“What’re you doing here? And who’s he?” More than offended at the disrupted protocol, he appeared afraid of Ramsay. For his part, Ramsay said nothing and made no move, but remained still as stone, though watchful as a raptor.
Suzanne replied, “This is my good friend, Diarmid Ramsay, who is only an escort for a woman moving around town on her own. A personal guard, if you will.” In her experience, whenever she tended to business most people addressed whatever man might be nearby, so she felt it necessary to explain Ramsay’s function here. She hated being ignored, and today had neither time nor energy to tolerate it. “I’m here for another chat with Master Higgins.”
“He’s got nothing more to say to you about anything.”
“I think he’ll talk to me if he doesn’t wish to answer to the local magistrate. I’m certain I can talk my other good friend, the Earl of Throckmorton, who has no love at all for sodomites, into having a chat with his good friend . . . the king.” She was, perhaps, overstating Daniel’s influence, as well as Charles’s interest in the matter, but this man didn’t know that and probably never would. “I would encourage cooperation from Higgins in my investigation.”
The fellow fumed, apparently assembling something to say rude enough to make her go away, but he seemed to sense she would not be put off by mere words, and Ramsay would not react well to a verbal assault any better than to a physical one. So he stepped back and let the door swing open to admit them. “Enter,” he said. “Master Higgins is still upstairs.”
Suzanne and Ramsay stepped inside the house. The smells tonight were of stale wine and lingering smoke, dirty clothes, leftover food, and filthy bodies. There were fewer men in the room than the night before, and they were all asleep. Some on the floor, huddled in blankets and stinking clothing, some on sofas. One fellow had made a bed of the dining table, surrounded by plates of half-eaten food and glasses emptied of wine and spirits. Suzanne and Ramsay proceeded to the spiral stairwell and made their way up.
They found Higgins and his companion entwined on a large bed near a window that looked out over the street. Moonlight washed over them there. At the other end of the room the hearth flickered high with a newly laid fire, and several candelabras threw light. At their approach, Higgins raised his head sleepily and gave them a baleful gaze. The companion looked up, and grunted. Without speaking, he drew a bedsheet around himself, rose from the bed, and made his way out via the stairwell. Higgins watched him go, looking as if he wished he could follow, then rose and sat on the edge of the bed. Its deep, very expensive, down-filled mattress poufed around him. Suzanne found herself wondering how someone who plainly had a great deal of money would willingly live in filth like this. Had she made enough money for that sort of luxury during her days servicing men, she was certain she would have made a home far less dirty and smelly than this. Even Maddie’s brothel had not been this nasty.
He leaned his elbows on his knees and his head tilted as he gazed up at her. “What is it you want this time?” He sounded more impatient than angry, and Suzanne surmised she might get what she wanted if she gave the appearance his evening wouldn’t be terribly disrupted by it.
“I need more information about how Lord Paul Worthington came to be in the Goat and Boar the night he was killed.”
A great, impatient sigh escaped Higgins, and his head hung from his shoulders. “I’ve told you all I know.”
“I don’t think you have. I think you know where the coachman Thomas might be found.”
His back went up, hands on thighs, as offended as a slighted countess. His willie dangling over the edge of the bed between his legs detracted somewhat from such dignity, but he showed not the least embarrassment for it. “I do not. As I said last night, I have not the slightest idea where he’s gone since he left the duke’s employ.”
“Why do you lie to me? For what reason do you hide him from me?”
“I say again, I’m not hiding him.”
“He comes here regularly; I’m certain of it. Surely he’s a trusted member of your tight little circle of like-minded men. When he parted ways with the duke, surely he must have come to you for sanctuary. Or at least a hug. He couldn’t have wandered entirely into the ether; he had to find somewhere on this earth to go.”
“He is quite self-sufficient, I assure you. He’s a man who can stand on his own two feet, and he doesn’t need me to kiss him and make it all better. When the duke chased him off with his sword, Thomas ran the faster and escaped with his skin intact.”
“How do you know the duke threatened him with a sword?”
Higgins sighed. “I don’t. I just imagine he must have used one to chase Thomas away. Where Thomas went from there is anyone’s guess, and I wouldn’t hazard one myself. He isn’t the sort to cry on a shoulder or expect others to carry him. As I’ve said, I have no idea where he is at the moment.” Higgins gazed blandly at her, and looked her straight in the eye without wavering.
If Suzanne had harbored any doubt Higgins was lying, it was allayed at that moment. That straight-on, unwavering gaze was the favorite technique of every inveterate liar she had ever known. And there had been many. That look was invariably calculated to impress her with pure heart and righteous honesty, but she knew better. The longer and steadier the gaze, the more fear of discovery of the lie and the less honest the heart. More than ever before, Suzanne now knew for a dead certainty that Higgins not only knew where she could find Thomas, but he could give her an exact address from memory.
“Tell me where to find him.”
“I’m telling you—”
“You’re lying to me. Stop lying. If it will help you to trust me, let me explain that I don’t think he killed Lord Paul.”
“Of course he didn’t kill Paul. I trust even you to know that. But I do not trust you to not have him in the watch house on a charge of sodomy—”
“Or abduction.”
Higgins nodded vigorously and held out his hand in agreement. “Yes. Or abduction. You see my point, then. Thomas is a criminal, was justly fired from his post, and surely would rather not have a visit from anyone asking about a boy who was murdered.”
“You said you cared about Lord Paul. You told me you cared about him and you miss him.”
Higgins nodded, with a frown and a sideways glance as if he knew he was going to hear something he would rather not.
“But it seems to me you don’t have so very much regard for his memory. You claim Paul was happier here than with his family. If you loved him so well, then why aren’t you outraged that this has happened to him? Why are you not straining at the bit to find his killer? How come you aren’t telling me all you know that might lead me to him?”
“How would it help you to find Thomas? What could he possibly tell you that would help?”
“I won’t know that until I talk to him. I can’t know what bits are missing from the story. I can only ask questions of everyone until I find enough answers to make it whole. I need you to point me to the whereabouts of that man, who we know has spoken to Paul at length, and who convinced him to come here.”
“’Tisn’t as if it were a Herculean task, convincing him. He came willingly.”
Suzanne doubted it, but held her tongue for the moment. “Be that as it may, if Thomas has information, I should hear it. If he doesn’t, then he goes on his way and no harm done.”
“You would release a known sodomite and abductor without arresting him or reporting him to the authorities?”
“I came here without bringing the constable, didn’t I? I could have had constable, magistrate, and a bevy of armed guards here to arrest you at this very moment, did I hate you and wish to clear the city of sodomites. But I did not. And will not, for it’s not what I’m out for. I wish to find a killer, and anything less is simply not my concern.”
“You think I’m not a killer?” He leaned toward her, tilted his head, and stared hard with
narrowed eye.
She responded in kind, and stepped toward him as if to stare him down. “Give me proof you are, and I’ll have you in chains in the blink of an eye. But until then I’ll settle for having the murderer of Lord Paul dangling from a gibbet. I’ve no time, nor energy, to spend on the likes of a former coachman who buggers men.”
“Thomas prefers to be buggered, truth be told.” He looked away and thought a moment. Suzanne let him. Finally he sighed, having come to a decision. “In any case, perhaps there’s some benefit to finding the killer. If Paul died because he was dressed as a girl, I would like to see one who hates us that much pay for his crime.”
“Excellent choice. Tell me where to find Thomas, and help me catch the killer.”
Higgins sighed again. “Very well.”
* * *
THOMAS, it turned out, had recently taken rooms not far from the Haymarket, in a redbrick tenement. The building was not terribly old, and the quarters he occupied were on the first floor up from the ground floor. The building was plain but sturdy. There didn’t seem to be a draft in the stairwell, and the neighbors coming and going appeared at least somewhat polite and neighborly. Rather similar to the neighbors Suzanne had once had in Horse Shoe Alley during the interregnum, who were pleasant enough to her and rarely got into fights with each other. With Ramsay at her back, Suzanne knocked on the door.
Some grumbling came from within, she heard heavy boot steps, and the door opened a crack. “What yer want?”
“I’m looking for a coachman named Thomas. Would that be you?” She spoke in her best imitation of the upper classes, based on her quantity of conversation with Daniel since his return, as well as the many dozens of men in Parliament who had hired her services over the years. Her ploy was that she would hint to Thomas that she might like to hire him.
“Yes, mistress.” He drew open the door and stepped back. “What might I do for you?” He seemed puzzled, and rightly, that a gentlewoman would do this sort of errand herself.
But she ignored that puzzlement, and smiled broadly and graciously, ever so pleased to find him at home. “May we come in?” The better to not have the door slam in her face when she revealed her true interest in him. He looked beyond her to Ramsay, and she added, “Ramsay here is my escort. His only function is to protect me from bodily harm while walking through the streets. He speaks to no one, ever. Rarely, even, to me.” She crinkled her eyes to indicate she was a good-humored woman making a harmless jest. Thomas obliged her with a chuckle. Then he stepped back again and indicated they should enter his quarters.
He was an ordinary man, and Suzanne found herself eyeing him to see whether his sexual quirks were evident. She found nothing to indicate he was different from any other man, not a smudge of face paint nor a whiff of perfume. His dress was plain, but clean and well mended. He’d taken care with his grooming, and it was apparent he visited the baths occasionally. He wore no jacket at the moment, but that could be forgiven since he was at home and had not been expecting visitors. Even now he went to the next room and returned donning a plain, wool jacket. As he tugged his conservatively ruffled shirt sleeves through to be visible, he said, “How may I be of service to you . . . my lady?” He addressed her without any idea of who she was, and so hesitated.
“Mistress Suzanne Thornton, good man. I am here to ask some questions, at the request of those investigating the murder of Lord Paul Worthington.”
The coachman paled and glanced at the door to gauge his chances at escape, then returned his attention to her and raised his chin. “What about it? I had nothing to do with that.”
“I beg to differ.” She glanced over at Ramsay, who stood guard at the closed door. The coachman would be staying put.
The room, of course, was not terribly large, but it was a comfortable size. At the opposite end it boasted a single window with glazed panes and wooden shutters. One door to the right appeared to lead to a small kitchen-like area, and to the left seemed to be the inner sanctum where he slept. This room contained little more than an upholstered chair and a sofa near a modest hearth, a bookshelf containing nothing more than a half dozen or so small books, and a medium-sized trunk. She thought about settling on the sofa in order to entrench herself, but thought that with Ramsay at the door such a move might make Thomas more apprehensive than necessary. So she stood between Thomas and Ramsay, and spoke standing. “I know you worked for Jacob Worthington, and that you abducted his son, Lord Paul Worthington, about three months ago.”
“I did no such thing.” He attempted to sound indignant, but his voice held that false note of an inexperienced and untalented liar. He was quite transparent, and it took no skill to read him.
“I have it from Mordecai Higgins. He’s the one who told me where I could find you.”
The look of surprise made Thomas’s face go entirely slack. For a moment he couldn’t speak.
She said, “He confided in me because he thinks you can help us find the killer, though you probably don’t know you can.”
Thomas was able to shut his mouth then, and now he appeared curious. “How would I know who killed him?”
“You may know something that, when placed next to the things I already know, might point us in the right direction.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not sure. Tell us what happened when you were asked to take Lord Paul to Kent.” She looked toward the sofa. “May I sit?”
He nodded and gestured to the seat, and she went to rest her feet. Ramsay remained at the door, preventing escape as subtly as possible. As she sat, Thomas made a couple of false starts, then said, “I was asked to drive the boy to stay with some cousins down there.”
“You never arrived.”
The lie Suzanne had seen forming in his eyes disappeared. He realized she knew more about what had happened than he’d thought, and he had no way of knowing what she knew and what she didn’t. He said, “No. But I can tell you there was good reason not to go. Poor Paul was terrified of those people. They hated him.”
“For what reason?”
“He was one of us.”
“So young?”
He raised his chin again, struggling for dignity. “I knew when I was no more than ten.”
“But to be taken away from his family?”
“They didn’t want him. We did.”
Suzanne found herself unable to reply as she began to comprehend the utter betrayal of every adult in that boy’s life. The only people who wanted him did so because they had a use for him, and his parents had laid him off on relatives to have him out of their way. In addition, those relatives hadn’t been enchanted to have him, either. She swallowed hard. For a long moment she couldn’t speak. Finally she was able to croak, “Tell me what happened.”
Slowly he settled into the chair opposite. He leaned toward her in an effort to keep his words private, away from Ramsay. For his part, Ramsay pretended to not hear. “We all knew what he was. His parents denied it, but everyone who lived or worked in that house knew what was happening to him. We all understood that Lord Paul was unlikely to ever take a wife if he could avoid it. To be sure, he might have been forced to marry, but since he was the younger son it wasn’t so very important for him to produce an heir. His parents chose to keep him out of sight of society, and they thought of that as the most gentle way of dealing with their problem.”
Suzanne nodded, for what he said was nothing new. “More than once a family has taken that route with a child that would put them at a social disadvantage.”
“And I suppose that sometimes it’s the best way. Keeping him in London and requiring him to behave in ways unnatural to him would have been torture. But sending him to Kent was not the answer for him.”
“Why not?”
“They hated him there. His mother’s cousins were as embarrassed by him as his parents, and so they hid him from the world. Sending him there was
nothing better than if he’d been imprisoned in the Tower. Worse, in truth, for in the Tower of London there would have been fellow prisoners. In addition those cousins mocked and ridiculed him, they kept him locked up in an apartment of rooms . . . they wouldn’t even let him eat with the family. There was no contact with anyone other than the maid who brought his meals.”
“Why didn’t he complain of this to his parents?”
“And what would they have done? Had he returned home, his parents would more than likely have done the same thing. Hidden him away, and hoped that one day he would quit his behavior. That is how that sort think. That our nature is a matter of bad behavior and nothing more. Lord Paul’s family all thought that if they punished him he would eventually stop being that way.” A thought came, and Thomas added sadly, “And now he is no longer being any way at all.”
“So you thought you were rescuing him.”
“That is exactly what I did.”
“How much were you paid by Higgins for delivery of the child?”
Thomas fell silent and only gazed dully at her. She waited for a reply, but received none.
Finally she said, “I would point out that he is dead. Your rescue failed.”
“We took him from a family that hated him.”
“To make him a whore, working for Higgins?”
“To free him so he might make his own way in the world.”
“At twelve years old.”
“Better than to be imprisoned and cut off from the world. At any age. Better than being hated by his own family, who should have been the ones above all others to love him. Better than being made to feel worthless.”
Suzanne remembered how it had felt to be denigrated and ridiculed for being a girl, and how the best she could ever hope for from her father was to be ignored. Again words choked her. Unlike Paul, she had thought Daniel had loved her once; the boy had nobody. The image of Paul Worthington receiving no regard from anyone but those who would use him made her chest hurt so that she could hardly breathe. The image of his bright, cheery smile, and the joy in life he’d shown that night in the Goat and Boar, brought tears to her eyes.
The Twelfth Night Murder Page 22