Sebastian settled back in his copper hip bath and closed his eyes. “I’ve noticed I’m becoming decidedly popular with the stable cats.”
“Tom tells me the horses are still missing.”
“I’ve set the constables to scouring every livery in the area. They may yet turn up.”
“What was your assailants’ plan, do you think?”
Sebastian tipped his head forward so he could probe the tender area near the base of his skull with careful fingers. “They probably would have waited until after dark to remove our bodies and dump us in the river someplace. Make it look as if we’d drowned when a wherry boat overturned or some such thing.”
Calhoun bundled the ruined boots and breeches together, then hesitated. “And would you still be interested in the whereabouts of Hessy Abrahams from the Orchard Street Academy?”
Sebastian glanced around. “You’ve found her?”
The valet was looking unusually serious. “Not exactly. But I’ve someone you’ll want to be talking to.”
“Oh?”
“A woman named Maggie McQueen. Until two nights ago she was a charwoman at the Academy. She left when she decided the atmosphere of the place was becoming unhealthy.”
“Unhealthy?”
“Lethal.”
“She knows what happened to Hessy Abrahams?”
“According to Maggie McQueen, Hessy is dead.”
Sebastian decided to take his town carriage. His head ached, and despite the hot bath, he was still occasionally racked by chills.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, my lord, you look like the devil,” commented Calhoun, taking the forward seat.
Sebastian sneezed. “I feel like the devil.”
Darkness had fallen, enveloping the city in a starless black blanket. They rode through streets lit by the flickering light of carriage lamps and the torches of running linkboys. A light rain had begun to fall, glazing the paving stones with a slick wetness and driving indoors the throngs that usually crowded around the city’s grogshops.
Their destination proved to be an unsavory flash house in a back alley in Stepney called the Blue Anchor, owned by Calhoun’s notorious mother. The timbers of the jutting upper story were gray with age. Passing drays had knocked bricks off the corners of the ground floor so that the building gave the appearance of an old man missing half his teeth. But inside, the Blue Anchor was warm and snug. Its ancient bar, booths, and wainscoting might be black with age, but the public room smelled pleasantly of beeswax mingled with ale and gin.
Sebastian sneezed again. “This is the infamous Blue Anchor?”
“Not what you were expecting, my lord?” said Calhoun. He led the way to a cabinet behind the stairs. “I won’t be a moment.”
Sebastian subsided into one of the comfortably worn chairs beside the fire, closed his eyes, and listened to the pounding in his head. Calhoun was back all too soon with a glass of hot rum punch for Sebastian and a wizened little woman with lank gray hair, a broad nose, and unexpectedly bright black eyes.
“Your lordship, this is Maggie McQueen,” said Calhoun, steering her toward the seat opposite Sebastian. “Now, Maggie, I want you to tell his lordship everything you told me.”
Maggie ran her shrewd gaze over Sebastian and evidently found him wanting. “What the blooody hell happened to you?” she demanded in a thick Geordie accent.
“I suppose you could say I fell in the river.” It wasn’t strictly true, of course, since the river had come to him. But he didn’t feel up to explaining it.
Maggie grunted. “Harebrained thing to have done. Were you foxed, then?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that excuse.”
She grunted again. “The boy here, he tells uz you’re interested in what happened at the Academy a week ago Wednesday night.”
It took Sebastian a moment to realize that by “the boy” she meant Jules Calhoun. “Very interested,” said Sebastian, taking a sip of his hot rum punch. A tingling warmth began to spread through his body.
“Mind you, Aa never could make sense of it all,” said Maggie, extracting a white clay pipe from some hidden pocket and beginning to pack it with tobacco. “But then Aa divint think anyone could, ’cept maybe them two whores, and they’re long gone now, aren’t they?”
As long as he remembered that “Aa” meant “I” and that Geordies liked to put as many vowels as possible into a word, Sebastian figured he might be able to get through the conversation. He said, “You mean Rose Fletcher and Hannah Green?”
“That’s right. It wasnit until after we’d found the bodies that anyone even noticed they’d up and disappeared.”
“Bodies?” said Sebastian.
Maggie kindled a spill and held the glowing end to her pipe, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Sebastian waited with mounting impatience until the tobacco caught and she drew on it several times, blowing out a stream of fragrant smoke. “Bodies,” she said. Only, the way she said it, it came out sounding like “booodies.”
“Men, or women?”
“One man, one woman.”
Sebastian sat forward, the rum punch clasped in both hands. He breathed in the fragrant fumes of allspice, cinnamon, and hot rum, and felt the pounding in his head begin to ease. “Do you know who they were?”
“Aa divint know nothing abooot the man, ’cept that he was a cooostomer. But the dead girl, she was Hessy Abrahams.”
“They were found together?”
“Ach. No. The man, he was in the Chinese room, while our Hessy was in the peep room near the back stairs.”
“The peep room?”
“For them that likes to watch,” said Maggie without a trace of embarrassment or coquetry.
Sebastian exchanged glances with Calhoun. They had started out investigating the death of one young woman shot down in an alley, but the number of dead just kept multiplying. He said, “The dead man in the Chinese room . . . whose customer was he?”
“Why, he was Rose’s.”
Sebastian took a long, thoughtful sip of his punch. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”
Maggie drew on her pipe, her eyes half closing in thought. “He was young.” She subjected Sebastian to a moment’s scrutiny, then said, “Abooot your age, Aa’d say. Maybe a mite older, maybe a mite younger. But fair, like the boy here.” She glanced at Calhoun. “Can’t remember anything remarkable abooot him, ’cept he had a scar across his belly. Like this.” She drew a diagonal line across her stomach.
“He was naked?”
Maggie nodded. “Some men just drop their breeches and get dooon to it, but this ’un, he’d paid for a whole hour.”
“How did he die? Do you know?”
Maggie shrugged. “Stabbed, Aa suppose. Leastways, he was sure bleeding all over the place. Took uz forever to clean it all oooop.” She hesitated. “Didint see a chir, though.”