Carla Kelly (26 page)

“
Would
you let me write down your story, and then would you sign
it?”

“
I
can’t write, laddie.”

“
Then
would you make an X?” persisted Matthew.

“
I
might. I might. But you wouldna tell a soul, would you?”

“
No,”
said Matthew. “There might even be another coin, sir.”

“
Then
sit you down, laddie. What can it hurt if no one sees it? And you
have an honest face, my boy.”

“
Thank
you,” said Matthew without a blink.

“
I’m
sure I have a pen and paper here somewhere.”

“
I’m
sure that you do,” agreed Matthew.

The room was
becoming lighter when the ashman neared the end of his retelling of
the story. “What became of the ... the body?” Matthew asked, the
pen poised over the ink bottle.

“
Oh,
laddie, that was my task.” The ashman glanced slyly at him.
“Remember how I told you I never throw anything away?”

“
Good
God!” exclaimed Matthew, looking about him wildly.

The ashman threw
himself backward across his cot in a peal of silent mirth, his
hands folded across his stomach as he laughed without making a
sound beyond a gasp and wheeze for breath. When he could collect
himself, he sat up and thumped Matthew on the knee, causing the ink
bottle to rise in an arc and bounce against the bed. Matthew made a
grab for it before the ink entirely spilled out.

“
Just
wanted to see if you were paying attention, laddie,” said the
ashman as he wheezed a bit more. “No. No. I dumped that little
whore in a laundry bag and took her down to the river for a little
swim. No one ever paid me any mind.” He became serious again. “Just
a little thing, she was, for all that she was a favorite of the
men. I used to see her about the neighborhood. Name of Millie
Platter.”

The ink spilled
again and Matthew made no move to right the bottle. His whole body
went numb. He stood up and rested his forehead against the dirty
pane of glass that served as the ashman’s only window. The glass
was cool. As he stood there, ignoring the ashman’s loud questions,
he understood Timothy Platter’s look of anguish on that ride to
London, when he had confessed everything. The look had struck
Matthew then as unprofessional for a Bow Street Runner, but he
understood now, and his purgatory was complete. His cup ran over
and there were no words left.

When he was able,
he sat down again, dipped his quill in what remained of the ink
puddle on the floor, and finished the ashman’s curious deputation.
He dipped it one more time and wrote “Thomas Grissam” in large
block letters. Once more, and he handed the quill to the ashman.
“Make your mark, sir,” he ordered.

There was command
in his voice that he did not feel, but that communicated itself to
Grissam, who took up the quill without a word and made his
X.

“
You’ll not show this to anyone?” asked the ashman
again.

Matthew shook his
head. He reached in his pocket and spilled out a handful of gold
coins. The ashman’s eyes widened. “Coo, love,” he breathed, “you’re
a bank robber.”

“
That’s it,” said Matthew. “You have hit upon it.”

Grissam picked up
one or two coins and pushed the rest back toward Matthew. “Oo,
don’t I seem to run with irregulars?” he said, more to himself than
to his guest.

Matthew allowed
himself a laugh. “Oh, I’m an irregular, sir, make no mistake. But
what should I do with this money? It should be yours.”

“
No,
laddie, not mine. If I start spending the ready—and I will, you
know—my master will get wind of it, and I’ll be in a vat of
trouble. Send it to my daughter in Bristol, her what has the little
boy. That’ll do.” He looked closely at Matthew. “And don’t let on
as it’s bank money. My daughter is wondrous prune-faced about such
as that.”

“
Not a
word from me, sir,” said Matthew. He wrote down the direction of
Thomas Grissam’s daughter as it was dictated, and rose to go. He
held out his hand to the ashman, who stared at him.

“
No
one’s ever shook my hand before, laddie.” The ashman wiped his hand
on his filthy pants. “Even if you are a thief and a bank robber,
I’ll shake with you.”

Matthew folded
the ashman’s history and pocketed it. He threaded his way back
through the maze that was Thomas Grissam’s castle to the doorway.
The sun was almost up, although the street still lay in shadow. He
took a deep breath. Even London air smelled like Omega’s lavender
scent after his sojourn in the ashman’s home.

“
Good
day to you,” he told Thomas Grissam, and started up Quallen
Lane.

He had gone no
more than a pace or two when he heard, “Ashman!”

He looked up to
see the landlord standing at the top of the stairs, a bag in his
hands, watching him.

Matthew hurried
on. Surely the street was still deep enough in shadow that the
landlord would not know who he was. He touched the document in his
pocket, turned the corner, and nearly ran into Timothy
Platter.

The Runner had
both horses with him. He leaned against the building and snuffed
out the cigar that Omega so despised. “
 
’Twas a long night, my lord,” he
commented.

“
It
was,” agreed Matthew. “Timothy, he has told me
everything.”

The Runner’s eyes
opened wide. “Surely not the landlord!”

“
The
ashman. It is a long story, and I haven’t time to tell it. Can I
hire you on commission?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
I
want you to find my friend Sir Horace Billings. I’ll give you his
last direction in Suffolk. I want you to produce him in Byford, or
have a statement from him, signed and notarized. Can you go right
now?”

The Runner
nodded. “If you’ll trust me with this fine piece of horse again, my
lord.”

“
Timothy, I’d trust you with my wife, if I had one.” He took
some coins from his pocket. “Take this
,
too. And don’t stare at me that way! You can’t
imagine the trouble I’m having getting rid of it. It’s to speed
your journey. Come to Byford as soon as you can.” Platter took the
coins without a word and swung into the saddle. “I’ll see you soon,
then, my lord.”

Matthew put his
hand on the horse’s bridle. “One more thing, Mr. Platter. Do you
... could you arrange a break-in for me?”

“
Sir,
we are the law,” said Timothy in shocked tones.

“
I
know all too well,” Matthew replied. He did not loosen his hold on
the bridle. “If you had known of a, er, a free agent who could have
been inclined to remove a box from under the bed of the ashman at
10 Quallen Lane, that would have been a good thing. But it is no
matter, I suppose, particularly since you are the law.” He released
the bridle and stepped back. “Godspeed, Mr. Platter. Let me see
your face soon.”

Platter tipped
his hat to Lord Byford. “You will, sir. And about that other
matter: I’ll see what I can do.”

“
I
knew I could depend on you.”

Matthew Bering,
Lord Byford, shook the dust of London off his feet, but not without
a visit to his solicitors, where he revised his will and signed it,
and then directed a respectable sum of money to be sent to one
Varinda Grissam Talbot of Chatting Crossroad, Bristol. He next
ordained his solicitor to send a very junior clerk of respectable
girth into the backwaters of Limehouse to deliver a set of crockery
to the household of Timothy Platter.

“
And
mind that the lady of the flat has no notion of where it came from.
You just make sure that it gets there, Mr. Pitney,” ordered
Matthew. “And now, sir, I am off to Byford. I think my presence
will soon be greatly in demand in that spot.”

His solicitor
produced another document that had been requested
from Chancery Court
. “And let me
wish you happy, my lord,” said Mr. Pitney. “Do I know the fortunate
lady?”

“
You
did at one time, sir. She is an opinionated, fractious, meddlesome,
irritating educationist who fights hammer and tongs if you happen
to get her back up.”

“
My
lord, I know of no one that meets such a description!” said the
solicitor, disapproval written all over his face. “Whatever can you
be thinking of?”

“
Marriage, Mr. Pitney—at least, some sort of
marriage.”

“
Sir
you are bamming me!”

“
I,
sir, do not ‘bam’ solicitors. Good day.”

After Matthew and
the Bow Street Runner left so early that morning, Omega took
herself back to bed. She toyed with the notion of taking another
swallow of the good doctor’s sleeping powders, but decided against
it. With Matthew gone, the weight of the household fell on her
shoulders, and the responsibility of Jamie. She needed to have her
wits—or what was left of them—about her.

She spent another
luxurious hour stretched out flat on the comfortable bed, listening
to the birds outside the window, her hands folded across her
stomach, the picture of repose. Soon she would be back in the
classroom, which meant early dawns and constant distractions. How
pleasant it was to rest and not think much beyond the prospect of
breakfast.

Angela’s arrival
in her room ended the peace and quiet. Without even knocking, the
little girl hurled herself into the room and onto Omega’s bed. “Oh,
Miss Chartley, you’ll never guess who is below!”

No, she could
not. Her first thought was Rotherford, but she dismissed it. Surely
even he could not arrive so quickly.

“
It is
those two gentlemen from the horse judging! They have come to take
Hugh”—she giggled and put her hand to her mouth—“Major Owen to
another horse judging in Claybrook, a town not far from
here.”

“
Dear
me,” said Miss Chartley, and she threw back the covers. “Angela,
help me find something to wear.”

Clad in her blue
housekeeper’s dress again, and leaning against Angela, she hobbled
down the hall to Hugh’s room and knocked. The soldier came to the
door, his cravat dangling from his neck. He sighed with relief when
he saw it was Omega, and pulled her into the room.

“
Here,
you must do it,” he commanded, extending the end of the cravat to
her. “I cannot do this with one hand, and Matthew has sent his man
Leonard off on holiday now that he is gone up to
London.”

She tied his
cravat, grateful that Matthew was not there to laugh at her
efforts. “Can you ... can you judge another horse show, Hugh?” she
asked.

“
I had
better,” he said grimly as she helped him into Matthew’s blue
superfine coat and smoothed the wrinkles out across the back. “I am
taking Jamie with me. He claims to be an expert.”

As if to verify
his words, Jamie bolted into the room. “Omega, this is famous! I
get to help judge the horse show!” He looked at her, his eyes wide.
“Omega, you are feeling better?”

“
Yes,”
she said, “if you do not woosh by me again and make me lose my
balance. You may go, of course.” She looked at Hugh and lowered her
voice. “Please, please keep Jamie close by. Rotherford may be
nearer than we know.”

He nodded. “I’ll
be watching.”

She smiled her
gratitude, and then considered the business at hand. “And now,
should I go below and greet the guests? What
does
the
housekeeper do?”

“
Twinings is serving them some coffee and biscuits,” Angela
said. “If Hugh is overlong, I will volunteer to sing.”

“
At
nine in the morning?” scoffed Jamie. “Angela, you are
daft.”

She stuck out her
tongue at him and flounced from the room. Hugh turned to Omega.
“You will be all right here? We have been invited to be overnight
guests at Lord Nickle’s manor in Claybrook ...” His voice trailed
off.

Omega grinned.
“You are certainly traveling in fine circles, Major Owen,” she
said, twinkling her eyes at him. “Just remember, always start with
the fork that is farthest out and proceed toward the center, and
you should acquit yourself admirably.”

“
Excellent, excellent, Miss Chartley,” he said. “You never fail
me.”

“
Certainly not,” she agreed. “I have Tildy and Twinings to help
me get belowstairs again, so we will do well.” Omega sighed. “I
expect we will have to entertain Lord Rotherford when he arrives.
Perhaps Angela will sing.”

Hugh and Jamie
went downstairs, while Omega limped back to her room. The pain in
her ankle was growing strong again. “This will never do,” she said
out loud, and hobbled into Matthew’s bedroom.

The room was as
neat and tidy as she would have expected, nothing out of place. The
fragrance of lemon cologne made her sigh. She went to his dressing
room and opened the door, marveling at how organized he was, and
knowing that if they had ever married she would have been such a
trial to him.
For I am
not
tidy, Matthew, as you
well know
, she said to herself.

“
And
now, sir, do you have a cane?” she asked. “If you ever professed to
be a gentleman of the first stare, you must have had at least
one.”