A Matter of Grave Concern (13 page)

“Of course not.”

“It seemed to me you liked it when I touched you, when I kissed you—”

“Abby, that goes without question. You saw and felt what you did to me. But you cannot leave yourself so vulnerable, so—”

He never got the chance to finish. Borax began to bark. Then there was a rap at the door downstairs and a male voice rang out, “Open up! This is the Metropolitan Police.”

When Max hurried out of the room, he happened to meet up in the hallway with Jack who, surprisingly enough, seemed more excited by their unwanted visitor than concerned.

“I guess now you’re gonna have to answer for treatin’ the surgeon’s daughter like a dirty puzzle, huh?” he said and chortled, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

Max wasn’t always familiar with Jack’s slang. They hadn’t grown up in the same class. But he knew a
dirty puzzle
probably wasn’t much different than a
bob tail
, or disgusting whore, which is what Jack called most women. “Don’t talk about Abby like that,” he said, “or we’re going to have a problem long before we make it downstairs.”

A blast of sour whiskey breath hit Max as Jack laughed. “You got that girl’s quim on the brain, I tell you. Let’s see what this constable thinks of you wapping the surgeon’s little beauty.”

Max cut Jack off before he could get past him. “You realize we’re in this together.”

“
I
haven’t touched her!” Jack said.

“Only because I wouldn’t let you. Anyway, if Edwin Hale isn’t at the door, too, it’s possible this isn’t about Abby.”

Jack looked perplexed. “Of course it’s about Abby. What else could it be?”

“Remember that maid we ran into approaching Sir William’s last night? It could be an inquiry into what we were carrying in the bag. Given the size and shape, and Sir William’s occupation, it wouldn’t be hard to guess our purpose there. It could even be that the police have already visited Sir William, ascertained the identity of that corpse and want to find out where and how we got hold of it.”

The levity fled Jack’s face.

“I suggest you spend a few minutes thinking about what you might say if that woman didn’t expire of natural causes,” Max said.

“Did you lock the surgeon’s daughter in?” Jack whispered, now somber as a priest.

“I did,” Max replied and took the stairs two at a time.

Another knock resounded, this one more impatient than the last. “Open up!”

When Max did just that, the constable standing on the stoop shifted on his feet as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in his stiff blue uniform. Edwin Hale wasn’t with him; he was alone.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Max asked.

The constable angled his head to peer past him and seemed to take note of Jack, who was making a show of putting water on to boil. “I’m looking for two men—Maximillian Wilder and Jack Hurtsill.”

“I’m Wilder.” Max pressed a hand to his chest before indicating Jack. “That’s Hurtsill.”

The constable’s lips curved into a smug smile. “I’m afraid we have received a complaint against the both of you.”

Max cleared his throat. “Regarding . . .”

“A certain young woman you are holding against her will.”

This
was
about Abby. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Max spread his hands to signify that he had nothing to hide.

“Is that so?” The constable’s eyes narrowed; he had pegged that response for the lie that it was. “Because a bloke by the name of Tom Westbrook claims he has been living here with you and has seen the woman with his own eyes.”

Max had expected the mention of Edwin Hale’s name. But
Tom
was behind this?

He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure Jack had heard—and saw Jack’s mouth tighten. With Tom implicating them both, Jack would be even more hard-pressed to establish his innocence, should he try to blame the whole thing on Max. Abigail’s elephant was in his room this very instant.

“Tom is merely trying to cause trouble,” Max said, doing his best to appear nonplussed. “We had an argument yesterday, and he walked out. This must be his revenge.”

“Then you won’t mind if I come in and have a look around? Mr. Westbrook has indicated that the woman is Abigail Hale, the daughter of the surgeon at Aldersgate School of Medicine.”

Max didn’t move out of the way but he didn’t refuse the constable entrance, either. “I have never met a Miss Hale.”

“Then how would Mr. Westbrook know she’s gone missing? I just came from the college. They have been searching for her ever since they noticed she was not about her usual duties sometime yesterday afternoon.”

It had taken those at Aldersgate most of the day to realize Abby wasn’t there? That bothered Max almost as much as the fact that Tom was the one who had brought the authorities down on them.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Maybe she ran away.”

“A porter at the college has indicated that she attempted to purchase a cadaver from you and your associates the night before she went missing. Is that true?”

Max was growing more worried by the moment. He had never had a great deal of confidence in Sir Robert Peel’s new police force, but he was beginning to believe he had underestimated them. “If she was trying to buy a corpse, she must have been dealing with someone else.”

The constable stood back to survey the dilapidated house. “You are not a bunch of resurrectionists?”

“We’re a bunch of rat catchers,” Max said.

“Rat catchers,” he repeated, clearly skeptical.

“It’s a noble enough profession. We supply many of the taverns.”

“With
that
dog?” He gestured at Borax, who was still making a racket.

“No. We have several well-bred terriers, and even a few ferrets, at Jack’s brother’s place. Bill’s the trainer.”

“Then maybe he’s the rat catcher, too, because Mr. Westbrook claims you sell corpses for a living. He says that when some disagreement arose over the price of a dead body at Aldersgate, the exchange did not take place. So Miss Hale came here to continue negotiations, hoping to procure a specimen for the college at long last and was taken captive and locked in your bedroom.”

Tom had conveniently left out the theft for which he would have been partially responsible, Max noted. “Mr. Westbrook doesn’t know what he is talking about,” he said.

That Max would continue to deny the accusations in the face of such a strong argument caused the constable to study him with a condescending sneer. “I would be much obliged to have you prove that, if you wouldn’t mind showing me the room in question?”

Afraid of what Jack might do if the constable entered the house, Max shook his head. “I’m sorry. You will have to come back after visiting a magistrate. I believe you need a warrant in order to enter this house without our express permission.” Thankfully, the public’s fear of an organized police force had caused parliament to limit their power.

But that didn’t make the difference Max was expecting it to. The constable’s smile turned almost gleeful as he held up a piece of paper. “I went directly to the magistrate from the college.”

Damn it!
Max had expected a few rudimentary inquiries before the investigative process reached this point. Just because Abby had done business with them the night before—even business that had not gone well—didn’t mean they were responsible for her disappearance. Her own father had seen her after they left; Max, Jack and the rest of the gang had watched through the window as the two conversed in the office before they stole the cadaver from the dissection theatre. There was no proof of the London Supply Company’s involvement. He’d hoped trying to establish a link between their visit and her disappearance, and searching for her elsewhere, would give him the time he needed to find out all he could about Madeline—or at least provide sufficient warning that he should sneak Abby out of the house. Never had he dreamed that Tom would betray them.

“And where is Tom?” Max asked. “If he has not sent you on a fool’s errand, why is he not here, ready to point a finger?”

For the first time, the constable appeared to lose a bit of confidence. “He refused to come. He is terrified of you both.”

Max knew he should be doubly terrified now.

“There’s no woman here,” Jack piped up. “No woman that doesn’t want to be.”

The constable remained far from convinced and, considering what Tom had told him, Max could see why. “I will gladly determine that for myself,” he said.

Memories of the day before, when Jack had pulled that knife, made Max nervous. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Regardless of whatever else happened, he had to make sure this bobbie left unharmed. So he blocked Jack with his body in order to let the man in.

“You bloody idiot! Do you want to hang?” Jack whispered below the pounding of the constable’s feet as he headed straight up the stairs.

“I’ll take the blame.” Max figured he would muddle through an arrest somehow. He had friends in high places. He could go to them, tell them why he had been in Wapping and get himself released. But he had enough notoriety in certain circles that if he did that, word of his exploits would spread—and Madeline would very likely be lost to him forever. He didn’t want to die in his old age having never solved the mystery of her disappearance, still feeling responsible for it.

If he maintained his cover and allowed himself to be tried as Max Wilder, on the other hand, he
might
be able to return to the London Supply Company when the ordeal was over. If he received a gaol sentence instead of a public beating, he doubted he would spend too much time behind bars. Lining the right pockets would help. Having spent some time in the clink might even lend him added credibility—if no one recognized him during the process.

But by then Madeline’s trail would be so cold . . .

“This door’s locked,” the constable called to them. “You will produce the key immediately, or I will break it down!”

The look on Jack’s face made Max shake his head and murmur, “Trust me.”

“You better know what you’re doing,” Jack said and followed Max up the stairs.

Although Jack was angry and just defensive enough to be dangerous, Max felt slightly relieved that Abigail would be rescued and returned to her father. What had happened to her, how she had gotten involved, wasn’t fair. He even felt some relief that he would no longer be faced with the moral dilemma that his desire for her posed.

But he couldn’t help the lingering disappointment that he was
again
letting Madeline down.

Abigail had been a costly miscalculation . . .

Swallowing a sigh, he shot Jack a final, quelling glance as he nudged the constable to one side and opened the door.

Chapter 14

Abigail held her breath as the hinges on the door whined. Thanks to the constable’s loud voice, she had heard most of what had gone on below—enough to know that this was her chance. Help had arrived and she could escape the London Supply Company.

But what would happen to Max if she admitted that she was, indeed, the missing surgeon’s daughter?

He would be beaten, or go to gaol. She wanted that for Jack.
He
was twisted. She could feel it in her bones. But Max was not.

As the constable rushed in, Max and Jack fell in step behind him. “Miss Hale? Are you all right?”

She should have been more than eager to fall into her rescuer’s arms and be whisked away from such a dangerous place. Any normal woman might even have cried in relief. But she felt only the panic that had sliced through her the moment she realized the police had arrived.

With her heart beating loudly enough to echo in her ears, she turned in her seat at the vanity and conjured a blank but slightly surprised expression. “What did ye call me, gov’na?”

The constable came to an abrupt halt. His gaze lowered as he took note of her gypsy rags, which she had gotten up and donned instead of the dress she had sewn from Max’s clothes. Then he focused on the mark on her neck. Anything could have happened to a kidnapped woman in three days—her own clothes could have been taken from her and she might have been used by any number of men—but the accent and language she had employed didn’t fit that of an educated, middle-class surgeon’s daughter.

“I’m looking for a woman by the name of Abigail Hale,” the constable explained, clearly confused by her lack of recognition.

She continued running Max’s brush through her hair as she regarded them in the mirror. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but I ain’t never ’eard of a whore by that name. She from around ’ere, then?”

“She is
not
a whore,” he replied, his voice clipped. “She is the daughter of a surgeon in Smithfield.”

“Ah, that explains it.” She gave an unladylike snort. “I ’ave no reason to ’obnob with that sort.”

The constable glanced behind him, at Max and Jack. “You don’t understand,” he said when he returned his gaze to her. “I suspect she’s here, in Wapping. I thought maybe . . . maybe
you
were her.”

She put down the hairbrush, stood and sidled up to Max, who tensed but didn’t rebuff her. “Maybe she is . . . somewhere. But I’d rightly know me own name, eh?”

The policeman scratched his head. “Then . . . who are you?”

“For the right price ye can call me whatever ye like,” she said with a throaty chuckle.

Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked her away from Max and gave her a hard shake. “But you were locked in this room! Getting in required a key. Surely, you can’t be happy about that!”

“There’s no need to be so rough.” The growl in Max’s voice was as much of a warning as his words.

The constable let her go and turned to glare at him. “Why, in God’s name, have you imprisoned this woman?”

Abigail hurried to speak before Max could say anything that might contradict her. “I’ll let a man do most anythin’ ’e wants, long as ’e pays me enough. If ’e chooses to lock me up and pretend I’m ’is captive, all I say is, ‘I charge by the ’our.’ ”

She winked, even though she was secretly afraid he might arrest her. It was one thing to pretend to sell her body, another to be so brazen about it. But prostitution was rampant in London. Unless something else was also involved—theft or violence or repeated complaints—the police usually turned a blind eye to such commerce. If they ever decided to lock up all the “working girls” in the villages east of London, they would be busy for days and the gaols would be full to overflowing.

Jack, seemingly recovered from the shock of how she had handled the situation, spoke up. “Told you there wasn’t anyone here who didn’t want to be.”

Max was wearing a dark scowl but remained silent. If he was grateful that she was trying to save him from arrest, she couldn’t tell. She got the impression that maybe he
wasn’t
so pleased, that her protection was somehow more than he wanted to accept from her.

“You’re aware of the many dangers that can befall an . . . an unfortunate female such as yourself,” the constable said. “That certain charities exist to offer you assistance?”

“Assistance with what?” She batted her eyelids at him. “I’m fine just as I am.”

“They can help get you off the streets, for one.” He stood taller to convey his condemnation. “Many women, such as yourself, have been able to find honest work.”

At that, she laughed outright. “As a needlewoman, ye mean? Where I’d stitch for eighteen hours a day, still not make enough to feed meself—an’ go blind to boot? Ye can ’ave yer bloomin’ charity, that’s what I say.”

“Then maybe there is a poorhouse that has room—”

“
 ’Ell
would be more comfortable,” she scoffed. The almshouses provided such a cruel and meager existence that no one wanted to end up there, so he could hardly act surprised.

Having received the sharp edge of her tongue instead of the gratitude he seemed to expect, he gave up trying to rescue her. “I will leave you to your own devices then,” he ground out and started to leave, only to turn back at the last second. “Are you
sure
you have never heard of Abigail Hale, or the Aldersgate School of Medicine? I cannot fathom Tom Westbrook telling such a story if it wasn’t true. And it matches what the porter said at Aldersgate perfectly.”

“I’ve met Tom. ’E’s not quite right in the ’ead. I mean”—she dipped into a facetious curtsy—“do I look like I’m being held against my will to you?”

When Jack guffawed, the constable hung his head and walked out.

Jack followed, but Max stayed with her—and shut the door as soon as the others passed through it.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice barely audible so he couldn’t be overheard. “He would have taken you home. You could have been reunited with your father inside the hour!”

She raised her eyebrows. “You sound disappointed.”

“Aren’t
you
?”

“I miss my father, and . . . and my duties, but . . .” Clasping her hands together, she stopped.

“But what?”

She couldn’t bring herself to admit that the college had lost some of its appeal since she had come here, particularly in the last twenty-four hours. The ramshackle house where they were sleeping was nowhere anyone would aspire to live. But the longer she stayed, the more she came to view the
college
as restrictive. For the first time, she was experiencing life beyond it, and while that life was more frightening and dangerous, not to mention dirty, it was also more exciting, liberating and full of potential.

“You would have gone to gaol if I had done anything other than what I did,” she said.

“I am not your concern,” he responded.

Apparently, the constable hadn’t left yet. She could hear Jack arguing with him below, talking about Tom.

“You
want
to be locked up?” she asked Max. “To live on little more than bread and water?”

“Look, Abby, I admire you for what you just did. I don’t know another woman who would have tried to pull that off. But last night . . . you can’t take it to mean too much. You have to look out for yourself. Do you understand?”

“You think I protected you because of the pleasure you provided?” Even now, her skin burned with the desire to be touched by him, but she didn’t want to let him know she viewed him as anything more than a learning experience—not when he repeatedly warned her not to get attached. “If I had answered to my own name, that constable would have dragged you away.”

“I realize that, but”—his scowl deepened—“what now?”

She hadn’t thought that far into the future. There hadn’t been time. She had merely done what she felt she had to do. “Now I . . . leave. I return to Aldersgate, where I belong.”

“And what will you tell your father?”

“That I was abducted on my way to the college after making arrangements with you and Big Jack to deliver another corpse. That keeps you from being blamed and makes it possible for me to return with the college’s money.”

“But your father will want to know how you escaped from your captors, who they were—and how you managed to walk off with so much worth robbing.”

“I’ll make up something. I have a vivid imagination.”

“You have no idea the pressure he will bring to bear. If he is anything like me, he won’t rest until he finds the culprits.”

But that was just it—Max wasn’t anything like Edwin Hale. She had no doubt her father would make an honest attempt to seek out her captors and see them punished, but she also had little doubt that he would give up if those first efforts proved unsuccessful, especially if he felt comfortable that she was safe with his sister in Herefordshire. Then he could return to his schedule and his interests. He wouldn’t want to dwell on something so negative, wouldn’t appreciate the distraction nor the reminder that the daughter he was responsible for had ended up in the wrong hands because he had let her talk him into staying on at the college instead of making her go where she was “better off.”

“I can manage my father,” she insisted.

“You won’t break down and reveal the truth?”

“Didn’t I just prove my discretion?”

“You were acting in the name of expediency, but have you considered living with your conscience once you get back? How will you go on as if you never saw what you saw, never heard what you heard? What about the corpse that was on the sofa? Will the memory of that poor dead woman never get the best of you?”

He was right. When she had lied to the constable, she hadn’t even thought about the woman who might have been murdered for the money her body could bring. But even when she
did
think of that possibility, she knew from the way Max had reacted the night Jack brought the body home that Max wasn’t involved. He had been shocked, suspicious and upset, which made her feel she was right to do what she had done.
He was
not
the one who deserved to be punished.

“That was Jack, not you,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have you telling anyone about it.”

“
Why?
” she cried. “Why would you protect
him
?”

“I have my reasons.”

“You need the profit this nasty business brings that badly? Badly enough to remain silent about a possible murder? How high are your gambling debts? Enough to sell your soul along with the corpses you deliver?”

He looked pensive as he paced across the floor. Then, after locking the door, he leaned against the panel as if he would bar the way even if the lock didn’t hold. “Abby, I am not what I appear to be.”

She could still hear the hum of Jack’s voice as he spoke to the constable, but she couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. Max had captured her undivided attention. “What does that mean?”

“I am not a resurrection man. I am merely posing as one. You see . . .” He let his words fall off, suggesting he was thinking twice about making any revelations.

“Go on,” she prompted. “I won’t tell a soul, I promise.”

He hesitated but ultimately continued, “Not long ago, maybe a month or so is all, my sister was seen with Jack.”

His
sister
? He hadn’t mentioned having a sister, but she didn’t know much about him. “And?”

“She has since disappeared.”

Abby covered her mouth. “No . . .” she said through her fingers.

“It’s true. That’s why I’m here: to find her.”

“But . . . where could she be? You’re not thinking—”

“Anything is possible,” he broke in.

That explained so much—why Max looked, acted and even dressed so differently from Jack and the others, why he had done what he could to protect her and couldn’t have let her go for fear she would bring down the authorities before he found his sister.

Abby dropped her hand. “And your gambling debts?”

He shoved away from the door and came toward her, stopping only a foot or so away. “I have no gambling debts. Jack is right to suspect me, which puts me in a very precarious position.”

The memory of Jack returning with that corpse played through Abby’s mind once again. “You are risking your life!”

“Perhaps. I don’t fear Jack in an even fight. But . . . if he figured out who I am, I doubt it would be an even fight.”

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“I have no choice.”

Those fatalistic words told her how much he had agonized over his sister. “The police can’t help?”

“I refuse to leave a matter of such importance in their hands. You have seen what it’s like here in Wapping. No one would talk to the police. They are too afraid of recrimination. And then Jack would know that there are people searching for Madeline. If she is alive . . . I don’t want to make her situation any worse.”

If
was the key word. Knowing Jack, Abby couldn’t help assuming the worst. “Are you making any progress?”

“Not as much as I would have liked. As a newcomer to this world, it has been hard for me to establish the trust I need to acquire useful information. I’ve been here the better part of two weeks and only now am I starting to make some headway.”

“Then it’s more important than ever that you do all you can to convince Jack you are here for the reason given.”

“Yes.” He reached out and touched her neck, where he had left that purplish mark. “But I’m afraid
you
have been a complication I never anticipated and I have not handled our association well.”

Neither of them had planned for their lives to intersect, especially in such an explosive way. “You realize chances are far greater that . . . that your sister is already dead.”

He blanched as he went to the window. “Of course. That’s exactly why I jumped to the conclusions I did when I saw the corpse of the woman Jack brought home.”

“I heard you say she was still warm.”

“She was. She didn’t come out of any grave. But I can’t lodge an accusation without proof, or an eyewitness. I have to bide my time, be smart, learn more. Providing Jack is indeed involved in something as sinister as murder, I need to know if he has been acting alone and whether there have been other victims. If so, I’m sure the families of those victims would like to discover what happened to them as much as I would like to discover what has become of Madeline.”