Chapter 7
7
6 February, 1827
No.’s 25-27, Mercer Street
Edge of Seven Dials
Once inside the warehouse, Con handed his long, heavy overcoat to Crisp who'd materialized at the lower tenement entrance across from the mews. His man of all needs looked expectantly from Con to the mysterious woman and back again, a stark, unspoken question on his face.
"Yes, Crisp. I've appeared at the door with the mysterious woman you may have encountered here a few days ago. At the continuing questioning look on Crisp's face, he added, "And, yes, she still claims to be the grieving widow, Missus Smith. All we know for sure, maybe, is she has a first name - Marianne."
"Yes, sir, of course, sir." He hastily took her woolen redingote as well as Con's outer coat. "Will you be wanting supper? For two? Or...?"
Con gave his right-hand man a look as if he'd grown two heads. "Yes, I'll be having supper as usual, but Mrs. Smith, alas, will be moving into our, um, dungeon on the lower level."
Crisp at first looked aghast but recovered quickly. "Of course. I'll send for Mrs. Bonham."
"Why?"
"To see to her needs in the facility, of course."
Con paused and gave Crisp a searing look. "We don't care about Mrs. Smith's 'needs.' She is going to be kept in the lower-level cell until she remembers her manners and tells me what I want to know."
"Cease talking about me as if I'm not here in the same room." Marianne raised her voice to a petulant pitch.
Con sucked in a huge breath, pointed toward her, and added, "This woman, downstairs now, no supper, no 'Missus' this or that, no seeing to her 'needs.'"
When Crisp opened his mouth as if to complain, Con continued, "She's been stealing from my clients without my permission, she's put counterfeit five-pound notes into the hands of the poor people of the Dials, and...she's not given me a farthing of what I'm owed from her take." He pointed downward again. "Have I made myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Guv," Crisp muttered, and led her toward the stairway.
* * *
Con rested his boots on the trestle beneath his dining table and tore off a piece of bread to sop up the gravy from the remains of Cook's beef stew. He'd kept the bones on a small plate next to him. When Mrs. Bonham quietly appeared in the doorway, he looked up, puzzled. "Where are Lugh and Aengus?"
Her eyes widened. "They're on the lower level."
He sat up straight, suspicion invading his expression. "Doing what?"
"Well, they were out on a long run this afternoon with Crisp. They're especially tired."
"They're in their beds already?"
"Erm, not exactly."
"Where are my dogs? Exactly?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dyer, but it seems they've taken an odd liking to the, um, guest in the lower level cell."
"Guest? What guest? Surely you mean the thief ?"
"Is that what she is?"
"She's stolen thousands of five-pound notes, jewelry, and God knows what else from my best gambling clients. How would you describe her?"
"I wouldn't know." His suspicions grew when she refused to meet his gaze.
"How did my dogs develop this obsession with Mrs. Smith?"
She paused a long few moments, a pained look on her face. "I'm not sure, but when they found her in the cell, they began sniffing vigorously along the floor outside the bars and then collapsed next to the locked, barred door. They're still there."
"By damn, I'll stop this nonsense. She's not going to steal my dogs as well as my right to my fair share of whatever she's taken from my territory."
With that, he leapt to his feet and headed for the rear stairway. At the last minute, he returned to the table and snatched up the plate with the leftover bones before clattering down to the lower level.
* * *
Marianne lay on the hard cot along one side of the small cell to which she'd been banished. She cushioned her head with her arm and tried to close her eyes for a few minutes of sleep. She was so terrified of what might happen to her, or God forbid, her servants, that her mouth was as dry as sand. She couldn't coax even a bit of moisture to keep a cough at bay.
She was tempted to lie on the floor near the door of the cage in which she was kept. Two, huge, shaggy dogs had come out of nowhere and now seemed to have declared themselves her protectors. She craved comfort and suspected the wolfhounds would be happy to accommodate her, but the hard floor and bars between them made her think twice. She'd heard Mr. Dyer's man Crisp call out to them as Lugh and Aengus. They'd had similar beasts on her father's estate back in Wales, and she knew they were gentle despite their fierce looks. She wondered if their owner might turn out to have the same personality. That, she knew full well, was nothing more than a fanciful hope on her part.
The sound of loud footsteps crashing down the rear stairway lanced into her gut like a knife. She debated whether or not she could get away with pretending to be asleep, but then the fires of her anger ignited again. Who did this monster think he was? She sat up on the hard cot, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the cell door to do battle with the most feared of the Four Horsemen of the rookeries.
Watching him saunter toward her cell caused strange flutterings in her stomach. During time spent away from him, she'd convinced herself he was a rough, lawless monster of a man. But each time she saw him again, she couldn't deny the sheer animal attraction he generated in the way he walked with a bit of a swagger that was at odds with the quirked smile on his face that hinted of some uncertainty about how the world perceived him. He had the body and mannerisms of a man who knew he ruled his world. But beneath the swagger, she sensed a small boy uncertain of who he could trust.
When he was finally next to her, the dogs at his feet rose and whimpered. She feared he might rail at the creatures, but instead, he simply smiled and placed a small plate piled high with meaty bones at his feet. The two beasts ignored both her and Mister Dyer in favor of slobbering over the leavings of what was probably his supper. That realization was her undoing. Her stomach growled, and she lost the composure she'd fought to maintain ever since she'd been dumped in the cell.
He opened the barred door and dragged a stool inside. He draped his considerable height over the three-legged seat and gave her a severe look. "Who are you working for? And who are the men who chased our carriage tonight?"
And then she lost the battle entirely, loosing a loud, involuntary sob.
* * *
Con could actually feel the moment both his heart and stomach rolled over a cliff into a dark, bottomless abyss. The woman seated on the hard cell cot was not arguing with him, she wasn't even pleading for her life. Her large, brown eyes a man could drown in were as wide as saucers. After the first sob, she hadn't uttered a further sound. Only now, the tears filling those huge, expressive eyes proceeded to roll in rivers down her cheeks.
"Good God, woman. I haven't even touched you. What in the name of Thor's hammer is wrong with you?"
More silence. Two could play that game. He could wait forever. Actually, he lasted less than five minutes. "Are you that afraid of me? I'm not going to hurt you, but, by God, you're not going anywhere until I get some answers."
Another loud sob escaped from between her red, puffy lips he was having a devil of a time ignoring. "Stop it," he demanded. "I'm not hurting you. Do you want me to hurt you? Because, by damn, I know hundreds of way to hurt you, if you like. Now, tell me what's wrong before I leave you down here in the dark."
Two more loud sobs escaped. "I'm...," she hiccuped, "hungry. I haven't eaten all day."
He shouted then and raised his arms as if seeking answers from the heavens. "She's hungry."
Lugh and Aengus abandoned their plate of bones and raced around him in a frenzy, alternately barking and growling. Finally, he gave her an exaggerated bow. "In that case, we shall have to serve milady her supper." By then, his wolfhounds were pushing each other out of the way to gain access to her lap on the cot.
Con shook his head slowly and locked the dogs in with the thief while he walked to the set of bells on the lower level wall near his boxing ring and rang for a kitchen maid.
* * *
Marianne curled her body around Lugh and muffled her tears on top of his shaggy head. When a young woman in a maid's uniform joined her gaoler, she wondered what new torture they were plotting. And then she heard him order her supper. "Warm up some of Cook's stew, and add a chunk of bread with lots of butter. And maybe bring a tankard of ale from the brewery. When the girl turned to leave, he tapped her on the shoulder and added more instructions. She'll need a sweet. See what's in the pantry. Perhaps a slice of apple pie with a pot of whipped cream?"
"Is that all, sir?"
He nodded absently. "For now."
When the maid finally scurried up the stairway to do his bidding, Marianne nearly cried again. She was so hungry. She'd been too nervous to eat all day long, dreading the outing to the jeweler. She'd been afraid he really meant to keep her in the cell and starve her.
When he returned, she was ready to make him think she might cooperate as long as he fed her.
She managed a thin smile. "Thank you for the food. "I'm so famished, I couldn't think."
He wrapped his long legs and strong thighs around the stool and leaned toward her. "I haven't actually given you any food...yet. There are things I need to know, and you'll not get any of my food until you enlighten me."
"You'd deny a starving woman sustenance?"
"There are many things I could do to a thief who defies me. Starvation is just one of them, and honestly, one of the kinder things I've done to prisoners who've earned time down here."
"What do you want to know?" She tossed her long, disheveled curls behind one shoulder and gave him her best look of boredom mixed with defiance down her nose.
"Who are you really?"
"Missus Marianne Smith."
"Who were the men following us tonight?" He rocked back on the stool with a triumphant look. He'd caught her off-guard.
Her eyes widened. "How should I know?"
"They were all wearing dark suits, their carriage was well built, and their cattle were of top quality. They're not the usual sort of criminals who try to nose into our business in the rookeries. We were lucky we evaded them."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do."
"I'm just a simple woman trying to make a living."
"And walking around with enough blunt to put Prinny to shame."
From the sound of footsteps and the scents of mouth-watering food assailing her senses, she assumed the young maid was bringing down a sumptuous supper. Her mouth watered, and her treacherous stomach gave out a loud growl.
"Hungry, are we?" He took the silver warming dome off the large plate in the center of the platter the young woman had just set down on a table inside the cell. The steaming stew was piled high with rich cuts of beef and root vegetables, all smothered in dark brown gravy. Butter gleamed on a slab of bread, and the pie gave off a bit of steam as if it had been warmed.
The dogs immediately crowded next to them. At a look from Mister Dyer, they retreated to a corner of the cell and sat down docilely, whilst never letting their eyes stray from the feast on the table.
She traded stares with her gaoler, wondering who would blink first. She gave in within minutes. "May I please have some food?"
"Answer my question, and all of this is yours."
She huffed a frustrated sigh. "They're private detectives."
After her simple explanation, she grabbed the stew-laden plate, took it to her cot and sat there cross-legged stuffing food into her mouth and making little moaning sounds.
"Whoa...that's not an explanation." he pulled the table with the remaining food as far away as he could manage, placing himself between her and the rest of the feast.
She paused in her chewing long enough to give him an exultant stare. "You asked me who they were, and I told you."
"There must be a hundred detective agencies in London. They could be from any one of them." He dragged his stool closer and hemmed her in.
"Who hired them?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you. They've been following me for weeks. I have to double back every time I go anywhere."
"Have they followed you to the houses you've broken into?"
She gave him an exaggerated eye roll. "Of course not."
He gave her an odd look then. "You may not know who they are, but you know what they want. Don't you?"
* * *
The last thing Con needed was for Crisp to come down to the cell, throwing accusing glances his way. However, when the man came racing down the steps, the thing he didn't expect was his somber announcement. "Your brothers are upstairs in your office, and they say if you don't come up immediately and explain what's going on, they're going to come down here and get answers from this woman themselves."
Con's day just got ten times worse. His brothers had no doubt heard about the wild carriage chase earlier. News traveled fast in the rookeries. Plus, the number of people who knew the havoc the Robin Hood thief was wreaking with the theft of his counterfeit notes was staggering.
Before he locked the cell behind him, he motioned for his dogs to follow, but they gave him a look which intimated they thought he was crazy. The great-smelling woman and the stew and apple pie were inside the cell. Clearly, they meant to stay till the end.
He shook his head slowly and charged up the stairway behind Crisp, taking two steps at a time. He might as well face his brothers' wrath and get it over with.