A Death Along the River Fleet (30 page)

Their visit to the next tavern on the list, the King's Arms, unfolded quite differently. This one was hidden in the shadows of a tight little street. Lucy looked up at the shuttered windows dubiously. “Would Henry have brought his sister here?” she wondered.

“If he had been desperate. Let us check.”

As they approached the tavern, a couple came out arm in arm, clearly drunk. The man pulled the woman behind a cart. “I only have a quarter hour's time,” they heard him say.

“I am going to be sick,” they heard the woman reply. Then they heard a violent retching sound. Duncan and Lucy glanced at each other.

“My shoes!” they heard the man shout. Then, in a more outraged voice, “Ow, what did you hit me for!” And then, in an even more outraged shout, “My knapsack!”

The woman emerged then, glancing at Duncan and Lucy, an impudent smirk on her face. “Shhhh!” she whispered, still smirking before she darted off, disappearing within seconds.

The man came out from behind the cart then, rubbing his head. “Where did that whore go?” he demanded.

Lucy and Duncan just shrugged. Still fuming, the man walked down the street.

“You did not think to go after her?” Lucy asked, curious.

Duncan sighed. “I did not want to be diverted from our purpose.” He looked at the establishment and then back at Lucy. A beautiful woman with a low-cut gown came to the door then, a drink in her hand. She looked to be waiting for someone.

“Lucy, you could just wait here,” Duncan said, looking at the woman.

“I hope you will not be diverted from our purpose,” Lucy teased. Or at least, she meant to say the words in a teasing way, but they fell a bit flat as she uttered them.

He glanced at her. “Of course not. Just wait here.” Taking one of the tracts from her, he walked up to the woman in the doorway, who gave him a great smile. She took his arm, and they went inside together.

Shaking her head, Lucy began to look at the other shops along the street. All were a little run-down, and the people appeared weary, but no one said anything as she regarded the various wares, all the while keeping her eye on the tavern door.

“I hope that was not your sweetheart, miss,” an old woman sitting in a chair said, her hands moving easily over a loom. “He might not be out for a while.” She cackled a bit.

“That is beautiful,” Lucy said honestly, admiring the piece on the loom. She looked up at the shop behind her. “Is this your shop?” she asked.

“Owned by my two sons,” she said proudly. “One spends a bit too much time in that whorehouse,” the woman said, jerking her head toward the tavern, “but the other, my Timothy, is a hard-working lad. We've been here for nigh on thirty years. My husband, God rest his soul, was a weaver with the guild. And I have long worked the loom myself.”

“Do you sit here mostly, then?” Lucy asked. “A good view of the comings and goings, I would suppose.”

“I see everything!” The woman laughed. “Including that Moll Cutpurse you just saw, who relieved that man of his coins. Of course, I knew her as little Lottie O'Donovan, before she took to her thieving promiscuous ways.”

Taking a deep breath, Lucy asked her about the Belasysses and the man who had been murdered, describing them all in as much detail as she could muster. The old woman listened attentively. “No gentlewomen at that place, I can tell you.”

“Perhaps in the evening or the night?” Lucy pressed.

The woman shook her head. “Not so likely I would have missed it. If I did, Dorothy would have told me. Right, Dorothy?”

It was only then that Lucy saw another woman perched in front of the furrier's shop. She had been so quiet and still. Like the first woman, she was seated in a chair that made her appear to be permanently fixed in the ground.

“Did you by chance see a woman with long dark hair, possibly in a blue dress?” Lucy hesitated. “Perhaps having a fit of sorts.”

“The devil woman?” Dorothy commented. “Flew through the air, I heard tell.”

“You saw her?” Lucy exclaimed. “Here? On this street?”

The women chuckled. “Not here. The Cattle Bell Inn. A mile or so to the east.”

“Hope your man comes out soon,” Dorothy commented. “If Elsie gets her hands on him, you might lose him.”

“Oh, he is not—” Lucy broke off, because Duncan came out then.

“Let us go, Lucy,” he said. “I am sorry that I left you on your own.”

“I was not alone. I had a very nice conversation with these women here.”

He noticed the women then, and touched his cap respectfully before he and Lucy continued down the street.

“And how was your conversation?” she asked. “Did you learn anything?”

“That place is a brothel.”

“Yes, I learned the same thing. I cannot imagine that Henry would have brought his sister there either.”

He nodded. “I am lucky to have gotten out with my money intact.” He patted his jacket. “I did, did I not?” Feeling his wallet, he looked relieved.

“No matter, I have discovered where the Belasysses stayed. At the Cattle Bell Inn. Those old crones heard tell of a woman who flew through the air, before convulsing in a devil's spell. Sound familiar?”

Duncan closed his eyes, as if imagining Stow's map of London. “That is not too far. Shall we?” Unexpectedly he offered her his arm, which she took without thinking.

For a moment they walked companionably together, Lucy's hand still tucked in his arm. “Hopefully, neither of us shall have to be groped to get some information, although I imagine you did not mind it so much.”

Duncan stopped then and looked down at her. “I do mind. I mind very much. Indeed, this is foolish,” he said grimly. “Why am I letting you do this?”

She took a step back. “You want to find out who murdered that man, do you not? And whether the Belasysses had anything to do with his murder. And where Henry Belasysse took his sister when he left Bedlam. And what has happened to Henry Belasysse since that night.”

“Of course,” he sighed. “There has to be another way.”

“What is the matter?” she said. “I am fine.”

“Forgive me if I am a bit concerned. I let you be pawed by a ruffian—”

“Which you stopped from occurring.”

“And I left you alone in a dark street outside a brothel,” he continued.

“I was not alone. Those two women confirmed everything you discovered. The Belasysses were not there.”

“Still, what would Adam Hargrave say if he knew I was dragging you around as I have been doing.” He slapped his forehead. “Good Lord, he has grounds to murder me himself.” His voice turned self-mocking. “And I think no jury would convict him, either. He would not even have to buy them off, like so many gentleman murderers will do.”

Lucy was glad of the breeze that cooled her cheeks. “Stop teasing, if you would. Adam would never commit murder.”

“Oh, I am not altogether teasing. Adam is too good a man to murder me outright, but surely he will be angry that I have dragged his future wife about on such an unseemly quest.”

Tears rose in Lucy's eyes that she quickly blinked away. The flash of pain was real, but she was not sure of its cause. “I am not his future wife.” She added, “Such a marriage will never occur.” She looked toward the sun to avoid looking at Duncan. “We are heading east a bit more, are we not?”

She began to walk very quickly, with the constable keeping pace easily beside her. Neither spoke for the next few minutes.

As they neared the Cattle Bell Inn, Duncan touched her arm again. “Lucy. Forgive me. I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she replied, panting a bit. The fast-paced walk had been more strenuous than she realized. “Sorry that I was born into a servant's lot? Sorry that I have lived half my life serving others?”

“No, I am not sorry about you being a servant,” he said, a sudden intensity to his voice. “I am only sorry if it is true that such a state has kept you from marrying the man you love.”

She looked up at him then, and they both stopped. The constable's face was guarded as he looked down at her. “I do not know if that is true,” she whispered. As she spoke those words, she felt the tightness in her chest loosen a bit.

For a moment, she saw the slightest flicker of hope gleam in his hazel eyes and his face very nearly relax into its more customary grin.

“Let us go inside,” she said, before he could say anything else. “We could just speak to the barmaid. I know you will be quite good at that.” She gave him a quick smile.

When they walked in, they took a seat at a table close to the bar. The constable ordered a small plate of cheese and meat and two ales.

Lucy looked around. The place seemed cleaner and more respectable than most, certainly in comparison to the two inns they had visited earlier.

“Nice place,” she said.

Although her voice was low, the barkeep overheard her and grinned as he set the ales down in front of them. With a mocking tip of his invisible cap, he nodded to her. “Thank you kindly, miss.”

At that point, he began to tell them a few jokes. Lucy found herself laughing more than she had in a long time.

The barman eyed her appreciatively. “Nice smile, that one,” he said to Duncan. “A good merry laugh.”

He seemed so friendly—not surly at all. She caught Duncan's eye, and he nodded.

“You work here every day?” Duncan asked casually.

The barkeep shrugged. “Most days. Nights, too. Abe's the name.”

“You must get all sorts here,” Lucy said, taking a sip of her ale. “Gentry, looks like it.”

“I suppose that is so,” he said. “I dunno. Most do not catch my fancy like you do.” He nodded again toward Lucy. Since his tone was still friendly, Lucy did not feel alarmed.

“Not too many fights, then?” Duncan said.

“No, not so much. There was a bit of a skirmish the other night. Few tables smashed.” He nodded to a bunch of broken wood in the corner.

“When was that?” Duncan said. “Still not cleared it up yet?”

“Just a few nights ago it happened. No other fight that I can recall. But that was a doozy.” He began to regale them with the story. “Good mates by the end, walked out singing arm in arm,” he concluded, shaking his head. “Better caterwauling you'll not soon hear.”

Clearly this was a different altercation that did not involve the Belasysses. Lucy decided to be more direct.

“I heard tell of a devilish woman who was here a week or so ago,” Lucy said casually, hoping to draw the man out. “A fit she had? Accursed, some said.”

“A devilish woman? Accursed?”

Lucy nodded. She felt a bit poorly about casting Miss Belasysse in such a way, but was pleased when a glint of recognition passed through Abe's eye. “Why yes, I do remember that woman. Genteel-looking. In a lovely blue dress. To be honest with you, she looked a bit too refined for even this place.” He coughed. “At least that is what I thought before the madness struck her.”

“What happened?” Lucy asked, trying to sound like one of the eager people who would gather about her when she told a story. “Did her body just begin to convulse? Did it fly through the air? I heard tell that—”

“No, no, miss. Nothing like that. I will not have you saying that witchcraft was done here. We are a godly folk, even if we do run a place where spirits flow.” He looked down at Lucy's eager face and wide eyes and sighed. “Others who were here did say she was possessed. The man with her, whom she had addressed as ‘brother,' told her to give them no mind.”

Lucy glanced at Duncan. That seemed to confirm that the pair was indeed Octavia and Henry Belasysse. “Then what happened?” she asked.

Abe rubbed the table a little more vigorously now. “Can't rightly say. 'Twas a fit, though, of the like I have never seen.” He paused then, seeming to remember something. “I have to say, it was actually quite strange.”

They both waited impatiently for him to continue.

“I had been opening a new barrel of ale, you see, so I missed how the fracas started. I just know that some man came into my place without so much as asking for an ale. Went straight to their table and began speaking to the man—the woman's brother.” He pointed to a table in the far back corner.

“Away from the windows, out of easy sight,” Duncan murmured, studying the room. “They knew each other?”

“Can't say for sure. But I can tell you this, he made something strange happen to that woman. I don't like to say, being a good God-fearing Christian and all. But that's when—” He lowered his voice, causing Duncan and Lucy to lean in toward him. “That's when, he cursed the poor woman. Pitiful creature.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked. “How did he curse her?”

The barman shook his head. “I only know what my patrons told me. I didn't see it for myself. They said he, well, raised his hand and light flew forth.”

“Light flew forth?” Lucy exclaimed.

Abe nodded. “Like an Old Testament prophet, they said. That's when I came back in, hearing the people shouting. I saw for myself. Her eyes all rolled back in her head, so we could only see the whites. I tell you, it was right strange, cursed or no cursed. When she began to convulse, truth be told, I thought maybe she was devil-owned.”

“Then what happened?” Lucy asked. “Did she recover her senses?”

“Her brother knelt beside her, and that other man was standing over them, watching them. I only heard later what he had done. I just remember thinking he looked … satisfied.”

“Satisfied?” Lucy murmured. “How odd.” Seeing that Abe seemed ready to go and pick up some mugs off another table, she hurriedly asked another question, as casually as she could. “I am so curious,” she said. “Did the man look like a devil? Had he a pitchfork and tail and long pointy ears?”

“Ah, miss, you have the imagination, do you not?” Abe said. “He was but a man. Black hair. His clothes were those of a tradesman. Dusty, though, as if he had been traveling.”