Hanover Square Affair, The (30 page)

Josette swallowed. “I had to make certain that the bonds cut into her flesh, and then I had to walk away from her. I had to go home and wait, not knowing who would find Aimee and when. It was the next morning before Alice sent word that she was safe. I had no idea, all that night, if I’d done right. No way to know—” More tears spilled from her lovely eyes.

I pressed Josette’s work-worn hand between my own. “But your deception worked. I voiced my opinion loudly to everyone who would listen that it was impossible for Aimee to have killed Horne. It wasn’t until I speculated that two people might have been involved that I realized Aimee could very well have stabbed him. Her accomplice would have to have been coolheaded, brave, and utterly devoted to her. And I remembered that Aimee had an aunt who had raised her and was preparing to take her away to France.”

“You are right,” Josette said softly. “I am devoted to her. And I’m as guilty as she.”

“You did one more thing before you left that room.”

She whitened. “I barely remember it.”

I smoothed my fingers over the back of her hand. “I would have been in a howling rage myself.”

“I was.” She raised her head, words angry. “He had hurt Aimee so deeply, and there he lay, dying, beyond my reach. I wanted to hurt him back. He’d already taken down his trousers, and there he was, exposed for the world to see. I am not certain what happened then. But the knife was in my hand, and I—”

I saw again the yellow carpet bathed in blood, smelled the pungent odor of it. I saw Josette of the beautiful eyes, the knife in her hand, rage twisting her face, savagely cutting the man who had raped her beloved niece. Blood had poured from his body, exposing his sins. He had bled the same as any other man would bleed, though his soul was foul and black.

“What will you do, Captain?” Josette asked in a quiet voice. “If you go to a magistrate, please, I beg you, let me take the blame. Tell them I killed Mr. Horne. Let Aimee go.”

I stood up, leaning heavily on my walking stick. “In two days, I will confess what I know to one other person and decide then what is best to do. If I wait longer, I will be tempted to hide it forever, and let the innocent Bremer be labeled the culprit. In two days, you can be in France. I advise you to tell no one exactly where you are going.”

Josette looked at me for a long time before she nodded. “It will be as you say. I believe Aimee will be well enough to leave tomorrow.” She paused. “You must think me hard, Captain, to do what I have done. But she is my only family. And what he did was unforgivable.”

I cupped her cheek. “I think you are courageous, Josette. And quite beautiful.” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her parted lips. “God bless you,” I whispered, then I left her.

*** *** ***

The next day, James Denis sent a carriage for me, and when I climbed into it, I found Denis himself waiting for me.

“Upon reflection,” he said, settling a rug with fine-gloved hands, “I decided I wanted to be present when you interviewed my former coachman.”

I was not pleased at this turn of events, but I had no choice. If I wanted to find Jane Thornton, I needed Denis’s assistance.

“To prevent Jemmy from telling me the wrong things?” I asked.

“Something like that.”

Denis did not much like sharing the carriage with me either, if his fidgeting with his gloves and his walking stick were any indication. Also, he’d squeezed one of his massive footmen into the seat next to me, and this man watched my every move.

We went to a house in a lane that opened from the Strand. I realized as I entered the house’s dark interior that this might well have been the house to which Jane had been lured by the procuress.

Jemmy sat behind a plain wooden table in a ground-floor room. Two of Denis’s large men stood near him, waiting for us. Jemmy started when he saw me, then sank back into his chair, his face pasty white.

A fire had been lit, and the room was warm, but the only light came from the flames on the hearth. When I sat down opposite Jemmy, red light illuminated his pocked face and glinted on his filed teeth.

“Where is Jane Thornton?” I asked him.

Jemmy looked, not at me, but over my shoulder to where Denis waited. “Why is
he
here? I don’t understand this.”

“Answer his question,” came Denis’s voice, smooth as silk.

“I don’t know. I don’t know nothing.”

“Horne must have met you in his dealings with your employer,” I said. “Perhaps he asked you if you wanted to make a little extra money doing a favor for him.”

“What of it? No harm in making a bit of the ready.”

Denis broke in. “If you needed more money, you should have told me. I would have found extra work for you.”

His quiet, matter-of-fact tone made Jemmy blench.

“You contacted the procuress,” I said. “You thought of the girl you’d abduct—the young friend of Mr. Carstairs’s daughter—and let the procuress make the plan. She lured away Jane and her maid, probably with the help of an accomplice, and after the fervor had died down, you returned to help carry them to Horne. Horne paid you, and you thought no more of it. Until the night he sent for you again.”

Jemmy clenched his hands. “I won’t listen to this.”

I don’t know what look Denis gave him, but Jemmy subsided at once. Behind me I heard Denis walk softly to the window.

“That night, about four weeks ago, you drove whatever conveyance you had to hand to Hanover Square,” I continued. “You carried Jane Thornton from Horne’s house. Where did you take her?”

Jemmy wet his lips. “I can’t be sure. A place he directed me to.”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember, I tell you.”

I started over the table for him. Jemmy slammed back in his chair, giving me a half-belligerent, half-fearful look.

Denis turned from the window. “Tell the captain what he wants to know, Jemmy.”

Jemmy swallowed nervously, firelight gleaming on his sweating face. “I can’t explain it. I’d have to take you.”

“Take me then.”

Jemmy’s gaze darted to Denis as he stood up. I moved aside to let him around the table, and we left the room. One of Denis’s thugs led the way, then Denis himself, then me, then Jemmy, the second large man bringing up the rear.

When we reached the street, Jemmy tried to bolt. The two servants locked themselves on either side of Jemmy and manhandled him to the top of the coach. While they held him there, Denis and I were assisted inside by Denis’s stone-faced footman.

Denis instructed the coachman to follow Jemmy’s directions, but I asked that we stop by the Thorntons’ nearby house first. I needed to ask Alice to accompany us. I wanted there to be no mistake in Jane Thornton’s identity.

Alice looked nervous about joining me and Denis inside the carriage, but she came all the same, hope in her eyes. I asked her about Mr. Thornton.

“He’s mending, sir. But slowly. If we could find Miss Jane, it might make all the difference.”

The ride was tedious through snaking traffic and the rain. The coach was as sumptuous as Grenville’s with velvet walls, gold leaf on the windows, and cushioned stools for our feet. Denis looked out the window as though Alice did not exist, and the bulky footman watched her with his cold, blank stare.

The carriage wound its way to London Bridge, and thence across. We entered Southwark.

“Where the devil is he taking us?” I asked, peering out at the gloom.

Denis shrugged, with the air of a man who is always surrounded by a bubble of safety. I fully expected a gang of toughs to be waiting at the end of the journey, Jemmy taking us straight to them. Or Denis might have recruited Jemmy to lead me into the lion’s den, but I didn’t think so. The terror in Jemmy’s eyes had been real, and Denis and I seemed to have called a truce of sorts.

The stink of the river hung heavily in the air, as did the smoke from an ironworks. Stagnant pools of noisome water reflected the black of coal smoke and the dreary sky. The carriage ground to a stop in a back lane that fronted the river. From here, steps led down to the shore of the Thames, where fishermen clung to their trade.

The footman assisted me down, and I handed Alice out myself. A wave of rain swept over us. Alice tented her shawl above her head. Jemmy had descended from the top of the carriage and now stood uncertainly between Denis’s two servants.

“Down there,” he said, pointing to the river.

“Where? Show me.”

He didn’t want to. But his fear of Denis overcame his fear of me, and Jemmy plodded down the muddy, slippery steps. I followed with Alice.

Denis remained inside the carriage. He could easily tell his coachman to drive away and leave us stranded, and I think the same thought occurred to Alice, because she melted close to me and stayed there.

Jemmy led us to a fishing shack that looked no different from the others that dotted the shore. The Thames rolled away beyond us, the far bank lost in the mist and rain.

Before he reached the door, Jemmy stopped suddenly. “It’s the beaks!” he shouted into the shack. “Run!”

A man came boiling out and sprinted down the beach. A woman followed him, but too slowly. One of Denis’s men leapt forward and caught her as she slipped on the rocks. He dragged her back to us. Hanks of gray hair hung limply about her face, which was lined and worn.

Her eyes held fear but also defiance. “We didn’t do nothing. Makes no difference what ’e said.”

“Where is Miss Thornton?” I asked.

She looked bewildered. “’oo?”

“This way,” Jemmy said.

He tramped around the shed and down a path that led to the shore. Jemmy led us along this, myself and Alice trailing him, Denis’s servant following with the woman, who kept up a constant patter about nothing being her fault.

At the end of the path, behind a stone staircase that led back up to Southwark, lay a pile of debris, looking like nothing more than a caved-in shed and a tarp held down by rocks. Jemmy made for the tarp.

“No!” the woman shouted. “It weren’t me.”

Jemmy lifted pieces of the debris and hurled them aside. One of the footmen stepped in and helped him. After a space had been cleared, Jemmy reached down and tugged back a fold of tarp.

Beneath it lay a small, white hand, palm up, fingers curled in supplication to the uncaring sky.

Alice gave a sharp cry.

“It weren’t us,” the woman bleated. “He brought her to us, told us to hide her. We wanted to dump her in the river, but he said no, we had to hide her. She were already dead when she came.”

I moved to the debris as Alice clung to my coat. I slid my walking stick under the tarp and turned it back.

A woman’s body lay there, covered in muck and mud. What had once been a nightdress clung to her chest, which was sunken with time and the piles of board that had rested atop her. Her face was pale, serene, eyes closed, mouth limp, but the skin of her neck was puckered with decay.

Alice sank to her knees beside me, a wail tearing from her. The fisherman’s woman darted back, as though afraid of the sound, and pointed a thin finger at Jemmy. “
He
brought her ’ere. ’E’s the murderer.”

“I didn’t murder no one,” Jemmy said. “She were dead already when he sent for me.”

I believed him. I’d seen what Horne had done to Aimee. Possibly Horne hadn’t meant to kill Jane; possibly it was pure accident. Perhaps when Horne had seen what he’d done, he’d panicked. He’d sent for Jemmy, remembering the young man’s help abducting the girls in the first place, and bade him get rid of her. Young Philip Preston had told me someone had carried a bundle, like a carpet, to the dark carriage that night. A carpet, yes, but with Jane’s body rolled inside it.

Alice’s sobs turned to a wordless keening. I covered Jane’s body with the tarp, then I straightened and faced Jemmy.

Jemmy stepped back in alarm. I stared him down, the man who’d caused Jane Thornton’s ruin and death, even if indirectly. Jemmy had made the abduction possible and was as much to blame as Horne.

I unsheathed my sword. The blade rang, and raindrops glittered on the bright steel as bitter anger burned through me. I wanted nothing more than to press that sharpness through the terrified coachman’s heart and watch him bleed until he died.

Behind me Alice sobbed. “Please don’t, sir. It won’t bring her back.”

It was as though my conscience had spoken aloud. I pressed my anger down, slid the blade back into its sheath, and helped Alice to her feet. In silence, I led her back up the path to the stairs.

Not until we approached the waiting carriage did I realize that Jemmy and Denis’s two footmen had not returned with me. I glanced back through the rain to the bank below, but I couldn’t see them.

The footman who’d remained with the carriage opened the door and hoisted both Alice and myself back inside. Alice huddled, damp and miserable, into a corner. I took the seat next to her, forcing the footman to sit next to Denis.

We rode in silence back through Southwark, winding into the traffic heading across the bridge to the City. Denis studied me in the soft lantern light, the only one of us dry and unmussed.

“Revenge, Captain, is usually a waste of time,” he said. “I don’t deal in it.”