But first he had to find Marie’s murderer.
To that end, he’d tried speaking to Tommy Pett thrice in the last week—the boy must know something about the connection between Mother Heart’s-Ease and his sister. But each time Lazarus had called at Mrs. Whiteside’s establishment, Tommy had been unaccountably absent. Perhaps a late daytime call would find him in.
In another fifteen minutes, he turned into Running Man Lane, following its twists and turns until it spilled into the courtyard where Mrs. Whiteside’s whorehouse was. But as he neared, he could hear bawling and raised voices. His last few steps were made at a run.
The sight that greeted him in the courtyard was an odd one: the ladies—and boys—of the night all seemed to be standing in the courtyard, many holding candles or lanterns. Some argued, some wept, and some simply stood stunned. At that moment, Pansy walked out of the whorehouse with her hulking guard, Jacky, behind her. Lazarus began pushing through the crowd, even as Jacky raised his massive hands above his head and clapped them together, effectively silencing the courtyard.
“The house has been searched. No one lurks within. The danger is gone,” Pansy said in her deep voice. “Now I want all of you to go back inside.”
Jacky clapped his hands together again, and one by one, the whores moved reluctantly inside.
A big woman in purple silk braced her hands on her hips. “An’ ’ow are we to know it’s safe in there?”
Pansy shot her a stern look. “Because I say ’tis.”
The woman turned red-faced and shuffled inside.
Lazarus stepped forward and Pansy caught sight of him. She jerked her chin. “You’re not wanted here.”
He was undeterred. Wanted or not, he had the feeling that what was inside the whorehouse was of importance to him.
“What has happened?” he asked.
“Nothing you need worry about,” she muttered, and turned aside as if to leave him there.
Without thinking, he caught at her shoulder before she could disappear inside the house, then felt more than saw Jacky swing at him. The guard was a big man, but he had a big man’s slowness. Lazarus easily ducked inside the blow and punched him hard in the gut. Jacky fell heavily to his knees.
Pansy made a distressed sound and wrapped her tiny arms about the big man’s shoulders. “Stop it!”
Lazarus stepped back but kept his hands fisted. It wouldn’t do to underestimate Jacky.
Pansy sighed, her misshapen face looking a little gray. “I’m as good as dead anyway. Come inside.”
Jacky lumbered to his feet, shooting a nasty look at Lazarus, but he stood aside to let him in.
Lazarus entered the house with the hairs on the back of his neck on end. The guard wouldn’t mind killing him. Only Pansy’s will kept him from attacking.
She made no other comment but led the way up the stairs. A few whores still lingered in the hallways, gossiping, but at the sight of the madam, they vanished into their rooms. Pansy stopped at a door midway down the upper hallway and cast an inscrutable glance at Lazarus before she pushed it open.
The smell hit him first, the stench of bowels and blood. The body on the bed had been gutted—just like Marie. He stepped closer, mindful of the dark smears on the floor, and gazed into the waxen face. It was Tommy, the boy’s countenance oddly serene above the violence of his body.
Lazarus looked back at Pansy. She was staring fixedly at the horror on the bed, but at his look, she jerked her chin at him. “Come downstairs. I need a cup of tea.”
She closed the door behind them, and they all tramped down the stairs silently and into her little sitting room. Pansy sat in her special chair, gesturing for Lazarus to sit opposite her.
“Tea, Jacky.” When the big man didn’t move, she nodded wearily. “It’s all right. Lord Caire won’t hurt me.”
The guard grunted and left the room.
“He was killed the same way as Marie and the other prostitutes,” Lazarus said softly. “He must have known the killer.”
“Mmm.” Pansy seemed to be in a meditative mood, her chin propped on a fist.
“Mistress Pansy.”
She sighed heavily, looking up. “Yes. Yes, of course he knew the murderer.”
Lazarus narrowed his eyes. “As do you.”
She met his gaze squarely. “As do I.”
“Who is it, Pansy?”
She held up her hand as the door opened. Jacky entered, carrying a delicate tea tray in his huge hands.
She smiled at him as he set the tray down. “Thank you, Jacky. Could you please guard the door for me?”
The big man shot a suspicious glance at Lazarus and trundled out.
Pansy waited until the door was closed. Then she looked at Lazarus. “It’s the owner of this house. She controls all the prostitutes in her little corner of St. Giles. They each must pay a portion of their earnings to her, even if it’s only a few pennies. Marie refused. And Tommy, that fool…”
She shook her head in disgust and poured herself a cup of tea.
Lazarus made himself sit patiently.
She took the full teacup, but then merely stared into the tea. “I think he tried to blackmail her. I think that’s what set her off. She was here tonight visiting Tommy, and she left in a hurry. Tommy must’ve known all along who’d killed his sister, and once you started asking questions, he figured she would pay him to keep her secret. He was pretty, but not very smart.”
Lazarus closed his eyes. He was so close. “Who, Pansy?”
“Mother Heart’s-Ease.”
His felt his pulse begin to race. Finally. “The bawd who runs the gin shop?”
Pansy’s lips twitched. “She’s much more than that. She’s the most powerful woman in this part of St. Giles. And the most dangerous. You saw Tommy. She did that in a houseful of people. She’s in a berserker rage. She’s burning her bridges behind her now.”
“But why kill Marie and the other prostitutes so dramatically?”
Pansy shrugged. “To scare away her competitors, her allies, her whores—anyone and everyone, in fact.”
He frowned. “You’re in danger.”
“She’ll kill me afore the sennight’s out, I think,” Pansy said dispassionately, and finally took a sip of her tea. “Me and whoever else she thinks has betrayed her or stands in her way. You’d better watch your step as well. She’s already killed Tommy to keep him from talking to you—and to Mrs. Dews.”
Lazarus raised his eyebrows, his alarm growing. “Mrs. Dews?”
Pansy set her teacup carefully on the tray. “I think Mother Heart’s-Ease sees Mrs. Dews as a sort of rival for control of St. Giles. She doesn’t like that Mrs. Dews rescues the children Mother Heart’s-Ease would rather sell—or whore out.”
“You think she’ll go after Temperance Dews?”
“She already has.”
“What?” Lazarus felt his muscles tighten in alarm.
Pansy looked at him with a terrible fatalistic tragedy in her eyes. “One of the girls here brought in a lass tonight—the one Mrs. Dews dotes on.”
“Mary Whitsun.”
“Yes. Mother Heart’s-Ease took the girl with her when she left.”
Lazarus sprang to his feet, dashing to the door as Pansy’s last words floated after him.
“And I think Mother Heart’s-Ease means to strike at Mrs. Dews through the girl.”
Chapter Nineteen
“What you feel is the sorrow of loss,” Meg said. “What you feel is love. And,” she continued as the little blue bird flew back in the room and lit on the king’s hand, “that is love also.”
“I do not understand,” the king said.
“What do you feel now?” Meg asked.
King Lockedheart frowned as he gently stroked the little bird’s head. “Joy. Happiness.”
“That is the joy of love.” Meg smiled. “To experience your love for the bird, you must be willing to let her go. And in exchange, the bird displays her love for you by returning.”…
&nb
sp; —from King Lockedheart
Dear God.
Temperance felt her knees give way in horror. Not Mary Whitsun. Not her darling Mary Whitsun.
She felt Nell wrap an arm around her to brace her. Lady Hero was looking concerned. Mr. St. John ushered Lady Caire and her escort in and after a brief word with Winter, shot Temperance a grave look before showing the lady up the stairs. Winter took the rest of them into the kitchen. Temperance sank into a chair. She needed to rescue Mary, but how could she when they didn’t even know where Mary had gone?
“We need to search for her,” Winter was saying. “Where was the baby Mary was fetching?”
Someone started pounding on the kitchen door. “Temperance!”
It was Caire’s voice. Temperance jumped up and flew to the door, fumbling with the bar, her hands trembling.
She threw open the door and fell into Lazarus’s arms, and for a moment she simply stood there, shaking against him. He was so large, so warm, and he was here when she most needed him.
He clutched her to his chest. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She shook her head against him. “Mary Whitsun is missing.”
He tilted her chin up. “I know. Mother Heart’s-Ease has her.”
“What?”
“I’ve just come from Mrs. Whiteside’s house. Mother Heart’s-Ease is Mrs. Whiteside. She seems to have lured Mary Whitsun there with the help of one of the prostitutes.”
“We must go at once.” Temperance grabbed her cloak, hanging on a peg by the door.
“Wait. There’s something else.” Caire caught her arm, but it was Winter he addressed. “Mother Heart’s-Ease is the murderer.”
Temperance stared at him. “Marie’s murderer? The one who has been…?”
He nodded.
She sobbed once before pulling herself together. “Then the matter is even more urgent.”
“Yes,” he said gently, “but there’s also a possibility of a trap. Mother Heart’s-Ease has a particular dislike of you, it seems.”
Winter stirred. “Then she should not go.”
Temperance rounded on him in a fury. “Not go? It’s Mary Whitsun! I can’t leave her with that woman, trap or no.”
Winter began to protest, but Caire looked at him. “I’ll accompany her and keep her safe.”
“You promise?”
“On my life.”
“You can take my footmen as well.”
They all turned at the voice. Lady Caire had entered the small kitchen with her beau. Two burly footmen stood behind her. She met Lazarus’s eyes for a minute.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Caire took Temperance’s hand and then they were out the door and into the night with the footmen following.
“What does she want with Mary Whitsun?” Temperance panted as they hurried.
Caire shook his head. “She may be merely a lure. In which case she’s probably in no danger.”
Temperance shivered. “But Mother Heart’s-Ease hates me, you said.”
“According to Pansy.” He hesitated, glancing about them as they rounded a corner. “She’s already killed Tommy Pett.”
“Oh, God.” Temperance tried to control her rising panic. Why had she never told Mary how much she loved her? Why had she kept her at arm’s length? “Then she may kill her simply to spite me.”
Lazarus didn’t answer, merely squeezing her hand.
The journey seemed to take hours, but it was only minutes later when they and the two footmen made Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop.
Lazarus eyed the door and broke apart his stick.
“Stay behind me,” he said to Temperance. “You two”—he jerked his chin at the footmen—“to either side of me.”
Temperance nodded, watching as he pushed the door open with his foot.
The sight within was a strange one. The gin shop was nearly empty, but the overturned tables and broken chairs told of a struggle. Two bodies lay upon the floor—Mother Heart’s-Ease’s guards. The one-eyed barmaid cowered under the remains of a table. In the center of the room stood the Ghost of St. Giles, his sword tip at the throat of the last guard. At their entrance, the Ghost glanced at them from behind his black mask but made no other move or sound.
“I don’t know where she is!” the guard blubbered. “Mother Heart’s-Ease ’eard you were comin’ and ran out the back door. She could be anywheres now.”
The Ghost merely pressed his sword to the man’s throat. The guard yipped and a trickle of blood ran down his neck.
“Don’t!” called the barmaid. “Oh, don’t hurt Davy!”
The footmen looked uneasily at Caire.
“Tell him where Mother Heart’s-Ease is, then,” Lazarus said in a calm voice.
Temperance saw the Ghost’s mouth twitch up at the corner as if in sardonic approval.
“She was going after you.” The girl pointed at Temperance.
“Where?” Temperance asked.
“To yer home,” the girl said. “Said she’d make sure you’d leave St. Giles once and for all.”
Temperance frowned, exchanging a puzzled glance with Lazarus. “Was she alone? Did she have a girl with her?”
“She ’ad one of yer lasses,” the barmaid said. “Now leave my Davy alone. She’s not ’ere, I tell you!”
“We’d best get back to the home,” Lazarus said grimly.
“But what is she about?” Temperance cried. The fact that Mother Heart’s-Ease had taken Mary with her when she fled sent chills down her spine.
“I don’t know.” Lazarus looked at the Ghost. “Are you with us?”
The harlequin nodded and with a graceful spin was out the door and running lightly down the street.
“Hurry!” Caire called to the footmen. He took her hand again and they retraced their steps.
Night had fallen fully. Signs swung overhead, creaking eerily in the wind. Now and again, they could see the moon, floating bloated and weak behind drifting clouds. The Ghost of St. Giles ran ahead, his footfalls nearly silent. As they neared the home, Temperance could see an odd orangey-red light flickering over the rooftops, teasing and coy, but becoming bolder as they ran.
And then she smelled the smoke.
“Dear God!” She couldn’t even put into words her fear.
They rounded the corner and saw. The home was on fire. For a dreadful moment, the sound seemed to stop in Temperance’s ears and all she heard was a kind of rushing noise. Oddly she focused on Lady Caire, standing by herself in the middle of Maiden Lane. Lazarus’s mother had one hand to her mouth, and she was gazing up—at the top of the foundling home. That sight was what brought Temperance back suddenly and all at once. People were shouting. Nell was there, shaking her arm, and she could smell the smoke now, a dreadful hint of the chaos within.
“Are they out?” she shouted at Nell. There were children milling about her. “Are all the children out?”
“I don’t know!” Nell replied.
“We need to take count!” Temperance shouted.
Maiden Lane was in chaos. People screamed and ran back and forth, the aristocrats who had come to view the home mingled with the everyday folk of St. Giles. A bucket line had formed. The ragged cobbler who lived in the cellar next door handed a bucket of water to a footman in full livery who handed it to the fishmonger’s wife who handed it to a lord in a snowy white wig and so on. It was a bizarre sight. Temperance turned and looked behind her at the home.
And caught her breath.
Flames were shooting out the upper windows, smoke billowing in a gray-black cloud. At that moment, Winter and St. John staggered from the house.
“Winter!” Temperance called.
He carried a small boy in his arms. “No one else is in the nurseries. I think we got them all. Did you count the children?”
Temperance turned to Nell.
“Six and twenty—all but Mary Whitsun.”
Temperance clutched at Lazarus’s arm. “Where is she? Where could Mother Heart’s-Ease ha
ve taken her?”
But when she looked at him, he was staring up at the building. “Christ’s blood.”
She followed his gaze. Atop the roof, a tall, gaunt woman in a tattered man’s scarlet military coat was picking her way across the shingles.
The harlequin flashed by them silently and disappeared into the house next to the foundling home.
“Where is Mary Whitsun?” Temperance fisted one hand at her breast. No, it couldn’t be. No one would be so terrible as to leave a child in that inferno.
But Mother Heart’s-Ease was clearly alone.
Temperance burst into tears. Dear God, Mary Whitsun was in a burning building, dying.
“God’s bloody stones,” Caire muttered, and before she could speak, he was gone.
Gone inside the burning home.
THE LOWER FLOORS were relatively clear, but as Lazarus ran up the wooden stairs, the smoke rapidly built. He threw his cloak over his head, holding part of it against his mouth, but it provided little barrier against the smoke. He choked, fighting his body’s urge to return to clean air. Dear God, he could hardly see, let alone breathe. Everything was gray with smoke. He looked about the floor where the children slept.
“Mary!”
His bellow turned to a hacking cough and was lost in the roar of the fire. She might not even be here. He might be on a fatal fool’s mission. But the sight of Temperance’s despair had been too much for him to bear. If the child was here, he would find her.
The inferno moaned like a live thing, lurking in the floor above—the floor where Temperance and her brother had rooms. He narrowed his stinging eyes against the smoke as he climbed the rickety staircase. If he survived this hell, he’d be damned sure the home was better built next time. Tears streaked his face but evaporated almost at once in the heat.
The upper hall boiled with smoke.
Where would a madwoman hide a child? Lazarus fell to his knees, crawling, the tears blurring his eyes. If the girl was at the far end of the hall, she was gone now, but Temperance’s room was not yet engulfed. He had to at least check.