An Unlikely Alliance (9 page)

“It seems we have a new problem. How to keep Miss Bowman safe until we can clear up this mess,” Alexander said.

You could almost see the wheels turning in Bob’s head. “Bowman,” he repeated. “You are Magda Bowman?”

“Yes,” she replied cautiously. “Most people call me Magda.”

“But your real name is Magda
Bowman
?” There was something odd in the way he stressed her last name.

There were undercurrents here Alexander didn’t understand. Pressed together as they were on the narrow bench, he could feel the sudden tension that gripped Magda’s body.

“And your mother was Katerina Beaumont?” Bob asked. This time Alex could hear the French pronunciation of the name.

Magda gave a small nod.

“You were so little in those days I doubt you remember me, but I knew your mother in the old days. She was a fine lady,” Bob said.

“Thank you,” she said softly. But her fists were still clenched, and she did not look Bob Parker in the eye.

Bob Parker, a respected investigator for Bow Street, was an old family friend of his mysterious seamstress? This was the last thing he had expected. If lightning destroyed the tavern in the next minute, Alexander could not have been more surprised.

“I want you to know I haven’t given up hope. I—”

“It was a long time ago,” Magda said. “Some things are better left alone.”

It was as if the two of them were speaking in a secret language. Alexander could sense there was something vital going on here, but was frustrated at his inability to grasp what they were talking about.

“Be that as it may,” Bob Parker said. “One mystery at a time. Why don’t you tell Harry what happened last night, while I have a word with his lordship.”

Rising from the booth, he led Alexander through the kitchen and out into the yard in back. The stench of the privy was overwhelming but privacy was assured.

“So what was all that about?” Alexander asked impatiently. He didn’t like leaving Magda alone, but he hated even more the feeling that events had moved out of his control.

“We’re in a fair pickle to be sure,” Bob said. “How could I have been so stupid? It was plain as the nose on my face. I should have known it was her from the start.”

“Should have known what? Do you still think she is guilty?” His own feelings about her were so confused Alex hardly trusted his own judgment.

“No, of course not. Not Madame Katerina’s daughter.”

Now there was an answer that explained nothing at all. “Who is this Madame Katerina? And why did you call her Magda Beaumont?”

“That’s her name. Magda Beaumont. She and her mother came over from France after the revolution.” Bob Parker fixed Alex with a look that made him feel all of twelve years old again. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if you’re going to be watching out for her you’ll have to know.”

“Know what?’ It was not like Bob Parker to be so secretive.

“You were just a lad back then, but for a while Katerina Beaumont was famous for her visions. She called it
consulting
and many a lord and lady came to her to have their future told. But what none of them knew is that she also worked for us.”

“For Bow Street?”

“Yes. Not often, but sometimes the magistrate, Sir John, called her in when there was a difficult case. When the mood struck her, she could see what had happened and what was going to happen as clear as if it were a play.”

So much for his faith in his own judgment. Now Bob Parker, someone he had trusted for years, turned out to be a credulous fool.

“And you believed this?”

“I know what you’re thinking. I don’t normally hold with such things myself. But Madame Beaumont was different. She knew things that no one could possibly know. I tell you, if she came to me and said the great flood was coming, I would have gone home and started building an ark.”

It was clear that Bob was sincere in what he was saying. Alex decided to reserve judgment for now. This strange belief hadn’t affected Bob’s work in the past.

“I know you don’t believe me, but if you weren’t there then you can’t say what went on. And there’s one thing more you should know. We weren’t the only ones who believed in Madame Katerina’s powers. There’s also the matter of the person who killed her.”

It was a day for surprises. “She was murdered?”

“Back in December 1799 it was. She sent a message to Sir John asking for a meeting. But she never came.” Bob paused as if the next words were painful to say. “Three days later we found her body in the river. Someone had tortured her and slit her throat when they were done.”

It was a gruesome tale. Alexander’s gut tightened as the implications sank in. “So now you think someone may try the same with her daughter?”

“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But it gave me the shivers to see Magda there with that slash on her neck. I always felt I should have been able to save Madame Beaumont. Or at least to find out who killed her. But feeling guilty over that is nothing to the way I’ll feel if someone harms her daughter.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be safe with me,” Alexander promised.

He didn’t believe in Gypsy fortune tellers or mystic powers, but he protected what was under his care, and for now Magda fell into that category. If anyone wanted to harm her they would have to go through him first.

Seeing Bob Parker after all these years had been a shock. Magda remembered him well enough. He had always had a kind word for her, although his infrequent appearances seemed to upset her mother. Maman went with him willingly enough but once after such an excursion Magda had found her mother weeping. “I have seen terrible things this day,” Maman had once explained, holding Magda tight and hugging her fiercely.

“Don’t
see
anymore,” Magda had urged her mother. “Don’t go with the bad man who makes you sad.”

Madame Beaumont had laughed ruefully. “Oh
ma petite
, if only things were that simple,” she’d said. But she could not refuse the power of her visions and she’d continued to go on the errands that brought her pain. Until the night she’d left and never returned.

Magda wondered what the two men had spoken about in private. Had they spoken of her mother? And if so, how much had Bob told Lord Kerrigan? Magda had put the past firmly behind her, and she didn’t want anyone dredging it up again.

Whatever they’d discussed, it had changed Lord Kerrigan’s mind about letting her leave. Instead he had insisted that she return with him to his residence. She still didn’t trust his motives, yet in the end she agreed. For in truth she knew of no other safe refuge, and if someone came after her again, Lord Kerrigan could take care of himself. Mrs. Brightwell could not.

Accepting his offer of temporary shelter was one thing, but she refused to accept his arrogant assumption that he could rule her every action. When he refused to allow her to return to her lodgings to see Mrs. Brightwell, she threatened to cause a scene that would scandalize his household. Eventually he relented, on the condition that his friend Luke accompany her.

Magda would cheerfully have walked but instead Luke insisted they use the same plain, unmarked carriage that she had ridden in that morning. Unlike Lord Kerrigan, Luke had no difficulty at all in making conversation. He chattered easily about everything and nothing, quizzing Magda on her impressions of the new Regency, whether this season was bound to outdo the previous years, and if such frenzy was good for the dress trade. He was astonished to find that despite her connections she had never been to see a performance at the theater, and was forming schemes to remedy this sad lack when the carriage turned onto Damon Lane.

“Just let me know when we’re there,” Luke said.

Magda nodded. Luke’s banter had briefly distracted her but now that she was here she felt again the terror of last night. Passing the fateful alley she averted her eyes, knowing in her rational mind that Matt’s body would not be there, yet still afraid of what she might see. The wound in her neck began to throb, reminding her how lucky she had been to escape with her life.

“There it is,” she said. “Over on the left, the one with the red door.” Her lodgings looked even worse than she had remembered, and she was grateful that it was the amiable Luke and not the forbidding Lord Kerrigan who had accompanied her here.

“Are you all right? You’ve gone pale as a sheet,” Luke said. “There’s no need for you to go up. I can carry a message and fetch whatever it is you need.”

“No, if she doesn’t see me for herself Mrs. Brightwell will worry.”

Luke opened the carriage door and helped her climb down. A carriage on Damon Lane was such a rarity that passersby stopped to gawk. Magda had never before been the focus of so much attention. She felt exposed, and drew up the hood of her borrowed cloak, hoping that the crowd held no unfriendly eyes. At that moment she was glad Lord Kerrigan had insisted on sending Luke along with her.

The front door stood open, which was lucky since when she had lost her cloak last night she had lost her key as well. She felt like a stranger here, and saw as if for the first time the unswept hallway, the scarred walls and worn staircase with its decrepit banister.

“There’s no need to come up with me,” Magda said, resisting the urge to apologize for her lodgings. After all, it was only dire necessity that had driven her here. And poor as it was, Damon Lane still clung to the fringes of respectability. It was not a slum. Yet.

“No trouble,” Luke said. “I’d better come up and make sure everything is fine. Besides, Lord Kerrigan would have my head if anything happened to you.”

As she climbed the stairs the muscles in her legs began to ache, reminding her of how far she had run in her panicked flight last night. She couldn’t help worrying over what she would find. Having lost her, would her attackers have known to come here next? If Mrs. Brightwell had been harmed she would never forgive herself.

At the top of the stairs Luke stepped in front of her. He knocked once at the door to Mrs. Brightwell’s rooms.

“Who’s there?”

Magda’s heart felt a thousand times lighter as she recognized the familiar voice. “It’s me—Magda. And I’ve brought a friend.”

There was a brief sound of something heavy being dragged and then the door opened. “Magda!” Mrs. Brightwell exclaimed, rushing forward to fold her in her arms. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Ever since you didn’t come home last night I thought the worst had happened.”

“I’m fine, truly I am.”

Mrs. Brightwell released her hold and looked at Magda critically. “But what’s this?” she said, pointing to the bandage.

“It’s naught but a scratch,” Magda reassured her.

“Who is this handsome gentleman?” Mrs. Brightwell asked, her eyes assessing Luke with the skill of an actress who had seen a thousand green room suitors. “And where did you meet him?”

“This is Luke Stevenson. Luke, this is Mrs. Brightwell.”

“Enchanted to make your acquaintance,” Luke said, taking Mrs. Brightwell’s hand and bowing over it in the manner of a polished courtier. But Magda noticed that his eyes took everything in, and he didn’t relax until he had seen for himself that there was no one else lurking in the room.

“As delighted as I am to make your friend’s acquaintance, we don’t have time to linger,” he reminded her. “I’ll wait outside while you pack.”

“I will only be a moment,” Magda assured him, grateful for the opportunity to speak in private with Mrs. Brightwell. She was discovering that for all his stage mannerisms, Luke was actually a very kind person.

“Magda, what’s this about packing? He seems a charming rogue, but it isn’t like you to go off like this,” Mrs. Brightwell fretted. She seemed to have aged overnight and for the first time Magda realized that her friend was no longer merely middle-aged.

“What did you hear about last night?” Magda asked. She took her old brown shawl and laid it out on the bed.

Mrs. Brightwell sank down on the chair. “Oh, Lord, it was terrible. First I heard that they’d found Matt Sweeney dead in the alley. Then you didn’t come home and I feared you’d been murdered, too.”

So Matt Sweeney was dead. She’d cherished a faint hope that he’d only been wounded in the attack.

“I can’t tell you everything, but it seems someone thinks that I know more than is good for me,” Magda said, pulling her two good dresses off the hooks on the wall and folding them neatly before placing them on the shawl. She added shoes and stockings to the pile, then her clean set of undergarments.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Brightwell said. “But what is it they want?”

“I don’t know, and I have no intentions of finding out.” Magda added her sewing box to the top of the pile. The cherished tools of her profession, she’d need them to earn a living when she left Lord Kerrigan. Reaching into the sewing box, she withdrew her accumulated savings.

“The costume I wore last night was ruined. You’ll have to replace it,” she said briskly, counting out coins and pressing them into Mrs. Brightwell’s hand. Performers were required to supply their own costumes and Madame Zoltana was not the type to forgive the loss. “I would have you buy fabric and sew it myself, but I think it’s a good idea if I stay away until this affair has blown over.”

Mrs. Brightwell nodded, sadness in her eyes. “I’ll miss you, girl. But you must do what is best. Only, are you sure you can trust this Luke fellow?”

“I can take care of myself,” Magda said. It was too complicated to explain that she was not staying with Luke, but rather with his friend, a powerful earl who had developed an interest in her. Mrs. Brightwell would only be disappointed when she learned that Lord Kerrigan was not romantically interested in Magda. To her way of thinking, becoming a gentleman’s mistress would be a step up in the world for her young friend.

The leather pouch holding the coins still looked satisfyingly heavy. But a thought nagged at Magda. “Matt Sweeney had a wife, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes, and poor creature just had a baby. Not that he was any good to her, coming home drunk like as not, and entirely too handy with his fists. But a bad husband is better than none at all, and it will be hard for a widow with a child.”