Wicked Intentions

The foundling home kitchen was humid and hot tonight. The fire was banked below a blackened kettle. Mrs. Dews’s regular acolyte, Mary Whitsun, frowned at him over a basin of water at the table, while beside her stood a small boy. A plump young woman with a cheery red face and white-blond hair sat in the corner nursing a tiny infant. She looked up at his entrance and casually pulled a scarf over her exposed breast.

“This is Polly, our wet nurse,” Temperance said distractedly. “She brought Mary Hope and her children to spend the night.”

“Thought it best since they’re holding a wake in the rooms next to mine,” Polly said. “It can get a bit loud and wild.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Lazarus inclined his head. He eyed the kicking infant. “The babe is better, then?”

“Oh, she’s doing lovely, sir, that she is.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lazarus propped himself against a wall, watching as Mrs. Dews and the girl cleared the table. While their backs were turned, the boy inched closer. His face was freckled, and to Lazarus’s unskilled eye, he looked a bit of a rapscallion.

“That’s a big stick,” the boy observed.

“It’s a sword stick,” Lazarus said cordially. He twisted the head and withdrew the sharp sword.

“Coo!” the boy exclaimed. “Have yer killed anyone with it?”

“Dozens,” Lazarus said loftily. He pushed the image of the noseless attacker’s staring, dead eyes out of his mind. “I prefer to first disembowel them and then chop off their heads.”

“Arr!” the boy said.

Lazarus chose to take the odd syllable as a mark of high esteem.

“Lord Caire!” Mrs. Dews had evidently overheard the last of their exchange.

“Yes?” Lazarus widened his eyes in innocence.

The boy saw fit to giggle.

Mrs. Dews sighed.

Polly pulled the baby from under her scarf. “Can you hold her a moment, ma’am, while I set myself to rights?”

The wet nurse held out the sleeping babe, but Mrs. Dews quickly backed away. “Mary Whitsun can take her.”

The girl accepted the baby without hesitation. Neither she nor Polly seemed to think Mrs. Dews’s actions were unusual, but Lazarus watched her speculatively.

Polly straightened her clothing and stood. “I’ll take Mary Hope now. She’s due for a nap, I’m thinking.”

So saying, she carried the babe from the kitchen.

Mrs. Dews nodded at Mary Whitsun. “Please tell Mr. Makepeace that I intend to go out tonight—and take Joseph Tinbox with you.”

Both children obediently left the room.

“You never informed your brother of your intentions before.” Lazarus prowled to the fireplace and glanced inside the kettle there. A puddle of some type of soup sputtered at the bottom.

“How do you know that?” she asked from behind him.

He turned in time to watch her stroke a comb through that wonderful hair. “You never invited me in before.”

She opened her mouth, but at that moment, Winter Makepeace strode into the room. He didn’t seem surprised to see Lazarus, but the sight didn’t bring him any joy either.

“Mind you take your pistol,” he told his sister.

Mrs. Dews nodded, not looking at Makepeace. “I’ll just put up my hair.”

She slipped from the room.

The brother was suddenly beside Lazarus. “I would have you make sure that nothing happens to her.”

Lazarus arched his brows at the order from the younger man. “Your sister has never been hurt in my company.”

Makepeace grunted, looking sour. “Well, see to it that your luck continues. Temperance needs to be home before first light of day.”

Lazarus inclined his head. He had no intention of keeping Mrs. Dews out in St. Giles any longer than necessary.

She reappeared at that moment, her hair safely confined and hidden under a white cap. She looked sharply between Lazarus and her brother, and he could only hope the younger man had wiped the expression of animosity from his face.

“I’m ready,” she said, and took up a cloak.

Lazarus glided to her side and plucked the ragged thing from her fingers. He held it out. She looked at him uncertainly before donning the garment. Lazarus opened the door.

“Be careful,” Makepeace called behind them.

The night was damp, a grimy mist immediately slicking his face. Lazarus pulled his cloak about his shoulders. “Stay close to me. No doubt your brother would have me drawn and quartered should I bring you back with even a hair on your head misplaced.”

“He worries for me.”

“Mmm.” Lazarus glanced around and then down at her. “As do I. That attack we suffered last time was apurpose.”

Her gold-flecked eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

He shrugged and began walking. “I saw one of the assassins at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop. That’s quite a coincidence.”

She stopped suddenly, making him stop as well or risk outpacing her. “But that means someone tried to kill you!”

“Yes, it does.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Twice now, I think. The night we first met, I was attacked by what I thought was a common footpad.”

“The man we saw you kneeling over!”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “Now I wonder if he was after my life instead of my purse.”

“Dear God.” She looked down at her toes thoughtfully. “If the man without a nose was at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s, then it stands to reason that the murderer was there as well.”

He inclined his head, watching her.

She met his eyes, her own fearless. “Then we should return to Mother Heart’s-Ease and see if she knows the man.”

“That is my hope,” he said as he set out again. “But I want to impress upon you the seriousness of this business. Before, I merely had to deal with the everyday dangers of St. Giles. Now it seems I may actually have caught the attention of a ruthless murderer.” He glanced sideways at her. “If you wish to quit this hunt, Mrs. Dews, I will still honor my side of the bargain.”

The hood of her cloak obscured most of her profile, but he could still see her lips purse primly. “I’ll not renege on our bargain.”

He leaned over her, bending his head to hers. “Then you had better stay close to my side.”

“Humph.” She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyebrows were knit. “Who had you spoken to the night we met—the night you were first attacked?”

“One of Marie’s neighbors, a prostitute.” His lips twisted. “Or at least I’d tried to talk to her. The woman slammed her door in my face, once she found out what I sought.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“They must be linked somehow—the prostitute and Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop, but I don’t see how.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s only the area—the murderer found out I was questioning Marie’s neighbor and also knew I’d questioned Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

She shook her head. “He’d have to be very quick to take fright, then, if he sent an assassin after you merely for asking questions. No, I think you must’ve found something out.”

She looked at him in question.

“If I did, I don’t know what it is myself.” He laughed a little grimly.

They walked the rest of the way to Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop in silence. Lazarus kept an alert eye out but saw no followers unless one counted a mangy cur, mostly skin and bones, that shadowed them for a minute or more.

When he ducked into the low doorway of the gin shop, the heat and smell hit Lazarus in the face. He caught Mrs. Dews’s arm, scanning the crowded room. A fire roared on the hearth in the back, and a group of sailors were singing drunkenly at one long table. The one-eyed barmaid scurried between tables, avoiding all eyes, especially his own. Mother Heart’s-Ease was not in sight.

Mrs. Dews tugged at his arm and stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear over the noise of the room. “Give me some coins.”

He looked at her, his eyebrow arched, and then took out his purse and shook some shillings into her hand. She nodded and without a word began weaving her way through the throng, patiently stalking the barmaid. Lazarus wasn’t about to leave her side in this company. He trailed behind, watching her movements, glaring when a sailor tried to catch her hand.

Mrs. Dews finally ran the one-eyed barmaid to ground near the fireplace. The girl reluctantly turned, looking a bit more interested when Mrs. Dews pressed a coin into her palm. There was a whispered conferral and the barmaid slipped away.

Mrs. Dews turned back to Lazarus. “She says that Mother Heart’s-Ease is in the back room.”

Lazarus glanced at the curtained doorway. “Then let’s seek her out.”

He lifted the curtain and led the way. Behind the door was a short, dark passageway. A young man leaned against the wall, cleaning his fingernails with the wickedly pointed tip of a knife.

He didn’t bother glancing up at their entrance. “This ’ere’s private like. Go on back to th’ bar.”

“I wish to speak to Mother Heart’s-Ease,” Lazarus said evenly.

The man wasn’t very big, but he looked like he might be quick. Before he could reply, Mother Heart’s-Ease opened a door behind him. A young girl slipped out, tottering on her heeled slippers. She glanced at the guard dismissively but slowed when she saw Lazarus. He turned sideways to let her pass, and she thanked him with a cheeky grin and a wink. He was quite sure that had he shown any sign of interest, she’d be amenable to a quick tête-à-tête in a corner of the gin shop. He shot a glance at Mrs. Dews and was unsurprised to see her lips pursed primly.

“Mrs. Dews,” Mother Heart’s-Ease called from her door. “’Aven’t you enough to busy yourself with at that little home you run? ’Tis twice now in but a fortnight you’ve visited my part of St. Giles. And with Lord Caire, I see. I wasn’t expectin’ you back, m’lord.”

Lazarus smiled. “Because you thought I would be killed at Martha Swan’s house?”

The woman tilted her head and smiled coquettishly—a rather repulsive sight. “I’d ’eard you met with some trouble there. Poor Martha Swan! It’s dangerous, walking the streets.”

“Then you don’t find it suggestive that she was gutted in the same way as Marie Hume?”

She shrugged bony shoulders as wide as a man’s. “Many a lass ’as come to a bad end in St. Giles.”

For a moment, Lazarus studied the old bawd. She was undoubtedly playing some kind of game, but whether it was for money, simply to protect her own mysterious interests, or because she had a more sinister intent, he wasn’t sure. “Be that as it may, the man who attacked me was sitting in your gin house the night I came to question you. He wore a patch over his nose.”

She nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen ’im about.”

“Do you know who might’ve hired him to kill me? Who doesn’t want Marie Hume’s killer to be found?”

“Kill you?” She hawked and spat into the filthy straw on the floor. “Look ’ere, it’s not my business what folk do after they leave my place. ’E probably caught sight of that purse you were wavin’ about that night and thought you were a soft mark.”

“Do you know if he has any friends? Men he drank with?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” She shrugged again and turned away. “I ’ave a business to run, my lord.”

Lazarus watched as she shut the door behind her. Mother Heart’s-Ease had seemed eager enough for his payment the first night they’d come, but tonight she’d not even hinted at money. Was she afraid? Had someone warned her off?