The Thames River Murders (31 page)

“Nothing so macabre.” Denis’s voice was quiet. “He is an extremely competent surgeon and is quite angry if one under his care dies. But he knows how to kill quickly and efficiently, exactly where to cut, what to sever. Other men began hiring him to do so. I believe he asked a reasonable fee and did the job so competently it left no trace. He was caught not because of anything he did, but because the last man who hired him panicked and told the magistrates. The surgeon did not discover this in time to leave the country, and he was convicted of two of the murders. His sentence was commuted to transportation, possibly because I asked it to be done, but more likely because of his professional skills. Someone like him would be needed in the colonies.”

“You employed him?” I asked. “Is that how you knew him?”

Denis’s eyes held no emotion I could see. “No, indeed. Someone else employed him to kill
me
. Needless to say, he was not successful.”

“Your guards stopped him?” I asked.

“My guards were useless against him. He got past them all and into my bedchamber.”

I stilled in amazement. Denis never, ever let anyone get close enough to him to so much as touch him.

Denis went on, “I am alive because he let me talk to him, and then I paid him a large sum, far larger than the other man had given him. It was that employer who went to the magistrates. He was terrified I’d send the surgeon after
him
.” He shrugged. “I was tempted, but that would have been too obvious.”

I pictured the situation, two men of equal sangfroid and ruthlessness squaring off.

“If you paid him, why did Brewster tell me you considered yourself in his debt?”

“Because the surgeon’s professional pride did not want him to turn on his employer. I persuaded him, and he liked the idea of having me under his obligation. So … I worked to get his sentence commuted, and I provided the means for him to escape that confinement when he wished. And so when you kept asking to send for him …” Denis shook his head. “You do try my patience, Captain.”

“An explanation might have saved you much trouble,” I said.

His fingers moved on the chair arms. “I forget that you will not leave well enough alone simply because you are told to.” Denis gave me a severe look. “For this man who is trying to kill you—leave that alone as well. I will hunt him and find him.”

My irritation stirred. “You wish me to ignore a man threatening me and mine?”

“No, I wish you to take care of your family while I and my men find this person. Go to Norfolk as planned; do not alter your journeys without telling me.”

Were I the only one in danger, his guarding me might grate, but I would do anything to keep Gabriella, Peter, and Donata safe.

“I thank you for your help,” I said. “Truly.”

“I have invested much time, wherewithal, and money in you, Captain. I would not like to see that be for nothing.”

“Hmm,” was all I could think of to say.

We waited again in silence, not very long, until we heard Grenville on the stairs, calling up to us.

Mrs. Brewster—Emily—once a lady of a bawdy house, now Brewster’s devoted wife, barely acknowledged me. She threw off her shawl and plunged into the bedchamber, her exclamations drowning Brewster’s tired rumbles.

We saw them settled, and I went downstairs and told Mrs. Beltan, before she went home, that Brewster and his wife would lodge there for a time. They were to have anything they wished, and I gave her coins to cover the cost.

Then Grenville and I, in Denis’s carriage, went home.

Chapter Thirty-One

The first person I saw upon entering the South Audley Street house was my daughter. I entered alone, Denis’s coach moving off with Grenville in the direction of Grosvenor Street.

Gabriella halted in mid-flight toward me, taking in the blood on my coat, waistcoat, shirt, and breeches.

“Father,” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”

I did not bother to explain. Barnstable, equally aghast, had taken my hat and gloves. I thrust my walking stick at him as well, and opened my arms to sweep up my daughter as she came off the stairs.

I embraced her, hard, feeling her warmth, the beating of her heart, hearing her voice, so melodious. She was alive and well, whole and beautiful.

“Good heavens, Lacey,” Lady Aline said, as she came down the stairs in Gabriella’s wake. “You are covered with blood and ruining the gel’s gown.”

I pulled back. Gabriella’s pink and white striped satin now bore a smudge of dirt and blood.

“I do not mind,” Gabriella said. “As long as you are all right, sir.”

“I am whole. The blood is not mine. It is poor Brewster’s, but he will mend, I am told.”

“What on earth happened?” Gabriella demanded. “A great thug of a man came to deliver a message to Bartholomew that Lady Donata and I were not to stray a step.”

“This after I gained us invitations to two extremely exclusive soirees,” Lady Aline put in indignantly.

“Not tonight,” I said to Gabriella. “Tonight, you will stay home, and I will tell you of my adventures.”

Gabriella’s face softened in relief. “I am happy to stay,” she said. She laced her arms around my neck and whispered into my ear. “Truly. You have spared me an ordeal.”

A flurry of steps on the stairs announced the arrival of Peter. He paused on the landing, as though expecting me to scold him for eluding his nanny and fleeing the nursery.

Instead, I crouched down and held out my arms. “There’s my boy.”

Peter dashed the rest of the way down. I caught him and lifted him as I came up, ignoring the protest of my knee. It was not done for a man to dote on his son, especially one not of his body, but I kissed Peter’s cheek.

“I will go to your mother,” I said to Peter. “So that she will not have me boiled in oil. Then we will have supper, all of us together, and I will tell you the whole story. My lady, you are included in the invitation.”

Lady Aline flashed me a wistful look, as though she’d like nothing better than to dine informally with us, but she shook her head, the feathers in her hair dancing.
 

“No, indeed. I moved heaven and earth for the invitations, and I must go. I will say that you were hurt and Gabriella stayed home to tend you. That will go over well—a devoted daughter might make a man a devoted wife.” Aline came to me and dropped a light kiss to my cheek, taking care to not let me soil her clothes. “Do clean yourself up before you go to Donata. You’ll give her the vapors.”

Aline turned away, taking a wrap from her maid, who’d hurried to attend her. “What shall I do with you, dear boy?” she muttered, even as she lumbered out of the house.

I set Peter down, promising I’d see him and Gabriella in the supper room, kissed my daughter again, and ascended the stairs.

Aline was correct that I was a mess, and I continued to my chamber without stopping at Donata’s. The last time I’d come home covered in muck, my wife had convinced me to come in and speak to her regardless. Today, however, I wanted to wash myself of the evening’s horrors before I approached her.

Bartholomew answered my summons and my command to bring me a large basin of water and a sponge. I stripped off while he fetched the things, then I sent him away so I could bathe myself in peace. I had to promise to tell him everything, in vivid detail later, before he would take himself off.

The quiet trickle of the water as I glided it out of the basin at my feet was soothing, incongruous with the frantic events of the day.

I found myself shaking. The roar of the pistol came back to me, then the voice of the man who’d shot it. I saw the bright blood gushing from Brewster’s side, soaking rapidly through his shirt then the towels I’d held.

Blood that should have been mine.

I barely heard the door open, but I sensed her presence, the crisp coolness of it, like an autumn breeze cutting the torpid heat of summer.

I turned my head and saw her in the doorway, her peignoir floating, locks of dark hair tumbling to her shoulders.

I could not hide—I was standing bare, on a towel, in the center of my chamber, and the sponge was not nearly enough for concealment. I could only remain motionless, water and soap sliding down my large body, and stare at her.

Donata closed the door. “I remember now why I agreed to marry you.”

“To pour water on your pristine carpet?” I managed to say.

She did not answer as she approached. When she reached me, Donata plucked the sponge from my hands and began drawing it over my skin.

“The man writing the letters tried to kill me,” I said.

“I know,” Donata answered, maddeningly calm. “Grenville’s coachman told us. The account was rather jumbled, but I imagine you will give me the entire tale. For now, I am pleased to see you whole.”

Her lips trembled as she finished, and she pressed them shut.

I stilled the sponge. “I will not go to Egypt,” I said. “I will tell Grenville. I might not have been able to come home tonight … I don’t want …”

Donata snatched the sponge from my grip, squeezing it so that cooling water splashed me. “What absolute nonsense. Of course you will go. You have been longing to. I told you, Gabriel, never let another’s threats determine your life.” She dragged the sponge down my chest with a firm, almost digging, stroke. “Besides, many things will happen between now and January. Wait, and decide then.”

Donata touched her damp hand to her abdomen, reminding me what would happen in the months before January.

I pushed the sponge away and gathered her to me. She came, unprotesting, though I soaked her gown.

“You are beautiful,” I said.

She moved wonderfully as she laughed. “I am a mess. Not fit to be seen.”

“I like you a mess,” I murmured.

She was the lady for me, strong, clear-headed, exasperating, never letting me become complacent with myself.

And beautiful, as I’d told her.

Donata did not object when I lifted her and took her to the nearby bed. There I proceeded to get her, the peignoir, the pillows, and the bedcovers, quite soapy and sodden.

End

Thank you for reading!

Captain Lacey’s adventures continue in

The Alexandria Affair

Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries

Book 11

Coming in 2016

Author’s Note

This venture into Captain Lacey’s world taught me more about London than I’d ever known before. Every corner tells a story.

I hesitated before writing this book, because I wanted it to involve Jewish London, a subject about which I knew nothing. I had to begin research from scratch about the reintegration of Jews into England after their thirteenth-century expulsion was more or less reversed by Oliver Cromwell in the mid-1600s.

I realized that, like me, Captain Lacey would likewise know very little about Jewish London. He’s a relative newcomer to London (having spent all his life in Norfolk and then in the army traveling the world). We would learn together, not only Jewish history but of the attitudes toward Jews during that time.

When I asked my fellow Regency authors about sources of information, they hands down recommended
The Jews of Georgian England
, by Todd Endelman, which is an excellent history of Jewish life in London and England from the early 1700s until the dawn of the Victorian age. I highly recommend it for informative and thoroughly interesting reading.

The Hartman family, Itzak Stein, and Mr. Molodzinski are Ashkenazi Jews, whose families immigrated from Central and Eastern Europe. The choice of their ancestry was a random decision on my part, and not one that espouses any bias, except that a large population of Ashkenazi Jews inhabited London during this period. Georgian London was also home to Sephardic Jews, who originated in Spain and Portugal before they were expelled from Iberia altogether in 1492. (There is an excellent lecture series offered by The Great Courses called
The Other 1492,
which covers Spain and the expulsion of Jews and the persecution of Jews and
conversos
.)

The Ashkenazi synagogue Lacey visits with Mr. Molodzinski in Duke’s Place is no more. Built in 1690, it was destroyed in the Blitz in 1941. The nearby Sephardic synagogue of Bevis Marks, completed in 1701, has been in continuous use and has an informative website. Thanks to the series of prints of London by Augustus Pugin and Thomas Rowlindson, published in
Ackermann’s Repository of Arts
, we know what the lost Great Synagogue and other buildings in the London of Lacey’s era looked like.

I also learned much about public records in the Regency, which were scattered for the most part among parish registers and court records. Not until the Births and Deaths Registration Act of 1836 was an office established in Somerset House for the gathering of all birth, death, and marriage certificates—thus saving sleuths in the remainder of the nineteenth and most of the twentieth centuries much trouble when seeking a missing clue.

All in all, I hope you have enjoyed this look into Captain Lacey’s London. He will return for more adventures in Book 11 and more novels to come.

Books in the Captain Lacey Regency Mystery Series
 

The Hanover Square Affair
A Regimental Murder
The Glass House
The Sudbury School Murders
The Necklace Affair
A Body in Berkeley Square
A Covent Garden Mystery
A Death in Norfolk
A Disappearance in Drury Lane
 

Murder in Grosvenor Square
The Thames River Murders

The Alexandria Affair

The Gentleman's Walking Stick
(short stories)
 

And more to come!

Save $ by purchasing Boxed Sets

Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 1
 

Includes
 

The Hanover Square Affair

A Regimental Murder

The Glass House

The Gentleman’s Walking Stick