Susan Carroll (18 page)

Gathering up the parcel she had brought, Sara
alighted from the hackney and paid the driver. Before he even
pulled away from the curb, Sara found herself surrounded by street
urchins, creeping closer to her skirts like a pack of fierce
starving rats.

She had the sense not to wear one of her best
ensembles to Bethnal Green, but she was still dressed fine enough
to provoke several sneers and comments.

“Look at the leddy, will yer, Sam?”

“La-di-da.”

“Hoity-toity.”

One sharp-faced lad, a little bigger and
bolder than the rest, darted closer, his fingers inching toward
Sara's reticule. Despite balancing the bulk of her parcel, she was
quicker, spinning around and catching the boy's ear in a merciless
pinch.

“Ow-ow-ow,” the lad howled, as much
astonished as hurt.

Sara released him with a little shove. “Try
that again, you little gallow's bait, and I'll rattle your bone
box, see?”

She was appalled at how quickly she lost the
refined accent she had cultivated over the years, slipping back
into the patter of the street. But her fierce growl had the desired
effect, the urchins scattering away from her wide-eyed.

Lifting her skirts above the mud and debris,
Sara picked her away around to the narrow door at the back of the
pawnshop. Mounting a flight of rickety stairs, she made her way to
the second floor. She could already hear a burst of raucous
laughter from the flat above.

Sara sighed. It was as she had feared. Mum
was entertaining again. If she had not already dismissed the
hackney, Sara would have been tempted to turn right around and
leave.

But then she would have come all this way for
nothing. Bracing herself, Sara climbed the last of the steps and
rapped halfheartedly on the flat door. The laughter within was so
noisy, she was obliged to pound harder.

The laughter stilled at once, and Sara
smiled, fully comprehending. In this neighborhood, such a thump on
the door could well mean the constable or a tipstaff. After a brief
pause, the door was inched open by Chastity Palmer. Her sagging
bosom threatened to spill out of her gown, yet Mum's middle-aged
face still possessed a certain blowzy prettiness.

At the sight of Sara, Chastity's cautious
expression disappeared. She beamed, throwing wide the door.

“Sary! My sweet babe.” She dragged Sara
across the threshold, embracing her, package and all.

Sara felt relieved. If she was only
Chastity's “babe” and not her “heart's darling,” at least she knew
that Mum wasn't drunk. Sara returned the hug, breathing in the
scents that had always meant mother to her, cheap perfume and stale
gin.

Peering over Chastity's shoulder Sara glanced
around to see who else was present. It was not as bad as she
feared. Mum had not been entertaining her latest “romance.”

Seated behind Mum's small wooden table was
only a neighbor, old Mr. Haythrope, the beanpole of a man who
occupied the flat upstairs. Next to him was a demure woman garbed
in black who looked respectable enough to have been a governess.
She was in fact one self-styled Madame Dubonnet, the owner of one
of the most exclusive and elegant brothels in the city. Chastity
had once worked for her off and on, and even Sara had had her start
in Madame's house.

Sara had interrupted them in the midst of
their refreshments. The delicate china service she had bought her
mother was laid out upon the table, but from the reek of spirits in
the air and the flushed countenances of her mother's guests, Sara
doubted that anyone had been drinking tea.

When Chastity had had her fill of hugging
Sara, she tugged her over to the table, laughing and exclaiming
proudly, “Well, would you just look who's come to visit her poor
old mama? It's our little Sary. Doesn't she just look grand as a
queen?”

Mr. Haythrope managed to get to his feet.
“Sharmed, to see you again, Mish Palmer. Shimply sharmed.”

He would have taken her hand, but Sara shrank
away with disgust. The man's dirt-encrusted fingernails reminded
her of his profession as a grave robber.

She was distracted by Madame Dubonnet pacing
around her, examining the stitching upon her cloak with an expert
eye, lifting the garment up to peer at the ruching on Sara's
gown.

“Oh, you have done very well for yourself,
Sara,” she said. “Very well.” Madame nodded wisely at Chastity
Palmer. “I always knew the girl would never end up a common
whore.”

“There was never anything common about any of
my children,” Chastity said loftily.

“You were a credit to my house once, Sara
Palmer.” The brothel owner gave a sentimental sigh. “The bishop of
Barnwell still asks after you.”

“Does he indeed?” Sara gave a dismissive
shrug as she set her parcel on the table, but she could not help
remembering. The bishop had been her first lover. How very strange.
Out of all the men she had had, the two who had been best in bed
had been his holy eminence and that devil Mandell.

Still, Sara had no wish to indulge in such
reminiscences. Unlike her mother, she preferred to put the past
behind her. She felt grateful when neither of Chastity's guests
elected to linger long. Mr. Haythrope was going to require some
help negotiating the stairs.

Both Chastity and Madame Dubonnet followed
him through the door of the flat to make sure he did not fall and
break his neck. While awaiting her mother's return, Sara removed
her cloak and bonnet.

Even though she knew it was useless, she
could not help strolling about the flat's single large room,
straightening the cushions on the worn settee, wiping dust off the
oil lamp, picking Chastity's nightgown off the floor.

Sara started to return it to the curtained
alcove where Chastity kept her bed. But as she brushed the drapery
aside, she was stayed by the sound of soft snoring, the sight of a
large bulk beneath the covers of the bed, a pair of glossy black
boots tossed carelessly on the rug.

It seemed she had been too optimistic. Mum
had one more guest after all, and Sara had no desire for an
introduction. Sara let the curtain fall, draping Chastity's
nightgown over the back of one of the chairs.

Chastity bustled back into the room,
breathless and laughing. “I declare! That Bill Haythrope, I've
never known any man to get so easily foxed. Just wave a cup of
stout beneath his nose and he's under the table.”

“He's an old drunkard, Mum. I don't know how
you can encourage him to hang about or that Madame Dubonnet. I
should think you would want to forget that we ever had any
connection to her or her house.”

“Betty is an old friend, Sara, and Mr.
Haythrope is a kind, generous man. It was him as apprenticed your
brother Davy into a profitable trade.”

“As a resurrectionist? Stealing and selling
dead bodies!”

“It's nice steady work, miss.”

“If Davy were not so lazy, if he had an ounce
of ambition in that thick head of his—”

“Now don't you be so hard upon my poor little
man. Davy is a good boy, so he is. He looks after his poor old
mama.”

Sara rolled her eyes, but held her tongue.
She had never been fond of her younger brother David, finding him
both shiftless and underhanded. But it was useless arguing with her
mother on that point. Besides, Chastity's last comment about how
well David looked after her had been a broad hint, Mum's gaze
fixing upon the parcel Sara had brought.

Sara handed her the package and Chastity
pounced upon it as greedily as a small child. Chastity cooed with
delight over the tea, the pound of coffee, the chocolates, and
sundry other delicacies. But what pleased her most was the box of
cigars. Mum had acquired a taste for the nasty things from one of
her lovers who had been a sea captain.

As Chastity examined the last of Sara's
offerings, several new pairs of knit stockings, Sara reached for
her reticule. She fished around inside, drawing forth a small wad
of pound notes.

“I am sorry I could not bring you as much as
I usually do,” Sara said. “Since my parting from the marquis I have
had to be more careful with my funds.”

“Ah, don't you fret, babe.” As she took the
money, Chastity reached out to give Sara a motherly pat on the
cheek. “Things will come out all right. So that wretch of a man
left you. You'll find a new love soon enough.”

Sara started to reply, then closed her mouth.
It was of no use trying to explain to Chastity that Mandell had
never been her love or that it had been Sara who had broken off the
relationship. Mum would never understand whistling such a handsome
and wealthy lover down the wind any more than she would understand
Sara's yearning to be a real lady, to achieve a noble marriage.

“I am sure I will come about in time,” Sara
said. “But I worry about you, Mum, about being able to bring you
enough. I don't want you feeling hard-pressed or thinking that you
have to go back to Madame Dubonnet's.”

“Lordy, child, as if I would ever have to do
that if I didn't want to!” Chastity daintily tucked the money
inside the bosom of her gown and gave a proud toss of her head.
“Your Mum still possesses a few resources of her own, you know.
Besides, you forget I have two strong sons to care for me.”

“But that is the other reason I came here
today, to tell you Gideon had to leave London, perhaps for quite
awhile.”

“Oh, er—yes. Poor Gideon. Traveling on that
horrid stage up north. I have only my little Davy left now.”

“How did you know where Gideon went'?” Sara
asked sharply. “I just sent him off yesterday and I gave him no
chance to come back here,”

“Well.” Chastity moistened her lips. “I
expect I heard it from Davy. Yes, Davy. He just happened to be at
the inn, spying upon you. You know what a rogue he can be
sometimes.”

Giving a nervous laugh, Chastity's gaze
flicked toward the curtained alcove and guiltily away again. Sara
stiffened. Her mother had the most transparent features
imaginable.

Sara swore. How could she have been so stupid
when she peeked behind the curtain before? The glossy boots should
have been familiar as the snoring, the huddling down beneath
bedcovers pretending to be asleep. It was one of the oldest tricks
of their childhood. Compressing her lips, Sara stalked toward the
alcove.

“Oh, no, Sary,” Chastity cried. “I have a
guest in there I didn't tell you about. You don't want to—”

Ignoring her mother, Sara flung back the
curtain. Gideon was already leaping up from the bed. Shoving back
the strands of his tousled hair, he gave her a sheepish grin.
“Hullo, Sara.”

Sara's fingers clenched about the end of the
curtain. “Damn you, Gideon! I put you on that stage myself. I had
you out of here. Why the devil did you come back?”

He spread his hands wide in an apologetic
gesture. “Well, my dear, when the stage got past the city, I
chanced to look out the window.” He gave a mock shudder. “There
were pastures, Sara. Cows! Sheep!”

Chastity gave a shrill giggle which died when
Sara whipped around to glare at her mother. “This is not amusing,
Mum.”

“Aw, Sara.” Gideon tried to get an arm about
her shoulders, but Sara flung him off.

“Come now, Sary,” Chastity coaxed. “You have
got yourself into a rare state of panic over nothing. Gideon told
me everything about you trying to make him run off over a few
suspicions. No one is accusing him of being the Hook yet.”

“When someone does, it will be far too late,”
Sara snapped.

“If it's the money you wasted upon the
stage,” Gideon said, “I will pay you back somehow.”

“It is not the money, you fool! I am trying
to keep you from being arrested for murder.”

“Bah, there is nothing to connect Gideon to
those killings. Only rumor.” Chastity smiled, preening a little.
“Mind you, it has not hurt my reputation in the neighborhood a bit,
having people imagining Gideon might be the one. Why, the Hook is
getting to be something of a legend like Dick Turpin or Robin of
the Hood. The butcher actually slipped me an extra slab of bacon
the other day.”

“When you see your oldest son swinging by the
neck, I hope you will think the bacon was worth it, Mum.”

“Of course I wouldn't.” Chastity's smile
faded, her chin quivering. “I went to see poor Meg Cuttler's boy
turned off just last week for horse stealing. Davy and I attended
the hanging. It was dreadful, though Meg did lay out a nice funeral
breakfast in her flat afterwards.”

“And all the while I suppose Davy plotted to
steal the corpse.”

“Certainly not!” Chastity said. “I raised
your brother up to be a gentleman. He'd never open the grave of
anybody he knows.”

A smothered choking sound escaped from
Gideon, but Sara had no desire to laugh. She did not have the
strength to be angry anymore, either. Sinking down at the table,
she rested her brow upon her hands, determined not to have another
headache.

What was the use of arguing? she thought
wearily. What was the use of trying to help either one of them? It
was hopeless. Life had always been hopeless in Bethnal Green.

Gideon drew their mother aside. After a
little whispering between them, Gideon handed Chastity some coin,
instructing her to bring back some rum from the shop around the
corner.

Snatching up her shawl, Chastity slipped out
of the room, promising to be back directly. A silence settled over
the flat when the door had closed behind her. Gideon ambled back
over to the table, but he did not sit down. Resting his hands on
the back of one of the chairs, he stared at Sara and said, “It
wasn't any good me running away, Sara. I think we both realize
that.”

“If you had just possessed the sense to keep
on running.”

“I have done some checking, Sara. The
authorities are as baffled as ever. They have no witnesses, no
clear description of the Hook. I am safe.”