Suzanne Robinson (12 page)

But Fleet had groomed himself in preparation for
this meeting with his distinguished employer. He’d combed his light brown hair, making sure to conceal the balding spot on the crown of his head. He wore his flash outfit with the checkered trousers and orange waistcoat. His coat had been tailored, a major expense. But Fleet had wanted it padded to make up for his hollow collarbones and the fact that his shoulders were nearly the same width as his waist.

Some blokes were stupid enough to mistake his build and his lack of height for weakness, and Mortimer was always happy to prove them wrong by ambushing them on a dark street and beating them near to death. It helped a fellow’s reputation to do that once in a while.

The doors opened, and The Gentleman came in. Fleet shoved his bowler hat to the back of his head and said, “Evening, governor.”

“Have you found her?”

“Not yet.”

“Bloody hell, man!”

“Now don’t get h-upset, governor.” He was careful to put in his H’s when he was with The Gentleman.

“I told you to find her. Do I have to tell you what will happen if she reveals what she saw?”

Fleet let The Gentleman go over this well-trodden ground. His employer was one for repeating himself, as if Fleet weren’t bright enough to realize what would happen to him if they were convicted of murder. Fleet’s thoughts wandered and he noticed with envy The Gentleman’s impeccable dress. He had a polished manner and elegant appearance that nevertheless failed to be effeminate. His hair was brushed
straight back from his head to reveal a high forehead that promised more intelligence than perhaps its owner possessed. Thin nostrils quivered when he was disgusted or agitated. And The Gentleman was agitated at the moment.

“Find her, damn you!”

“Look,” Fleet snarled. “Me and my men have been combing the stews for days and days. Caught sight of her a few times, but she h-escaped. I told you not to worry. She’s hiding somewhere where she can’t tell nobody nothing. She ain’t going to the traps and peach on us; she ain’t going h-anywhere. While my men is looking for her, I been going around the gin shops making h-inquiries. After I leave here, I’m going to the Black Fleece. Been too busy to get to it until tonight.”

“See here, Fleet. If you don’t get results soon, I’ll hire someone else.”

Fleet’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed the rough, dry skin of his jaw. “Wouldn’t do that, governor. Seeing as how it’s you and me wot’s in this thing together. Wouldn’t be a healthy idea to bring in h-another bloke.”

“Are you threatening me, you common little weasel?”

“Take it as you like, governor. Just don’t be bringing anyone else into this. It would be bad for both of us.”

Fleet left the way he’d come and made his way by omnibus cab to the Black Fleece. He hadn’t told The Gentleman the whole truth about the reason he was going to this tavern. Although he would sound out
the customers there regarding Miss Primrose Dane, he was really going to this particular tavern because he’d heard that Nightshade was back. If he could kill Nightshade while he was looking for the lady, so much the better.

Nightshade had always stuck in his throat, even when they’d been apprentices to Inigo Ware. Nightshade had what Fleet secretly envied—height, a beauty that made women do silly things to get his attention, and clever wits.

He’d always wondered why—things being as they were—Inigo had chosen him as his man instead of Nightshade. Fleet had been the butt of Nightshade’s nasty humor; Fleet had come away from every comparison between the two looking inferior. In the end, perhaps Nightshade’s very superiority had frightened Inigo Ware.

Fleet knew the streets; he knew crime and how to survive among cutthroats. But Nightshade had a creative intelligence that Fleet knew he could never match. He’d been much less of a threat to Inigo. He’d been so proud to be Ware’s ally. So it made Fleet choke to think that Nightshade had become a far more successful thief. Years of watching his rival’s brilliance while he struggled just to be adequate had curdled Fleet’s small, mean soul.

Even taking Nightshade’s woman from him hadn’t brought relief from the galling envy. In the end, she’d tried to go back to his enemy. He’d stopped her, but what good was killing her when he knew he’d lost? As long as Nightshade lived, Fleet could never establish himself in his rightful place as king of the stews of
London. Too many still looked up to the bastard no matter how long his absences. Only when his rival was dead could Fleet take the crown and put it on his own head.

Mortimer shoved open the door to the Black Fleece. He wanted to grind the heel of his boot into Nightshade’s pretty face. Some day he would celebrate the bastard’s demise here, in his rival’s favorite haunt. Fleet paused inside the door to take stock of the place. It was crowded as usual, and when he came in there was a slight pause while every thief, prostitute, and cardsharp eyed him. He was recognized, and the buzz of conversation resumed, if a bit warily. Fleet knew most would watch him secretly, but he didn’t care. No one knew his business and few would be foolish enough to inquire of it.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim lamp glow permeated by smoke and gin fumes, Fleet searched the clumps of drinkers, finding little of interest. Then he saw what he’d been looking for. Badger and Cyril Prigg were huddled at the end of the bar talking to Big Maudie. He started toward them, but the two lads scarpered at his first step. Reaching Maudie, he watched them scuttle into the kitchen and heard the door to the alley slam behind them.

Maudie regarded him without expression. He had developed a taste for big, strong women, and Big Maudie topped him by nearly a foot. Her bosom was substantial and projected nearly at his eye level. She had curly brown hair that refused confinement of any kind, and Fleet liked the way she fingered the cudgel at her belt. But Maudie had never liked him.

“Evening, Maudie.” He doffed his hat, just in case she’d mellowed.

“Humphf.”

“Heard Nightshade was back.”

“He’s gone again,” she snapped.

Fleet ordered gin and leaned on the bar. “You wouldn’t know where he’s gone, I suppose.”

“He don’t confide in me.” Maudie began to stroke her cudgel.

Wiping dust from the rim of his glass, Fleet watched Maudie’s busy fingers. “I could pay well to know where he’s gone.”

“Then you’ll be paying for lies, ’cause he don’t tell nobody where he goes.”

“But if you heard—”

Big Maudie shoved away from the bar and turned her back to him. “I got things to do.”

No use taking offense at Maudie’s rudeness. She behaved the same way to everyone, even Nightshade. Fleet gulped down his gin and called for another. While he waited, he glanced around the room, noting the absence of women. Some would be upstairs, many more would still be out finding business. Just as he was about to join a group of card players in hopes of eliciting information, the door opened again, this time to admit Larder Lily.

Fleet drew up his hollow shoulders inside his padded coat and sauntered over to her. “Evening, Lily.”

“Hallo, Fleet. What brings you here on this prime filching night?”

“Things is precious dull, my girl, and I thought I’d find some entertainment.”

Lily sidled up to him, no doubt scenting money, and Fleet wrapped an arm around her plump, inviting shoulders. “I always like a man with money in his pocket to pitch and toss with,” she said. “I’m hungry, though.”

“Join me. I was just going to have a bit of supper.”

They were soon perched side by side at a secluded corner table with Maudie’s popular steak-and-kidney pie and ale to wash it down. Fleet waited until Lily’s pink mouth wasn’t constantly full before resuming conversation.

“Heard Nightshade was back, Lily.”

“Aye, he was, but he’s gone again.”

“Too bad,” Fleet said. “Him and me got unfinished concerns between us.”

Lily had finished her steak-and-kidney and was digging into apple pie. “I know what you got between you.”

“It ain’t like that no more,” Fleet said in his best aggrieved manner. “I’m a successful man of h-affairs now, Lily. I got legitimate concerns having to do with business in the City.”

“You got business with banks and such, do you?” Lily asked in an insultingly skeptical tone.

“H-indeed I do, my girl. Why, h-only this evening I was in Park Lane.”

“No!” Lily paused in the midst of raising a forkful of pie to her mouth. “Have you brung me a present?”

“You was the first lady I thought of when I saw all them fine shops in the Strand.”

Lily dropped her fork in her pie plate and leaned across the table to him. “Show us the present, Mortimer, dear.”

“Not until the proper moment, Lily.” Fleet patted his coat pocket, indicating the place where the present was stored.

Straightening, Lily eyed him and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “And when is this proper moment going to come?”

“After I’ve finished the business I come here for.” He paused to increase her curiosity. When she was leaning toward him again, he went on. “I am making h-inquiries as to the whereabouts of a young woman. She’s gone missing from her family, what wants her back. She’s got thick, gleaming hair with lots of shades of gold, and she looks all refined and proper. Got gray-green eyes.”

Lily shrugged and stabbed at a piece of pie with a disgruntled air. “What you want
her
for.”

“You seen her!” Fleet hadn’t expected Lily to recognize the description. He had been leading up to asking her about Nightshade. Startled, he had raised his voice and called attention to himself. He glared around at the people staring at him to warn them to mind their own business. Then he moved his chair next to Lily’s. “Where is she?”

“How should I know?”

Fleet’s dry fingers curled and made fists. He could get Lily alone and beat the answer out of her, but that would take time he didn’t want to waste. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a parcel tied with twine. He opened it to reveal a cameo locket on a gold
chain. It had come from his latest graveyard haul. Fleet held it up so that the locket dangled in front of Lily’s eyes.

“Tell me where she is, and look what I got for you.”

Lily stared at the locket with hungry eyes. “She was here, but he took her away.”

“Who! Who took her away?”

Lily reached for the locket, but Fleet yanked it out of her reach, gathered it into his fist, and held the fist out to Lily with a silent, inquiring look. Lily wet her lips, then began pushing the crumbs on the table around with her forefinger. When she didn’t say anything, he opened his hand palm up.

“Them’s real diamond chips all around the locket.”

Lily devoured the locket with her gaze while gulping down ale. “Real diamond chips.” She gave him a suspicious look. “You sure you give up your grudge against Nightshade?”

“What’s that got to do—bleeding damn—you mean Nightshade has the lady?”

Lily clamped her lips shut over a slice of apple and chewed in silence. Fleet withdrew another parcel from his coat and displayed it next to the locket on the table.

“It’s got a matching ring, Lily. Now I promise upon my word that I ain’t interested in Nightshade. I’m only concerned with the lady.” He shoved the two toward Lily. “When I find the lady and return her to her family, I’ll earn enough blunt to keep my little business snug for life. And I’ll be in debt forever to whoever helps me to it.”

Lily shoved her pie plate aside and propped her elbows on the table as she studied Fleet. Fleet looked back at her with an open, unconcerned gaze. A plump hand reached for the locket.

When Fleet didn’t stop her, Lily clutched it to her breast and whispered, “I seen Nightshade bring the lady here, but they left. I don’t know where they went.”

Fleet unwrapped the cameo ring and held it up to the glow of a lamp, moving it so that the gems sparkled. “Now, Lily, my girl. Let’s have a long, long chat about Nightshade and his lady companion.”

Prim was finishing her late breakfast at a table facing the windows in her sitting room and worrying about the Kettles. What would happen to them? Had anyone discovered their connection to her? Her greatest fear was that one of Fleet’s men would recognize little Alice as the child witness to the murder. How she wished she could take the whole family out of that unwholesome apartment and put them somewhere safe.

She had awakened to find that she’d slept through the night and into the next afternoon. She’d been able to sleep so long only because of her exhaustion. Her one comfort was that she’d at last found a resolution to her dilemma—America. She would sail to the former colonies and start a new life there. It would take courage, but it couldn’t be any more frightening than being hunted by killers.

There was little to keep her in England. Her brother was her only real family, and after he left university, he would settle in the family home. Everyone expected that she would serve as his hostess and housekeeper until he found a suitable wife. Once he’d done that, she would be superfluous. Without a husband of her own, she would be dependent upon the charity of her brother or Aunt Freshwell. She had never liked being dependent, but had accepted her fate as inevitable because she lacked a fortune. But after learning to survive in the rookeries of London, Prim had discovered that she could take care of herself. Without Aunt Freshwell or her brother.