Wicked Intentions

Mrs. Dews sighed beside him. “That’s it, then. I don’t think she’ll tell you more.”

The young man who had been leaning against the wall all this time cleared his throat. Lazarus looked at him, but the boy’s eyes were on Mrs. Dews. “You want to know about Marie Hume?”

His mouth barely moved, his words all but inaudible. Still Mrs. Dews nodded silently and placed the rest of the coins Lazarus had given her into the man’s hand.

“There’s a house in Running Man Courtyard. D’you know it?”

Mrs. Dews stiffened, but she nodded.

“Ask for Tommy Pett and don’t tell anyone where you got ’is name. Understand?”

“I do.” Mrs. Dews turned and left the back hall.

Lazarus waited until they’d climbed the stairs and walked into the cold night air. “You know the way to this Running Man Courtyard?”

She pressed her lips together as if not well pleased. “Yes.”

Lazarus glanced up and down the dark street. “Do you know that young man? Can we trust him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him before.” Mrs. Dews pulled her cloak about her shoulders. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“Or a wild-goose chase.” Lazarus frowned. “Mother Heart’s-Ease may’ve ordered him to whisper that information to us.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, damn it.” He blew out a breath. “That’s the problem. I don’t know the players in any of this. I’m too much the outsider.”

“Well, if it helps, I thought his fear of her overhearing him was genuine.”

Lazarus felt a sudden smile tug at his lips. He bowed low, sweeping his hat from his head. “In that case, Mrs. Dews, lead on.”

She almost smiled—he would’ve sworn it on his life—but she schooled her expression and set off, walking briskly, her shoes echoing off the cobblestones. Lazarus trailed close behind, keeping an alert eye out. The mist furled about the corners of buildings and dimmed what lanterns had been set out. This would be a good night for an ambush, he thought grimly.

“When I returned from your house last week, I was met by my elder brothers,” she said suddenly. Her head was turned away, so he could not read her face.

“What did they say?”

“That they didn’t want me to go with you, of course.”

“And yet here you are.” They rounded a corner into a wider street. “Should I be flattered?”

“No,” she said shortly. “I do this for the home, nothing else.”

“Oh, naturally.”

A party of three men staggered out of a doorway farther down the street, obviously drunk. Lazarus reached forward and pulled her back toward him, ignoring her squeak of surprise. He halted in the shadows and wrapped her in his cloak until she was nearly hidden.

Lazarus bent his head to murmur in her ear, “The sad thing about being virtuous is that when one tries to lie, it doesn’t work very well.”

She opened her mouth and he caught the glint of anger in her eye, but the drunkards were passing by.

“Hush,” he breathed across her ear. This close, he could smell the sweet herbs she’d used when she washed her hair. He wanted to draw her even closer, to press her hips to his, to lick that delicate ear.

But the toughs had passed them by and he let her go instead.

She immediately leapt back and glared up at him. “I have no desire to be with you. I only do this for the home and the children.”

“How very noble, Mrs. Dews. You sound quite the saint.” He felt himself smile, not very pleasantly. “Will you tell me now what this house is in Running Man Courtyard?”

“It’s Mrs. Whiteside’s house,” she muttered before turning quickly and marching off.

Lazarus felt his eyebrows wing up in honest surprise as he hurried to catch up to his guide. This should be very interesting, indeed.

For Mrs. Whiteside ran the most notorious brothel in St. Giles.

Chapter Nine

Very early the next morning, Meg was roused from her sleep by four burly guards. They hustled her up a winding staircase until she was once again in the king’s room. He sat sprawled on a golden throne, his black beard and hair shining in the morning sunlight. Before him were several dozen guards standing at attention in strict rows.

“There you are!” the king snapped. “Now, then, I shall prove to you my people’s love.” He turned to the assembled guards. “My guards, do you love me?”

“Aye, sire!” cried the guards with one strong voice.

King Lockedheart smirked at Meg. “You see? Admit now your folly and I might grant you your life.”…

—from King Lockedheart

Temperance felt her cheeks heat as she continued walking. She knew about most of the houses of ill repute in St. Giles—they were where many of her charges came from, after all—but she’d never set foot in one after dark. And Mrs. Whiteside’s house was rather notorious for the types of amusements one could find there.

“Ah,” Lord Caire murmured from behind her. “I believe I have knowledge of this place.”

She bit her lip. “Then perhaps you have no further need of me tonight.”

He caught hold of her suddenly, making her gasp. “You swore you would not renege on our compact, Mrs. Dews.”

She frowned, truly puzzled. “And I won’t, but—”

“Then lead on.”

Temperance gathered the edges of her cloak together and did just that. The wind was bitter tonight, numbing her cheeks. She didn’t know what to make of this man anymore. He’d teased and kissed her, probed for her most shameful secret, and then held her against his warm body to shield and protect her. She still trembled from the scent of his throat, the steel of his arms.

They crossed into another alley, this one smaller. Signs swung overhead, creaking in the wind. She heard laughter, sudden and close, and then it moved away. They passed a thin woman in a worn cloak carrying something in a bucket. The woman avoided their eyes as she hurried past. The alley widened abruptly into a courtyard with overhanging upper floors, making the square space seem close and cramped. Light flickered behind the shutters on each floor, and odd, muffled sounds leaked through—a cutoff laugh, a muttered word, rhythmic banging, and what sounded like moans.

Temperance shuddered. “This is Mrs. Whiteside’s establishment.”

“Stay close to me,” Lord Caire murmured before raising his stick to knock upon the only door in the courtyard.

It swung open to reveal a hulking guard, his broad, plain face marked with pox scars. His narrow little eyes showed no expression. “Boy or girl?”

“Neither,” Lord Caire said smoothly. “I wish to speak to Tommy Pett.”

The man began to close the door.

Lord Caire stuck his stick in the doorway with one hand and pressed his palm flat against the door with the other. The door halted, causing the guard to look faintly surprised.

“Please,” Lord Caire said with a hard smile.

“Jacky,” a deep voice rasped from behind the guard. “Let me see our visitor.”

The guard stepped aside. Lord Caire entered immediately, pulling Temperance behind him. She peered around his shoulder.

The hall inside was a small, square space, hardly big enough for the stairs leading to the upper levels. Immediately to the right was an open door that revealed a neat sitting room beyond. In the doorway was a woman in a pink satin gown, strewn with ribbons and bows. Her head barely came past Caire’s waist, and her body was thick and squat, her brow heavy and deformed.

She flicked clever eyes at Caire. “Lord Caire. I’ve often wondered when you might visit our house.”

Lord Caire bowed. “Am I speaking to Mrs. Whiteside?”

The dwarf threw back her head and laughed in a voice as deep as a man’s. “Dear me, no. I am merely an employee of that lady. You may call me Pansy.”

Lord Caire nodded. “Mistress Pansy. I would be very grateful for a moment’s conversation with Tommy Pett.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“He has some information I need.”

Pansy pursed her lips and cocked her head. “Why not? Jacky, go and see if Tommy is free.”

The guard lumbered off and Pansy gestured to the sitting room behind her. “Will you sit, my lord?”

“Thank you.”

They entered the little sitting room, and Lord Caire sank into a worn velvet settee, pulling Temperance down beside him. Across from them was a wide, low chair padded in sumptuous purple and pink. Pansy hitched one hip up and hopped backward into the chair. Her feet, shod in elegant heeled slippers, dangled inches from the floor.

She laid her pudgy hands on the chair’s arms and looked at Caire with a smile playing about her mouth. “You really ought to stop awhile with us, my lord, after you finish your business with my boy Tommy. I can offer you a special price.”

“I thank you, no,” Caire said with no inflection in his voice.

Pansy cocked her head. “We make a specialty of providing for the, ah, unusual requirements of gentlemen such as yourself. And, of course, your friend may participate as well.”

Temperance’s eyes widened as Pansy tilted her chin at her. She had no idea what Caire’s unusual requirements were, but she knew she should be disgusted at the mere suggestion that she would indulge in them with him. Except she was still trying to figure out her feelings when a pretty young man entered the room. He was slim with golden hair that fell in silken waves to his shoulders. He hesitated inside the doorway, eyeing Lord Caire uneasily.

Pansy smiled at him. “Tommy, this is Lord Caire. I believe—”

Whatever Mistress Pansy had been about to say was cut short by Tommy darting from the room. Lord Caire surged off the settee, flying after the boy silently. There was a scuffling sound in the hall, a thump and a curse, and then Lord Caire reentered the room, holding Tommy firmly by the collar of his coat.

“All right! All right!” the boy panted. “You got me fair and square. Let me go an’ I’ll talk.”

“I think not,” Lord Caire drawled. “I’d rather keep a firm grip on you while you talk.”

Pansy had watched this byplay with narrowed but unsurprised eyes. She stirred now. “Tommy’s night isn’t over yet, my lord. I do hope you’ll bear that in mind when you handle him? His price goes down if he’s bruised.”

“I have no intention of hurting your employee as long as he tells me what I want to know,” Lord Caire said.

“And what is that?” the dwarf asked softly.

“Marie Hume,” Lord Caire said. “What do you know about her death?”

For a boy who made his living in a St. Giles brothel, Tommy was a terrible liar. He looked away, licked his lips, and said, “Nothing.”

Temperance sighed. Even she could see that Tommy had some knowledge of Lord Caire’s mistress’s death.

Lord Caire merely shook the boy. “Try again.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “I’m afraid your use of Tommy’s time is costing me revenue, Lord Caire.”

Without a word, Lord Caire reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small purse. He tossed it at Pansy and she caught it deftly. After peering inside, she closed the purse again and hid it on her person.

She nodded at Tommy. “That’ll do nicely. Now talk to the gentleman, my lamb.”

Tommy sagged in Lord Caire’s grip. “I don’t know anything. She was dead when I found her.”

Temperance looked quickly at Lord Caire at this news, but if he was surprised to hear that Tommy, not Martha Swan, had found Marie, he gave nothing away.

“Were you the first to find her dead?” Lord Caire asked.

Tommy shot him a confused look. “Weren’t no one else there, if that’s what you’re asking.”