Wicked Intentions

by Elizabeth Hoyt

She turned to make a grand exit but was stopped by a figure in the doorway.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Polly muttered.

  The wet nurse held a bundle in her arms, and Temperance caught her breath at the sight. No. No, she couldn’t take another heartache. Not now.

  “Dear God,” Temperance breathed. “Is she…?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am,” the wet nurse said hurriedly. “’Tisn’t that at all.”

  She pulled back a corner of the blanket, and Temperance saw dark blue eyes staring back at her curiously. The relief hit her so hard she hardly heard the wet nurse’s words.

  “I’ve come to tell you that Mary Hope is feeding at last,” Polly said.

  SHE’D BURNED THE joint of beef.

  Silence waved a cloth over the smoking meat that night, trying to dispel the acrid odor. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should have been more alert to the dinner, instead of staring off into space worrying about their future, hers and William’s. Silence bit her lip. The problem was that it was so very hard not to think about their troubles.

  The door to their rooms swung open and William came in. She looked up eagerly but could see at once that he’d not recovered the shipment. William’s face was lined with worry, his complexion gray even with his tan from the sea. His shirt was rumpled, and his neckcloth was askew as if he’d been pulling at it in his agitation. Her husband seemed to have aged years in the last few days.

  Silence hastily went to him, taking his cloak and hat and hanging them on a peg by the door. “Will you sit?”

  “Aye,” William replied absently. He ran his hand over his head, forgetting he wore his wig. He swore an oath he’d normally never utter in her presence, and took the thing off, throwing it to the table.

  Silence picked up the wig and carefully draped it over a wooden form on the dresser. “Is there any news?”

  “None of use,” William muttered. “The two sailors left to guard the ship are missing—either dead or run away with their bribe money.”

  “I’m sorry.” Silence stood uselessly by her husband’s side until the stench of burned meat reminded her of the dinner.

  Hurriedly she set the table with their pewter plates. At least the bread was fresh from the baker this morning, and the boiled carrots looked appealing. She set out William’s favorite pickles and poured his ale before bringing the beef to the table. She carved the small joint and placed some on his plate with nervous trepidation, but he didn’t even seem to notice that the meat was charred on the outside while still red inside. Silence sighed. She was such a pitiful cook.

  “It was Mickey O’Connor,” William muttered suddenly.

  Silence looked up. “What?”

  “Mickey O’Connor was behind the theft of the cargo.”

  “But that’s wonderful! If you know the thief, surely you can inform a magistrate?”

  William laughed, a harsh sound. “None of the London magistrates would dare touch Charming Mickey.”

  “Why not?” Silence asked, perplexed. “If he’s a known thief, surely it is their job to bring him before a court of law?”

  “Most magistrates are in the pay of the thieves and other lawbreakers themselves.” William stared down at his dinner. “They only bring in the ones too poor to pay their bribes. And the remaining magistrates are so fearful of O’Connor that they’ll not risk their lives to bring him in.”

  “But who is he? Why are the magistrates afraid of him?”

  Her husband pushed his plate away untouched. “Charming Mickey O’Connor is the most powerful dock thief in London. He controls the night horsemen—the thieves who steal at night. Every ship that docks in London pays a bribe to Mickey; he calls it a tithe.”

  “That’s blasphemy,” Silence whispered, shocked.

  William nodded, closing his eyes. “Indeed it is. ’Tis said he lives in a falling-down house in St. Giles, the rooms furnished for a king.”

  “They call this monster charming?” Silence shook her head.

  “He’s very handsome and the ladies like him, so ’tis said,” William said quietly. “Men who cross Charming Mickey disappear or are found floating in the Thames, a noose about their necks.”

  “And no one will touch him?”

  “No one.”

  Silence stared at her own plate, no longer hungry. “What shall we do, William?”

  “I don’t know,” her husband replied. “I don’t know. The owners are saying now that I must have had a hand in the theft.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” William was one of the most honest men Silence had ever known. “Why are they accusing you?”

  He closed his eyes wearily. “I left the ship early the night we docked. Left it with only two guards. They say I must’ve been bribed to help.”

  Silence clenched her fists under the table. William had left the ship early to return to her. Guilt made her chest ache.

  “They need a scapegoat, I fear,” William said heavily. “The owners are talking about prosecuting me for theft.”

  “Dear God.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear.” William had finally opened his sad green eyes. “I brought this catastrophe upon us.”

  “No, William. Never.” Silence laid her palm on her husband’s hand. “This is not your fault.”

  He laughed again, that horrible croaking sound she was beginning to hate. “I should’ve put more men on to guard the cargo, should’ve stayed to make sure the cargo was safe. If not my fault, then whose is it?”

  “This Charming Mickey’s, that’s who,” Silence said in sudden anger. “He’s the one who makes his living off the backs of honest men. He’s the one who stole this cargo out of greed.”

  William shook his head, withdrawing his hand from hers as he rose from the table. “That may be, but we have no way of seeking redress from the man. He has no care for us or anyone else.”

  He stood a moment looking at her, and for the first time, Silence saw hopeless despair in his face. “We are doomed, I fear.”

  He turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

  Silence stared at the pitiful meal she’d prepared. She wanted to sweep the old dishes, the burnt meat, and mushy carrots to the floor. She wanted to scream and cry, to pull at her hair and let the world know her despair. But she didn’t do any of that. None of those actions would help the man she loved. If William was correct, no one she knew could help them. She and William were on their own. And if she couldn’t find a way to get the cargo back from Charming Mickey, then William would either die in prison or be hanged as a thief.

  Silence squared her shoulders. She would never let that happen.

  IT TOOK A week for Lazarus to recover from his wound. At least it was a week until he felt well enough to seek out Mrs. Dews. He’d been out of bed for days before that, but he was damned if he’d let the little martyr see him so weak again. So he’d bided his time, patiently eating the pap Small insisted was fit for the sickroom. Another doctor was called for, but Lazarus shouted at him when the quack started mumbling about bloodletting. The man beat a hasty retreat, but not before leaving a bottle of noxious liquid “medicine.” Lazarus threw the bottle out, uncaring that he’d no doubt be billed for the elixir later.

  He spent the rest of his confinement chafing at the delay in seeing Mrs. Dews again. Somehow the woman had crept into his blood as surely as the poison from his wound. During the day, he reviewed conversations they’d had, remembering the look of hurt in her gilded eyes when he’d said something particularly crass. The pain he’d caused her provoked a strange tenderness. He wanted to heal the hurt and then hurt her again just to make it better. It was impossible to keep thoughts of her gentleness, her wit, and her acerbity from his mind. His dreams at night were far more basic. Even with his illness, he woke each morning with the flesh between his legs straining for her.

  Perhaps he should’ve let the quack bleed him. Perhaps then his body would rid itself of not only the poison, but also of Mrs. Dews.

  He consider
ed abandoning her help and not seeing her again, but the thought was fleeting. On the night Small deemed him recovered, Lazarus prowled the alley behind the foundling home.

  He’d not sent word ahead for her to expect him, and he felt an uncharacteristic uncertainty of his reception. The night was dark and cold, the wind blowing his cloak about his legs. Lazarus hesitated in the fetid alley. He laid a hand against the wood of the kitchen door as if in this way he could feel the woman within.

  Nonsense.

  He contemplated stealing in as he had before, but in the end, prudence made him rap sharply on the door. It was thrown almost immediately open. Lazarus stared down into light brown eyes gilded with golden stars. Mrs. Dews looked startled, as if she’d not expected him at the door, and indeed her hair was down about her shoulders, curling damply in the heat of the kitchen.

  “You were washing your hair,” he said stupidly. The thought of such a mundane intimacy stirred a longing not only at his groin but in his chest as well.

  “Yes.” Pink was suffusing her cheeks.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said, because her hair was beautiful, thick and nearly to her waist. It waved and curled with reckless abandon. How she must hate that.

  “Oh.” She glanced down and then over her shoulder. “Won’t you come in?”

  His lips twitched in amusement at her unease, but he said as gently as was possible for him, “Thank you.”

  The foundling home kitchen was humid and hot tonight. The fire was banked below a blackened kettle. Mrs. Dews’s regular acolyte, Mary Whitsun, frowned at him over a basin of water at the table, while beside her stood a small boy. A plump young woman with a cheery red face and white-blond hair sat in the corner nursing a tiny infant. She looked up at his entrance and casually pulled a scarf over her exposed breast.

  “This is Polly, our wet nurse,” Temperance said distractedly. “She brought Mary Hope and her children to spend the night.”

  “Thought it best since they’re holding a wake in the rooms next to mine,” Polly said. “It can get a bit loud and wild.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Lazarus inclined his head. He eyed the kicking infant. “The babe is better, then?”

  “Oh, she’s doing lovely, sir, that she is.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Lazarus propped himself against a wall, watching as Mrs. Dews and the girl cleared the table. While their backs were turned, the boy inched closer. His face was freckled, and to Lazarus’s unskilled eye, he looked a bit of a rapscallion.

  “That’s a big stick,” the boy observed.

  “It’s a sword stick,” Lazarus said cordially. He twisted the head and withdrew the sharp sword.

  “Coo!” the boy exclaimed. “Have yer killed anyone with it?”

  “Dozens,” Lazarus said loftily. He pushed the image of the noseless attacker’s staring, dead eyes out of his mind. “I prefer to first disembowel them and then chop off their heads.”

  “Arr!” the boy said.

  Lazarus chose to take the odd syllable as a mark of high esteem.

  “Lord Caire!” Mrs. Dews had evidently overheard the last of their exchange.

  “Yes?” Lazarus widened his eyes in innocence.

  The boy saw fit to giggle.

  Mrs. Dews sighed.

  Polly pulled the baby from under her scarf. “Can you hold her a moment, ma’am, while I set myself to rights?”

  The wet nurse held out the sleeping babe, but Mrs. Dews quickly backed away. “Mary Whitsun can take her.”

  The girl accepted the baby without hesitation. Neither she nor Polly seemed to think Mrs. Dews’s actions were unusual, but Lazarus watched her speculatively.

  Polly straightened her clothing and stood. “I’ll take Mary Hope now. She’s due for a nap, I’m thinking.”

  So saying, she carried the babe from the kitchen.

  Mrs. Dews nodded at Mary Whitsun. “Please tell Mr. Makepeace that I intend to go out tonight—and take Joseph Tinbox with you.”

  Both children obediently left the room.

  “You never informed your brother of your intentions before.” Lazarus prowled to the fireplace and glanced inside the kettle there. A puddle of some type of soup sputtered at the bottom.

  “How do you know that?” she asked from behind him.

  He turned in time to watch her stroke a comb through that wonderful hair. “You never invited me in before.”

  She opened her mouth, but at that moment, Winter Makepeace strode into the room. He didn’t seem surprised to see Lazarus, but the sight didn’t bring him any joy either.

  “Mind you take your pistol,” he told his sister.

  Mrs. Dews nodded, not looking at Makepeace. “I’ll just put up my hair.”

  She slipped from the room.

  The brother was suddenly beside Lazarus. “I would have you make sure that nothing happens to her.”

  Lazarus arched his brows at the order from the younger man. “Your sister has never been hurt in my company.”

  Makepeace grunted, looking sour. “Well, see to it that your luck continues. Temperance needs to be home before first light of day.”

  Lazarus inclined his head. He had no intention of keeping Mrs. Dews out in St. Giles any longer than necessary.

  She reappeared at that moment, her hair safely confined and hidden under a white cap. She looked sharply between Lazarus and her brother, and he could only hope the younger man had wiped the expression of animosity from his face.

  “I’m ready,” she said, and took up a cloak.

  Lazarus glided to her side and plucked the ragged thing from her fingers. He held it out. She looked at him uncertainly before donning the garment. Lazarus opened the door.

  “Be careful,” Makepeace called behind them.

  The night was damp, a grimy mist immediately slicking his face. Lazarus pulled his cloak about his shoulders. “Stay close to me. No doubt your brother would have me drawn and quartered should I bring you back with even a hair on your head misplaced.”

  “He worries for me.”

  “Mmm.” Lazarus glanced around and then down at her. “As do I. That attack we suffered last time was apurpose.”

  Her gold-flecked eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

  He shrugged and began walking. “I saw one of the assassins at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop. That’s quite a coincidence.”

  She stopped suddenly, making him stop as well or risk outpacing her. “But that means someone tried to kill you!”

  “Yes, it does.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Twice now, I think. The night we first met, I was attacked by what I thought was a common footpad.”

  “The man we saw you kneeling over!”

  “Yes.” He looked at her. “Now I wonder if he was after my life instead of my purse.”

  “Dear God.” She looked down at her toes thoughtfully. “If the man without a nose was at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s, then it stands to reason that the murderer was there as well.”

  He inclined his head, watching her.

  She met his eyes, her own fearless. “Then we should return to Mother Heart’s-Ease and see if she knows the man.”

  “That is my hope,” he said as he set out again. “But I want to impress upon you the seriousness of this business. Before, I merely had to deal with the everyday dangers of St. Giles. Now it seems I may actually have caught the attention of a ruthless murderer.” He glanced sideways at her. “If you wish to quit this hunt, Mrs. Dews, I will still honor my side of the bargain.”

  The hood of her cloak obscured most of her profile, but he could still see her lips purse primly. “I’ll not renege on our bargain.”

  He leaned over her, bending his head to hers. “Then you had better stay close to my side.”

  “Humph.” She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyebrows were knit. “Who had you spoken to the night we met—the night you were first attacked?”

  “One of Marie’s neighbors, a prostitute.” His lips twisted.
“Or at least I’d tried to talk to her. The woman slammed her door in my face, once she found out what I sought.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “They must be linked somehow—the prostitute and Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop, but I don’t see how.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s only the area—the murderer found out I was questioning Marie’s neighbor and also knew I’d questioned Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

  She shook her head. “He’d have to be very quick to take fright, then, if he sent an assassin after you merely for asking questions. No, I think you must’ve found something out.”

  She looked at him in question.

  “If I did, I don’t know what it is myself.” He laughed a little grimly.

  They walked the rest of the way to Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop in silence. Lazarus kept an alert eye out but saw no followers unless one counted a mangy cur, mostly skin and bones, that shadowed them for a minute or more.

  When he ducked into the low doorway of the gin shop, the heat and smell hit Lazarus in the face. He caught Mrs. Dews’s arm, scanning the crowded room. A fire roared on the hearth in the back, and a group of sailors were singing drunkenly at one long table. The one-eyed barmaid scurried between tables, avoiding all eyes, especially his own. Mother Heart’s-Ease was not in sight.

  Mrs. Dews tugged at his arm and stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear over the noise of the room. “Give me some coins.”

  He looked at her, his eyebrow arched, and then took out his purse and shook some shillings into her hand. She nodded and without a word began weaving her way through the throng, patiently stalking the barmaid. Lazarus wasn’t about to leave her side in this company. He trailed behind, watching her movements, glaring when a sailor tried to catch her hand.

  Mrs. Dews finally ran the one-eyed barmaid to ground near the fireplace. The girl reluctantly turned, looking a bit more interested when Mrs. Dews pressed a coin into her palm. There was a whispered conferral and the barmaid slipped away.

  Mrs. Dews turned back to Lazarus. “She says that Mother Heart’s-Ease is in the back room.”

  Lazarus glanced at the curtained doorway. “Then let’s seek her out.”