Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(36)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Silence picked up the wig and carefully draped it over a wooden form on the dresser. “Is there any news?”

“None of use,” William muttered. “The two sailors left to guard the ship are missing—either dead or run away with their bribe money.”

“I’m sorry.” Silence stood uselessly by her husband’s side until the stench of burned meat reminded her of the dinner.

Hurriedly she set the table with their pewter plates. At least the bread was fresh from the baker this morning, and the boiled carrots looked appealing. She set out William’s favorite pickles and poured his ale before bringing the beef to the table. She carved the small joint and placed some on his plate with nervous trepidation, but he didn’t even seem to notice that the meat was charred on the outside while still red inside. Silence sighed. She was such a pitiful cook.

“It was Mickey O’Connor,” William muttered suddenly.

Silence looked up. “What?”

“Mickey O’Connor was behind the theft of the cargo.”

“But that’s wonderful! If you know the thief, surely you can inform a magistrate?”

William laughed, a harsh sound. “None of the London magistrates would dare touch Charming Mickey.”

“Why not?” Silence asked, perplexed. “If he’s a known thief, surely it is their job to bring him before a court of law?”

“Most magistrates are in the pay of the thieves and other lawbreakers themselves.” William stared down at his dinner. “They only bring in the ones too poor to pay their bribes. And the remaining magistrates are so fearful of O’Connor that they’ll not risk their lives to bring him in.”

“But who is he? Why are the magistrates afraid of him?”

Her husband pushed his plate away untouched. “Charming Mickey O’Connor is the most powerful dock thief in London. He controls the night horsemen—the thieves who steal at night. Every ship that docks in London pays a bribe to Mickey; he calls it a tithe.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Silence whispered, shocked.

William nodded, closing his eyes. “Indeed it is. ’Tis said he lives in a falling-down house in St. Giles, the rooms furnished for a king.”

“They call this monster charming?” Silence shook her head.

“He’s very handsome and the ladies like him, so ’tis said,” William said quietly. “Men who cross Charming Mickey disappear or are found floating in the Thames, a noose about their necks.”

“And no one will touch him?”

“No one.”

Silence stared at her own plate, no longer hungry. “What shall we do, William?”

“I don’t know,” her husband replied. “I don’t know. The owners are saying now that I must have had a hand in the theft.”

“That’s ridiculous!” William was one of the most honest men Silence had ever known. “Why are they accusing you?”

He closed his eyes wearily. “I left the ship early the night we docked. Left it with only two guards. They say I must’ve been bribed to help.”

Silence clenched her fists under the table. William had left the ship early to return to her. Guilt made her chest ache.

“They need a scapegoat, I fear,” William said heavily. “The owners are talking about prosecuting me for theft.”

“Dear God.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” William had finally opened his sad green eyes. “I brought this catastrophe upon us.”

“No, William. Never.” Silence laid her palm on her husband’s hand. “This is not your fault.”

He laughed again, that horrible croaking sound she was beginning to hate. “I should’ve put more men on to guard the cargo, should’ve stayed to make sure the cargo was safe. If not my fault, then whose is it?”

“This Charming Mickey’s, that’s who,” Silence said in sudden anger. “He’s the one who makes his living off the backs of honest men. He’s the one who stole this cargo out of greed.”

William shook his head, withdrawing his hand from hers as he rose from the table. “That may be, but we have no way of seeking redress from the man. He has no care for us or anyone else.”

He stood a moment looking at her, and for the first time, Silence saw hopeless despair in his face. “We are doomed, I fear.”

He turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Silence stared at the pitiful meal she’d prepared. She wanted to sweep the old dishes, the burnt meat, and mushy carrots to the floor. She wanted to scream and cry, to pull at her hair and let the world know her despair. But she didn’t do any of that. None of those actions would help the man she loved. If William was correct, no one she knew could help them. She and William were on their own. And if she couldn’t find a way to get the cargo back from Charming Mickey, then William would either die in prison or be hanged as a thief.

Silence squared her shoulders. She would never let that happen.

IT TOOK A week for Lazarus to recover from his wound. At least it was a week until he felt well enough to seek out Mrs. Dews. He’d been out of bed for days before that, but he was damned if he’d let the little martyr see him so weak again. So he’d bided his time, patiently eating the pap Small insisted was fit for the sickroom. Another doctor was called for, but Lazarus shouted at him when the quack started mumbling about bloodletting. The man beat a hasty retreat, but not before leaving a bottle of noxious liquid “medicine.” Lazarus threw the bottle out, uncaring that he’d no doubt be billed for the elixir later.

He spent the rest of his confinement chafing at the delay in seeing Mrs. Dews again. Somehow the woman had crept into his blood as surely as the poison from his wound. During the day, he reviewed conversations they’d had, remembering the look of hurt in her gilded eyes when he’d said something particularly crass. The pain he’d caused her provoked a strange tenderness. He wanted to heal the hurt and then hurt her again just to make it better. It was impossible to keep thoughts of her gentleness, her wit, and her acerbity from his mind. His dreams at night were far more basic. Even with his illness, he woke each morning with the flesh between his legs straining for her.

Perhaps he should’ve let the quack bleed him. Perhaps then his body would rid itself of not only the poison, but also of Mrs. Dews.

He considered abandoning her help and not seeing her again, but the thought was fleeting. On the night Small deemed him recovered, Lazarus prowled the alley behind the foundling home.