Cold Stone and Ivy (48 page)

“Identification code,” it said, and Beals punched a series of numbers into the panel on its chest. A green light flashed on the Sentinel’s faceplate.

“All right, WILLS,” said Savage. “Open ’er up.”

The Sentinel rolled forward, raising its key arm in the air and attaching itself to the heavy iron door. The key spun three times and the door groaned as it began to wheel back on its hinges. A wall of cold hit them like a fist and both detectives peered in on a most unusual sight.

Four men—the oily one, the warthog, the bleeder, and the tattered fellow—were on their knees in four corners of the room, hands clasped under their chins, praying. The fifth—large, tattooed, moustachioed Rusty, was sitting on the bench weeping, his meaty hands grasped within de Lacey’s. He was also wearing de Lacey’s cravat around his thick neck.

Savage and Beals exchanged glances.

Sebastien de Lacey looked up. “Please give us a moment. We’re almost done here.”

He turned his attention back to the big man. “So, Rusty, what do you say to Ponce?”

“I’m sorry, Ponce!” the big man wailed, and it seemed that his breath frosted in front of his face. “I should’nae poonched yer head in! I should’nae rammed ye into the bricks or cut yer forks off like kippers and I should’nae hung ye up by yer sausages till ye was blue! I was in me cups but it was wrong! Can ye ever fergive me?”

Savage looked around as a wind picked up and blew at their clothing and hair, but it died as quickly as it had come.

“James Russell, you are forgiven and the Crown has been served.”

Sebastien sighed, dropping his hand on the top of Rusty’s bald head, patting it like he would a dog’s. It made a slapping sound.

“So, can you promise me that you will try to control your temper from now on? I really don’t want to have to come back down to London and shoot you, because I will, Rusty. Next time, I will. Honestly, it is so much easier.”

“I will, Laury! I will control my temper!”

“And watch the drinking.”

“Aye. No more gin fer me! I’ll be dry as a nun.”

“There’s a lad.” Sebastien rose to his feet. He was wearing riding boots. Savage was certain he hadn’t been wearing those yesterday. “And remember to call the Heath Row Fields. They can always use a big lad like you to help with the ships. Ask for Neville Scully and tell him Laury sent you. Can you remember that, lad?”

“Neville Scully. Aye.”

Sebastien glanced around at the others. “Promise me, lads. All of you. Remember, bullets are expensive.”

The four others nodded, and the tattered man looked up from his knees, smiling like the sun. “Dese are de most flush docks I ever owned.”

And he looked down at his feet, shod now in fine spats with brass buttons.

“And they suit you, Percy. Like a glove.”

“Bless you, Laury.”

“Yes, bless you, Laury,” moaned the warthog. He was wearing a fine grey waistcoat.

“Bless yew, Laury,” moaned the greasy one. He made the sign of the cross. “Amen.”

Sebastien turned to face the detectives. “May I leave now?”

Beals glanced at his partner.

“Aaaah, no,” said Savage. “The Chief wants to talk with you awhile.”

“Oh good Lord.” The Mad Lord’s shoulders sagged. “I’m desperately tired and need a cup of tea. Ivy would be proud but honestly, sirs, a bullet is so much easier.”

Savage grumbled something unintelligible and ushered Sebastien de Lacey from the room, leaving WILLS to close up the iron door on a now-reformed James Russell and the repentant Millhouse gang.

SHE SAT ON
the edge of her bed, staring at the floor.

She hadn’t slept at all after the cab had dropped her off, merely climbed the stair to her room and sat, the way she was sitting now. Christien had not come with her, and her father had not come home. She felt entirely alone.

What had she done?

And so she sat for a very long time more, thinking very little, feeling even less. At some point, sometime, she realized that someone was rapping on the door downstairs. She honestly didn’t care, but finally, like an automaton herself, she rose to attend it.

“Open up, you petulant thing, you! Open up I say!” came a familiar voice, and Ivy’s heart leapt within her. She flew down the stair now and threw open the door onto a tall slim horsey brunette in an aubergine jacket and tiny top hat next to a short round blonde in a red cloak, massive touring hat, goggles, and long paisley scarf. With a cry, Ivy threw herself at the sisters, pulling them both into a great teary-eyed embrace, at which the sisters wailed, shrieked, and exclaimed their surprise. Finally, Ivy managed to disentangle herself and pulled them both into the house.

“Dearest!” exclaimed Fanny. “That was a most unusual welcome. Splendid and hearty, yes of course. We Helmsly-Wimpoll women are used to splendid and hearty welcomes . . .”

“Most splendid and hearty,” agreed Franny.

“But from you, dearest and darling, it is most unusual.”

“Most unusual.”

“Oh,” said Ivy, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’ve just missed you both terribly. Please come in.”

Fanny studied her with a now-familiar scrutiny. “I suspect there is more that you are not telling us, surely, dearest . . .”

“Surely more,” said Franny.

“But you will tell all over tea, won’t you? I know you will.” She laid a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “You can keep no secrets from us, dearest.”

“Are there biscuits?” said Franny.

Ivy beamed at them. “I am so glad you are here!”

And she led them into the kitchen, where she set the kettle to boil for tea.

SEBASTIEN DE LACEY
glanced around the new holding cell, hoping to spy a tea service, but there was nothing of the kind. It was as grey as the former room but smaller and on the third floor. However, it had a desk and two chairs, and he had to admit that, as of this morning, his station was much improved.

Trevis Savage was the only other occupant of the room, and he leaned against a wall, arms folded across his chest. Very little in the living world frightened Sebastien de Lacey, but for some reason, this man did. He wondered if it had something to do with the fact that he was a father. All in all, fathers were very frightening creatures.

He looked up, put on his best smile. It was difficult, for he was very tired and he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. His stomach had been rumbling all night.

“And how is Ivy, sir?”

Savage glared at him but no answer was forthcoming.

There were no apparitions. It was a strange thing. Such animosity from an obviously good man. Yes, it had to be fatherhood, and for the first time, Sebastien felt thankful that he was not in that camp. His mind and instincts still functioned without compromise.

“She’s a persistent thing, isn’t she? Quite a little badger. And I must say, she has a good nose for a mystery. She would make a wonderful detective. In fact, I think she’d—”

“Don’t you dare speak to me of my daughter, sir,” Savage growled, pushing off from the wall. “Not one more word.
Ever.
Do you understand?”

Sebastien nodded, although he didn’t understand in the least.

“You have effectively ruined everything for her. She could have had a life with your brother. She could have had a nice, sensible life with a fine house and a fine husband so she could stop writing those dreadful stories of hers. Don’t you understand? Christien de Lacey was her way out, man. Her way out of the East End.”

“But he—”

“Not. One. Word!”
There were tears in his eyes as he continued. “All I wanted was for her to be safe. All I wanted was for her to have a better life than she could have with me in Stepney. She would care for her mother until she died, my Ivy would. She is that sort of girl, but
you!
You step right off the pages of one of her Dreadfuls. How could she possibly be safe with you?”

He loomed over the table, bringing his face down until they were almost nose to nose.

“There is scandal in your every footprint, sir. No one will have her now, but she’s far too young to realize it. Your madness has only fuelled her imagination, and I’m certain she will have nothing to do with a quiet sensible life now. You have been her ruin, sir. You have been her ruin.”

Sebastien swallowed again but to his credit, said nothing.

“I don’t think you’re the Ripper, but if you are, you will hang. If you are responsible for the arms of Lambeth and Pimlico, you may still hang. But for this, this
ruination
of a good young girl, I wish I could see you hang for this crime alone.”

There was the rattle of a door, and Savage stepped back as Moore and Beals entered the room. Beals had in his possession a folder of papers, but for his part, Sebastien quickly stared at the floor.

Beals glanced at his partner, who said nothing, merely stepped back to the wall, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Are these your men, sir?” asked Beals. “The ones you were chasing last night?”

He slid a chrome under de Lacey’s nose.

The Mad Lord did not even look at it.

“And Constable Pleasant Poole does have a record of a Miss Ivy Savage reporting a woman’s head dropped into the River Thames at St. Katharine’s Pier at 12:52 yesterday morning. Is this correct, sir? Is this your remembrance of things?”

“There was no head,” said Sebastien softly.

“Sir?”

“There was no head. In the river. There was a splash. Nothing more.”

Beals glanced between his partner and his superior. Moore leaned in over Sebastien’s shoulder.

“There was no head, you say?”

“No,” said Sebastien. “There was no head.”

“That’s interesting. Are you certain there was no head?”

“Yes.”

“Because we have a torso now, de Lacey.”

Slowly, Sebastien looked up.

“You did say we’d find one,” said Moore. “And we did. Do you know where we found her, sir? Any idea at all?”

Sebastien shook his head.

“The Embankment. In the foundation cellar for the New Scotland Yard.”

There was silence in the room.

“Clever, don’t you think?” asked Moore. “I think that was damned clever. Brazen, in fact. Anything you can tell me about that, sir? Anything else we need to know?”

“The torso,” began Sebastien. He cleared his throat but his voice was thin. “No head, no arms, legs taken off at the hip joints, part of her abdomen missing?”

“Exactly, sir. Looks like a butcher or a surgeon.”

He nodded, let his eyes drop once more. Moore straightened.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, de Lacey?”

He did not look up. “This other woman, the small woman on the street who was murdered . . .”

“Catherine Eddowes?”

“She was alive. She was alive when I met her. I saw what he would do. I saw it all. I should have taken her home, made sure she was safe, but I chased after the men instead. I did not value her life.”

His words were like an electric charge in the room, and the three officers moved in as his talk turned to the foremost of crimes.

Moore placed his hands on the table’s edge. “Is this a confession, sir?”

“Ivy was right all along. I place more value on the dead than the living. The dead plague me and the living are of no consequence. It is morally wrong.” He lifted his eyes to Savage. “You are correct, sir. She would not be safe with me. No one is safe with me.”

“Fetch Abberline,” said Moore.

Savage nodded and slipped from the room. Beals was frowning.

“Are you saying you killed Catherine Eddowes, Lord de Lacey?”

“I am responsible.”

“But did you
kill
her, sir?”

Sebastien looked up at the tall man. “I would like to speak with my brother, please.”

Moore loomed in between.

“I thought you might. He’s right outside the door.” He leaned in close one last time. “You’ll hang for this, de Lacey. You will hang from the neck until dead.”

And quietly the two men left the room as Christien entered, closing the door behind him.

They said nothing for some time before Christien took a chair to sit at the table, laced his fingers across it. Sebastien couldn't bring himself to look at him. Too many damned cadavers.

“Bastien . . .” Christien began.

“I’m sorry, Christien,” said Sebastien. “I’m so very sorry.”

“I know. But you didn’t do these things. I know you didn’t. They have nothing. They’re simply trying to bully you, that’s all.”

“Will you still have Ivy, Christien? She’s a good girl. Very industrious and clever. She needs a good stable fellow, someone to keep her safe. Someone to give her a fine house and fine children and . . .” He took a deep breath. “And you are the finest man I’ve ever known.”

“I do care for her, Bastien.” Christien smiled sadly. “But not the way she needs. And I know she does not love me the way I need.”