Isabella
“Why did she not say?” Harriet murmured.
Stephen was looking at his mother with concern. “Mama! Are there spies coming? I am to protect you from spies!”
She smiled at him and folded the letter. “And you do a very fine job of it, sir. Continue to patrol Berkeley Square Gardens with Lord Sussex and I think we shall all do very well.” Then she added, as she looked out of the window, “My mind is playing tricks on me. I noticed some smell as we left Dr. Trevelyan’s. .”
Her son sat up looking very pleased. “Paint, Mama. The nice maid Clara was telling me about it while you were talking so long to the doctor. There was a man in painting and plastering, and now Clara must keep the windows open even though the weather is cold to drive off the smell. Even though it has been two weeks since he came.”
Harriet thought back some weeks to a visit to James. Dr. Trevelyan had been apologizing about the works in his house, though Harriet herself had been hardly fit to notice.
“You are a very fine young man, Stephen.”
The little boy shrugged and turned to look out of the window, but Harriet could see the happy flush in his cheeks. She thought about the strange tang in the air her mind had gathered and puzzled on even before she had consciously noticed it. It was not just paint, it was the fresh plaster and wood varnish too. She thought for a long moment before the picture of a room, recently seen and sharing some fragment of that odd combination of odors appeared before her eyes. The picture was of the study of Lord Carmichael. The window open in November she had noticed was to release the hanging taint in the air.
6
Jocasta came to a stop and Molloy continued chewing down on his scrag end of boiled meat for so long, she thought he was never going to come to speaking at all. Sam sat close to Jocasta.
“You know there was murder done at His Majesty’s last night?” Molloy said at last, gave a loud belch and fitted his pipe back into his mouth.
She nodded. “A lass, and her lover slashed his wrists is what I’ve heard.”
Molloy folded his arms together and looked mean at her.
“So it is said-and Christ, how London loves it! I saw three women out on their morning ride with yellow roses in their hair, and two fellas all lace and lavender with red ribbons on their wrists. Stupid fuckers. If they knew how a body felt they’d be less likely to make a romance of it.”
Jocasta shrugged. “Let them do as they will. You’re just fractious you aren’t the man selling flowers this morning. You say it’s all bound up?”
“This little troop of loveliness you’ve thrown a rock at, Mrs. Bligh, have killed two lads and a woman. Why should killing more trouble them?”
“Maybe.”
Molloy paid some attention to his pipe till he was hidden in billows and dances of smoke. “You are a singular woman, Mrs. Bligh, and noted for walking alone. Given I know that, and you know that, will you be guided by me?”
She put her elbows on the table. “That’s dependent which way you are shoving, Molloy.”
“Good enough. Ripley’s right. You need a navy man, but one that’s worth trusting. There’s a few on the river that used to serve. We’ll go and have a chat. And we’re going to let news of the killings spread. No one takes a liking to men that pick off kiddies for sport. Maybe it’ll all come apart easy. But it’s good to have some angry friends at hand if the knot tightens the other way.” He switched his attention to Sam and pointed his pipe at him. “And you, fella, are going up to those kilns.”
Sam found reason to pick up Boyo and hold him. The dog licked his face. “Why so, Mr. Molloy?” He threw a nervous glance Jocasta’s way, and she caught and held it.
“Because, boy,” Molloy continued, “I reckon if you spend some time up there you’re going to find someone that saw something on Sunday when Blondie got herself killed. If your mistress weren’t so used to looking to cards or her own wise self for answers, she’d have thought of that before now.”
Sam opened his mouth, then shut it up.
“The lad can come with us, Molloy,” Jocasta said.
“You scared?” Molloy kept his eyes on Sam.
“Course he’s afraid. He had two of his mates picked off.”
Molloy ignored Jocasta and leaned toward Sam across the table. “When does Tonton Macoute hunt, boy?”
“Night, sir.”
“And what is it now, boy?”
“Day, sir.”
Molloy looked impressed and gave a slow nod, then reached into his waistcoat. There was a flick of his wrist and Sam found himself looking at a folded blade that spun across the table toward him. It had a bone handle, yellow with age and handling. He set down Boyo, but made no move to pick it up.
“You can take that from me, and the dog from Mrs. Bligh. Go. Come back before it gets dark and meet me or her here. Tell Sarah at the bar you’ve got Molloy’s word to pay with, and then stay and wait if you must.”
“Shall I, Mrs. Bligh?”
“If you’re willing, lad.” Sam nodded and took up the knife. He tucked it in his waistband, whistled to Boyo and left the room. Jocasta watched them go. “Ten years I’ve fed that dog. He never even looks back.”
“Ha! He goes where he’s needed.”
“What you give him the knife for? He’s no notion of the use of it.”
“Bit of steel in the pocket, bit of steel in his spine.”
Jocasta turned back to Molloy and watched his dry, cracked face.
“What’s this to you, Molloy? Why you being so helpful when there’s no profit in it?”
He let the smoke slip out of the side of his mouth, till it wavered thin like a last breath. “Maybe there will be. I’ve learned to take a long view in these days. But as much. . I’ve got two boys and a little girl. Eldest wants to get on a boat, younger one is fool enough to like a red coat. The girl I’ll marry to a shopkeeper and get her to tend me in my glorious age. As for the lads, bombs and bullets they’ll have to deal with themselves for their foolishness in choosing so unprofitable a career. But I’ll not have their throats cut by an ink-stained murderous clerk and his bitch mother, nor any fucker who goes round slicing up little kids to feed the Frenchies our news.”
He stood and pulled his cloak around him. Jocasta sat where she was and looked at him with her head on one side.
“Molloy, you tight thieving squeezing crack-faced dog. You’re a patriot!”
“I used to mark you as a woman of few words, and liked you for it. Now you’re running on like a wife. You going to sit there yapping or follow me to where there’s business to be done?”
Jocasta heaved herself upright.
As soon as Harriet reached Berkeley Square she summoned Mrs. Martin to her room.
“Yes, madam?”
“Mrs. Martin, I wanted to thank you for your tact and help when I returned here last night.”
The housekeeper folded her hands in front of her and gave a quiet nod.
Harriet had wanted nothing more on returning home than to kiss her children and her sister at once, when this woman, waiting half the night in the hallway to do her any service she required, had gently drawn her attention to the blood all over her gown and hands. She had guided Mrs. Westerman to her room, undressed her and wiped the last traces of it from her palms while Mrs. Westerman stared into the candlelight and wept. Then, red-eyed but calm, Harriet had visited her sister and children and seen them safe more like a woman than some devil escaping hell.
“It must have been horrid, madam.”
Harriet thought of Isabella’s body lying across Morgan’s knees. “Yes. It was. The stomach wound had bled a great deal.”
After a short silence Mrs. Martin spoke again. “May I ask how the captain is, madam?”
Harriet put her hand to her neck, and pushed some thread of hair away from her cheek. She had spoken at length to Dr. Trevelyan about the little scene with James and the model boat. The doctor had been encouraging, and thought it interesting that the model boat seemed to have shaken loose some memory, but was cautious as always about James’s prospects of recovery. Telling Trevelyan the history of Mr. Leacroft, Bywater and Isabella had been more difficult. The horror and cost of it had reared up again before her in the shock written on Trevelyan’s usually calm face. She allowed herself to remember the pressure of her husband’s embrace for a moment, the warmth of the breath on her neck as he said her name, and she touched her throat with her fingertips.