The Bellingham Bloodbath (15 page)

I laughed, happy to comply and wholeheartedly in agreement. If he needed time to himself in the future, I would just keep my mouth shut. And so it was that we didn't speak again until the cab pulled alongside the alley behind Limehouse.

“Wait here,” Colin ordered the driver as we climbed from the cab.

“You'll pay me somethin' before I let ya outta me sight.”

“We'll give you half,” I spoke up, slipping some cash into his upturned hand. “You'll get the other half when we return.”

“If we're not back within the hour, notify Scotland Yard!” Colin called out as he headed down the alley.

“Yer holdin' half me fee. I'll come get ya meself.”

“Reassuring,” Colin muttered, following me through the unmarked door that had once led to Maw's teeming establishment. Other than the toxic smells of liquor and opium clinging to the structure, it pained me how little it resembled its former life. “I haven't been back here since the night I dragged you out,” Colin muttered as I led him down the narrow hallway to the main room.

“I barely knew you back then. I had no reason to trust you.”

“You knew who I was. I'd seen you plenty of times at Easling and Temple.”

“Plenty of times?!” I laughed. “I didn't attend classes enough for that to be true.”

His nose curled as the lingering scents assaulted us. “My getting you out of this place is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“It is. But the same can be said for you too,” I needled before turning and calling out,
“Hello!”

“Cuppy . . . ?” Maw's raspy voice drifted right back and I realized she was sitting among the shadows behind the counter.

“Yes, it's me.”

She stood up and came ambling out, and I heard Colin suck in a hard breath as she made her way around the counter. Her obvious frailty had the effect on him I knew it would. This was no longer a daunting woman, though I had never thought her to be so. While she had not been one to be trifled with, neither had I ever seen her be cruel.

She moved to within a few feet of me before casting her good eye over at Colin. “Brought
'im,
didja? Knew 'e'd wanna see what was left a me.”

To my relief, Colin kept quiet.

“How are you, Maw?”

She waved me off. “Same as I look.” She gestured us over to the set of well-worn chairs and slowly lowered herself into one of them. “Ain't this somethin'?” She snickered. “The three of us sittin' 'ere jest like ol' times.” She looked at me with a smile that seemed almost wistful. “Two days in a row, Cuppy . . .” She let her voice trail off, leaving me to wonder whether she thought it a good thing or bad.

“You sent for us?” Colin spoke up, an edge in his tone.

“Always 'bout the business, ain't ya?” Maw shot him a glance, her good eye raking him carefully. “I 'ope 'e's been good to ya, Cuppy. 'E never was one fer words.”

“Yes, Maw.”

“Don't!” he snapped.

She clucked and shook her head. “Still full a 'isself, I see.”

“This was a mistake.” He stood up, his body tense, and threw an agitated glance at me. “We're done here.”

Maw shrugged and leaned back in her chair with a chuckle. “Jest like ol' times,” she said again.

“Sit down, Colin. We haven't heard what we came here for.”

“She's just fiddling with us. We've already found Lady Stuart anyway.”

“Found 'er, didja?” Maw chuckled again as though she was the only one who understood the joke. “That ain't nothin'. It's knowin' 'er that counts. Didja get ta know 'er? Didja get the truth?”

“And what do you know about truth?” he shot back.

Maw went still a moment before turning to him and speaking in a low, even tone. “I never lied ta nobody. Weren't my fault everybody was so eager ta lie to themselves. All I ever did was help people believe they was seein' what they wanted ta see: the prettiest girls . . . the 'andsomest boys . . . the finest opium . . . the smoothest scotch. If that's the way a customer saw it, well then, that's the way I saw it too. So where's the 'arm in that?”

“You degraded people. You made them addicts.” His gaze slid over to me and I could see his outrage lurking there.

“I didn't drag nobody 'ere. All I did was offer services. Weren't none a me business why anybody did what they did.” She studied him a moment. “I didn't try ta stop ya when ya took Cuppy outta 'ere. And I coulda.” A smile broke across her face. “So don't act like me judge and jury. Tell me, ya like them that judges you and Cuppy?”

“That's different.”

“It's always different. Was different to those that came 'ere too. But 'ere you are tellin' me what I did was wrong and what you do is fine, yet there's those that hate us both jest the same. That don't make ya think . . . ?”

“Please
. . . ,” I interrupted. “We came to hear about Lady Stuart.”

Maw waved a bony hand and sucked in a wheezing breath. “There ain't no damn Lady Stuart,” she announced with a great deal of self-satisfaction. For a moment I thought Colin would surely leap up and strangle her, but he contained himself, remaining as rigid as a molded soldier. “Name's made up. Did she tell ya that when ya met 'er?” Maw grinned wickedly. “Did yer right proper lady tell ya she's jest a ruddy Gypsy? That 'er real name is Magdala Genovesse?” She clucked happily. “She married some ol' sot for 'is money and that shite title. Didn't get much a the former from what I 'ear, but did end up with a place off Lancaster Gate with 'er father actin' the 'ouseman. Calls 'im Evers. Maybe that's 'is name.” She shrugged. “ 'Ell if I know.”

“Are you sure?” Colin frowned.

“Ya really askin' me that . . . ?”

I couldn't help chuckling as Colin went on. “Why the ruse then? What's she hiding?”

“She's tellin' fortunes to them society ladies fer money. The
real
ladies. 'Ear she makes a tidy sum at it too. Seems some a them ladies won't do nothin' 'til they check with your precious lady. Only way she can be doin' that is ta make 'em think she's one a them.”

“Of course,” he said, absently running his fingers through his hair. “Is it only the ladies? Does she tell fortunes for the men as well?”

Maw laughed. “Ain't ya learned nothin', boy? Money don't give a shite what's between the legs. Ya do what ya gotta do fer whoever's willin' ta pay. True a you, true a me, true a Magdala Genovesse no matter what the 'ell she calls 'erself.”

“Has she been linked to anyone?” he pressed. “Have you heard anything about someone she might have been carrying on with?”

Maw dismissed him with a wet explosion of her lips. “What woman ain't been linked with a 'undred different men? Don't mean nothin'.”

“Humor me.”

She leveled her sharp brown eye on him, the slightest curl tugging at the edges of her lips. “I been humorin' you since the day ya first walked in 'ere 'bout a thousand years ago.”

“Maw . . .” I leaned forward, placing myself between her and Colin. “Was there any particular man you've heard mentioned?”

Her watery eyes flicked back to me and her smile widened. “Always the one in the middle, ain't ya?”

“Maw—”

“She ain't with no one!” she groused. “I'm tellin' ya she ain't got no need fer a man. She's makin' all the money she wants and got 'erself all set up nice and proper. Not everyone needs a man, ya know.” Her words came out harsh and disapproving, and I knew what she was inferring. She had always set a powerful example of strength. Even now—half-blind, stooped, and looking as frail as a baby bird—she still managed to learn anything she wanted to know. And I was certain the information had cost her nothing. She never owed anyone.

“I also 'eard that Bellingham woman 'ad 'erself a tosser of a brother in the Irish Guard name of Mulrooney. 'Ad no use fer 'is brother-in-law.”

“We've met him,” I said, shooting a pointed glance at Colin. “I didn't think much of him, either.”

“Ya 'member I told you 'bout that brawl at McPhee's? I 'eard 'er brother 'ad everythin' ta do with it. A bunch a officers from the Life Guard and those Irish cads. 'Eard the officers took the worst a it.”

Colin stood up for the second time, only now he did so slowly and without anger. “Thank you for your help. You must allow us to pay you for your time.” He looked grave and sallow, but Maw only laughed.

“I don't want yer money.” She kept right on chuckling as she looked up at him. “But there is somethin' you can do fer me.”

A second passed before Colin said, “And what would that be?”

“Ya be good ta Cuppy. Don't let 'im end up alone. If yer lives change, if ya fall away from each other, don't let this 'appen to 'im, 'cause 'e ain't got the stomach fer it.”

Colin's face went slack as he stared at her, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. “I'm going back to the cab,” he announced disconcertingly. And before I could say anything he left the room, and a moment later I heard the alley door creak open and closed.

“ 'E's a good man,” Maw said. “A bit 'arsh about 'is edges, but that keeps 'im interestin'.” She tottered unsteadily back to her feet. “Now get outta 'ere. 'Elp 'im solve 'is case. And don't come back 'ere. I ain't tellin' ya again.”

I smiled at her as I stood up, wanting to reach out and hug her, but she moved away before I could do any such thing and did not stop until the worn counter was between us. That's when it struck me that in all the years I had lived under her roof, when she had given me a place to sleep, and made sure I had what I needed to survive, and put me to work, and given me a sense of my own value, even when she had hollered at me to hurry up or pay more attention, that in all those years I had not once, not ever, hugged her.

“Go on.” Her voice, edgy and determined, shook me from my thoughts. “Get out.”

“Right,” I muttered.

“That's right!” she snapped.

I knew she had done us a great service just as I knew I would never get the chance to properly thank her. She would have none of it. That was her way. That had always been her way.

O
ur next destination had also been prearranged, as the cab began moving the moment I climbed aboard. While Colin's distraction was evident as he stared absently out the window, I couldn't resist asking, “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Then are we on our way to see Lady Stuart . . . ? Or whoever she is?”

“Shortly. But first we must pay a visit to that Captain Morgan-something. The other officer involved in the McPhee's brawl.”

“You mean Edmund Morgesster.”

“Right.” He nodded. “I find it curious that two of the Life Guard officers from that night are dead and the third, this Morgesster, has been put out to pasture. That leaves only the tight-lipped Major Hampstead apparently unscathed. I've also got to find out what that Irish bloke, Mulrooney, had to do with it all. Interesting how his name keeps coming up.”

“Haven't I been saying from the start that he seems too venomous to not be involved?” I reminded.

“Yes . . .” He slid a wry glance to me. “You have.”

I tried not to look too pleased with myself as our cab came to a stop in front of a soot-blackened building with a yellowed sign above its door that read:
Regiment Arms Retirement Hotel
. “This is it,” he said as he hopped out.

There was no issue with the driver waiting for us this time, as the neighborhood had improved significantly. Nevertheless, I doled out another half portion of our fare before following Colin into a foyer that was as immaculate in its upkeep as it was stark in its décor. White walls displayed nothing but a single cross of two modest sticks lashed together by thin strips of reeds and a plainly framed portrait of our Queen in her standard mourning regalia. Wooden chairs adorned with flattened cushions were arranged about the space in small pods, many of which were already cradling lonely-looking elderly gentlemen. Some of the men were reading while others seemed content to stare into space with a pipe or cigar clenched between their teeth. A few were huddled in tight groups around a card game or chess set, but none was so enamored of his activity that he didn't pause to gawk as we entered.

A long counter stretched across the back of the room, behind which a middle-aged man worked stuffing mail into myriad little slots. Colin strode purposefully through the smattering of aged faces watching him with rapt attention, going right up to the counter and leaning across it to tap the attendant and announce our names. The man turned to consider us, a dearth of interest in his eyes, as Colin announced that we had an appointment with Captain Morgesster.

“He's on the sunporch,” the man answered in a flinty tone. “Round back.” He gestured with his chin in the opposite direction from which we had come. “You can go on through”—he glared at us—“but don't get him riled up. He's too difficult to calm down again.”

“You make him sound like a miscreant hound.” Colin smirked tightly, making no promises as we headed out to the glassed-in portico.

The room extended from the back of the building into the center of a small, meticulously tended rose garden, giving the feeling that one was actually sitting in among their splendid brilliance. Several gentlemen in various states of slumber were seated about the atrium and yet Colin walked directly up to a heavyset man with a shiny red face and hairless pate. He looked like any of the other men here, some rounder, some leaner, some with white wisps of hair on their heads, but when Colin introduced us and the man bothered to look up I saw he had indeed selected the right one. I hadn't realized the significance of his ruddy pallor or the spiderweb of blood vessels burst across the swollen tip of his nose. Private Newcombe had described him as a
sot
and the evidence of it was most clearly there on his face.

Colin dragged two wicker chairs over and we seated ourselves, cozying up to the doughy-faced former captain who did not appear to have the slightest curiosity as to why we were there. He continued to stare out the windows at the trim yard and I wondered if he was studying the roses or just not looking at us.

“I appreciate your meeting with us,” Colin said.

The man harrumphed.

“No doubt you are wondering why we've come.” There was no response. “We would very much like to ask about the night your friend, Wilford Newcombe, was attacked.”

“Attacked and
killed,
” he grunted. “Died a few days after it.”

“So we understand.” Colin leaned in slightly, trying to catch the man's eye, but Captain Morgesster remained singularly focused on the out-of-doors. “You were there that night . . . ?” Colin prodded.

“You come all the way out here to be cheeky?” came the reply.

“Excuse me. . . .” Colin flopped back uncomfortably, one hand rubbing his belly as his face contorted slightly. “I must beg your indulgence,” he murmured as his other hand slipped into his jacket pocket. “I've a stomach ailment that requires a bit of brandy to keep it settled. I hope you won't think me ill-mannered.” He withdrew a small silver flask and unstoppered it even as I struggled to withhold my surprise. “Perhaps you would care for a spot of medicine?” He held the flask toward Captain Morgesster and for the first time the man turned and looked at him.

“Medicine . . . , ” he clucked as he eyed the little container. “I prefer whiskey for my tender gut.” He reached down and pulled out his own flask from the garter around his calf. “But you'd best be discreet. The staff won't tolerate self-medicating,” he chortled.

Colin nodded and gave a brief salute with the flask, taking a healthy pull before burying it into the crux of his seat. “Discretion it is,” he replied, chuckling.

“A stomach ailment.” The captain snickered as he took a swig and ran a sleeve across his mouth. “I'll have ta remember 'at one.”

“I find the word ‘medicinal' to be most forgiving.”

The captain wheezed out a great phlegmy guffaw, his hairless scalp momentarily resembling a plum. “You're a pip.”

Colin took another quick pull from his flask before refastening the lid and stuffing the flask back into his pocket. His leisurely demeanor seemed to suggest we had all the time the day had to offer, but I was feeling fidgety. With slightly less than thirty hours remaining, I wondered why we were even here.

Captain Morgesster took several more tips of his flask before he said, “Guess my stomach is worse than yours.”

“You have my sympathies.” Colin smiled.

“
You
have
mine,
” he shot back as he turned to the garden again. “Didja ever notice . . . ,” he said after what felt an eternity, “. . . how the hummingbirds and bees visit the same flowers but never bother one another? Look at those hollyhocks. . . .” He gestured toward a small cluster of burgundy bell-shaped flowers at the opposite end of the yard. “Two creatures goin' about their business without a care as to what the other's doin'. Stands counter ta humans.” He turned and peered at Colin. “Know what I mean?”

Colin nodded.

“Everybody telling everybody how ta live. Nobody's business is their own anymore. Maybe it never was. Hell if I know.” He drained the last of his flask and shoved it into his pocket. “That's what happened that night at McPhee's. Irish bastards set on us and wouldn't let go. Like a pack a damn wolves. A major and three captains in Her Majesty's Life Guard and they decide they know what's what. Whoresons.”

“Had you seen them before?”

“Plenty a times. They were part a the Irish Guard. Third-rate, snot-nosed, potato-farming twats. That's all they were. Guard brought 'em up on trial after Wilford died, but they couldn't prove intent, so all they got was discharged. Shoulda lynched the bastards. No intent my fat, flabby ass.”

“You believe they targeted Captain Newcombe?”

“It had nothin' ta do with Wilford. That's just the kind a man he was. A fight a his friend's was a fight a his own. Not like his shite son, Avery. That tosser never earned a ruddy thing his whole life, including his rank.”

“Was a Sergeant Thomas Mulrooney there that night?”

“Trevor's brother-in-law?” He scrunched up his face. “He'd already left by the time the fight started.”

Colin sighed and I could sense his frustration. “How did it start?”

Captain Morgesster shook his head. “I'm done talkin'.”

Colin leaned forward again, his eyes pleading. “If I'm to bring justice for the killings of Captain Bellingham and his wife . . .”

The captain waved him off without so much as a sideways glance. “Trevor's at peace. Dashell Hampstead will take care of the rest,” he answered brusquely as he heaved himself out of his chair. “My stomach's hurtin'. I think I need more medicine.”

I watched him trundle from the room and felt my hopes deflate with his every step. Little of what he'd said made any sense and what did seemed meagerly parsed out. I turned to Colin and found his eyes alight. “At last,” he reveled, “I believe we are finally getting somewhere. There is much to do this afternoon, but the key to this puzzle is almost certainly within our reach now.”

“What? He was talking nonsense.”

“He told us a great deal,” Colin answered with a great grin as he swept a crown from his pocket and leapt up. “You had best reconsider his words, for I am beginning to think you will find the very heart of this case in them.” He quickly spun the crown between his fingers as he headed out of the room.