Her cheeks colored and I decided there was no need to inquire further about her previous employment. “And he is a good master?”
“The best. Kind and generous.”
“How large is his staff?”
“There are five of us, all from the old neighborhood, as you say.”
A small number, but more than nearly anyone else had in this part of town. Mr. Hancock’s house was no larger than those surrounding it, but it was in far better condition. No peeling paint or broken windows here. The furnishings were modest and tasteful, almost as if they had been selected in a deliberate effort not to be showy.
Inspector Pickering returned to the room with a sheet of paper and a pencil, which he handed to me. A quick and subtle shake of his head told me he had discovered nothing of significance in the study. I penned a note, asking Mr. Hancock to call on me at his earliest convenience, thanked the maid for her assistance, and we quitted the house.
Stepping back into the street, the smell of something rotting assaulted us. Mr. Hancock had succeeded in creating a haven for himself, but it would not be so easy to do the same for his surroundings. A pack of boys ran past us, all of them sporting emerald green scarves. I reached out to stop one of them, but they were too quick.
“You won’t get anywhere with them, Lady Emily,” Inspector Pickering said.
I pulled a face. “True, but I know someone who might.”
* * *
Back home, after I’d dropped the inspector at Scotland Yard, I found my husband in his study, where, beneath a cloud of cigar smoke, he was poring over a stack of papers that pertained to hypothetical threats against King Edward. He looked relieved to push them away, explaining that he had been over them twice already and could find no connection between any of them and the murders.
“Perhaps I can present an alternative possibility,” I said. He listened attentively when I detailed my theory about the King’s Boys.
“It’s a reasonable idea,” he said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. “I read through Pickering’s files as well—I assumed that’s why you left them on my desk downstairs—and find it striking that there is no information about the leaders of the gang. That’s quite unusual. Ordinarily, those in charge are happy to reap the rewards of their positions. They command a great deal of fear and respect, and are careful to never be implicated in any criminal schemes. They’re dashed difficult to arrest.”
“I suspect Prentice Hancock is the king in question. And before you ask, no, I have no evidence to support my claim,” I said. “So far as I can tell, he’s a model of propriety and a beacon of light in the East End. It is his very sincerity that gives me pause.”
“How very cynical of you, my dear. I should have thought you’d be singing his praises.”
“It is wholly out of character for me, I agree. But he is the man who gave Ned Traddles his second chance—a second chance that never amounted to anything at the time. So far as I can tell, Ned joined the King’s Boys immediately after the police let him go. If Mr. Hancock is the king, he was in the perfect position to get Ned under his control. The child would have been so grateful not to have been sent to jail that he’d do anything his savior asked.”
“And by maintaining a reputation for goodness, who would suspect him of anything nefarious? But what does Hancock gain from it all? Based on your description of his domestic arrangements, he’s hardly living a life of luxury. What does he do with his ill-gotten gains?”
“Perhaps he prefers power above everything,” I said. “Which would explain why he chooses to be called king, not captain. Furthermore, he could be a miser.”
“I take it you want to warn him that he may be in danger?”
“I don’t see how I can do otherwise. He may be a vicious reprobate, but I cannot stand by and let him be slain.”
“Quite,” he said. “However, you haven’t confirmed whether he is, in fact, running the gang. Warning him could put you in a great deal of danger. It would tip him off to your interest in the organization. Even if he’s not in charge, word might get back to their so-called king. On another subject, I have news of my own. In my ongoing quest to find the chalice illustrated in our last clue, I went to your favorite spot in London today, the British Museum. And there, behind a case holding a rather magnificent Anglo-Saxon vessel very like the one in the drawing, I found this.” He passed me a sheet of paper sheathed in an envelope bearing the Hargreaves coat of arms.
“The brother of the king, the noble Duke Humphrey, was wounded in the groin. Gore flowed down from the sword. Having fallen to the ground, the king stood over him to assist him. He was in this battle the defender of his brother. Your much-loved Tito Livio Frulovisi again?” I asked, studying the sword sketched at the bottom of the page.
“No,” he replied. “This is from a chronicle penned by a monk in Canterbury, Thomas Elmham. Humphrey was wounded at Agincourt.”
“I don’t see how this fits with any of our theories,” I said. “Let us consider the broader implications of the messages. All of them refer to Henry V, correct? Why would Queen Victoria have wanted to turn your attention to him in particular?”
“Perhaps she believed her own son would prove as disappointing a monarch as Henry V’s did.”
“Henry VI wasn’t all bad,” I said. “He founded Eton and King’s College, Cambridge, which to my mind has one of the most beautiful chapels in all of England.”
“Don’t ask a Trinity man to start lauding King’s, my dear.” He motioned for me to return the letter to him, which I did. He picked up a magnifying glass from his desk and scrutinized every word on the page. “There’s nothing in the handwriting, nothing unusual in the paper. Not that I expected there would be.”
“I don’t suppose King’s College could have a connection to the King’s Boys?”
“Highly improbable. I shall have to focus on finding the sword and the next clue.” He sighed and turned his head at the sound of a knock on the door. “Yes?”
Davis opened it and peered in. “A Mr. Prentice Hancock to see you, Lady Emily. I’ve put him in the crimson drawing room. It seemed the most appropriate place for someone who looks so much like Father Christmas.”
Truly, my butler was a man after my own heart.
1415
38
Alys heard the horses before Cecily, who was kneeling next to a tree, praying so fervently nothing could have distracted her. It was only when the nurse pulled her by the shoulder that she crossed herself and rose to her feet, steeling herself. Two unarmed women would be easy prey for bandits. Cecily vowed she would never again be so unprepared, although she could not blame herself in the circumstances. Lord Esterby had not allowed her to take anything with her when he flung her out of his castle.
Before fear settled into her, relief replaced it. She saw William’s standard and then caught the gleam of his scabbard through the thick trees. As he approached, she gasped when she saw the jagged red scar on his cheek. She dropped back onto her knees and began to weep.
“I knew it to be ugly, but had no inkling it was so bad,” William said, jumping down from his horse and crouching beside her.
“I see nothing ugly,” Cecily said. “I weep in relief that the wound did not kill you. I had no idea you were hurt.”
“All men are hurt in battle, one way or another. It is nothing that should trouble you. Tell me, wife, why you are here in the woods.”
She glanced at the men with him and saw Hugh de Morland. “No doubt your friend has already shared my sad story. I swear to you I have done no wrong.”
“But Lord Esterby has,” William said. “And I suspect his wife is no better.”
“You must allow me to defend myself.” Cecily could not bring herself to meet his eyes. “I would never behave in a manner that would bring such shame to you.”
“You are my wife, Cecily, and I trust you implicitly. There is no need for explanation or defense. I take you at your word and now want only to re
store your honor.” He motioned to his men and one of the squires dismounted and brought his horse forward. He helped Alys climb atop it, her full skirts making it difficult, but not impossible for her to sit astride the saddle. William, back on his chestnut steed, motioned again, and another squire boosted Cecily up behind him. She sat sideways, her arms tight around her husband’s waist.
The women had not covered much distance since their expulsion, and it took very little time for William’s party to reach the castle. Once they had passed through the outer and inner gates, William shouted to the men guarding the inner courtyard, identifying himself and commanding them to bring the baron to him.
To Cecily, it seemed as though it took Lord Esterby longer to cover the distance from his hall to the courtyard than it had taken her husband’s retinue to make its way through the forest. Adeline was at his side, her shoulders thrown back, a wicked look of glee on her face. It was she, rather than her husband, who spoke first.
“You ought not have come back here, Cecily,” she spat. “You are no longer welcome.”
“I am here to speak with you, Lord Esterby,” William said. “There is no need for a scene.”
“It was an attempt to avoid a scene that led me to ask Lady Hargrave to leave,” the baron said. “You know I would not have done such a thing had I any other option.”
“I will not stand idle when anyone besmirches the good name of my wife,” William said, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Father Simon, who had been standing behind Adeline, stepped forward.
“Violence will solve nothing, William.”
“I have not come for violence, Simon, my old friend,” he said. “I have come to collect Cecily’s belongings. We neither of us seek further acquaintance with any who would believe lies. Bring her things at once, her books included, and we shall be gone.”
“She can’t deny the accusations,” Adeline said.
“I have no interest in doing so,” Cecily replied. She slid down from her husband’s horse and walked with slow, measured steps until she stood directly in front of the other woman. “Virtue is a reward unto itself, and it is a reward I know well. I need not sully another’s reputation in a vain attempt to save mine, for all who are decent and honest know the truth about me. I am afraid of nothing and of no one. I thank you for the hospitality you and Lord Esterby have given me and bear neither of you a grudge. I pray you find much happiness with each other.” Finished, she turned on her heel and quitted the courtyard, not pausing even to exchange a glance with William. She did not stop until she had exited the outer gate of the castle and reached the edge of the woods surrounding it.
Her heart pounding, she wondered what William would say. Instead of allowing him to defend her, she had made a spectacle of herself. She heard someone approaching from behind and squeezed her eyes shut, terrified to see his reaction. If he had even come himself.
He had. He pulled off his gloves and touched her chin with a single finger, lifting it up. Still, she kept her eyes closed. “Open,” he commanded. She obeyed. “What a thing it is to learn one has taken a wife as fit to do battle as a knight himself. I could not ask for a better partner. Come, now, we must on to Derbyshire without delay. We’ve a house to build and an estate to manage. I’ve much to tell you.”
1901
39
Before we descended from the study to the drawing room, Colin and I had a refreshing discussion about how to approach Mr. Hancock. My husband felt we ought not accuse him outright of running the King’s Boys, while I felt direct assault the most likely way to get an unguarded reaction from him. In the end, however, I acquiesced to Colin’s demands. He presses me on very few occasions, and when he does, uses methods I shall not discuss except to say I do not consider them entirely fair. They all but guarantee him a satisfactory result and leave me incapable of voicing complaint. We would go easy on Mr. Hancock.
“What a delight to find you had called,” he said, after refusing my offer of tea. “I’m more sorry than I can say to have missed you. You ought not be wandering around the East End, Lady Emily, even with an escort. It can be rather dangerous.”
His words struck me as more ominous than he had likely intended. “I was in the neighborhood on other business and heard mention of your name,” I said. “As I told you when we met, I am looking for charitable works I might support in the area.”
“It’s very good of you,” he said. “I do hope we can find a way to work together. There is so much to be done.”
“Quite,” Colin said. “If you will forgive me, my dear, I do have concerns about your plans. I’ve heard a galling number of stories about the gangs that run riot in the neighborhood, the King’s Boys in particular. I don’t like the thought of my wife being harassed by them.”
“The King’s Boys are no worse than some of the others, and better in ways than most,” Mr. Hancock said. “That might be why I’ve had no luck turning its members away from crime. They’re not so recklessly violent, and, hence, tend to spend less time in jail than some of their compatriots.”
“How do you entice them to leave their evil ways behind?” I asked.
“I have a certain reputation, you understand,” he said. “It is known that I will help anyone willing to do honest work find a position, even if I have to guarantee his—or her—character myself. I can offer a bit of money to ease the transition and do my best to show them an example of a better way of life. I am not a rich man, Lady Emily, but I have done well enough to live comfortably. What man could ask for more?”
“I’m surprised to hear you say the King’s Boys aren’t so violent as other gangs.” Colin crossed to the table upon which stood a crystal decanter filled with his favorite whisky. He poured two glasses and gave one of them to our guest. “I know you’d rather not indulge, my dear.” I smiled sweetly and hoped I looked demure. In truth, I wanted to laugh at him playing the part of the typical husband. He returned to his seat and continued. “I’ve been told more than once that the King’s Boys are the most notorious villains in the East End, that their leaders operate anonymously, and that their treatment of their underlings is quite vile. But of course, you have far more experience than I.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Closer proximity to them, perhaps, but little else. All I know is that despite years of trying, I’ve never been able to persuade even one of the King’s Boys to pursue an honest life.”
“I spoke with someone this morning, not far from your house. He was wearing a green scarf—I believe that represents the King’s Boys, does it not?” I asked. Mr. Hancock nodded. “He was called Rodney and seemed not altogether dedicated to the organization. I could be wrong, of course, but it felt to me like he was looking for a way out. He was considerably older than I expected, which is silly as there would have to be adults at the top of the organization. I hadn’t seen anyone else his age sporting a green scarf, which led me to approach him. I thought he might be running the show, but it became clear he reports to someone else. Have you met him?”
“Rodney?” Mr. Hancock frowned. “No, I don’t believe I have. I can’t think of anyone of my acquaintance called that.”
So much for drawing Rodney’s surname out of him. “Well, you ought to seek him out, Mr. Hancock,” I said. “I am certain he’s ripe for conversion. I understand that a number of Lizzie Hopman’s friends ran with the King’s Boys. Did you recognize any of them at her funeral?”
“I can’t say I did, Lady Emily.” His eyes danced. “You’ve got quite a spitfire here, don’t you, Mr. Hargreaves? I reckon she could have the whole East End cleaned up in a fortnight if she set her mind to it.”
“She’s unstoppable,” Colin said. “Which is why I’m so grateful that she’s found you, Mr. Hancock. Perhaps together we can persuade her that she can offer the backing required for your work while you handle whatever must be done in situ.”
“An admirable suggestion, sir, admirable. I had hoped for as much, and, as a result, brought you a little summary of some of my
plans. If you would be so kind as to look through this list, Lady Emily, and select whichever strikes your fancy, we could, perhaps, start there. There is an orphanage not far from St. Botolph’s that is in dire need of renovation. The poor children don’t even have a yard to play in. I could see at once that you have a kind heart and thought this might be a wonderful way for us to begin our partnership, if I may be so bold as to call it that.”
I took the folder he held out to me. “How marvelously observant you are. I shall read through this all as quickly as I can and make a decision. Would it be best if I send a cheque along with my response? That way we can get to work with as little delay as possible.”
“I am speechless, Lady Emily, at your generosity, but there is no need to send money at once. Let us first set our goals and construct a plan. Take your time considering the options and reach out to me when you are ready. In the meantime, please accept my thanks for your gracious assistance.” He thanked Colin for the whisky, complimented me on my housekeeping, and left us with a charming smile.
“He seems less and less like a criminal mastermind,” I said. “If he hadn’t rejected my offer of a cheque—”
“He seems to me more and more like a criminal mastermind,” Colin interrupted. “Too smart to let us think he was after money, careful not to make you feel pressured, full of compliments and kind words.”
“I had hoped he might be able to give us information about Rodney, but he showed no sign of knowing the man. But then, if he is, as you suggest, a criminal mastermind, he would be careful to reveal nothing.”
“You leap to the conclusion that Rodney is significant to anything. Most likely he’s a mid-level thug who doesn’t even matter to his mother. She would have given up on him years ago.”
I frowned. “I hope you’re right. Not about his mother, but that he isn’t important to the organization. Mentioning his name might put him at risk. I should have thought of that. It was careless of me not to.”
Uneasy Lies the Crown Page 22