The Last Hellion (39 page)

Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

She'd heard something was amiss at Ainswood House, and was aware the duke was away from London. She hadn't learned much more than that. This was because she'd been lying low in recent weeks. She'd had to leave Francis Street without paying the rent—also the Jack whore's fault—which meant the bailiffs were looking for her.

But she'd had to kill one runaway a few days ago, and temporarily incapacitated another girl in a drunken temper fit. As a result, she was short two employees, which was not good for finances. Like it or not, she'd had to venture out early this morning to seek replacements.

Now she wouldn't need any. Now she had a way to get even with the scribbler bitch and make a fortune at the same time.

And so she smiled, displaying an incomplete line of brown teeth. "Ainswood House is closed up and every-one's gone," she lied to her prisoners. "Looks like they've gone out hunting for you." She shook her head. "A pair of runaways.

Lucky for you I was the one who found you. There's some as wouldn't care if you was royalty. Finders keepers is some people's motto. And do you know what some people does to little girls they find?"

The older one drew the smaller one closer. "Yes, we know. We've read about it in the
Argus
."

"Then if you don't want it to happen to you, I recommend you be good and quiet, and don't give me no trouble." She jerked her head toward the window. "You see where we are? It ain't a elegant part of Town. All I got to do is open the door and say, 'Anyone want a pair of pretty females?'—and you're off my hands."

"You don't want Corrie to do that," Nell said, leaning toward the girls.

"Whatever you read about what happens to young gals ain't the half of it. There's some things so horrible as they won't even print 'em in the
Police Gazette
."

Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

"I'll take you where you'll be safe," Coralie said. "Long as you behave yourselves. And we'll send word for 'em to come and fetch you. The quicker the better, I say. Gals who can't earn their keep ain't no good to me."

Tom had managed to keep on their trail for a good while, for few vehicles, especially a broken-down coach, could move speedily through the crowded streets. But caught in a gnarl of foot and vehicular traffic, he'd lost them near the Tower and was unable to pick up the trail again, despite hours of searching.

It was late morning when he reported to Lydia. His description of the pair's garb and sizes left no doubt it was Elizabeth and Emily. Lydia wished she'd had more doubt about its being Coralie who'd captured them, but there was no question of that. From Seven Dials to Stepney, there wasn't a street arab who didn't know the bawd—and who wasn't wise enough to keep well away from her.

After sending Tom down to the kitchen to eat, Lydia dispatched a messenger to Ainswood, telling him to drop everything and make for London posthaste.

Then she led Tamsin and Bertie back into the library to formulate a plan of action.

Until now, they'd been as discreet as possible about the search, for a number of reasons. Gently bred misses who broke Society's rules by running away would be assumed to break other rules in the course of their flight. Their reputations would be damaged, if not rained, if word got out.

That, however, wasn't the worst of risks. Grenville of the
Argus
had enemies.

She hadn't wanted her foes out looking for Elizabeth and Emily, and taking revenge on her via them. She'd made this clear to her spy network.

At present, unfortunately, Ainswood's wards were already in enemy hands.

"We've no choice," she told her companions. "We must post a large reward for Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

their safe return and hope greed proves stronger than enmity."

She and Tamsin quickly composed the notice, and Ber-tie took it to the
Argus
offices. By now, today's issue of the magazine would be printed. If it wasn't, Macgowan was to stop the presses and print the handbills instead.

While Bertie was gone, more messages went out, this time to Lydia's private network of informants, seeking information regarding Coralie's current hideout.

"Not that I expect much results from that," she told Tamsin when the task was done. "The body of one of her girls was pulled from the river days ago. And that's hardly the first time Coralie's been wanted for questioning and managed not to be found. She knows they won't spend long looking for her. The police—

such as they are—are overburdened, their resources are limited, and there's precious little financial incentive to find the murderer of one little whore."

For income, Bow Street detectives, for instance, depended primarily upon reward money, public and private. The Crown wasn't highly motivated to offer large rewards from public funds to solve such crimes as the murder of persons generally regarded as vermin. In such cases, private rewards were never offered.

"Wherever she does make her lair, it must be somewhere in London," Tamsin said. "She has to keep an eye on her girls."

"The trouble is, London is one of the easiest places in which to hide and not be found," Lydia said. She summoned a servant and asked for her bonnet and spencer.

"You're not going out?" Tamsin exclaimed. "You can't be meaning to search for her singlehanded."

"I'm going to Bow Street," Lydia said. "We shan't have any problem enlisting their help with this. But I want to speak to the officers as well as the hangers-on directly. They may be in possession of clues they don't realize are clues." She Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

met Tamsin's gaze. "Men don't see the world as women do. Men don't always see what's right under their noses."

Bess appeared with her mistress's outdoor garments then. After donning them, Lydia turned to Tamsin.

"Coralie is not going to play fair," she told the girl. "If she meant to, we would have had word from her by now."

"A ransom note, you mean."

Nodding, Lydia took out her pocket watch. "It's past noon. She's had Elizabeth and Emily since before daybreak. Why go to the bother of keeping them when she might simply bring them here directly, pretend she'd 'rescued' them, and demand a reward?" She put the watch away. "When she thought she might get in trouble, she was quick enough to pretend she'd 'rescued' you, recall. If she promptly delivered the girls, she knows I'd have no grounds for prosecuting her, and plenty of reason to express my gratitude in coin of the realm. That would be the practical approach. Since she isn't practical, I don't doubt there's a grudge at work, and trouble in the making. I'm not going to sit here waiting for it—and giving her the upper hand—if I can help it."

With that, and a promise to keep Tamsin informed of her whereabouts, Lydia departed for Bow Street.

Bertie Trent sat in the small office Miss Grenville had occupied at the
Argus
until her elevation to duchess. He was waiting for the handbills to be printed.

While he waited, he was having an exceedingly unpleasant time of it with his conscience.

On the trip back to London, Tamsin had told him her story. Bertie didn't blame her for running away. Her mother, clearly, wasn't right in the head, and her father seemed to have a knack for making himself scarce, using business as an Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

excuse. The man had as good as abandoned his daughter.

Likewise, there were a great many people—Lord and Lady Mars, for instance—

who would think Ainswood had abandoned his wards.

But Bertie could see how a fellow could get mixed up when it came to family.

Kin could drive a man mad. Bertie's own sister had been an aggravation for as long as he could remember. Still, he would be wretched if anything happened to her.

In any case, women were often a problem, and when you didn't know what to do with them, the simplest route was to ignore them, keep away, and avoid unpleasantness. That didn't mean a fellow hadn't any feelings.

Maybe Mr. Prideaux hadn't realized how bad things were at home.

Whether he did or didn't, Bertie couldn't help thinking the man must be seeing clearer now. If, deep down, he loved his daughter, he must be worried to death.

After all, Bertie was worried to death about Ainswood's wards, though he'd never clapped eyes on them. Even Dain was distraught. Bertie had never before heard him ramble on the way he'd done the day the news came. Or behave so strangely—actually packing Bertie's clothes—Beelzebub, who constantly kept the servants hopping to his bidding.

Bertie hated to imagine the state Mr. Prideaux must be in, picturing every horrible thing that could happen to his daughter, supposedly en route to America with a man who could be a prime villain, for all he knew.

Bertie hated to imagine it, but he imagined it all the same, and with each passing hour, his conscience screamed sharper and louder.

He stared unhappily at the tidy desk, at the inkwell and pens, pencils, and paper.

He ought to ask Tamsin first, but she had enough on her mind, and he didn't want her conscience ripping up at her as his was at him. Besides, if a fellow Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

couldn't trust his own conscience, Bertie told himself, who and what could he trust? There was right and there was wrong, and Conscience was pretty plain, at the moment, about what was what.

Bertie took out a clean sheet of paper, unscrewed the inkwell, and picked up a pen.

Hours after her departure from Ainswood House, Lydia stood looking at the corpse of an old woman. The remains lay in a cold chamber reserved for the purpose, in the yard of the Shadwell magistrate's office.

One of the river-finders, whose profession it was to dredge the river for corpses, had recovered the body last night. Lydia had found out about it during her visit to Bow Street. The constable who'd collected it from the river-finder had noticed the distinctive marks on the corpse and asked for a Bow Street officer to come and compare them to the marks found on the young prostitute pulled from the river some days earlier.

The old woman's face had been cut up in the same way. What was left of it, along with the deep wound in the throat—nearly decapitating her—offered clear evidence of the garrote.

"More of Coralie's handiwork, do you think, Your Grace?" the young constable with her asked.

"Her handiwork, yes," said Lydia. "But hardly her sort of victim. Hers are always young. Why should she attack a mad old woman?"

"Mad?" Constable Bell's gaze moved from the corpse to Lydia. "What tells you the deceased was mad?"

"She was thought so when I was a girl," Lydia said. "She was a river-finder, I believe. Or her spouse was. She often had violent arguments with people who Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

weren't there. The children believed she was screaming at the ghosts of the drowned persons. I heard her myself once. An argument about money, I believe."

"Perhaps the ghost was chiding her for emptying his pockets."

Lydia shrugged. "All the dredgers do that. One of the perquisites of the trade."

"I wonder you can recognize her. Though she wasn't in the river very long, the knife or broken glass did its work well enough."

"I saw her some months ago when I was in Ratcliffe, interviewing prostitutes,"

Lydia explained. "I was surprised she was still alive. So I took more note of her than I might have done otherwise. I recognized the garish red-dyed hair and the odd tangle of braids. And the dark splotch on her wrist. A birthmark. The only name I have for her is 'Mad Dorrie.' But whether Dome is her name or a reference to her work in a boat, I cannot say."

"Still, that helps," Bell said. "We're more likely to get information about 'Mad Dorrie' than about 'Unidentified Female.' Not that this assists you in your task,"

he added as he drew the blanket up over the corpse again. "This woman was dead well before Coralie met up with the duke's wards. Unless you think there is some significance in this victim's being different from the others." He looked up then and discovered he was talking to himself.

The duchess was gone.

"Your Grace?" He hurried from the chamber into the yard. Though the sun hadn't yet set, a fog had rolled in, plunging the area into gloom. He called, but received no answer. He heard footsteps, faint, upon the stones, and hastened in that direction.

A short time later, the very recently returned Duke of Ainswood was trying to digest exceedingly unwelcome news.

Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion

"Shadwell?" Vere shouted. "She's gone to the East End alone? Has everyone lost their wits? Can't you see what Grenville's up to? The same as she did in Vinegar Yard. She thinks she can handle a pack of cutthroats with nothing but her accursed pocket watch. And without even Susan for company."

"Woof!" Susan said.

Vere glared at her. "How could you let her go alone, you fool dog?"

"Lydia went out hours ago," Tamsin said. "Susan was with Bertie then. Lydia has only gone from one magistrate's office to the next. She had the coachman as well as a footman with her. I'm sure she wouldn't do anything rash."

"Then you're one sadly deluded female," Vere said. He stormed out of the library and down the hall to the front door. He jerked it open before the servant could do it for him, and very nearly trod down the constable standing on the doorstep.

"You'd better have a message from my wife," Vere told the law officer. "And it had better say that she's sitting peaceably in the magistrate's office at Shadwell."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," said the constable. "I do wish I had that message for you, and it's my fault I don't. I was with her. I took my eyes off her for a moment, and she was gone. On foot, I'm afraid. I found her carriage, but she wasn't in it. I'm hoping someone here can help me put the pieces together, as she evidently has."

If Lydia was no longer at the Shadwell magistrate's office, Vere had no idea where to look for her. He made himself calm down—at least outwardly—and invited the constable inside.

The man's name was Joseph Bell. He was new to the service, a temporary replacement for an officer injured in the line of duty. He was young, good-looking, and clearly better educated than the usual run of constables.