by Louise Allen
Whoever he normally kissed, there was nothing wrong with James’s technique as far as I was concerned. It was quite forceful for a first kiss, but then that went with the fevered atmosphere of the crowded room.
We peeled apart and I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘Now, look as though you can’t wait to get me home.’
‘I cannot,’ he said, his wry tone at odds with the sensual look on his face.
When we had finally fought our way out through the crush, retrieved our outdoor clothing and had the carriage summoned it was a good twenty minutes later.
‘What the blazes was that about?’ he demanded from the opposite seat.
‘I overheard two men speculating about you while you were talking to your friends. Nothing specific, just that they never saw you with a lady. And then something about school days and who didn’t then?
I couldn’t see his face, but the elegantly lounging figure straightened up with a jerk. ‘Hell.’
‘So I thought a little pretence was in order. The next time someone voices such thoughts aloud in their hearing they’ll say, Franklin? Never. Did you see the way he was plastered to that American cousin of his? If she is his cousin…’
‘You know? I mean – ’
‘Yes, I know. And it is none of my business and I don’t care what turns you on.’
‘Turns me…’
‘Arouses you. Your sexual preferences are no business of mine.’ I think I could feel his blush across the carriage. ‘So, what did you discover?’ I asked.
James cleared his throat, searching for his composure, I presume. ‘No-one would admit to seeing Arabella at any of Welney’s little affairs and I do not think they were lying to me.’
‘No, I agree. I think he is testing suitable marriage partners. They have to be well-bred, innocent and well-dowered – but the hypocrite wants to make certain they are good girls who will not stray. If they sneak out and turn up as invited, then he’ll cross them off his list. He is after Arabella for a wife, not to casually ravish her. He had already seen her at a masquerade. If she had accepted his invitation then he would have lost all interest and from what he said to me, the masquerade might be quite enough to condemn her as unsuitable anyway.’
‘He would be interested in her money, though. He sails close to the wind, always has,’ James said thoughtfully. The carriage slowed and stopped. ‘We are back.’
He helped me down and we walked across the entrance courtyard arm in arm.
‘Evening, Mr James. Evening, Miss Lawrence.’ The porter touched the brim of his tall hat as we passed through the entrance of the main house and out into the Ropewalk behind with its double row of pleached limes and the doors to the individual apartments on either side, like little terraced houses in a very quiet street. Just outside this tranquil sanctuary was a city teeming with life, danger, dirt and somewhere within it, perhaps, a very frightened young woman.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucian was reading in front of the fire when we got in, a branch of candles on a table at his side. He looked totally relaxed but I had the indefinable sense that he had been pacing about and had only sat down when he heard us come in.
‘Any luck?’ He reached over and tugged the bell-pull. ‘We might as well have Garrick in to hear this, saves bringing him up to date later.’
They listened in silence as we went through the evening. I recounted my conversations with Welney and with Lady Collinson and James reported to whom he had spoken and the negative reports of recent sightings of any innocent young ladies, let alone Arabella.
I explained what I thought Welney was about and Lucian gave a bark of laughter. ‘The old hypocrite!’
‘Very amusing,’ I said sourly. ‘Not so amusing for whoever finds herself married to him.’
‘We are eliminating possibilities, but we are not moving forward,’ Lucian said. He slumped – elegantly, naturally, the man never seemed to do anything without grace – over his brandy glass on the table and studied the amber depths. ‘She is not at the house, dead or alive. Welney was courting her, but only if she remained a pure young lady he could rely on not to stray after marriage. If she had risen to the bait and attended one of his parties he would have crossed her off his shopping list and she was probably off it anyway because of the masquerade.’
Garrick cleared his throat. ‘Unless, if she did such a thing, he might, shall I say, take advantage of her and then… discard her.’
‘Or one of his friends might,’ James said grimly.
‘Welney did not seem very interested in innocence. Not in a perverted kind of way,’ I offered. ‘He might be a dreadful rake but I am not convinced he is getting off on deflowering virgins.’
Garrick turned a pleasant shade of puce. James looked as though he was taking mental notes of my vocabulary.
‘There was a note from Cottingham while you were out,’ Lucian said, picking up a piece of paper from the side table. ‘His Runner has not come up with anything at all yet.’
‘More negatives.’ I searched for something encouraging before we gave way to complete gloom. ‘At least a body hasn’t turned up. That is good news, surely?’
‘Oh hell.’ Lucian sat up abruptly. I saw James turn pale. ‘Do you think the Runner thought to check with the River Police?’
He was looking at Garrick, but it was James, even grimmer than his brother, who said, ‘The morgue?’
Lucian re-read the note. ‘He says the man has been enquiring at the terminals for all the coaching routes out of London, in all directions, and the livery stables. Nothing about the river.’
‘Then that must be investigated.’
‘I will go, my lord.’
‘No. Thank you, Garrick, but I will,’ Lucian said.
‘So will I.’ I had visited a morgue, attended a post-mortem, seen training films about what to do on the discovery of a dead body. I felt the remembered dizziness, the nausea, sweep up again, but I stamped it down. If that poor girl was lying there, then the fewer men gawking at her, the better. It was illogical and emotional because she would be past caring, but I wasn’t past it and I cared.
All three men started to speak at once, then fell silent, staring at me with something like horror.
‘I am trained for it,’ I said, ignoring the fact that the only dead body I had ever seen had been relatively fresh, at a safe distance behind a screen and in a sterile environment.
Garrick looked scandalised, James, sick, Lucian – I could not read his expression. Repelled, probably. At least that would remove the question about whether to become lovers: he wouldn’t want me after this.
‘I am coming with you,’ I repeated. ‘Do we need an appointment or do we just turn up there?’
‘I have no idea,’ Lucian said. ‘I have never been to a morgue before, thank Heaven. We simply arrive, I imagine.’
‘Before breakfast,’ James added. ‘I do not think I can do this on a full stomach.’
‘We haven’t all got to go,’ I pointed out, but he shook his head.
‘Eight o’clock then,’ Lucian said. ‘Go home, James.’
He gave his brother a slap on the shoulder and stayed on his feet when Garrick followed James out to open the door.
‘You look tired, Cassie.’
I grimaced and got up to go to my room. No woman likes to be told that she looks weary.
Lucian caught me by the shoulders as I passed him. ‘And someone has kissed you.’ His thumb ran lightly along my lower lip. ‘Who?’
I ignored the urge to open my mouth and suck the caressing thumb in. ‘It just happened – you knew that Welney’s party was likely to be that kind of affair.’
‘Cassandra.’ He pulled me closer, bent his head. So, he was not repelled after all. I closed my eyes, even as I told myself this was not a good idea.
‘James?’
My eyes snapped open and he was still there, still so close that his breath fanned my cheek. And he was inhaling. Smelling my skin. ‘James’s cologne.’
>
‘It could be anyone’s.’ I had no idea why I needed to deny it.
‘He has it made for him, it is exclusive. You were kissing my brother? But he – ’
‘Doesn’t kiss women, yes, I know.’ And that definitely answered the question about whether Lucian knew also. ‘That is why. I overheard someone speculating about James and I thought I would give him a little cover, that was all. He kisses very nicely.’ Perhaps rather too forcefully, but I wasn’t complaining.
It possibly wasn’t the most tactful thing to say to an arrogant, unreconstructed nineteenth century male, even if he supported his brother. I swear his nostrils flared.
‘As I say, simply cover. Goodnight, Lucian.’ I went off to bed, trying to remember why it was not a good idea to hold out my hand and invite him in too.
What with unrequited lust, worry about Arabella, too much champagne and the prospect of the River Police’s morgue I did not sleep well. James, who was waiting when I got to the drawing room, was gulping Garrick’s strong coffee and looked worse than I felt. In contrast Lucian, when he strolled in five minutes later, seemed like a man who had enjoyed seven hours of uninterrupted slumber. He nodded, unsmiling, but seemed disinclined to talk. Perhaps his sleep had been haunted by bad dreams.
Garrick presented him with a cup of coffee, refilled my cup and James’s and handed me a small bottle and several fresh white handkerchiefs. ‘Smelling salts, Miss Lawrence.’
‘You think Mr Franklin will have need of them?’ That broke the funereal mood, at least. Lucian laughed.
James narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Let me have some feathers, Garrick. I will probably have to burn them under Miss Lawrence’s nose when she faints dead away at the sight of the City.’
Seeing us trading insults like children appeared to lift Lucian’s mood, although he remained suitably solemn as the carriage made its way towards the river.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked. It was an effort not to bounce from one side of the seat to another, trying to work out where we were and to look for landmarks I recognised.
‘Wapping riverside,’ Lucian said over me gasping in delight at the familiar dome of St Paul’s – and the unfamiliar sight of it towering over everything around it.
When I had stopped chattering about spotting the Mansion House and the Bank of England I realised they had fallen silent and were checking two pairs of pistols. ‘Where did they come from?’ Not only checking but loading, I realised.
‘Side pockets here in the carriage. Never travel without them,’ Lucian said, easing down the hammer on a pistol that looked like an exquisite work of art. And an exquisite killing machine.
‘Manton?’ I hazarded, as I told myself that they knew what they were doing and I was in no danger of getting anything shot off.
‘Joseph Manton, yes.’ Lucian looked up, sharply. ‘You know of him?’
‘His guns are famous. His and Purdey’s. Purdey used to work for him, didn’t he? His shop is still going, I walked past it the last time I was in London.’ I didn’t tell him it was now owned by a French company, or that the granite pillars at the front are pitted with shrapnel from World War II bombs – I didn’t want to give the brothers heart attacks.
‘Purdey? No, I do not know his work.’
‘I have got my dates wrong then.’ Lord, I hoped they weren’t going to go and locate Purdey and set him up in business or something. Virtually everything I said seemed to be giving information of the kind I had sworn not to let slip. I was becoming too used to this world, to the people within it, too engrossed in the mystery of Arabella Trenton. That cold finger trailed slowly down my spine again… I wouldn’t even know if I did something to disrupt the future. The chances were, I would simply cease to exist. I had forgotten to be afraid, now, suddenly I was.
‘Is this a dangerous area we are going into then?’ I had better concentrate on not getting killed in this era and stop worrying about twisting timelines.
‘The dock area is rough. No place for a lady. No place for shiny coaches either, come to that, but it is safe enough in broad daylight. I am merely taking precautions,’ Lucian said with a reassuring smile before he bent over the pistol again.
I watched the long, confident fingers on the weapon and reminded myself that this was a different time, a different world and wondered if the brothers would have been loading pistols if I had not been in the coach with them and they did not have to worry about defending me.
The coach wheels lurched into pot holes and the vehicle kept slowing, then turning. The walls were closing in and I wondered whether Garrick, who was driving, would have to stop soon and let us out. And then we turned again, through an archway and into a cobbled yard.
‘This must be it.’ James and Lucian climbed out, then handed me down.
A raw-boned man in a dark blue tailcoat with brass buttons approached us and raised his tall hat. ‘Gentlemen? Ma’am?’ He studied us with dark, watchful eyes, perhaps matching us to descriptions of desperate river pirates.
Lucian produced a card. ‘I am the Earl of Radcliffe. I wish to ascertain whether a young woman of my acquaintance who has gone missing has been brought to your mortuary.’
That was, apparently, all the formalities needed. ‘If you will come this way, my lord.’ The man – I presumed he was a constable – looked back as I began to follow. ‘Not the lady, surely, my lord?’
‘Yes, the lady also,’ I said and kept going.
‘Er, right…er, Miss. When might the female in question have been brought in?’ the constable asked Lucian as we went through a battered door into what looked like an old warehouse. Inside was a bleak, chilly lobby with a high desk, the kind you stood up at. He turned a large ledger towards him and looked up, waiting.
Lucian told him the earliest possible date, the night of the disappearance, and the man ran a finger down the entries. ‘Eight females who might fit the bill, my lord. Do you have a description?’
‘About five feet and three inches in height, slender, blonde hair. Under the age of twenty years.’
‘Well-nourished,’ I added, getting over the shock of so many dead women being found in the river in such a short time. ‘Probably well-dressed.’
The constable looked faintly scandalised at my intervention. I suspect he was trying to pretend I wasn’t there. ‘Pregnant?’
‘My, ‘Possibly, but it wouldn’t be showing,’ clashed with James and Lucian both saying, ‘No,’ firmly.
‘Not certain? Five then, going by the description. Couple of old ones and one real Long Meg who can’t be yours. Hair colour’s not so easy. You’ll see. Right then. Down this way. I’ll say it now, ma’am, this is no place for a lady. The smell…’
‘Then the sooner we get it over with, the better.’ I palmed the smelling salts bottle and shook out a handkerchief.
We followed the constable as he unlocked another door and led us down a narrow brick stairway. The walls oozed damp, the treads were slippery, and I realised we must be below the level of the river at high tide, if not lower. The Thames would keep the place cool, but the stench of death rose up to meet the stink of mildew and rot and dirty water and I slapped the handkerchief over my nose and mouth.
‘In here’s the oldest ones. Two of them’s possibles.’ The man reached the foot of the stairs and threw open a door to the right. We filed in behind him and saw six bodies laid out on stone slabs. There had been no effort made to clean them up or cover them decently and certainly no signs of medical examination. Indignation over-rode the rising nausea and I found I could focus on the bodies, although I had no desire to get any closer. James had gone faintly green and I suspected that I matched him.
Three of the corpses were men and one a woman with long red hair, tangled and loose. Lucian moved closer to the other two, whose filthy hair might originally have been blonde or brown, and shook his head. We shuffled out and I uncorked the salts bottle a fraction to take a cautious sniff. It made my eyes stream, but at least it cut through the stench.
The next room had several female corpses, but the constable waved us towards only one. I heard James’s muttered curse as the lantern shone on pale hair, but Lucian turned away. ‘Far too thin and the nose is too big.’
‘The last one’s a bit of a mess, my lord,’ the constable said apologetically. The smell in the final room was marginally better. Either I was getting used to it or these were the freshest corpses. Again, Lucian went towards the slab the constable pointed to and then stopped in his tracks. His hand, I saw, was shaking, then he clenched it and went closer.
‘What in Hades happened to her?’ he asked, his voice savage.
‘Iron bar, I’d say. Or perhaps fists.’ The constable didn’t sound too happy about having to look either. ‘Then a knife.’
‘Luc?’ James stayed by my side and I can’t say I blamed him. ‘Is it her?’
‘I cannot tell. Her face is… gone.’
‘That’ll be the rats on top of whatever it was that killed her,’ the constable said helpfully. ‘Or the fishes. Crabs, possibly.’
The walls of the dreadful little room seemed to close in. I told myself it was the effect of the flickering lantern light as I made myself step closer to Lucian. A mangled red thing was all that remained of the woman’s head but the body was, mercifully, covered by a dirty sheet.
‘Let me look.’ Her hair was matted and so filthy that the colour was hidden. I stepped between the men and the slab and lifted the sheet. She was blonde. Oh hell. I flipped the sheet back, although she was long past any desire for modesty, and moved to the feet while I could still manage it. They were bare and dirty and I made myself touch, run my hands down both, ice cold and waxy in my shaking grip. ‘It isn’t her. Can I… can we go now?’
The room was becoming darker and colder and tilting…
Chapter Fourteen