Lady Atwood relaxed enough to smile. “You know you are always welcome.” The smile vanished when her gaze drifted over the slate board, touching on Kendra before returning to her brother. “I shall leave you to . . . do whatever it is you do in here.”
There was a moment of silence as Lady Atwood withdrew from the room, then the Duke looked at Kendra. “You were saying, my dear?”
“What?” Lady Atwood had a way of throwing her off. “Oh, yeah. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Magdalena is a Spanish galleon. Another connection to Spain.” She circled the name on the slate board. “And Evert Larson.”
“This seems to confirm your theory that new information came to light about what happened to the man in Spain,” said the Duke.
“Yes. Information that upset Sir Giles enough to become ill,” she said. “We have to find the captain of the Magdalena. Either he’s the one who brought the information to England, or he knows who Sir Giles met with on his ship.” She smiled. “We’re getting closer.”
“Aye.” Sam swallowed the slice of buttered rum cake he’d been chewing, and pushed himself to his feet. “I don’t know if the Magdalena is in port, but I’m going ter go ter the docks ter find out. If it’s not there, maybe I can find out when it’s scheduled ter return, and anything I can about the captain.”
Kendra nodded. “If the ship isn’t in port, how long would it take to get the information we need?” she asked, but she knew it could be weeks, perhaps even months.
“Depends on the voyage, and when it’s scheduled ter return, lass,” Sam told her. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Alec stood up. “I’ll go with you, Mr. Kelly. Two of us ought to cover more ground than only one.”
“Three,” Kendra said.
“No.” Alec held up his hand as he met her eyes. “And before you say it, yes, I am well aware that you can take care of yourself. But the docks are the most dangerous area in London. You shall only be a distraction if I am worried about your safety. I’ll be occupied enough worrying about my own safety.”
“His lordship has the right of it, lass,” Sam put in. “Makes the hairs on the back of me neck go up, it does, whenever I have ter go there. Full of the worst sort of cutthroats and rogues.”
Kendra’s jaw tightened. “Sounds like you both might need someone along to watch your backs.”
“I know you’re vexed.” Alec walked over to her, his gaze on hers. “For the sake of my sanity, Miss Donovan, will you please stay here while Mr. Kelly and I make inquiries? If the Magdalena is in port, we shall send word to you immediately.”
“And if it’s not in port? What are you going to do?”
Sam said, “We’ll try the taverns around the docks. The Magdalena’s captain and its crew had ter have come ashore. If this is a regular route for them, they have regular spots.”
Kendra shifted her gaze to the Bow Street Runner. “And if it’s not a regular route?”
Sam lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “They were here a month ago. Hopefully somebody remembers them.”
It was only legwork that they’d be doing, but she didn’t like being left behind. Still, she knew she was wasting time arguing. She let out a sigh. “Fine. If the ship is in port, you’ll send word, and wait for me?”
“Yes.” Alec was too smart to smile, but he ran a hand down her arm that felt both caressing and consoling. “Thank you.”
“You’d better watch your back,” she muttered, and threw a glance at Sam. “Both of you. You’re not any more indestructible than I am, you know.”
“We will.” Alec looked like he wanted to kiss her, but instead turned away. Kendra frowned as she watched them leave, and tried not to worry.
44
The River Thames was why London had always been an important trading post. Sam couldn’t remember a time when the wharves hadn’t been crammed with ships from all over the world, waiting to unload their cargo. Tempers were known to flare between crew and dockworkers as patience snapped. Arguments often ended with a blade stuck into a bloke’s gut. Adding to the tension, thievery was rampant among the ships anchored in the river.
Sam had been a young man when Parliament had finally had enough of the crime and hired Magistrate Patrick Colquhoun to form the River Police to stop the looting. That had been eighteen years ago. A few years later, the nobs had refashioned the docks themselves, taking roughly thirty acres in Wapping to build the Western and Eastern docks, connected by the Tobacco Dock, a massive brick building that stored imported tobacco. Walls had gone up around the new ports, as well as enormous storage warehouses and auxiliary businesses to service the sailors and workers. To Sam, the new design only meant that more ships were allowed to come into port. The River Police may have reduced some of the thievery by catching many of the scoundrels, but the docks were still the busiest—and most treacherous—place in the city.
Which was why he was now carrying a blunderbuss, tucked into his belt, at the ready, a pistol in one pocket, an extra knife in the other pocket, and his four-inch Sheffield blade in his boot. Alec, he knew, carried at least two pistols on his person. The thought that Miss Donovan had wanted to come along with them still sent a chill down his spine.
Despite the foul weather, including icy swirls of fog rolling off the Thames, the waterfront was crowded with workers of every nationality and race. They carried hemp bags across their shoulders and rolled barrels down ship planks to stack up on the wharf. The air crackled with foreign languages mixed with broken English. Sam’s hand moved to rest on his blunderbuss when he heard the snap and snarl in some of the voices. He didn’t need to speak their tongue to know trouble was brewing. Mingled with the voices were the cries of seagulls, the slap of water against the wharf, and the creak and groan of the countless sail masts as ships bobbed to and fro on the wind-chopped waters of the Thames.
“We’ll cover more ground if we separate,” Alec said in a low voice.
Sam nodded, but glanced at the marquis. Alec was wearing a greatcoat, but the quality of his clothes was noticeable. “Will you be all right?”
“I can take care of myself,” he said, then gave a surprised laugh. “Good God, I sound exactly like Ke—Miss Donovan. You know, it is a bit annoying.”
Sam grinned. “Owe her an apology, do you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Why don’t you take that side of the docks, and I will take the other. We’ll work our way to the center.”
They separated, and Sam moved through the crowds, asking the same question over and over again. “Do you know the Magdalena? It’s a Spanish galleon.”
Most of those he stopped shook their heads and hurried on. About a dozen responded with foreign chatter. Sam didn’t know if they were telling him where the ship was or if they were insulting him. A few made hand gestures.
Sam had quizzed at least three dozen men when the scent of roasting chestnuts rose above the brackish and fishy smell of the Thames, luring him toward a stall where a man was currently shaking a wire basket over an open flame, tossing the chestnuts inside. Seven men were in the queue. Sam joined, his gaze on the vendor, who somehow managed to take the offered coins and slip them inside a pocket in his waistcoat even as he dumped hot chestnuts into scraps of paper he curled into cones.
“Have you heard of a Spanish galleon named the Magdalena?” he asked the two Chinese men ahead of him.
“Bù! Bù!” they said, shaking their heads, and shuffling forward.
“How about you?” Sam asked a wiry sailor in front of the Chinese men.
“The Magdalena?” Beneath his knit cap, the man looked like he could be a hundred, his swarthy skin crisscrossed with lines. “Aye, Oi’ve heard of it. Don’t think it’s in port at the moment. W’ot’s yer interest?”
“I need ter speak with the captain,” Sam said, shuffling forward two more paces. “Do you know him? Or the crew?”
“The Spanish deal mostly in textiles,” the vendor spoke up, glancing at Sam as he dealt with the wiry sailor, a
nd then the Chinese men. “Couldn’t help overhearing. If ye’re looking for a Spanish ship, ye might try yer luck where the textiles are being traded, down a bit on the Eastern docks.”
“Thank you.” Sam took the chestnuts and handed the peddler a coin.
Sam turned and began walking. He recognized the figure materializing out of the fog. “Any luck, milord?” he asked, offering Alec the cone filled with chestnuts.
“No.” Alec dug into the paper for a couple of chestnuts, and bit into the soft meat. “You?”
“Maybe. We should go ter the area where they trade Spanish textiles. The Eastern dock.”
It still took another twenty minutes before they found a Spaniard unloading long fabric bolts wrapped in rough hemp. Sam managed to stop him from walking away by planting himself before the dockworker, but his accent was so thick that Alec finally stepped forward and took over the questioning in Spanish. Sam finished the chestnuts, crumpled the paper, and stuck it in his pocket.
“Gracias,” Alec said, and produced a coin for the man. He turned to Sam. “He said he knows the Magdalena. The captain’s name is Suarez. He’s not in port at the moment, but when he is, he and his crew have been known to frequent a brothel on Croft Street called the Zamora.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I was told it’s run by an abbess who goes by the name Araceli. Captain Suarez appears to be quite close with the woman.”
“Do you think she’d know anything?”
“I don’t know. If not her, maybe one of her harlots. Men who have been out to sea not only want a willing body, they want someone to talk to as well.”
Kendra tossed aside the foolscap she’d been studying and stood with more impatience than grace. It didn’t help that her mind had once again returned to Alec and Sam. She wasn’t worried—exactly. She was irritated that she had agreed to stay behind instead of canvasing the docks with them.
She began to pace the room, pausing to kick the nearby chair, a gesture more suited to a petulant child. She was glad no one was around to witness her flash of temper. Fifteen minutes ago, the Duke had left for his appointment with his man of affairs, and Rebecca had returned home to persuade her parents to let her join them later for the Duchess of Bedford’s ball.
Kendra willed herself to think about the investigation rather than being relegated to a supporting role because she was a woman. As if having a Y chromosome was any protection against a bullet or a knife.
She was peering down at the loose pages of foolscap from the murder book when Harding came to the door.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, but there is that young . . . person here to see you again. He is saying that you offered him some type of employment.” He looked at her in a way that made it clear he was hoping that she’d correct him. “Shall I give him some bread and cheese and send him on his way?”
“No. I did—well, His Grace agreed . . . You know what, never mind. Just send him up here.” She recalled Snake’s thin face. “Actually, you can send up some bread and cheese as well. And a glass of milk.”
Harding’s eyes flickered. “You do remember that you have the Bedford ball to attend.”
“I didn’t hit my head in the last four hours, so yeah, I remember.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he bowed. “Very well, miss.”
Kendra found her lips twitching as she watched the butler depart. She could almost feel sorry for him. She was an anomaly in his and Mrs. Danbury’s carefully constructed world, and they were still trying to figure out how to deal with her. Just as she was still trying to figure out how to deal with them.
She moved back to the slate board, allowing her gaze to drift over the names, the symbol, the manner of deaths. It was coming together. She could feel it. She just needed a couple more puzzle pieces. Hopefully, Alec and Sam would be able to provide them.
Kendra didn’t know how long she was lost in thought, cycling through theories, before the door opened again. She turned to watch Snake lope into the room with Harding frowning after him.
“Thank you, Harding,” she said. It was a dismissal. The butler responded with a brief, stiff bow, and then melted away. She looked at Snake’s slight figure in his raggedy coat and moth-eaten scarf. His hair stuck out at weird angles from beneath the soft cap he wore. His cheeks were red from the cold. “I take it you’re here because you made your decision,” she said carefully.
He looked down at his boots. “Aye. Bear said Oi’d better not spit inter fortune’s face.”
Kendra smiled. “Bear’s quite a philosopher.”
Snake glanced up at her, frowning. “A filo-what?”
“Philosopher. A thinker. The Duke is out right now, but he’s agreeable to finding a place for you in his household. Or maybe the stables. Would you like that?”
“Oi don’t know much about ’orses.”
Kendra wasn’t surprised. The kid was a Londoner, and a poor Londoner, at that, which meant he probably had about as much experience with horses as she did. “You can learn, if you want. Or there are other duties.”
Snake nodded silently.
A maid pushed open the door, carrying a tray with the promised bread, butter, and cheese. And a glass of milk. She set it on the table, careful to keep it away from the pieces of foolscap strewn across the surface.
“Will that be all, miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” She gestured to the tray. “Would you like to have something to eat, Snake?”
The boy moved his bony shoulders. “Oi could use a bite.”
“Well, then.” She walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Why’re ye doin’ this, eh? Wantin’ me ter come an’ work fer a nob?” he asked suddenly. His eyes were suspicious as he came over and hopped up on the chair. He kept his gaze on hers as he reached out with a grubby hand to snatch the bread.
Because I feel sorry for you. Because I want to help. And I hope to God that I’m not changing the future with my actions. She said aloud, “Maybe I think you can do better.” Beneath her dress, she felt the weight of the arrowhead pendant. “It might take a little work on your part, and, of course, a desire to change.”
“Ter change into w’ot?” he asked with his mouth full.
“What works best for you.”
Snake regarded her for a long moment, then turned his attention to the food. As she watched, he demolished the cheese and rest of the bread so quickly that she worried he might choke on it.
“W’ot do yer got that fer?” he asked between bites.
“What?”
“That!” He pointed a grubby finger at the foolscap on the table.
Kendra looked down, and saw it was the symbol she’d drawn. “Oh. It’s a cross. I think.”
“Ain’t no cross.”
Kendra arched a brow at the boy. “How do you know?”
“’Cause Bear ’as that on ’is arm. An’ Bear ain’t one fer the church.”
Kendra froze. “Bear has a tattoo like this one?” She snatched up the paper with the symbol. “Exactly like this?”
“Aye.”
Holy shit. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait for the captain of the Magdalena after all. “Stay here, Snake. Right here. Drink your milk. I’m going to get my coat.” And reticule and gun. “I’ll be back.”
“Then w’ot?”
“Then we go see Bear.”
45
Kendra didn’t want to waste valuable time finding Molly to change into servants’ clothing, but she hoped by using her hooded cloak she would achieve some sort of anonymity. She doubted that she’d be so lucky as to leave the mansion without being seen, but she tried, hustling Snake down the servant’s stairs and hauling him toward the back entrance.
“Where are you going, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra glanced back at Mrs. Danbury, who’d stepped out of the kitchens to frown at her.
“Gotta check something out. I’ll be back,” she said, and didn’t stop.
“This is quite outra—”
Kendra shut the door on the rest of the housekeeper’s words. She let go of Snake’s thin wrist and hurried down the back alley that faced the mews. The cold was an unwelcome slap in the face, but she ignored it, as well as the dirty puddles that soaked the hem of her dress and cloak and froze her feet in the thin-soled shoes. She kept up the half-jogging pace until they were on the street, and she spotted the hackney about fifty yards away.
“Hey,” she managed, huffing a little as she skidded to a stop. She looked up at the driver on his perch. “I need you to take us to Cheapside.”
She watched the man’s eyes widen in the shadow of his tricorn hat. “Watcha want ter go there for?” he asked, his voice muffled slightly by the thick wool scarf that he’d wound around his neck, nearly up to his bulbous nose. She thought of what a good disguise it was for the murderer.
“Just get us there,” she said, and fished out a few extra coins from the reticule. This time it was pure greed that widened the man’s eyes.
“Aye, m’lady. Get in.” He waited until they’d climbed into the cabin before he shouted down at them. “Where’d ye want ter go in Cheapside?”
“The Iron Maiden,” Snake yelled back.
“Christ,” the hackney driver muttered. “Does the lady know that’s one of the worst flash ’ouses in London Town?”
“This lady can speak for herself,” Kendra shouted. “Now move your ass!”
The smoke inside the Iron Maiden’s tavern was almost as thick as the fog outside. Rough-looking men with scarred, hard faces were gathered around tables. Despite the gray haze in the room, Kendra had no trouble identifying Bear. He was more than double the size of any of the other tavern’s customers. Her hand dipped into her reticule, closing over the comfortable weight of the pistol as she and Snake wove through the crowd. The money and baubles scattered on the tables—without dice or cards—seemed to signal that she was witnessing highwaymen or housebreakers counting their stolen property.
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