The Spider's Touch (34 page)

The light from a linkboy’s torch appeared suddenly from the corner. Gideon recoiled instinctively, raising his sword from Potter’s chest, and the Colonel jumped to his feet. He looked about him for his own weapon, but it was out of his reach.

He cried out instead, “Thief! Thief! After him!”

Gideon ran.

He fled in the other direction, towards Half Moon Street, turned left, and ran flat out. The Colonel’s cries came fainter, but his accusations gained in strength. “Assassin!”  was the last one Gideon heard as the street before him narrowed almost to an alley. He made a left into the Strand, then before the Colonel could round the corner, another quick left.

At the base of a dark and wretched court, he found a second outlet into an alley, which cut a path from the Strand back into Maiden Lane. Stopping in the shadows before he entered it, he stripped off his mask, and changed it for his sober wig. Then he turned back towards Maiden Lane, walking past the paupers who lay huddled along the walls, trying to sleep. He used a limp to disguise himself, but he still hurried, keeping an obvious grip on his sword, in case a genuine thief decided to try his luck.

He ignored the commotion behind him, as voices were raised in a call for the Watch. The Watch House was at least a quarter of a mile further down the Strand, and there were several alleys off of it any one of which he might have taken. Besides, even if he still answered the description of the man who had assaulted Colonel Potter, which he no longer did, Gideon knew he could easily outrun the Watch.

* * * *

The debate over the guilt of the former Tory ministers raged on in Parliament and the violence in the streets increased. Mrs. Mayfield and Isabella, who had been planning to spend part of the summer in Tunbridge Wells, gave over any thought of traveling until they could be certain of being safe. The King had not dismissed Parliament for the summer yet, and with more trials to come, none of the members dared leave town. People still rode out to Court and to the theatre, but the Hawkhurst ladies would not stir from the house without most of their footmen along for protection.

Hester was frustrated by how little she could help St. Mars with the investigation. As a woman, she could not easily spy upon the gentlemen who had made up their box. She could only hope to get information from her family, one of whom might have seen something significant.

She was reminded of the need to find the real killer, when she walked into her aunt’s bedchamber to return a piece of mended linen and found her railing against Dudley. A family quarrel, even at the top of her lungs, was not something Mrs. Mayfield would bother to hide, especially not if she could bring someone else in on her side.

Hester moved discreetly to the wardrobe that held her aunt’s clothes, replaced the linen, and was retracing her steps to go out, when she was stopped.

“You tell him, Hester!” Mrs. Mayfield said. “Tell him what his foolishness has cost me. Why, I hardly dare hold my head up when I go to the toy-shop. And I daren’t set foot near the Exchange, for I’m sure my ears would burn with all the gossip.”

Standing in the middle of the room, and hanging his head as if to avoid another blow, Dudley glowered at Hester, as if he dared her to add one word.

“I’m sure that Dudley never wished for any of this to happen, Aunt.”

“Well, he might not have wished for it. But it did!” Mrs. Mayfield said, outraged. “I might have known that you would take his side. You have always been ungrateful! There’s nothing to choose between the pair of you! If it weren’t for the honour of the Mayfield name, I should say that you deserved each other.”

The shock and horror on Dudley’s face was as nothing compared to the revulsion Hester felt. With more experience at hiding her emotions from his mother, however, Hester concealed hers more politely.

It was, nevertheless, a moment before she could find breath with which to speak. “I know that you would never countenance such an inappropriate match for your son, so instead of quarreling, why do we not see if we can a find a way to mend his reputation?”

Mrs. Mayfield sat down on the stool to her dressing table and buried her face in her handkerchief. She was dressed in dishabille, the hair on the top of her head curled over pads. Her maid would soon be up to dress her for a visit to Madame Schulenberg. Hester was to be excused from their visit to the Palace today, for her aunt had insisted on accompanying Isabella herself. She wanted to see if the gossips had ruined Dudley chances for a place in one of the young princesses’ stables.

Mrs. Mayfield looked up, her eyes tired and swollen. “First, it was just a bit of temper. And now, it’s murder!”

“I did not kill Sir Humphrey, Mama!”

“Well, you might as well have done it, for all anyone cares!” Her shriek bordered on hysteria.

Hester took a deep breath for patience, before endeavouring to calm her aunt. “But I am certain that you never give anyone the slightest reason to believe that you doubt your son’s innocence. And that being the case, they will soon take their lead from you.”

Mrs. Mayfield sent her a resentful glare. “Of course, I never let them see. But Dudley has got to act on his own behalf! I cannot always be saving him from every scandal he makes.”

Hester wanted to ask her why she had summoned him to town if his behaviour was always so bad, but she knew the answer already. Mrs. Mayfield would never be satisfied until she had wrung every possible penny and honour for her children.

“It would help if we could discover who Sir Humphrey’s murderer truly was. If he were known, everyone would want to forget about the other incident. They would feel bad for having suspected Dudley when he was innocent.”

Both Dudley and his mother turned to stare her, their expressions changing from surprise to something akin to hope, making Hester believe that they might even listen to reason.

Then, Mrs. Mayfield said, “You could be right.” A glimmer of cunning shone in her eyes, and she said, “We shall say it was that Blackwell fellow!”

Hester’s spirits sank, but she only had herself to blame for imagining that her aunt might use good sense.

“I believe we would be more effective, if we knew for certain who it was.”

“And how do you propose to establish that, Mistress Prig, when it could have been anyone in the theatre?”

“Not anyone. We mustn’t forget the knife. It had to have been someone with access to this house.”

This reminder did nothing to soothe Mrs. Mayfield’s feelings, since it would seem to implicate Harrowby, as well, and Hester got the distinct impression that if her aunt had to sacrifice someone, she would sooner not have to choose between her son and her son-in-law, the earl.

“Sir Humphrey might have taken the knife himself,” she exclaimed. “Then when he tried to stab the person he took it for, whoever that was might have managed to turn it against him.”

“I find it hard to imagine Sir Humphrey’s intending to stab anyone,” Hester said. “And if he did want to kill someone, why would he have taken a weapon from this house?”

“To throw the blame on my son. That’s why! I never believed he had forgiven Mayfield, and, if he had not even that much Christian charity in him, then it’s no wonder he was a murderer.”

Hester tried to stifle her exasperation. “But why point the finger at Sir Humphrey? Both Lord Lovett and Colonel Potter have come into this house. And, much as I would hate to think it, it is even remotely possible that one of the servants could have been bribed to steal the knife for Mr. Blackwell.”

“I do not see why you insist on making this so difficult,” Mrs. Mayfield said, on the edge of fury again. “Why not just leave it that Mr. Blackwell killed Sir Humphrey? He’s not even a friend of ours, or of anyone else’s that I can tell. No one will care if he takes the blame.”

“Except for Mr. Blackwell, himself,” Hester muttered to herself. But she had to confess that she hoped he was the murderer. He had done nothing to endear himself to any of their party.

She wished she had never broached the subject of an investigation with her aunt, and she spent the next few minutes trying to dissuade her from calling a magistrate in order to give a false testimony. Finally, she convinced her against it by saying that if her charges could not be proven they might draw even more suspicion on Dudley.

Dudley had remained silent throughout their argument, relieved to have Hester distract his mother’s attention. But when his mother’s maid came to dress her, he followed Hester out of her room.

“Wait, Cousin,” he said, once he had closed the door behind them. “Do you really think you can discover who did Sir Humphrey in?”

Hester smiled at him weakly. “I do not know, but I think we should try.”

He seemed more sensible than usual, so she thought she might get some better information from him today.

“It would help if we would all try to remember that evening. Any one of us might have seen something that in retrospect might be significant.

“When you were standing with Colonel Potter,” she continued, “did he say anything about Sir Humphrey? Or did he behave strangely in any way?”

With a look of helplessness, Dudley shook his head. “I don’t know the fellow, of course. But he seemed very genial to me. Wanted to buy me a glass of French Claret. Very amiable of him, I thought.”

“It did not seem odd that he should be so friendly?”

Her question ruffled Dudley’s feathers, and he frowned at her with disgust. “If that’s your notion of friendship, then it’s no wonder you haven’t had any offers yet. I tell you, Hester, it’s different with men. Gentlemen are much more generous than ladies. He would have bought me another glass, if I had not had to leave.”

She did not bother to argue. But it had struck her as suspicious that the Colonel would go out of his way to be cordial to Dudley when he had just been turned down by his brother-in-law. It was more than suspicious. It might have been mischievous, for encouraging Dudley to drink had only drawn suspicion to him later.

“Why were you late returning to the box? Did you not see Sir Humphrey on your way back?”

His scowl made it clear that he did not want to tell her where he was. “I was detained,” he said, frostily. “And I didn’t see him, no. Came up the other set of stairs.”

“When was your glass of wine spilled.”

“I’ve already told you. I was in something of hurry when I left the Colonel, and my glass was full. I was pushing my way through the crowd, when someone caught my elbow and tossed the whole thing onto my clothes.” He spoke regretfully. “I doubt I had above three glasses of the Claret, which was too bad, because it was devilish good!”

It was the kind of accident that happened so frequently that Hester had no reason to assign it any particular significance. But, if Dudley was telling the truth, it had certainly been convenient for the murderer that Dudley returned reeking so strongly of wine.

* * * *

Hester’s aunt had given her a list of purchases to make that day. Normally, Mrs. Mayfield would have wanted the pleasure of shopping for herself, but she had not exaggerated the treatment of the gossips. So, for the moment, she was avoiding as much contact with them as she could.

This, coupled with her aunt’s visit to Madame Schulenberg, was the circumstance which had made this afternoon’s assignation with St. Mars even possible. Hester completed her list of errands—for everything from a powder for cleaning the teeth to a smelling-bottle, which claimed to be the most volatile in the world—in Fleet Street, before moving on to their meeting, as if it were only the next stop on her list. At every shop, she had told Will, the footman, to wait outside for her, and had brought him another parcel to carry, so he had no reason to be surprised when she left him outside the door of the warehouse where she was planning to meet St. Mars.

XXX warehouse was a vast building with row upon row of goods imported from the East. To Hester, its vacant corners had suggested the kind of seclusion where a serious conversation could take place.

She was a little taken aback by a group of rakish women who were giggling and picking through pieces of silk on a counter near the door. But she made her way past them and thought no more about them, until arriving in the western-most corner, Hester discovered that she was not the first young lady to choose this site for a tête-a-tête. A couple, who appeared to be secret lovers, started apart when she emerged from behind the last aisle of shelves. She halted, feeling more embarrassed by the encounter than they did, perhaps, and was not comforted by the resentment they threw her way. Or by the knowledge that she had, once again, invited St. Mars to a site that was used for lovers’ trysts.

She had no choice but to pretend the most minute interest in the bolts of chintzes, Geneva velvets, and brocades on the shelves behind her, until the couple ceded their corner to her. Her heart had started beating in an agony of chagrin, and it took considerable courage for her not to run away.

She was most disconcerted, when a strange gentleman came from behind the next row and walked directly towards her. She had expected to see St. Mars in his Quakerish costume and his short, brown wig, but this gentleman was fashionably dressed. His long, blond peruke was clearly foppish. His face was painted white with two spots of bright colour on his cheeks. And he wore so many patches that she could hardly make out a single one of his features.

Hester’s pulse began to pound in alarm. The last thing she had prepared herself for was the unsolicited attentions of a stranger, but the gentleman was aiming his footsteps purposely towards her. She could imagine what sort of female he thought she was, alone in a place like this.

She started to flee in the opposite direction, when he heard a loud hiss behind her.

“Mrs. Hester! Don’t leave. It’s me!”

She whirled around, and a gurgle of laughter burst from her mouth. In the middle of that painted and patched face, two vivid blue eyes were grinning at her.

St. Mars sauntered the rest of the distance between them, clearly gratified by the success of his deception. “You do not care for my disguise,” he said. “And here I had dressed to please you.”