Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(66)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“It would seem so.” He ran a finger along the worn wooden kitchen table. “Except that I went to see one of Marie’s lovers. He says he met Marie at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin house.”

“What?” She stared at him. “But Mother Heart’s-Ease acted as if she’d never met Marie.”

“And perhaps she hadn’t.” He shrugged. “Still, I find it very odd that Marie would have patronized her gin shop. Marie catered to gentlemen. Had you asked me before she died, I would’ve said she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop.”

“It’s very odd.” She walked to the bottom of the stairs and called softly, “Mary Whitsun.”

A thump and then the patter of feet came from above.

“And then there’s Martha Swan,” he said.

She looked a question at him.

He smiled whimsically. “I know it sounds daft, but think: Why were we attacked at Martha Swan’s place?”

She shrugged. “To keep us from talking to her.”

“But she was already dead.”

Her brows knit together, but Mary Whitsun appeared at that moment in her night rail. “Ma’am?” The girl looked uncertainly between him and Temperance.

“Bar the door behind me, please,” Temperance said. “And then go back to bed.”

The girl nodded and in another moment they were in the alley.

The wind caught the edge of Temperance’s cloak and sent it billowing about her. “If not to keep us from talking to Martha Swan, then why the attack?”

“I don’t know.” He set a quick pace, making sure to keep her close to his side. “Perhaps someone at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s saw us there. Someone who didn’t want us to investigate. Perhaps Marie met whoever this person is at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop.”

She shot him a doubtful look. “Or perhaps this is all just coincidence.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Lazarus was damnably aware of Temperance’s heat next to him, of her vulnerability. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought her along, but the more he thought about it, the more sure he was: The answer somehow lay at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop. And Temperance was his key to getting people to talk there.

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the dingy room, and at first the shop seemed the same as the first two times they’d been there. The gin shop was crowded and hot, the fire wasn’t drawing well, and smoke hung about the blackened rafters. Lazarus began pushing his way to the back, toward Mother Heart’s-Ease’s rooms.

Temperance caught his arm, halting him. He bent down so she could murmur close, “Something’s not right. The room is too quiet.”

He lifted his head to see that she was right. There was no drunken singing from the table of sailors in the corner, no arguments or loud discussions from the rest of the company. In fact, the customers huddled together. No one met his eyes.

Lazarus looked at Temperance. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, her beautiful golden-flecked eyes puzzled. “I don’t know.”

The one-eyed serving girl emerged from the curtained back hall. Before the curtain fell, Lazarus counted three men in the hall. What had made Mother Heart’s-Ease triple her guard? The girl’s head was down, her face tear-streaked. She caught sight of them and ducked her head, sidling to the side.

Temperance hurried to her without any urging from Lazarus. He watched as she seemed to plead with the girl, following as she shook her head and turned away. Temperance laid a hand on the barmaid and the girl shook it off, saying something sharply. Temperance straightened abruptly, her eyes wide.

Lazarus was at her side in a second. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “Not here.”

Temperance led him back outside the gin shop, looking fearfully around. He drew her close, under his cloak, wrapping his arms about her. “Tell me.”

She looked up at him, her face a pale oval in the night. “She wouldn’t even discuss Marie. There’s been another murder—a prostitute. She was found bound to her bed and her belly…” She gasped, unable to finish the sentence.

“Shh.” His heart was beating fast, his senses alert to every tiny movement, every small sound in their vicinity. “I have to get you back to the home.”

She clutched at him. “They’re saying it was the Ghost of St. Giles.”

“What?”

“Some think him a phantom, some think him a real man, but in either case they believe he’s the murderer.”

He shook his head and began walking. “Why?”

“They don’t know. There’s speculation that he’s seeking revenge of some sort, that he’s been sent to punish the sinful or that he simply enjoys killing.” She shivered again. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it? If he was the murderer, if he wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have joined you in defeating those attackers.”

“No,” he murmured, “it doesn’t make sense.”

It was another ten minutes before they were at her door again, and Lazarus was never so happy to see the home. When she unlocked the door, he followed her into the kitchen.

He watched as she filled her little kettle and hung it over the hearth before stirring up the banked fire. “What evidence is there that the Ghost is the murderer? Did the barmaid say?”

She shot him a perplexed look as she set out her tea things. “She didn’t seem to know. She was just repeating what everyone else said.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. “I wonder, then, if someone is spreading this rumor.”

“But who?”

He shook his head. “In any case, I can no longer take you into St. Giles. Not while this murderer is at large.”

She nodded silently, her brows knit at his pronouncement. Was she that docile to his command, or would she disobey him later? The thought made him restless—that he had no real power over this woman. She could do as she pleased no matter what he thought or how he worried.

The kettle came to a boil after a bit and she filled her teapot. He followed her into her little sitting room, squatting to make up the fire there as she sat on her stool. Then he lounged in the chair and watched, ridiculously content, as she poured herself a cup of tea and added sugar. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t mind spending every evening for the rest of his life thus, watching her take her first sip of hot tea, considering the way she half closed her eyes in relaxation.