by Stella Riley
Lydia laid down her pen and stood up.
‘Since it isn’t Henry’s job to decide who I’ll receive and who I won’t,’ she said crisply, trying to ignore the surge of pleasure his presence created, ‘there won’t be a next time.’
‘Oh dear. Poor Henry.’
Lydia made a small huffing sound that might have been either annoyance or amusement.
‘Since you and he are such good friends, perhaps you should call on him instead.’
‘Damn,’ said Eden cheerfully. ‘And we thought we’d been so discreet.’
She gave a tiny choke of laughter but said, ‘You’re outrageous!’
‘Not generally. There must be something about you that--’
‘Don’t you dare blame me!’
‘—makes me want to provoke you,’ he finished, his eyes at complete variance with his innocent tone. ‘What did you think I was going to say?’
‘You know perfectly well. And you were going to say it.’
He smiled. ‘Yes.’ Then, having successfully deprived her of words, he reached into the breast of his coat and drew out some folded sheets of paper. ‘I’ve something to show you.’
Her face brightened with interest.
‘Stephen’s codes? You’ve managed to work them out?’
‘Yes.’ He spread the papers out on the table, gestured to a chair and said, ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’ She managed to avoid starting another flippant conversation by remarking that it was a bit late to begin observing the courtesies and instead sat down beside him. Then, frowning at the uppermost sheet, ‘I hope you’re going to explain.’
‘Yes. Stephen created three quite different codes and wrote out an example of each of them; a sample which reveals its own key. My personal favourite is this one because it looks incredibly simple but isn’t.’ Eden placed Stephen’s original beside his own work. ‘It’s also the only one that doesn’t use number substitution. After some fairly laborious trial-and-error, I eventually worked out that A is now M, B becomes N – and so on. So that first line which reads AGD RMFTQD ITA MDF UZ TQMHQZ translates to Our Father who art in heaven.’ He directed a slanting smile at her. ‘Simple, wouldn’t you say?’
‘So the next bit says ‘Hallowed be thy name?’
‘Does it?’
Lydia squinted at the first group of letters, trying to figure it out. Finally, she said, ‘I don’t know. The A in hallowed should be M but it’s not.’
‘No. In the second line, A has become P; in the third line it becomes C and, in the fourth, V. Thankfully, the fifth line uses the same key as the first. This isn’t just one code – it’s a combination of four different ones. And you’ll appreciate that if it was an ordinary message … if we didn’t already know what it says … every line would have to be worked out from scratch.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s quite impressive.’
She shook her head. ‘You really think Stephen did this purely to pass the time?’
‘Unless you can suggest any practical application – yes.’ He reached for the next two papers. ‘These are number substitutions – the most common method of cryptography – and they took me a lot longer because they translate into Shakespearean speeches with which I am absolutely not familiar. This one is complicated by setting three numbers to each consonant and four to each vowel. And in this, numbers of less than a hundred represent single letters while larger numbers are either syllables or sometimes names of people or places. I’ve written out the keys of both but thought you might like to do the transposition yourself when you’ve nothing better to do – which I know doesn’t often happen.’
Lydia looked from the neat tables of highly complex-looking figures to the fine-boned face beside her. She said, ‘I can’t believe you did all this. It must have taken hours.’
‘And a good deal of wasted paper,’ Eden agreed. Realising he was becoming far too aware of just how close she was and what he’d like to do about it, he resisted temptation by standing up. ‘And now I should probably go. Aside from having to re-write your letter, Henry said you were going out. Strand Alley, is it?’
‘Yes. If you wished, you could --’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Or no. Of course not. I daresay you’ve other things to do.’
‘Nothing in particular. And I’d be interested to see the other half of your enterprise.’
‘Really?’ Lydia beamed at him. ‘Then just give me a moment to get my cloak.’
Watching her whirl from the room, Eden wondered which was responsible for that wide uninhibited smile; the prospect of his company or that he’d expressed interest in the sewing women. Somewhat ruefully, he decided that it was probably the latter.
A little while later, walking along with her hand on the Colonel’s arm, Lydia tried very hard to stop the big bubble of happiness inside her from manifesting itself by grinning like an idiot or constantly looking up into his face. It was important, she decided, not to get carried away with the idea he might actually want to walk with her when the truth was that he was genuinely interested in the female branch of her business. She just hoped that Lily and the other women would put her flushed cheeks down to the near-freezing temperature rather than the man at her side.
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. An air of rare gloom clung to the rooms and, though the women greeted her politely enough and took long, appreciative looks at Eden, nobody smiled.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Lydia immediately.
‘It’s Jenny,’ sighed Lily Carter. ‘When she didn’t come in this morning, Betty went round to see if she was ill.’
‘And is she?’
‘No. That idle lump of a father said she’d got another position. One that pays better. Only he wouldn’t tell Betty what it was or where.’
‘Wouldn’t he?’ A martial gleam lit Lydia’s eyes. ‘Well, he’ll tell me. Where does she live?’
‘Bridewell. Three doors down from the bridge. But --’
‘Good.’
She spun round and was heading for the door when Eden’s hand closed round her wrist. He said, ‘Wait. Before you go storming into one of the most sordid parts of the City, you should recognise that though this girl worked for you, you don’t have the right to interfere in either her life or her family.’
‘You don’t understand,’ replied Lydia impatiently. ‘Jenny was widowed almost before she was a wife and went back to live with her father so she could look after her younger brother and sisters. Her father is a lazy, bullying drunk.’
‘That’s as may be. But --’
‘Jenny wouldn’t just go,’ said one of the women suddenly. ‘She’d never up and leave without a word.’
There were murmurs of agreement but Lily said regretfully, ‘That’s true enough. But what the gentleman says is also true, Miss Lydia. It won’t do you no good to interfere. And even supposing you do find out where Jenny’s gone … what then?’
‘I’ll know she’s all right,’ came the stubborn reply.
‘What makes you suppose that she might not be?’ asked Eden. ‘She may have been given an unexpected opportunity but had no time to tell you about it. At least wait for a couple of days to see if she sends a message.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘If she doesn’t, I’ll track her down for you,’ he sighed. ‘But only on condition you don’t go wandering about Bridewell on your own. Do we have an agreement?’
Glancing around, Lydia saw that a few smiles were breaking out … one or two of which contained more than a hint of sly speculation about the exact nature of her relationship with Colonel Maxwell. She said grudgingly, ‘Yes. All right. I suppose so.’
‘Excellent,’ said Eden. ‘So now perhaps you’ll introduce me to these ladies.’
* * *
Three days later, Lydia was just scribbling a note to tell the Colonel that there had been no word from Jenny when a hammering on the front door followed by frantic voices in the hall drew her out to discover what was going on.
‘I
t’s Rachel this time,’ said Lily Carter breathlessly. ‘And Mary. They’ve vanished.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
FOUR
‘Stop. Sit down, take a breath and start at the beginning,’ said Eden when Lydia arrived white-faced in Cheapside. ‘And full names would be helpful. The first girl was Jenny …?’
‘Sutton. Jenny Sutton.’ Lydia folded her hands tightly together to stop them shaking.
‘Good.’ He wrote it down, added the girl’s direction and then looked up, his expression calm and attentive. ‘And the others?’
‘Rachel Walker and M-Mary Dawson.’
‘And neither of these women went home last night?’
She shook her head and said distractedly, ‘Mary’s mother must be frantic. I’ve sent Nancy but --’
‘Who is Nancy?’
‘My maid. She’s Mary’s sister.’ Unable to sit still any longer, Lydia stood up and said wildly, ‘Why is this happening? Are women being seized off the street all over London – or is it just the ones at Strand Alley? And where is Jenny? You can’t still think she went off of her own free will!’
‘I don’t think it. Please sit down again, Lydia.’
‘I can’t!’ She felt sick and her brain wouldn’t work. She’d come running to Colonel Maxwell without thinking, throwing incoherent words at him like a mad woman. And he was being reasonable which somehow felt like the last thing she wanted. ‘Something terrible could be happening to them and I have to stop it!’
‘No. You have to leave it to me,’ he said, gentle but firm. ‘Now sit down and tell me where Rachel and Mary live.’
She settled back on the edge of the chair and gave him the information he asked for. Then, abruptly, ‘Do you think they might have been taken to a brothel?’
‘It’s a possibility.’ The most obvious one. But it doesn’t explain why these particular women were chosen. And three inside a week? ‘Leaving Jenny aside for a moment … did either Rachel or Mary have a young man? Someone they might have spent the night with?’
‘No! Rachel’s a married woman whose husband has been bed-ridden since Worcester. And Mary’s mother would skin her alive if she thought she was up to no good. Somebody has them and – and this is wasting time.’ She stood up again. ‘I’m going to see Jenny’s father. He must know something!’
‘I agree.’ Eden also rose and closed his hands over her shoulders. ‘And this is what we’re going to do. I’ll visit Mr Sutton. You are going to apply your mind to keeping yourself and the other women safe. That is an absolute priority. And if you can’t promise to let me deal with this and follow my instructions to the letter, I’ll have Henry lock you in the attic until I’ve found out what the hell is going on. Clear?’
‘Yes. But I need to go to Strand Alley --’
‘Presently – and by way of your home. Now, if you don’t want to waste yet more time, you’ll stop arguing,’ he said crisply. ‘Let’s go.’
In Bishopsgate, Colonel Maxwell apprised Henry of the situation and then asked him to find a young, stalwart footman to dog Mistress Neville’s every step.
‘And make sure he’s able to handle himself in a fight,’ he added.
‘Certainly, Colonel. You may safely leave it to me,’ replied Henry. ‘I shall also take extra measures here in the house. I believe it is wholly secure … but one can never be too careful.’
‘No. One can’t. And one more thing.’ Eden lowered his voice. ‘It’s possible there’ll be a letter. If there is, I want to see it first.’ And, turning to where Lydia was pacing up and down. ‘Now I’ll escort you to Strand Alley. But I want your word that you’ll stay there until either I or someone I send arrives to bring you home again.’
‘I can’t promise that! I --’
‘Henry and the attic or a few hours with your women,’ he said implacably. ‘Your choice.’
‘I can’t – oh! This is ridiculous! I --’
Without further ado, Eden seized her elbow, marched her into the parlour and pinned her to the closed door.
‘This is neither a game nor me being magisterial. I’m trying to keep you safe, you stubborn, idiotic woman! Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that, if someone can abduct your girls at will, they can also abduct you? I know you want to know where they are – but that would be a damned silly way to find out.’ He dropped a fleeting kiss on her brow. ‘Now will you please stop being bloody difficult and just do as you’re told so that I can go and shake some information out of Sutton?’
Lydia stood perfectly still, staring into a pair of irritable hazel eyes. That kiss had made her want to cry. Swallowing hard, she said, ‘Yes. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.’
‘Thank God you’ve finally realised it,’ he snapped. ‘Now let’s go.’
* * *
Leaving Lydia in Strand Alley with numerous admonitions, Colonel Maxwell strode south down Old Bailey, crossed Ludgate Hill and plunged into the labyrinthine alleyways of Bridewell. Here the Fleet River flowed sluggishly on its way to the Thames at Blackfriars. The houses were jostled together, overshadowing the streets and the air stank.
Random thoughts and possibilities about the situation occurred to him as he walked. Had someone turned their attention from the lorinery to the haberdashery? And if so, why? Were the women being taken for the obvious reason that sprang to mind in such cases or were they bargaining chips in a hand yet to be played? He couldn’t, he realised, answer any of these questions with certainty. His only concrete thought was, What the bloody hell does somebody want with Lydia?
He couldn’t answer that question either but it was better than letting his mind drift back to the moment she’d half-run into Cheapside, white-faced and shaking. Something had cracked in his chest then and he’d wanted to wrap his arms about her and stroke her hair and tell her not to worry because, whatever was wrong, he would mend it for her. He’d almost done it … and still didn’t know how he’d stopped himself. Or why.
Because he knew Bridewell well from days long gone by, he found the house he sought without difficulty. Aside from the fact that someone had made an effort to sweep the filth from the step, it looked little different from the others around it. Eventually, his peremptory knock caused the door to open a crack and the scared face of a girl peered around it.
Eden did his best to look unthreatening.
‘Is Jenny Sutton your sister?’ he asked. And, when the girl nodded, ‘And your father is at home?’ Another nod. ‘Good. I want to speak to him.’
‘He – he’s asleep,’ she whispered. Then, ‘Where’s Jenny?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’m going to find her but I need to ask your father some questions first. Will you let me come in?’
‘I – I dursn’t, sir.
‘I won’t hurt you, I promise.’ And then, ‘Mistress Neville sent me.’
This did the trick.
‘Miss Lydia?’ She opened the door wide enough for Eden to step through. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
Eden glanced around the gloomy sparsely-furnished room and landed on the man snoring beside the hearth. The wine-bottles littering the floor around him told their own story. The fellow was dead drunk; and households as poor as this one couldn’t normally afford wine.
Eden looked back at the girl and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Becky, sir.’
‘Well, Becky … did your father buy the wine after Jenny went away?’
She nodded, twisting her hands together.
‘Someone gave him money?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘But he didn’t give me any for market so Polly and Walter ain’t eaten since yesterday.’
Eden’s temper had been simmering gently. Now it started to boil. But he merely said, ‘Nor you either, I imagine.’ And when she stared down at her hands, ‘Where are Polly and Walter now?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘Good. Go and stay with them and don’t come down until I call.’
H
er eyes were wide with alarm. ‘But sir … what’ll you do?’
‘I’m going to wake your father so we can have a little chat. Now go.’
He waited until Becky had vanished up the narrow twist of the stairs. Then he advanced on her stinking stertorous lump of a father and hauled him out of the chair. The fellow didn’t stir. Grunting, Eden heaved him over his shoulder, grateful that the bastard was of spare build. Then he went outside to the banks of the Fleet and tipped Mr Sutton face-down into it.
Fortunately, the river wasn’t deep. Less fortunate was what was in it.
Sutton shuddered, inhaled a lungful of filthy water and dissolved into a fit of coughing whilst trying to push himself on to his hands and knees. Eden let him right himself and then, mastering his own disgust, stepped into the river to kick Sutton’s arms from under him and plant one boot on his neck.
A handful of neighbours came out to watch. Colonel Maxwell barked an order for them to mind their own business and they melted back into the shadows. When Sutton started to thrash wildly, Eden removed his foot and gave him a moment to breathe before repeating the process. Not until Sutton began cursing volubly between duckings did Eden let him clamber to his feet. Then, regaining dry ground and in a tone that could have cut bread, he said, ‘Out. And shut your mouth. You’ll have plenty of time to talk in a moment – but not here.’
Dripping and rank as a midden, Sutton lurched to the bank. He knelt for a moment to recover his breath, then he pushed to his feet and took a stumbling dive at Eden.
Having expected something of the sort, Eden stepped to one side and stuck out his foot. Sutton went down like a sack of meal.
‘I wouldn’t try that again if I were you. I don’t mind hurting you. In fact, I’d enjoy it. But if you want me to refrain from reducing you to pulp, you’re going to answer my questions – privately, in your own yard. Now move.’
Foolishly, Sutton told him to bugger off. Eden hit him; hard enough to take him down but not hard enough to knock him out. Somebody watching from one of the doorways applauded and shouted, ‘Want a hand, Captain? He’s a useless piece of shit so there’s a few of us here who’d be happy to help.’