by Rebecca King
She jumped when the knocking suddenly stopped and was swiftly followed by the heavy thumps of Clarence’s feet on the stairs. Taking the golden opportunity that had suddenly opened up for her, she quickly removed the bag from the kitchen cupboard before she collected her precious belongings from under the stairs. With a furtive glance up the stairs, she hurried toward the back door. She suspected that Clarence would be looking out of the front window to see who the caller was, but didn’t really care. At some point, he would know she had left. What was the point in lingering to say goodbye?
Before she had second thoughts, she donned her shawl and quickly let herself out of the house. Once on the doorstep she glanced up and down the long row of houses and considered which way to go first. One thing that was apparent was that she had to leave the destitution of the area because if she crossed the paths of those pick-pockets, and they realised what was in her bag she was doomed before her new, unexpectedly independent life could really even begin.
Taking a deep breath, she hurriedly left the hovel and took the path that would take her in the opposite direction to the park.
CHAPTER SIX
The swirling water flowed quickly and began to bubble right in the centre. Luke gasped at the sight of booted feet floating steadily toward him. The feet turned into dark coloured trousers and a sodden shirt rendered almost see-through by the grubby water, but they weren’t his feet. They belonged to someone else. His feet wouldn’t move. He was cold – so very cold, but couldn’t get out of the water. He couldn’t speak; couldn’t breathe past the suffocating chill that threatened to suck him under. Curiously he reached out a hand to stop the body from floating away. He had no idea why but it was imperative he stops that body from leaving. His hand reached out but everything within him was screaming at him to leave it alone. Don’t touch it. He couldn’t help whoever it was, but his hand reached out anyway. Slowly, he drew the shoulder up and out of the water, and watched in horror as the body flipped over. A cry locked in his throat as he looked straight into the blank, lifeless eyes of the beautiful woman called Poppy.
Luke sat bolt upright in bed and swore. It had been five days since he had left her in the park and each night he had been haunted by that blasted dream that had come out of nowhere and stayed. He wiped a thin sheen of sweat off his forehead and willed his senses to settle. It took him a moment to wake up and realise that he was in his bedroom at his lodgings, perfectly safe, and all alone. When he did, he wished he hadn’t.
Was the dream an omen of events yet to come? Had the stunningly gorgeous, yet mysteriously alluring woman been murdered only he had yet to find the body?
“God, I hope not,” he whispered into the night. “Poppy, where are you?”
He closed his eyes on a silent prayer that wasn’t the case, and Poppy was alive somewhere. Whatever had happened to her, Luke suspected that he was going to have to tear London apart before he could understand the rather curious hold the woman appeared to have on him. He hated anyone having such a profound effect on him while at the same time leaving him with so many questions that he wasn’t quite sure where to start to get all the answers he needed. Still, he wasn’t a member of the Star Elite for nothing. If he had to use every ounce of experience the last eight years had brought him, and plunge into the very dregs of society who populated London, he would find Poppy Cleghorne again. When he did eventually find her, he would bloody well satisfy his curiosity before he very firmly put her out of his mind once and for all.
Because of his disturbed sleep he was tired and grumpy when he slumped at the kitchen table the following morning. Lathering a large chunk of bread liberally with butter, he tucked in hungrily and only threw the briefest of glances at Barnaby, who stormed into the kitchen as though the hounds from Hell were nipping at his heels.
“News?”
“I’ll say,” Barnaby snorted and slapped a broadsheet on the table in front of him.
Luke’s brows lifted but when Barnaby poured himself a drink and slumped into the chair opposite without speaking, he reached out and flipped the broadsheet over so he could read what had incensed his friend so much.
“Lord Ingleby Dead. Joshua Samson found strangled.” Luke pursed his lips and took another sip of his wine. “Who identified him?”
“Simon,” Barnaby sighed. “He has had one of the house staff at Ingleby’s house confirm it last night.”
“He didn’t get the relatives to identify him?”
Barnaby threw him a warning look. “Simon wanted someone else to confirm the identity before he informs the family formally later this morning.” Barnaby leaned his elbows on the table and landed a look on Luke that warned him trouble was afoot. “Joshua Samson is one of Raymond Trent’s connections.”
“Trent is connected to Sayers,” Luke mused thoughtfully with a nod.
“I know.”
“Is Jeb and Josh still keeping watch on Trent’s place; The Riverside Club?” He watched Marcus sit beside him and shoved the butter toward his colleague when Marcus ripped a chunk off the loaf on the table between them.
“Yep, and they saw Samson there talking to Trent the night he died. They didn’t get to hear what was said, but it appeared to be a friendly chat before you ask. There was someone else with Samson who was not altogether friendly. He left not long after Samson. There were too many people coming and going, or something, I don’t know. Anyway, nobody realised they had gone until it was too late.” Barnaby nodded to the broadsheet. “Keep reading. Take a look at that at the bottom of the page.”
Luke wondered if that was what had gotten his otherwise usually calm and unflappable colleague in such a temper. He opened the broadsheet. Immediately his gaze landed on the small article on the bottom right corner of the front page.
Pickpockets Strike Again at the Hare and Hounds
“Damn, so they are hassling passengers at the coaching offices now are they?”
“Not in my patch,” Barnaby growled. “Everyone else is either working at Trent’s or looking into Sayers’ activities of late. You, Marcus, and Jeb are the only men available. Get me one of those pick-pockets. I don’t care which one. I don’t care how you do it, but I want one of those little urchins in this house and questioned as quickly as you can.”
“I have been out several times but they seem to have gone to ground,” Luke replied. He and Marcus had taken turns making themselves available at all the pick-pocket’s known stomping grounds but hadn’t seen any of them even once since he had chased them out of the park.
“Any sign of the older ones?”
Marcus snorted. “I saw them a few nights ago but at a distance, and they were gone as quickly as they appeared, the damned slippery toe-rags.”
“Ages?” Barnaby asked. He had just returned from meeting with his good friend, Ben McArthur, in Braintree, and was disturbed to have to add the disappearance of Elizabeth Pendlebury to his list of ongoing investigations. He had yet to catch up on what had been happening while he had been away, but his rapid-fire questions didn’t appear to bother his colleagues who replied readily with answers that reassured him.
“The oldest of them was in his late teens or early twenties. They are real thugs. Definitely not the young urchins Luke came across in the park.”
“I wonder if that was why the younger group were there so early,” Luke mused.
“Maybe,” Barnaby replied. “Until we get our hands on one though, we cannot be sure.”
“Any more information on the woman who found the corpse?” Marcus asked around a mouthful of food.
Luke shook his head. “She vanished just as quickly as she appeared. She said she hailed from Camden, but I have been there the last two days and have not seen any sign of her at all, so doubt she was being honest with me. When I asked her for her address she claimed not to know it.”
Marcus snorted; a sentiment to which Luke wholeheartedly agreed. It irked him more than he cared to admit to have lost her, but there was nothing he could do about it except hop
e that she resurfaced at some point. He turned his attention back to the broadsheet for a moment, noted the location of the ticket office, and left the table.
“I will go and see if I can spot them,” he announced quietly and lifted his jacket off the hook beside the door.
“Keep an eye out for the woman too,” Barnaby drawled thoughtfully.
Luke paused with one hand on the latch. “You think she might be there?” It irked him to be more hopeful than he thought he would be.
Barnaby nodded. “You never know.”
Luke had to agree with him and stared blankly at the door while he considered that. After several moments of thoughtful silence he let himself out into the crisp morning air.
An hour later, he sauntered casually down the street, a walking cane clenched tightly in his hand. Wandering casually in and out of the other pedestrians, he scoured the street ahead of him for any sign of his colleague, Marcus, who had followed him out of the house and was also in the area somewhere. It didn’t take long to find one of several young children loitering somewhat too casually in the area. His eyes met Marcus’ across the street. His colleague nodded imperceptibly and continued his own preamble down the street in the opposite direction without pause.
Before Luke could cross the road he caught sight of a small boy, about eleven years old, as grubby as he was malnourished, busy in the process of helping himself to a barrow man’s fruit. At first Luke ignored him. He couldn’t see the others yet but suspected that the lad’s friends were not too far away. It was a shame that Marcus had already passed because he now daren’t draw attention to himself by looking for his colleague and signalling him. The boy’s shifty gaze was already scanning the area while his hands foraged for stolen goodies. He would almost certainly see anything Luke did that was unusual in any way.
Braced for a run, Luke purposely kept his gaze averted as he carefully removed his gleaming fob-watch. He stared down at the watch face far longer than was necessary before he carefully re-pocketed it. He didn’t need to look up to know the young thief was watching him. He could feel those feral eyes boring holes into his hands; studying his every movement and assessing the value of the treasure. Satisfied that enough of a display had been made, Luke walked past the fruit thief and made his way toward the end of the road. Mentally, he began to count as he wondered just how far he would get before someone stepped forward with a distraction of some kind.
When he reached the end of the road without issue, he cursed bitterly and wondered what to do next. He wasn’t likely to get another chance like this one. The pick-pockets were so close he could positively smell them. The last thing he wanted to do was lose them now. If he turned out of the road they could conceivably turn their attention to someone else. He needed them to target him and get close enough for him to collar one of them. He glanced around, ostensibly looking for traffic, and spied the familiar sight of his colleague stalking jauntily down the opposite side of the street. Relieved that help was at hand, Luke cross the road and nodded at Marcus.
“’ere, you dropped this mister,” a small voice suddenly piped up from beside him.
Luke frowned at the young tearaway in the same manner he had seen many an arrogant fop do with urchins who dared to approach and made a point of putting his hand on his fob-watch pocket to stop the thief from helping himself - or herself. It was hard to tell which it was. The younger’s hair was a tangled mess of cots and soot, and the clothing was so ill-fitting and unkempt that it practically shrouded him – or her. He almost smiled when he watched the child glance furtively at his hand, but kept his face a mask of disgust as he noted another child approach causally from his right. The slow way the lad crept forward was more than enough to warn Luke that he was about to be mugged, but the pick-pockets hadn’t counted on who their opponent was this time.
“It isn’t mine,” Luke growled. He eyed the penny dispassionately as he wondered just whose pocket that had come out of because he rather suspected that it hadn’t been the lad’s. “Keep it,” he shrugged as he skirted around the miscreant and continued to walk toward Marcus, who was watching the interplay with interest. Determined not to make this particular hit easy for any pick-pocket, Luke increased his pace, aware that Barnaby had now crossed the road and was heading toward them.
“But, sir, I saw it fall out of your pocket,” the youngster persisted, oblivious to the danger nearby.
“I told you I don’t want it, now go away,” Luke growled, without taking his eyes off the path ahead. He knew he hadn’t got anything in his pockets other than an old fob watch that didn’t even have a face on it, but the pick-pockets didn’t know that. Everything he wanted to keep was in the upper pocket of his waistcoat, secreted in an inner pocket deep within the lining that no pick-pocket could get to. He had spent a fortune on the damned outfit, but it was worth the expense if he managed to get his hands on one of the little thieves now creeping out of the side-streets to support their small partner-in-crime.
“Please, sir,” an older boy suddenly piped up. “Give us some money for food.”
“Your friend here has a penny, use that,” Luke snapped.
In a manner that was as casual as he could make it, he tucked his hands into his pockets and in doing so drew the sides of his jacket back, brazenly displaying the golden prize attached to his chest. Although his stance was seemingly relaxed and casual, deep inside he was a seething mass of tension that was mentally running through everything he needed to do once the urchins made a move. He didn’t have to wait long. One of the older boys clearly decided that the prize on Luke’s chest was too good to resist because he suddenly dodged around Luke. He appeared on the pavement directly in front of him, effectively blocking Luke’s path with his thin frame. His actions left Luke with no choice but to try to side-step around him. As he did he bumped into the young girl who had crept up to his side without him having heard her. Instinctively, he glanced down. Before he could say anything, he felt a faint tug on his waistcoat and sensed the telltale flurry of movement. That was it. He didn’t hear anything, just felt that betraying tug that warned him his fob watch had been lifted.
“’Ere get off me,” the young girl screamed at the same time that the boy in front of Luke began to gurgle.
Luke looked down at the boy whose shirt was now clenched firmly in his fist and smiled into his face as Marcus hauled the girl onto the pathway beside them.
“Taking something that’s not yours, are you?” he growled as he lifted the boys hand that was still clutching the fob-watch chain. He turned to look at the chain that dangled from the grubby fingers and sighed deeply.
“Get off me. You can’t do this,” the boy protested. He wriggled and squirmed as he tried to kick Luke hard on the shins but was no match for Luke’s towering strength. Rather than gaining his freedom he merely found himself lifted higher off the ground until he began to grow fearful of how high off the ground he was.
“Call off your friends or I swear I shall have you in front of the magistrate before you can blink.” He glanced over the boy’s shoulder and watched the barrow man realise some of his fruit had been lifted. The accusatory gaze he landed on the urchins warned Luke that he had a few minutes alone before the trader would come looking for compensation in one form or another. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction of any kind and motioned to Barnaby to deal with the man before they were interrupted.
“Drop it.” He snarled, but yanked his chain out of the young boy’s hands before the youngster could release it.
“Ready?” Marcus asked as he hauled the young girl around to stand beside them.
“What? ‘Ere put me down. I ain’t ready for nothin’,” the boy protested, and redoubled his efforts to secure his release.
“Oh, yes, I think we are ready,” Luke declared casually as he eyed the young boy dangling from his hand. Now that he had seen him up close, he suspected that the lad was more likely to be fourteen or fifteen. In spite of his age, there was wisdom in his eyes that
bespoke of someone who had seen the hardships life could offer, and didn’t expect them to get any better.
“Get off me. I’ll scream I will,” the boy protested.
“Please do. I will make it known to everyone that you have just stolen my pocket watch,” Luke reasoned. “Now, who do you think they are going to believe? A small, grotty thief who has been caught red-handed with something he couldn’t possibly afford to purchase himself, and the barrow man’s apples stuffed in his pockets, or me, a dapper gentleman walking down the street minding his own business? Now, let me think. If I take you to the magistrate you would get lashings and at least twelve months in prison. It is more than enough for someone like you to learn the folly of your crimes, or maybe not.”
The boy’s eyes flashed defiantly but his struggles eventually slowed to a stop and he slumped somewhat dejectedly in his hand.
“Take me to the magistrate then, but let her go. She ain’t done nothin’ to you,” the boy bargained. He nodded toward the young girl Marcus held.
Luke was already shaking his head. “Oh, I think she is your accomplice. Now, I may be wrong, but seeing as I was the one who saw you in the park accosting that woman the other day with at least four of your friends, I think it is safe to say that you are not working by yourself. However, you two will be sufficient for our purposes.”
While the boy and girl looked warily at each other, neither of them spoke.
Both Marcus and Luke braced themselves when a group of at least six other urchins suddenly raced into the end of the street. They slammed to a stop as soon as they realised the predicament their friends were in and looked at each other doubtfully.