … she’s a black-skinned lady. A real lady!” Jem’s voice echoed his wide-eyed delight.

  “Good Lord.” Mr. Lacey stood abruptly. “If Oswald has a commission he wants to partner on …” He remembered Jack suddenly and turned with an apologetic smile. “Captain Henderson, excuse me, I must see to this matter immediately.”

  “Of course,” Jack replied pleasantly. “Wouldn’t do to keep a lady waiting.”

  Jem lingered after Lacey had left, grinning when Jack held out a twopence. “And a second one if you tell me when he is about to come back.”

  “Wotcher up to, Captain? You gonna rob ’im?” the boy asked.

  “Of course not!” Jack said, outraged, before he realized the boy’s assumption was entirely justified.

  Jem shrugged as he took the coin. “Wouldn’t tell if y’did. But I’ll letcha know when ’e comes back. Good hunting, sir.”

  Jack didn’t waste any time; as soon as he was alone, he began to search.

  His guess had been right; the office was carefully organized, and it wasn’t difficult to find the records he needed. Mr. Lacey had several ledgers full of his government contracts, and it took Jack only a few more minutes of searching to find shipping logs for the same periods of time. Unfortunately, they all matched up—except for a few that were missing entirely.

  “Damn,” he muttered, turning back to the desk. Of course Lacey wouldn’t keep incriminating records out in the open. But the actual manifests had to be somewhere—hidden, most likely. Where—

  A quiet knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin, but it was immediately followed by a soft voice whispering, “Me, sir.” Jem poked his head around the door.

  Jack nodded at him but continued leafing through the books. “How long do I have?”

  “The lady says to take you out the back way, sir. Now.”

  That made him look up. “What?”

  The boy looked nervous, but he said firmly, “The lady says I must sneak you out the back so he don’t see you.”

  “He has already seen me.” Jack flipped through a few final pages. “Hiding now will not do much good.”

  “Not Lacey. The general. The lady said he mustn’t see you.”

  Jack froze. “General?” he asked. “Big man, scowling sort of face, gray whiskers?”

  “Yessir. We must hurry.”

  Jack cursed and began shoving the books back onto the shelves, hoping the order was correct. They had been so carefully organized …

  There was a sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and he cursed again. “Does that look about right?” He grimaced as he pushed a stack of ledgers back into place. “Never mind. Where do we go?”

  Jem let out a small moan. “Too late. He’d see if you went out now.” Eyes darting around the room, the boy gave Jack a little shove. “Into the closet, sir. He’ll leave if you ain’t ’ere, then I’ll sneak you out the back. Go!” he hissed when Jack hesitated.

  He would be trapped in the room with a man who might be a murderer, Jack realized. But there was nothing else for it. As Jem slipped out of the room, Jack squeezed into the narrow closet between precariously stacked boxes and papers. He pulled the door shut, then, thinking better of it, eased it open an inch so he could peer into the room.

  “What the devil d’ye mean, gone?”

  The general’s voice filled the room as he opened the door, and Jack heard Jem explain that he had come to see if the navy man wanted a drink while he waited, only to discover that he had already left.

  “Blasted nuisance, navy men. Waste of everyone’s time. Very well, boy, very well. Go tell Lacey I shall wait here, and bring me a brandy.”

  “Yessir.”

  One eye pressed against the narrow gap, Jack watched as the general waited for the door to close. As soon as it had, he strode across the room, surprisingly quick for a man of his size. Jack winced. If it came to it, he was uncomfortably sure the older man could best him in a fight. He couldn’t risk being discovered.

  Distracted by his thoughts, it took Jack a moment to realize what the general was doing.

  Harper had carried a gray ledger with him when he came in. Now he laid the book on the desk and quickly pulled down the same records Jack had so recently searched. He flipped through the books, a scowl of concentration on his face, and periodically stopped to compare them to various pages in his ledger. Twice he let out a short bark of triumphant laughter. “Got it, you old devil,” he muttered once, grinning unpleasantly. Both times, he pulled a sheet from Lacey’s log book and tucked it into his own ledger. “Shan’t get the best of Alfred Harper.” The general chuckled as he returned the log books and files to their shelves.

  Trying to see which books the general had gone through—he thought it was the shipping manifests, but he could not quite make them out—Jack pressed forward against the gap in the door. The movement sent several precariously balanced papers sliding toward the floor with a soft shush that could be heard distinctly in the quiet room. He froze.

  The general looked up. “Lacey? That you?” Closing the ledger with a sharp snap, he called out again, “Someone there?”

  Jack held as still as possible. If he was discovered, there was no possible way to explain his presence. The general moved toward the closed door; then something made him pause. Jack craned his neck, trying to see what had caught the other man’s eye, and his heart sank.

  He had left his hat and gloves on the chair.

  General Harper frowned at the out-of-place articles; then his head snapped up, a scowl on his face as he scanned the room once more. His eyes landed on the closet, and he took a step toward it. Jack tensed, ready to defend himself.

  A loud knock on the door made them both jump. Luckily, any noise Jack made was covered by Jem’s loud, cheerful voice saying, “Brought yer drink, sir. And Mr. Lacey says as it’s convenient for him t’ see you now.”

  “Convenie
nt?” The general snatched the glass of brandy and threw it back in one angry motion. “Convenient, he says. As if I wait on his convenience! Out of my way, boy.” Still grumbling, General Harper pushed past Jem and stormed out, the gray ledger under his arm.

  Jack held still in his hiding place for several seconds that felt more like hours before Jem said, “You can come out now, sir; he’s gone back down.”

  Jack came out of the closet and grinned cheerfully as he gathered up his hat and gloves, though inside he was still shaken. “Bit of a near thing there, eh?”

  Jem grinned back, then craned his neck around to look out the door. “All bob now, sir. Time to scarper out the back.”

  At another time, Jack might have protested that he never scarpered. Given the circumstances, though, it seemed prudent to hold his objections and do as Jem said. With another quick check to make sure the hall was clear, the boy led the way down a back staircase to the basement of the building. This was dusty, dark, and clearly barely used. The ceiling hung low, making it impossible to stand fully upright, but Jem navigated his way through the piles of boxes at a crouch. Holding his breath against the dust and trying not to cough, Jack followed him to the back of the building, where Jem motioned him to help haul open the creaking cellar door. “This’ll take you out behind Covent Garden. Go right and ye’ll come to Bedford Street.” At Jack’s nod, Jem grinned and held out his hand. “I’ll take yer tuppence now, sir.”

  Jack gave him threepence. It was only fair, after all. “If you ever need anything …”

  “Shall let y’know, sir.”

  “And Jem?” The boy paused. “Make sure to dust yourself off before you show your face in the office again.”

  The office boy grinned. “And you, sir. Yer fancy coat looks a treat, it do,” he added before disappearing back up the stairs.

  Shaking his head, Jack took the boy’s advice and patted the dust from his coat as soon as he was in the alleyway. Wishing he had a mirror, he resettled his hair and hat as best he could, then hailed the first chair he saw on Bedford Street. He needed to go home and change his coat. And then he needed a drink.

  * * *

  “You look as if you are about to explode,” Jack whispered to Lily as he slid into the seat behind her.

  Margaret Harlowe had sent a note around that afternoon—her husband had rented a box at the theater for the evening, and would Lily and her charming protégée join their party? Her cousins, a Mr. and Miss Robertson, would be attending as well. If Lily said yes, Margaret added in the postscript, she would invite that dashing Captain Hartley along too.

  Miss Oswald had received her aunt’s grudging permission to attend, but unfortunately Mrs. Haverweight would not release her niece before the evening, and Jack was nowhere to be found all afternoon. By the time she arrived at the Harlowes’ that night, Lily was convinced something had gone horribly wrong, until Margaret told her Jack had accepted the invitation for the theater but would not join them for dinner.

  Miss Oswald had whispered to her just before they went in for dinner—the only opportunity they had for a private moment—that she thought everything had gone well. “The general!” she had managed to add, eyes wide, before they were interrupted. By the time dinner had ended, and the entire party set off in a fleet of carriages for Drury Lane Theatre, Lily was quivering with nerves, her cool facade as close as it ever came to crumbling.

  The foyer was packed. Young dandies dressed in more color and pattern than tropical birds lined the walls, commenting on the ladies who passed and ogling them through quizzing glasses worn expressly for that purpose. Debutantes, gowned in demure, pale colors, fluttered with excitement as their chaperones steered them in the paths of any eligible gentlemen. One woman, overcome by the heat, swooned against her escort, a man Lily suspected was not her husband. Orange sellers called out their wares, and courtesans gowned with more extravagance than most ladies swept up the stairs on the arms of their chosen gentlemen.

  As they made their way through the crowd, Miss Oswald’s eyes were wide. Though she had more presence and poise than many young ladies making their London debuts, she was only nineteen years old and had grown up far from the noise and press of humanity that made up London. Lily couldn’t blame her for staring; she only hoped her own expression was less overwhelmed. It had been a long time since she had attended the theater, too.

  Eventually, after pausing to speak to other patrons and make introductions, Andrew Harlowe led them upstairs to their box. It was not the best seat in the house, but it commanded a good view of the stage and, more importantly, of the other boxes. Miss Robertson and her brother immediately set to gossiping, Mr. Robertson lifting up his quizzing glass to return the stares of those watching them while Miss Robertson commented that the gentlemen should have a hard time seeing the performance over the ladies’ plumed turbans.

  Their party numbered seven—it would be eight once Jack arrived—and the gentlemen helped the ladies to seat themselves where they would have the best view of the stage. Lily sat at the end of the row, with Miss Oswald next to her. The remaining gentleman, a Major Hastings, claimed the seat beside Miss Oswald, but the seat behind them was free.

  When Jack finally arrived in the box—apologizing so charmingly for missing Mrs. Harlowe’s dinner that Margaret blushed like a schoolgirl—it was all Lily could do to keep from jumping out of her seat. She contented herself with giving an extremely pointed look to the seat behind her own. He took both the hint and the seat, grinning broadly as he leaned forward to whisper his comment on her impatience.

  Lily merely snapped open her fan to shield their conversation and demanded, “What happened?”

  “Shame they always put the farce at the end of the program,” Major Hastings said loudly to Miss Oswald. “Never much for the stuffy drama, myself, but I s’pose that is how they get you to stay through the whole thing.”

  “You are not a fan of Mr. Kean’s work?” the girl asked, giving Lily and Jack a longing glance out of the corner of her eyes before returning her attention to the major. “I heard that he is mesmerizing.”

  “Oh, Kean’s decent enough …”

  Jack glanced at Miss Oswald to make sure the major was distracted before responding. “It was touch and go for a bit,” he said in an undertone. “Did she tell you anything?”

  “No.” The quick movement of Lily’s fan was the only outward hint of her impatience. “There was no chance, and why you could not send a note, as any decent person would—”

  “Too busy drinking.” Jack shrugged with the sort of careless good humor that made Lily realize drinking might be an understatement.

  “Are you foxed?” she demanded.

  He grinned. “Trifle bosky. Try not to scowl at me; I needed it after that run-in.”

  “What happened?”

  The orchestra chose that moment to flourish to a stop, and under cover of the applause, Jack leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “I think we have him.” The play began, and after that there was too much noise to continue. Lily sat still, to all appearances focused on Othello, while inside she quivered with eagerness. She thought about insisting that her two fellow investigators accompany her on a walk, but there would be too many people strolling in the hall to speak privately. So she was forced to wait until at last the curtain went down for the interval and Mrs. Harlowe rose to lead her guests out of the box.

  Quick-thinking Miss Oswald—whether from her own desperation to find out what Jack had discovered or from a desire to escape Major Hastings—claimed a small headache as an excuse to sit out the promenade, and Lily immediately added that she would stay with her.

  “But you and the others go on, Margaret,” she insisted. “I am sure Captain Hartley can keep us company.”

  Major Hastings jumped in. “I should be pleased to do so as well.”

  Lily’s jaw clenched at his polite, poorly timed offer, and at the belligerent look he cast toward Jack, who was lounging against the side of the box. “How kind, sir.”
Her voice betrayed none of her impatience. “And perhaps you would fetch us something to drink? I am sure Miss Oswald must be feeling the heat.”

  He gallantly agreed, sweeping a low and rather inelegant bow, before following the rest of the party out into the hall. Lily kept her polite face in place as the box’s curtain fell behind the last of them, then turned to her companions. “Quickly now,” she said, not letting her expression change in case the occupants of any other boxes were watching. “We have about five minutes before he returns.”

  Jack gestured unsteadily to Miss Oswald, who had pulled out her own fan and was deploying it vigorously to shield herself from prying eyes. “Ladies first.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am sure your part of the story is far more exciting, sir. Though I was delighted to meet your man on the inside.” She turned to Lily. “Who is, in fact, a boy not much older than fourteen, and I cannot imagine what Captain Hartley was thinking to include a child in all this business.”

  “Captain Hartley was thinking that he joined the navy when he was fourteen and found it an excellent age to begin putting oneself in danger,” Lily said dryly, bending her head in a pretense of reading the evening’s program. “We can discuss whether or not that was sensible of him when we have more time. What did you mean by ‘the general’?”

  Miss Oswald’s eyes grew wide. “The general himself arrived, Mrs. Adler, not more than five minutes after I walked in! And Mr. Lacey seemed terribly put out by his presence. He said that the general was only there because he had recently invested in the business, and tried to convince him to leave, but then the general insisted that he needed to meet the captain as well. I tried to distract them some, but …”

  Lily felt herself grow pale. “Did they see you, Captain? Did the general recognize you? If I had any idea, I’d not have—”