Grave Expectations

by Heather Redmond

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Fred pointed up. “Someone is going to move in upstairs.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “Another newlywed couple,” Fred explained. “Young, pasty faced, blowing kisses at each other. They are waiting for their trunks to arrive from up north, and then they will move in.”

  “I can’t imagine they know what happened up there.”

  “We won’t be the ones to tell them,” Fred said. “I plan to steer clear. I’m sure they will keep to themselves. The only possible irritation will be a squeaking bed overhead in the night.”

  Charles felt his cheeks go hot. “What would you know about that?”

  Fred’s face had gone very red, too. “I’m not a child.”

  Charles stared at him. Maybe he’d been right about a mustache starting. “I suppose so. You are fifteen now. After we go back to Furnival’s Inn, it might be time to find you your first position.”

  Fred’s mouth opened slightly, as if he were going to pant like an eager pup. “I’m ready to work, Charles, really I am. I can keep living with you and still learn things.”

  “Of course you can.” Charles ruffled his hair. “You’ll have a home with me as long as it makes sense. I’m going to wash my face and hands and put on my darkest clothing. Then we’ll go up and see how Julie is faring.”

  * * *

  “Greetings again,” William said cheerfully as he opened his door twenty minutes later. “Ah, I see you are ready to skulk.”

  Charles patted his high-buttoned black waistcoat. “I’ve gone as dark as I can.”

  “You look like an undertaker.” William grinned. “I shall dress accordingly, and Julie can wear mourning.”

  “Is she going out with us?” Charles asked as Fred added, “Can I come?”

  “We are looking for a desperate escaped criminal,” Charles said. “You are too young for this kind of hunt.”

  Fred protested, but Charles shook his head.

  Julie stood at the fireplace, an apron covering her summer dress of sheer white muslin printed with pink flowers. Her red hair had fluffed into a nimbus despite her neat bun as she turned the sausages in an iron pan.

  William pointed to the table set away from the fire under an open window. A salad of summer greens and a wooden platter with a loaf of sliced bread took the center, and the table had been neatly set with plates, utensils, and glasses of ale.

  Charles leaned on the windowsill and surveyed the peaceful scene beyond their building. Yet a villain had crept inside and murdered an old woman. He jiggled his legs, anxious to get on to the hunt for Osvald Larsen.

  “How is Ollie progressing?” William asked.

  “I visited Dr. Manette’s home and surgery today,” Julie said, carrying her smoking pan over to the table.

  “So Ollie is still there?”

  She used her fork to spear each sausage in turn and set one on each of the four plates, then placed the pan in a wooden bucket to cool. “Yes, but the doctor said he’s past the possible infection stage now, and the wound is healing. He’s insisted that Ollie needs somewhere clean to heal completely, as the stump will have to go through various stages of change for months.” She gestured everyone to sit and they followed suit.

  William winced as he tucked a napkin over his waistcoat. “Such a sad situation. I know you haven’t a penny to spare, Charles, but Julie and I have talked, and we can afford a bit. I don’t want him to go into the workhouse.”

  “It’s unlikely he’d survive there,” Charles agreed, passing the plates of greens and bread around. “Could you afford to send him to school? If he learned the skills of a clerk, he could do well in life.”

  “I agree,” William said, cutting into his sausage. Juice spurted but was caught on the napkin. “He won’t do well as a laborer. Let us hope he has the intelligence to learn to read and figure. I spoke to my father when he was here. He’s offered to take Ollie as a charity pupil, if I’ll pay some of the fees.”

  Charles lifted his glass to his friend. “I feel so remiss. Good work, William.”

  William nodded. “The other mudlarks will hate me for it. I will have to break the news, since Ollie is ready to leave Dr. Manette very soon.”

  Julie patted his hand. “They’ll forgive you, William. And Ollie is so young, he’ll probably forget his former life in time.”

  William smiled at his wife. “We cannot all have good starts to life, but in the end, Ollie may come to find this disaster a blessing in disguise if it gains him an education and a better life.”

  “Or any life at all,” Julie said quietly. “I don’t like his prospects if he remains on the streets.”

  “Are we done?” Charles asked, after ten minutes of hearty eating by all. Shall we depart?”

  Julie rose. “I’ll change into mourning.”

  William rose, as well. “I’ll find something like Charles is wearing.” The couple went into their bedchamber.

  When they were out of earshot, Fred said, “I hope I land on my feet like she has, with her aristocratic relatives, more money than we have, a good husband. I mean, for a woman, she is doing exceedingly well for herself, and she’s only a couple of years older than me.”

  “You want aristocratic relatives, more money, and a good wife in two years?” Charles asked.

  “I’ll settle for more money,” Fred said, “but I don’t suppose we’re going to get any better relatives.”

  “No,” Charles said. “We’ll have to make do ourselves. You have a brain, and if you apply yourself, you can rise quickly. Look at me. Five years younger than William, who you think is such a fine husband, and I’m already being paid more than he is.”

  “Are you?” Fred asked.

  “Yes, because of the sketches. What I don’t have is Julie’s dowry. So think about that when you choose to marry.”

  “Why are you marrying Kate, then?”

  “Connections,” Charles said. “And she’ll make a fine wife. I’d rather have comfort in my home than dramatics. Besides, I love her, and even if she didn’t have those connections, she would still be a worthy choice.”

  “I like Kate, too,” Fred said, rising. “She’s a very different choice from Julie. I don’t know what I want yet.”

  “You have plenty of time to figure it out.” Charles stared at the littered table and turned away, flustered and uncomfortable. He went back to the window and watched the setting sun, while Fred piled up the dirty dishes and put them in the bucket on top of the cooled pan.

  When the Agas returned, “ready for skulking,” as William announced, they all went down the stairs. Charles directed Fred into their rooms, where he went after one final grunt of irritation, and then the trio left the building and walked south toward the river less than a mile away.

  “I always appreciate that moment the river air hits me,” William said.

  Julie’s nostrils flared. “Not at this time of year. Fresh sewage instead of that cold watery smell.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to live down here,” Charles said, “no matter how nice some of the houses are.”

  “Mr. Ferazzi lives in the most southern row of terraced houses,” William said.

  They crept behind the stables of the Royal Hospital to the row of late seventeenth-century terraces. A horse neighed, perhaps sighting a rat in its stall. Visible in the dim light were the elderly two-story houses built of brick. Attics with variously shaped windows looked functionally large under tiled roofs.

  “No lights at all.” William pointed to the last house. “That’s Mr. Ferazzi’s house. Though you can see lamps through the windows in the next two houses.”

  “Let’s investigate the other two walls,” Charles said over a sudden burst of piano music from one of the houses, reminding him that if they could hear what was happening inside a house, those people could hear them speaking in the street. He lowered his voice. “Maybe the lights will be on in the back. It appears to have a large interior.”

  They crept across the st
reet and down the lane to see the side of the house, but darkness folded over the windows there, too, despite the sun being too low to provide illumination indoors. Then they went into the stinking alley behind the house, the smell of garbage only somewhat distinguished from the smell of raw sewage coming from the river, but they saw no lights there, either.

  “If they are inside, they are using lights only on the side of the house that is shared with the next house,” William said.

  “I don’t know,” Charles fretted. “It has an air of disuse. Maybe Mr. Ferazzi sleeps at his office.”

  “I could inquire into a maid position with him,” Julie said with a low laugh. “See if I can be hired in some capacity and find Larsen that way.”

  “Don’t even say that,” Charles gasped, the memory of finding her crumpled at the base of a staircase last winter, during her brief employment as a maid, still fresh in his mind.

  William took his wife’s arm and whispered emphatically, “You will never, ever serve as anyone’s maid again. I pay on a survivorship policy just for that purpose.” He shuddered.

  “I’d like to do something to help, William,” she insisted. “I am going to be as mad as Lady Macbeth if I don’t do a proper job soon.”

  “I know, darling,” he said in a low, intimate tone. “But you’ll soon be recovered from losing the baby and will be able to work again in the fall.”

  Charles went still. Losing a baby? Had Julie? “Oh,” he murmured, so much coming into understanding. Why he’d hardly seen her for months. Why she seemed to be so thin now. He counted in his head. She couldn’t have been far enough along to even know she was expecting for sure. Unless she and William had both lied to him about that night she’d spent in his rooms last winter. No wonder William had been so eager to marry her. It hadn’t been about the money at all, but about his child.

  Charles glanced away from the pair, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, but he felt sorry for them. What a baby the pair of them would make, their combined personalities and personal charms together. What a loss. “A villain or a king,” he whispered.

  “What?” William asked.

  “Nothing,” Charles said. “We’ve been standing here for five minutes, and the house has been still as stone. I don’t think anyone is inside.”

  “Five minutes is nothing,” Julie said. “We should investigate more than this.”

  “You want to go through the garbage middens?” Charles asked. “See how fresh they are?”

  “Not especially,” Julie said. “But light a match.”

  “I can do better.” William pulled a stump of candle from his pocket and lit it. He prowled around the alley. The trio crowded together in the dim light, checking out what the household had thrown out.

  A gray tabby howled and dashed off when Charles disturbed it, and he heard rustling noises behind a pile of kitchen scraps.

  “I don’t think any of this is fresh,” Julie said. “This is last week’s rubbish, or even older.”

  “I can’t think of anything else to do,” Charles said. “Let us return home. I will put my head together with William tomorrow, and we will see if we can find a complete list of Mr. Ferazzi’s holdings. I think our theory is good, and he owns more properties elsewhere.”

  “Do we know Larsen isn’t in Bloomsbury?” William asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure of it. My parents know all the tenants in their building, and as far as they are aware, Ferazzi doesn’t own other buildings nearby.”

  William squinted into the alley as his candle flickered in the breeze that was rising. “He might own the rest of the terrace.”

  “We’ll look into it tomorrow, have records pulled.”

  “What will you tell the Chronicle staff?”

  “You covered the inquest for the newspaper,” Charles said. “I’m sure they’ll send a clerk for the property records. It’s more effective than trying to get the information out of Reggie Nickerson. He’d tell us about all but the one where Larsen is living, right?”

  “If he’s a part of this,” William said, reversing out of the alley. “But I think the ties between these two men, Larsen and Ferazzi, are very old and very personal.”

  “I wish I knew how Goldy fit in,” Charles said. “I haven’t found any personal papers of Miss Haverstock’s. Nothing was in what was sold to me, no diaries, no old family documents, nothing. I didn’t see a grave for Goldy Adams at the burial ground, either.”

  “Mr. Ferazzi was in Miss Haverstock’s rooms after she died,” William said. “He’d have been smart enough to destroy whatever was there to be found.”

  “What about the warehouse?” Julie asked. “We should look through it.”

  “I know how to get in,” Charles said. “I saw trunks.”

  William nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  They walked along the twisting streets above the river until they reached Milman’s Street. Charles was about to step on the wharf when Julie grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Guards.”

  Instead of progressing carelessly, Charles let his senses open to the night. Soon he picked out what Julie had spotted. Two dark shapes at each end of one of the warehouses.

  “They aren’t guarding Miss Haverstock’s,” Charles said.

  “I doubt they’d ignore us while we broke in, though. We should go.” Julie urged.

  “What if that’s Osvald Larsen?” Charles argued. “If we capture him, this might all be over, at least for Daniel Jones.”

  One of the men lit a cigar. By the light of it, Charles could see his face. He glanced at William, who shook his head. Too young to be Larsen.

  Julie rolled her eyes at Charles and stepped forward before either of the men could stop her. The cigar-holding man let out a low whistle as she sauntered up to the warehouse.

  Charles grabbed for William’s shoulder before he could go after his wife. “We’re close enough,” he whispered. “Let her work her magic.”

  Julie was speaking to the men. “Oh, dear, neither of you can afford me. Big Aga would have your heads if you touched me,” she bragged.

  “Never’eard o’ ’im,” said the second man, stepping away from the wall.

  “Sounds like a local,” William said. “Doubt he’s our man.”

  Charles nodded. “How do we get her away?”

  “Wondering about the action hereabouts,” Julie said to the men. “My man wants to prig the swag out o’ one o’ these warehouses. You the only guards?”

  “Lookee, you saucebox, we’re ’onest men,” said the first man. “Paid to guard.”

  “I could pay you more,” Julie said in a wheedling tone. “Just look away. We can be in and out in the blink of an eye.”

  “Be away wi’ ye,” growled the other man.

  Julie put her hands on her hips and jiggled a little. “I’ll cut you in. You gotta screw?”

  The first man dropped his cigar and grabbed her arm. William roared and raced down the wharf. Charles swore and went after him.

  The guard dropped Julie’s arm, and she turned and fled up the wharf. William grabbed her, and the trio ran for home, not stopping until they reached the front door of Selwood Terrace.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” William wheezed.

  Julie giggled uncontrollably. Charles threw up his hands and went to his bed. He’d meant to solve a crime, not have an adventure fit for a bedlamite.

  Chapter 20

  Charles had forgotten he needed to travel to Sudbury early on Friday morning. He slept on the coach since he’d been up half the night. On his return, he had to bribe the hostlers at the inn to put their best horses on the stage so he could turn in his story on time. At the Chronicle, he worked with Thomas Pillar to clean up the version of the article that he’d written in the coach on the way back to the Strand.

  William’s desk had an air of neglect. Dust marred his inkwell, and a pile of mail had slid across the left side. He didn’t appear to be in today. Had he learned more about Mr. Ferazz
i’s rental holdings?

  Charles decided to go home and see if he could find William. Maybe he’d beg dinner from Mrs. Hogarth and spend some time with Kate. But when he reached Selwood Terrace, needing to change his waistcoat before he paid his call, he found Breese in the front yard with a flute, playing trills.

  Breese took his mouth away from the instrument. “I’m almost done, Charles. I have a buyer, too. Do you want to sit with me for a minute and try to finish the last verse? It needs a suitably happy ending.”

  “Certainly.” They were halfway through when the front door opened and Fred came down. He sat in the grass, in front of Charles, listening to them sing.

  “That was nice,” the lad said when they were done, “but what about my dinner?”

  Charles handed his brother a pie wrapped in a handkerchief and helped Breese finish the song. When they were done, Charles went inside and wrote out a good copy of the lyrics in ink.

  “Thank you, good sir,” Breese said grandly when Charles brought the copy back out. “I’ll write up the sheet music and take it tonight. I should be able to turn this into money right away.”

  Fred cheered and shook out Charles’s handkerchief. “Is there any more food?”

  “No. Have you checked with Julie? Does she have anything to feed you today?”

  “She isn’t home, neither she nor William. Did they go somewhere?”

  “Maybe they were promised to her aunt.” Charles stared at the sky. Hours of daylight remained. “I don’t want to waste the evening. I think I’ll go to the Blackfriars Bridge to check in with the mudlarks. I don’t know if William has told them that Ollie is going to go to school in Harrow, and I’m wondering if they can help me find Larsen.”

  “Did they figure out where those manacles came from?” Fred asked.

  “They were Ned Blood’s. Walk with me a ways. We can stop in somewhere for more food.”

  Fred jumped to his feet. Charles had already put his satchel in his rooms and had hidden away his weekly paycheck in its box. He might as well splurge on a nice meal. The pubs would be busy tonight, but the food would be better.

  They walked deeper into Chelsea and chose a new pub, the Sheep’s Head. Charles ordered mugs of ale and a plate of cold meat and pickle.