“I need to speak with Jonas, and soon.”
“It would not do you much good now. He is asleep on the floor. And Maggie, the girl’s keeper or lover or whatever he is, has not been seen for two days. My husband, he is afraid we will get no money for the room.”
She embraced Lena. “Thank you, friend.”
Where had the keeper gone? Had a smuggling trip gone awry?
“How is Sabine, Lena? And the baby?”
“The baby is beautiful and growing by the day. Sabine looks better, whatever your husband is giving her—oh—husband, yes,” she cried, eying her intently. “I have not forgotten that you had your husband last night!”
Maggie eyed the toes of her boots.
“Ach, so married life has put some roses in your cheeks!” she crowed. “Is that green-eyed man as lively in bed as he is out?”
Yes,” she said. “He was quite...tireless.”
“So you did as I suggested? You did not think? You were satisfied?”
Maggie nodded, abashed.
Lena whooped, startling the baby and waking Sarah, who sat up, all ears.
“Ha—I knew it! You looked at him as if he was a juicy knockwurst and you were starving.”
“What? That is most incorrect.”
“Yes, Liebchen.” Lena poked her roughly. “I shall be calling him ‘Knockwurst.’ A tall, tasty hunk of knockwurst. I could sample his long, manly...”
With her back to the door, Lena did not hear Ian slip in. Maggie tried to gesture to her that he was there, to no avail. She bit her lip, caught between embarrassment and hilarity.
Lena continued, “I would like to sample that knockwurst, not a chore at all, that man of yours.”
Maggie burst out laughing. Ian pointed to himself, eyebrows raised in question, looking both pleased and alarmed. She nodded.
Lena stopped and finally turned around, her face the color of a stewed prune, put her hand over her mouth, and disappeared out the door.
There was an awkward silence until Ian cleared his throat and lifted Maggie’s hands, kissing each palm in turn.
“How are your healing hands today, my wife? You healed me last night, I know.”
So foolish to be blushing after last night’s activities.
“Your capable, strong hands,” he murmured. “My salvation and my pleasure.”
“You talk such nonsense,” she scoffed. “It’s not as if you need to seduce me. We are married.”
“I hope to seduce you every night, my lady.” He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly.
She pulled away as she saw Sarah watching with a secret smile.
“Let us walk before tea.” Ian fetched her cloak, helping her into it. “It’s lovely out now.” He eyed her in that intense way he had. “And I would like to show my new wife off to the town.”
She could not remember when she had last walked out for the sheer pleasure of it. They strolled along the Strand, water lapping against the dock, dock workers shouting as they loaded cargo on a visiting clipper ship. She pulled down the hood of her cloak and let her uncapped hair blow in the breeze with a sense of childlike freedom. She glanced at Ian and grinned.
“Oh Maggie, when you smile it soothes me so.” She felt the tremor run through him as he laid his head against hers.
They gazed at the Channel in the distance, calm and forgiving this day. Small fishing boats bobbed, seabirds swarmed above them for the leavings. His body warmed her as the wind picked up, and after a while they continued on their way.
The whole town seemed to be out for a walk. Ed the butcher and his wife walked arm in arm, with friendly smiles and encouraging news of the new grandchild delivered the day of Sarah’s burial. Buried and found alive. She relayed to Ian in a whisper Sarah’s remembrance of the underground.
The chandler’s wife skirted away from them, her young daughter Polly tittering behind her hands. Maggie sighed; she would be paying for her candles from then on.
Joannie and her husband strolled arm in arm, their brood trailing behind them like ducklings. “Ah, so good to see you out, Miss Maggie, Mr. Ian,” Joannie cried. A child peeked out from her skirts, head wrapped in a bandage.
“Jimmy!” Ian cried. “How are you, my boy?” He picked him up and examined his head.
Jimmy stared, index finger in his mouth.
“You poor lamb, does it hurt?” Maggie patted his back. She glanced at Joannie.
“Not overly much, I don’t think, as he’s bedeviling his sisters again.” Joannie gave him a buss on the cheek.
The other children gathered around Ian, having heard he often carried sweetmeats in his pockets. He was wonderful with children, she admitted, watching as he took three oranges out of his bottomless pockets and juggled them.
The six year old twins, Abigail and Mary, stared at her, unblinking.
Abigail whispered in her sister’s ear, “Is she the devil, then?”
They stared at the top of her head. For horns? Edward Carter was no doubt at the bottom of these accusations. How many more patients would he steal from her?
Abigail’s sister whispered, “I don’t see horns.”
“You silly chits! Where did you hear such a thing?” Joannie shook her head.
“From Polly.”
“Shame on you! This is Miss Maggie who brought you into this world. Now, say you’re sorry.”
“If she is anything,” Ian announced, “she is an angel. Look upon the face of my sweet bride, and what do you see?” He held his arms out to Maggie, as if presenting her to his audience. She frowned. He put his hand to his heart with great drama. “Ah, she scowled at me! What am I to do?”
The children giggled and sang their apology, then skipped away to shriek at the bloated carcass of a seagull.
Henry, the night soil man and his son, George emerged out of a side street. It had been a long time since she’d seen them away from their work in the light of day.
Henry’s eyes lit up as he saw her. He gave a low bow. “A pleasure, Miss Maggie.” He had a lovely deep voice, cultured and well-spoken. His black curls were tied back from his freshly shaven face. His toffee-colored eyes shone with enthusiasm and good humor.
He nodded at Ian, jaw clenched. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then I must congratulate you, Mr. Pierce, for you are a fortunate man indeed.” He shook Ian’s hand, which turned white from the pressure of Henry’s grasp.
George did not even pretend to disguise his displeasure. He glared at Ian, who smiled and waited to shake his hand. George vociferously shook his head.
“George,” Henry said, “Mind your manners.”
The boy shook Ian’s hand but would not look at him.
“George,” Maggie said. “How are you feeling since Mr. Pierce saw to your teeth?”
“Better, thank you, mum.” He cradled his jaw protectively.
“Fortunately,” Henry growled, “I have not laid eyes on Edward Carter again, the filthy miscreant.” He flexed his hands. “For I see some missing teeth in his future...at the very least, a bloodied nose.”
“Good man,” Ian nodded. “I would not blame you.”
Henry gave him a long, measured look. “Have you met him?”
“I am afraid so,” Ian said. “Anything you might hear about his activities would be useful. We are certain he is behind the near death of Maggie’s sister.”
“And anyone else he may have harmed,” she added. “Because we’re sure Sarah is not the only one.”
Henry nodded. “We will stay alert to any news.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “We must be on our way. We are going to the Shipwreck Hotel for tea. A rare treat and a welcome relief from my cooking, as you might imagine.”
George made a face, displaying his missing teeth, the gums still discolored.
“We have not replaced old Mrs. Downing as our cook yet, may her soul rest in peace. Well”—he nodded to Ian and bowed to Maggie—“again, congratulations. You are a mos
t fortunate man.” He narrowed his eyes at Ian, and the two went on their way.
After a time, she became aware of Ian’s increasing agitation. He looked one way, then another, started singing a sea shanty under his breath, hand beating a rhythm on his chest. He stopped suddenly and faced her. “Oh ho! I had competition for your affection and did not even know it.”
She laughed. “What? Henry? No.”
“Maggie, have you eyes? Come now!”
“Well, Sarah had mentioned it from time to time, but I paid no heed.”
He grasped her hand and kissed it. “It is a good thing I did not take my time. I have sealed the deal,” he boasted.
“He is quite attractive,” she said baldly, not knowing where this playful side came from. “He is quite attractive when cleaned of the town’s shite. If I had only known.”
His hand clenched hers. His eyes had turned dark. “It is good that I have already made you mine.” He drew her near and nuzzled her neck, his lips tickling her ear. “Mine, Maggie, and I will remind you of it when we get home.”
She shivered.
He broke from her and strode in the opposite direction. “I have an idea. Let’s visit Sarah’s grave before we go home. We have not been back. Perhaps the spirits left something there.” He shot ahead.
“Slow down. Your legs are twice as long as mine.”
Immediately he returned, tucking her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
They walked around the church toward the kirkyard and stood over Sarah’s empty grave. Seeing it again underscored the horror of all she had been through. She held firmly to Ian’s arm to chase her revulsion away and stamped her feet against the increasing cold. An object poked through the upturned soil in the dim light. She bent down and pulled it out of the ground, to reveal a pair of pliers, brushed the dirt off them, and recoiled at the dried blood.
Ian took them from her and wrapped them in a handkerchief.
“What could pliers be doing here? Could this be the tool used to pull Sarah’s tooth? And if it is, who used it?”
“I saw Jonas at the grave that night,” Ian said.
“Then we must speak to Jonas. I have tried, but to no avail.” She told Ian about the conversation between Jonas and Edward Carter Lena had overheard.
“Whatever devilry they have committed, they did it together,” Ian mused.
“We know Edward Carter has done this, but why, beyond just the desire to kill? There must be something else.”
Ian drew her to him so she leaned back against him. His Adam’s apple thrummed against the back of her head as he hummed the minor tune she had heard this morning.
“As long as there is pain in the world,” he said, “there will be someone eager to inflict it.”
Chapter Twenty
When they returned to their cottage, Ian poured some ale, and they sat by the fire to discuss the discovery of the pliers.
“Why would Jonas want to pull Sarah’s teeth?”
He thrummed his fingers on his folded arms. “There is one possibility.” He reached over to remove the pins from her hair, fingers stroking her neck.
She swatted his hand away. “Cease your fiddling and tell me.”
He stopped moving long enough to grimace. “Good healthy teeth can bring a considerable amount of coin.”
“Whatever for?”
He cocked his head. “Maggie, have you not heard of the latest thing? Surgeons are experimenting with transplanting teeth into the mouths of their patients. They have not been successful, but they persevere.”
“So Jonas and Edward Carter are in the business of selling teeth for profit?”
“Yes, that could very well be true.” Ian picked up the hurdy gurdy machine. “And it seems likely, considering we found the pliers and Sarah’s tooth was missing.”
“That would explain another motive for their activity, beyond depravity.”
“There’s more.” He sat, the instrument on his lap, and breathed deeply, eyes closed. He folded his hands and set them on the table. “There are doctors in London who will pay a dear price for fresh corpses. When in medical school, I...”
What ailed the man? Why was it so hard for him to still himself? He grasped his hair, loosening it from his tie, and shook his head. “I must tell you more about the history between Edward Carter and myself.”
She nodded.
“One night, on the way to my lodgings after an evening at a pub, I passed by the graveyard near the hospital and saw dirt flying in the air by the light of a lantern. Immediately alert, drunk as I was, I stopped there. I recognized Edward Carter, or Phillip White, and another man. He carried a burlap sack, and once the grave had been unearthed, he bent down. I hid behind a tree and watched his arm reach down and pull back as if he yanked at something. He was wrenching teeth out of the dead body’s mouth. I saw a glint of silver and the furtive loading of items into a sack.”
“Being inebriated, as I said, and subsequently clumsy, I stumbled, and they both looked up. In the light of the lantern, we recognized each other. Over the graveyard, Phillip White hissed, ‘If you speak a word of this, Pierce, I will carve you up.’”
“I was not overly worried about the threat. I had no intention of letting this gross injustice continue, but in my inebriated state I had no idea how to handle it. As it turned out, I did nothing about it.” He sighed, head in hands. “But he got his revenge. We had never gotten along, White and I.”
Maggie rose to pour more ale, trying to absorb this new information.
His hair had come out of his tie and fallen into his face. He shoved it out of his way. She smoothed his hair, tucked it behind his ear, and traced the scar that ran along the side of his jaw. As if it were her own, she felt the agitation running through him like a flood-swollen stream.
“Ian, what happened to you that day you went to Bedlam? Why could you control your—infirmity—and then not be able to?”
He laid his forehead against hers and searched for her lips, slowly, with great care, wrapping his hands in her hair. He lifted it and kissed her neck, his lips so warm, so firm. Her bones softened with desire.
He moaned hoarsely against her neck. “Let me love you. Have we not talked enough? Nothing we say or do will change what transpired today, nor will it alter the course of tomorrow.” He nipped her gently and sighed, making every nerve rise to the surface of her skin. “That neck, so soft. Come.”
He raised her up, his hands on her waist and guided her up the stairs. He stopped at the top and held her close so she could feel his cock against the cleft of her bottom. She ground against him to feel the heat pool in her privities. He spread his palms over her breasts, and unfastened the bodice with agonizing slowness.
It was dark in the room; he released her to light a candle against the dusk. “I want to see you, every inch.”
Heat radiated from his skin as he removed his shirt. Then he stood there, one wide shoulder cocked up, and smiled in invitation, eyes on her opened bodice. His chest glowed in the candlelight, the hairs curling at the base of his throat, trailing down to his navel and beyond. She yearned to follow that trail, to touch him, like a wanton. And so she did, cupping his face in her hands and gliding both palms down his neck, across his shoulders, to whorl her fingers around his nipples and feel his body tense in response. She skimmed her hands down his stomach and tucked her fingers under the waistband, sliding his breeches down, bit by bit, stopping to feel the play of muscles in his thighs, his calves. She grasped his cock, the heat of it warming her hands in the chilly room. She cradled the weight of his sac in her other hand, enjoying the contrast of soft and hard, both of them hot. She breathed in the musky spice of him.
He moaned and lifted her up, stripped off her bodice and shift, and tossed them on the floor. He laid her upon the bed, lifting her arms over her head, holding them with one hand. His other hand trailed up and down her ribs. He circled a tongue around her nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking, drawing warm currents from her center. His heart p
ounded against her breast.
“Please,” she cried. “Enter me, now.”
His eyes glowed with pleasure at her entreaty, the green intensity sending a shock wave through her body.
He lifted his head from her breast. “No need to hurry,” he rumbled.
He rolled her over so she lay atop him. “I promise you I will. We will take our time. First, touch me again, Maggie. I ache for you, no matter how many times I take you. Touch me, please.”
She trembled and rose above him and circled her fingers around his manhood. Her hair swept across his chest, and she watched his face, his member pulsing in her hands. Pride and power swelled within her, that she could move him so. She tasted the salt on his chest, his stomach as he quivered and wrapped her mouth upon the rigid strength of his cock, sampled him with mouth and tongue both gentle and firm. He groaned and lifted her away from him, so they might kiss, their tongues entwining.
She slid up his body, rubbing herself against him. “Come into me. Please,” she gasped. “I must feel your heart beat within me. Now.”
He held her waist and thrust into her yearning warmth, his thick rod filling her, and she bucked against him, needing to be one. A tingling spread throughout her limbs as his strength flowed into her. He cried out her name and they lay together until the last tendrils of pleasure subsided. His heartbeat pulsed within her still, and he gave one last thrust for one last jolt of pleasure.
She tried to tell him, that she wanted to keep him there, in her body forever, so she could feel his heart beat within her, but she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, limbs tangled with his.
****
She woke before dawn, feeling a most pleasing lethargy and contentment. The space next to her was empty and already her legs were cold without the warmth of his muscled legs wrapped around her. The muffled chords of a dulcimer echoed up the stairs, and Ian’s rusty tenor sang a minor, cacophonous tune that unearthed every heartbreaking moment of her life. The clock struck three.
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