Late For The Wedding

Twenty-Eight

Shortly before midnight that evening, Anthony opened the sack of pies he had purchased just before nightfall and took out one of the two remaining meat pies. He offered the sack to Dominic, who lounged against the opposite wall of the narrow alley.

Dominic helped himself to the last pie.

“Tomorrow night I will purchase a larger number,” Anthony promised around a moutheul of leaden pastry.

“It is our own fault that we ran out so quickly,” Dominic reminded him. “In hindsight, we probably should not have given half of our supply to that pair of urchins who chose to spend the night in the doorway of the button-and-ribbon shop.”

Anthony thought about the two youngsters they had met earlier that evening. The boys had been no more than eight or nine years of age, cheerfully brash and impudent and imbued with a streetwise knowledge that would have better suited men of twenty. They had also looked very hungry. Neither he nor Dominic had been able to resist giving them some of their pies. The pair had been delighted and had sped off with their treasures to settle into their doorway at the far end of the street.

“On second thought, maybe I can persuade Whitby to make us a batch,” Anthony said. “I’ll also ask him for some more of that cold salmon and chicken he provided for us this afternoon.”

“An excellent notion. Tell him to double the amount this time in case those two youngsters are in that doorway again tomorrow night.” Dominic munched his pie. “But it may not be necessary. From the sound of it, this business probably won’t continue much longer.

“March seems very sure that Pierce will make a move soon. He says the hairdresser is not only arrogant, he is consumed with a need to prove that he is as good as the last Memento-Mori Man.”

Time passed. Out in the street, the slant of moonlight shifted slowly. Aside from the odd carriage or cart, nothing moved. The light in Pierce’s window had gone out half an hour ago. He appeared to have retired to his bed.

“Did it strike you that there was something different about Emeline and Priscilla this afternoon?” Anthony stretched his arms high overhead to relieve the stiffness.

“Different?” Dominic pondered the question for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about it. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Just seemed that they were both in particularly fine looks today.”

“They are always in fine looks.”

“Very true.”

There was another lengthy silence.

“I think Priscilla is attracted to you,” Anthony offered after a while.

“She is attracted to the contents of my laboratory, not to me.”

Dominic sounded glum.

“Don’t be so certain of that. The two of you do have a great deal in common.”

“Huh.”

“You find her pretty. It was never Emeline who interested you, admit it. The only reason you flirted with her was to get at me.”

“Dominic shrugged. The movement of his shoulders was barely visible in the shadows. You’re in love with Miss Emeline, are you not?”

“Yes. Her aunt wants us to wait to announce our engagement, but Emeline and I have other plans. First I have to convince Tobias to marry Mrs. Lake and move into Number Seven Claremont Lane.”

“So that you and Miss Emeline can take over his house?” Dominic sounded intrigued. “A very clever notion. Do you think he will agree?”

“I’m having some difficulty convincing him of the wisdom of my plan, but I have every hope of success.” Something flickered at the mouth of the alley across the street. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

“I think there’s someone standing in the entrance to the alley that leads to the rear of Pierce’s lodgings.”

The figure moved, slipping cautiously out of the deep pool of darkness into the moonlight.

“Dominic straightened swiftly. Yes, I see him. Make that, her. It’s a woman in a cloak.”

“I’ll wager it’s Pierce in his female attire,” Anthony whispered.

“You’re right.” Dominic kept his voice equally low and soft. “Don’t move. We must not let him see us.”

The cloaked figure drifted swiftly down the street. Pierce did not carry a lantern, apparently content to rely on the bright moon.

There was an eerie lack of sound about his movements.

“Like a ghost in the night,” Dominic whispered.

The old bawd took another long swallow of gin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She squinted at Tobias across the planked table and cackled wetly.

“They called me Mother Maud in those days,” she said. “Made a nice living selling the babes and young ones, I did. Ye’d be surprised how much of a market there is for a healthy little boy or girl. All types of folk, high and low, came to buy my wares.”

The woman gave him a cold chill in his vitals, but Tobias did not allow his revulsion to show in his expression. The tavern, tucked away in the bowels of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, was a dark, smoky hell. It made the Gryphon look like an exclusive gentleman’s club.

Mother Maud stopped talking and waited expectantly.

He put a few more coins on the table. Next to them he placed the memento-mori ring that he had found in Fullerton’s bed chamber at Beaumont Castle. The little gold coffin glinted evilly in the candlelight.

“Smiling Jack told me there’s a rumor that several years ago you sold two small boys to a man who wore a ring similar to this.” He opened the coffin.

Mother Maud stared at the tiny death’s-head for a long time.

Then she switched her attention to the little pile of coins. Her uneasiness was plain to read in her face.

He added another coin to the heap.

“Aye.” Mother Maud drank some more gin, as though to steady her nerve. “I did some business with a man who wore a death’s-head ring.”

“Tell me about the business.”

“He was different from my usual clients,” Maud said at last.

“In what way?”

“Most of em what purchased the children set em to work. They trained the boys to pick pockets or steal or beg or climb the chimneys. The girls went into the brothels or were put out on the streets to earn their keep.” She raised one bony shoulder and let it drop.

“There were some who purchased the little ones for reasons that I did not want to know.”

If some of the children had been used in ways that gave even Mother Maud a few qualms, Tobias thought, he’d rather not know about them either. But he had to get the truth tonight.

“The man who wore the ring,” he said. “Why do you think that he wanted to obtain two young boys?”

Maud took another swig of gin and set down the bottle. Her rheumy eyes glinted malevolently. “He said he was a man of business but he had no sons to take over the firm. He told me that he wanted to take on some apprentices. Teach em his trade.” She squinted. “But if all that was true, he could have got what he wanted from a proper orphanage, eh?”

“Instead, he came to you.”

“Aye, that he did. He paid Mother Maud handsomely, he did. And I gave him value for his money, I did. Two healthy lads in prime condition. Both smart as whips. Brothers, they were. One was about eight years of age. The other was four or five, I think.”

“What happened to their parents?”

“The mother died in a brothel. Both boys were on the street when I found em. The older one was looking after the younger. Picking pockets. Stealing what they could from the drunken gentlemen who take their pleasures in our part of the city.”

“What of the father?”

“Who knows?”

Tobias glanced at the ring. “What do you think became of the two boys you sold to this man?”

“Well, now, I never asked and that’s a fact.” Maud snorted. That’s why my clients came to me in the first place, you see. On account of they knew I wouldn’t ask any awkward questions.”

“Did you ever hear any gossip concerning the nature of the trade this man planned to teach the two boys?”

“Aye.” Maud brooded on the ring. “There was talk now and again over the years about the man who wore a gold death’s-head. Some said that if ye paid him enough, he’d get rid of anyone ye wanted, even a rich man or a fine lady. But only if he agreed that they deserved it.”

“Do they say what became of this man who was in the business of dealing death?”

Maud raised her gin bottle. “Heard he’d retired. Left the business to his apprentices.”

Anthony stood with Dominic in the night-shrouded park across the street from Number 20 Treadhall Square. The town house they were watching was an elegantly designed three-story affair, one of several in a row. Each had a front area enclosed with a waist-high iron fence and a gate.

They had followed Pierce, according to Tobias’s instructions, and made no move to stop him, keeping a considerable distance behind him. The activity of the busy streets had covered their footsteps.

But a few seconds ago they had arrived in the square just in time to see their quarry vault lightly over the railing that guarded the front area of one of the town houses. Pierce disappeared down the flight of steps that led to the kitchen entrance located below the street level.

“If you ask me, there’s only one reason why he went down there dressed in that cloak,” Dominic said. “And it wasn’t because he’s been summoned at one o’clock in the morning to dress a lady’s hair.”

“I know.” The reality of what was happening before their eyes sent a chill through Anthony.

“Hell’s teeth, what are we supposed to do now?” Dominic whispered. The only thing we can do is pound on the front door and try to raise the household.”

“They’ll likely think we’ve gone mad, ranting and raving about a murderer inside their home.”

“Have you got a better plan?”

“No.”

“We’d best make haste, in that case.” Anthony started forward. “I doubt that it will take Pierce long to complete his business. The man is a professional, if you will recall.”

Together they raced across the street and went up the steps of the silent town house. Anthony seized the heavy brass door knocker and banged it loudly six or seven times.

“That should rouse a maid or a footman,” Dominic muttered.

But to Anthony’s amazement, no one came to the door to demand an explanation for the late-night disturbance.

“Try again,” Dominic said. “Harder, for God’s sake.”

Anthony pounded the knocker a few more times. “Still no response. He took a step back and looked up at the darkened windows of the upper floors. “Perhaps whoever lives here gave his servants the night off.”

“This is a large house. I cannot believe that every single member of the staff would be given the same night off. There must be someone inside.”

“We’ve got to do something quickly,” Anthony said. “Maybe we should smash a window.”

“And get taken up on charges of housebreaking? I don’t think that is such a terrific plan. Wait, I’ve got an idea.”

Dominic let his small pack slide off his shoulder and lowered it to the ground. Untying the cord that secured the opening, he reached inside and drew out what appeared to be two sticks.

“What have you got there?” Anthony asked.

“A couple of tubes containing my new explosive formula.”

“Explosive formula?” Anthony hastily stepped back a couple of paces. “Hold on, here. What the devil are you doing?”

“I admit the mixture is still in need of refinement, but in small amounts like this it creates a very handsome display of fireworks. I brought the tubes with me tonight because it occurred to me that they might come in handy if we needed a distraction or a weapon of some sort in the event the hairdresser noticed us and tried something violent.”

“That was very farsighted of you.” Anthony watched Dominic strike a light. “Damnation, man, have a care with those things.”

“I’m using both of them because we need a disturbance that will arouse the entire street as well as anyone inside this house.”

Dominic lit two strings attached to the sticks. “This should do the trick.”

He hurled the sputtering tubes far out onto the pavement. There was a short, tense moment during which the sticks sputtered and sparked.

Then, with a crack and an ear-shattering roar, the explosive-filled casings erupted.

Lightning danced in the street.

Bright strips of fire sparkled and flashed. The fireworks sounded like a dozen pistols fired at once, over and over again. The noise boomed off the walls of the town houses and echoed on the stones of the pavement. “Very impressive,” Anthony shouted above the din.

“I’m trying to develop more variety in the colors of the display,”

Dominic yelled back. “At the moment I’m limited to red, white, and greens.”

A window on the upper floor of a neighboring town house opened with a bang. A man in a nightcap leaned out.

“Fire,” he screamed. “There’s fire in the street. Summon the watch.”

Several more windows slammed open. Other heads appeared.

The shout of fire went up across the square. A woman shrieked.

Doors were flung wide. One of them was the door of Number 20.

“What’s this?” A woman with a head covered in sparse gray curls and a cap stood in the entrance, clutching a faded dressing gown around her thin body. She peered blearily at Dominic and Anthony.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded.

“There’s a murderer inside the house,” Anthony shouted.

“What’s that you say?” She cupped her hand to her ear. “Speak up, young man.”

“A murderer! Anthony pushed past her into the front hall. “He’s come to kill someone.”

“Stand aside,” Dominic ordered, following Anthony into the hall.

“We must stop him.”

“Now, see here, what d’ye think yer doing?” Alarmed, the woman fell back. “Help! Help! There’s housebreakers here.”

Anthony decided to change tactics. “The fire” he shouted directly into her ear. “We’ve got to get everyone out of the house.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Fire, you say?”

“Is there anyone else here?” Dominic yelled.

“The master. Upstairs in his bed.” The woman glanced uncertainly up at the ceiling. “He can’t walk. He’ll be trapped up there.”

“We’ll bring him down,” Anthony promised.

He ran for the stairs, Dominic hard on his heels. They took the steps two at a time and emerged onto a darkened landing.

Anthony saw the flare of candlelight emanating from the door of a bed chamber at the end of a long hall. A cloaked figure appeared in the entrance of the room, silhouetted by the glare behind him.

“There he is,” he yelled at Dominic.

They charged forward. The intruder left the doorway and fled in the opposite direction. When he reached the end of the hall, he whirled to face them, the wings of his cloak flaring wide.

“Watch out,” Dominic said. “He might have a pistol.”

They slowed warily. But the intruder did not pull out a weapon.

Instead, he yanked open another door and disappeared down the back stairs.

“Bloody hell.” Anthony launched himself forward again. “He’s getting away.”

“Tony, the bed chamber,” Dominic shouted. “He set it ablaze.”

Anthony became aware of the fact that the glow of light from the doorway of the bed chamber was too intense for a candle flame. He slammed to a halt, spinning around to stare into the room. Dominic was already inside, using a blanket to beat at the flames that leaped at the end of a massive four-poster bed.

A thin man in a nightcap cowered against the pillows, arms flailing helplessly. “Save me, save me! She tried to smother me. Tried to murder me in my own bed.”

Anthony seized a heavy quilt. Dominic grabbed the other end.

They flung it over the bedding in an attempt to smother the flames.

The killer ran through the streets, barely able to think clearly enough to follow the map in his mind. When he could not run any farther, he ducked into an alley to catch his breath. He yanked off the blond wig and the cloak and dropped both on the paving stones.

Chest heaving, he stood for a moment, trying to collect his senses and his nerve. Bloody hell, but that had been close. Much too close this time. His heart was pounding, and he knew it was not just because of the mad dash to safety. He could no longer deny the fear.

It surged through him, clouding his brain and making him want to vomit. Was this how it was for you, Zachary? Did you ever know this frantic, gut-twisting sensation?

He still could not fathom the fact that he had been so nearly caught in the act. Where had those two come from to loose that shower of fire in the street and hound him through the house, chasing him away before he could complete his business?

But he knew the answer. Miss Emeline and Miss Priscilla had lied through their pretty teeth. March and his companion had not only made significant progress in their investigations, they had identified him as a suspect.

March had set that pair to watch him tonight. They had followed him, hoping to catch him in the act.

The game was finished. March had won.

He glanced back at the little heap of clothing and the blond wig.

That was all the evidence that existed to connect him to this night’s botched business. He would leave them here. Even if someone found the items, they could not be linked to him.

Nevertheless, he dared not take any more chances. March had friends in high places.

He moved cautiously out of the alley. When he was sure that there was no one about, he broke into a run again. He had a good head start. It would take those two some time to deal with the fire and make their report to March. He needed only a few minutes, he reminded himself. He had been well-trained in his craft. He was prepared for any contingency, even failure.

He would vanish for a while, he promised himself. Perhaps he would go to Paris for a year or two. Or may hap Italy. When he returned the next time, he would come back as a gentleman. No one would recognize him, let alone connect him to the murders he had committed this summer.

The thought steadied his nerves as he fled through the moonlit night.

A short time later Anthony stood beside Dominic and peered glumly into the darkness of the back stairs. He slammed the palm of his hand against the wall.

“Damnation. We almost had him.”

“He set that fire to distract us when he realized we were about to awaken the household with the fireworks.” Dominic shoved his fingers through his hair. “He gave himself plenty of time to get away.”

“Well, one thing is for certain. He knows now that he’s been found out. He’ll no doubt have disappeared into the stews or bolted for some safe place where he thinks he can hide.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point going back to his lodgings,”

Anthony muttered. “He won’t be fool enough to hang around now.”

“I do not look forward to informing March that we flushed out our quarry and then lost him.”

“Neither do I.” Anthony closed his fist around the ring he had discovered on the bedside table. “But it is not as though we had a great deal of choice in the matter. That damned hairdresser was willing to burn down this entire house and everyone inside in order to make good his escape.”

“Come.” Dominic turned away from the staircase. We’ve got to find March. I hope he has returned from his latest visit to the stews.”

Anthony swung around and followed him swiftly down the hall.

The killer entered his lodgings through the back door, the same way he had left a short while ago. He stood there in the deep shadows, breathing so hard that the air rasped in his lungs. The rage and fear were still pouring through him. He wanted to smash something.

“Damn him, damn him, damn him,” he chanted into the darkness.

He could not dawdle, he reminded himself. He had to move swiftly. There would be time enough for vengeance against March later. Time enough to prove that the man could be beaten.

He went into the bed chamber and shifted aside the picture on the wall. Placing the flat of his hand on a section of the wood, he pressed gently. The panel slid open on a soundless whisper of well-oiled hinges.

He opened the safe and took out the pistol, the letter, the remaining memento-mori rings, and the jewelry and money that his clients had given him in exchange for his services.

His next stop was the wardrobe. He would take only one change of clothing. He hated to leave the rest of his fine garments behind, but he could not afford to be encumbered with luggage. The tenets of his training were strict on that point. When flight was necessary, one fled with as little as possible.

He opened the door of the wardrobe and found himself looking into the face of his killer.

Before he could even react to the shock, the murderer put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.