Chapter 3
St. James’s Park, London
Sam had promised to meet Walters that afternoon.
Sir Harry Walters, he still had to remind himself, was bringing his fiancée for a promenade.
Walters wasn’t comfortable mingling with the ton at Hyde Park, so he agreed to St. James.
He told Sam they could enjoy a break from the heat, keep his promise to escort Lady Matilda Bancroft for a Sunday stroll, and pass on some information for another case.
Sam, however, expected to find not only the couple, but a “friend” who’d just happened by.
Lady Matilda seemed intent on finding him a wife since he'd mentioned it may be time to think of the future.
He leaned down and patted his gelding’s neck.
“Well, Jack, let’s see what tortures await us along The Mall, shall we?
” As he urged the bay horse forward, a costermonger caught his attention.
The woman selling cake seemed familiar..
. The moment he recognized her, his heart began to pound.
The beautiful woman from Newgate! She’d taken his breath away the instant he’d passed her, even with her red-rimmed eyes.
A girl, perhaps her daughter, had held her hand.
What had she been doing there? Had a family member or friend been on the gallows?
He doubted it had been for entertainment since she’d obviously been crying.
That same odd feeling engulfed Sam again—as if he should know her. Or did know her. Or would know her.
“Well, let’s take a closer look.” Before he reached her cart, he dismounted and spotted the tarts and shortbread. Tarts were his favorite. It seemed fate meant for them to meet.
“Good day, ma’am,” he said, eyeing the sweets. “What kind of”—cornflower blue eyes met his, and his lungs seized for a moment—“eyes do you have?”
“The last time I looked they were blue,” she quipped, arching an auburn brow.
“Tarts. I mean, tarts.” Beefwit! Stop acting like a green boy.
She smiled, lighting her up her already perfect heart-shaped face. “The last of the berry and some fine shortbread. What’s your preference?”
You.
“A tart, please. I’ve been partial to those and plum pudding since I was a wee lad.” He took the tart, the sugar baked on top glistening in the afternoon sun, and handed her coin as he took a bite.
“That’s too much, my lord,” he heard her say. But his eyes were closed as the berries and sweet pastry hit his tongue.
He shook his head. “I’d pay twice that for one of these.” Licking his lips, he grinned at her.
“I’d be happy to give you another to take with you for that price. Or would you like some shortbread?” Her head tilted as she asked, and he spied her slender neck. Imagined placing kisses along its graceful arch. Blast! She’s most likely married.
“I’d wager your husband is one happy man.” Her expression almost made him curse out loud. Nodcock!
“I’m a widow.” Her tone was subdued, and her gaze flickered to him and then to the ground. With a forced smile, she lifted the shortbread. “Why don’t you try it?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. You meant no harm, my lord.” Her lovely cheeks turned pink.
“I’m no lord. Dr. Sampson Brooks at your service.” He extended his hand, putting on the charming smile that always worked for his patients.
“Mrs. Brown,” she said, taking his hand.
At the touch of her palm, a jolt of pleasure shot up his arm. A sensation he’d never experienced. It was exciting and terrifying. His mother’s words came back to him from long ago.
I knew your father was the one the moment he kissed my hand. A woman just knows.
What about men? Did a man just know? Sam realized she was waiting for him to release her hand, but he was still gripping her fingers. His cheeks burned until she laughed. A sound so sweet that it put him at ease, and he found himself chuckling along with her.
“I believe I will try that shortbread. You seem to have a magic touch.” He rolled his eyes, still feeling the warmth of her skin on his. “With tarts, er, baking.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brooks. I’ll accept the compliment.” She handed him the bread. “Enjoy your ride.”
“Yes, ma’am—Mrs. Brown,” he returned, tipping his hat. “I hope we meet again.”
“I’m here every Sunday. Bring your friends.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “The more the merrier as they say.”
Sam walked away, leading Jack with one hand and eating the shortbread with the other.
Once inside the park, he spotted Walters and waved.
The lovely blonde next to him also lifted her arm in greeting, but it was the unfamiliar raven-haired woman who had Sam’s jaw clenched. He knew this had been a ruse.
“Brooks! Good to see you,” Walters said a little too enthusiastically. His stiff smile told Sam that his brother had been duped as well. “We just happened to meet up with—” He looked questioningly at Lady Matilda.
“Dr. Brooks, may I present Miss Halden? Her father is—”
“A banker. I believe I met Mr. Halden at a meeting of the Magdalen Hospital.” He bowed to the pretty lady. “It’s a pleasure.” He would cut this off as soon as politely possible. He preferred lighter hair and more petite, curvy women to the willowy dark type before him.
“Oh yes, the home for wayward women. How generous of you to help such a charity.”
“We must all do our part,” Sam agreed, stepping back beside his brother.
“I’ve a favor to ask,” Walters said quietly as they all proceeded to move forward, the ladies in front.
“Of course. A case?” he asked, keeping his voice low so the ladies in front of them would not overhear.
“Yes. He was an informant, one of the men who led me to Dunn. His son was on the gallows.” Walters let out a sigh. “Seems the young think they’re invincible. Ferguson, his father, tried to get the lad to quit with him, but he wouldn’t give up the high wage.”
“It seems money can destroy as much as help the poor.” Sampson saw too many going hungry, taking deadly risks for a day’s pay. “I’m sorry for the man and his son.”
“Well, it looks like my informant hasn’t fared much better. His landlady came to see Paddy. Said Ferguson hadn’t been home in days, and the rent was due. She knew the son’s fate, and thought Paddy could find something out.”
“I suppose she didn’t want to rent out the room if he was still alive,” offered Sam.
“He was found floating in the Thames, and they needed someone to identify the body. The landlady obliged and verified the dead man was Ferguson.”
“Do you think he knew too much? Was he involved with any of the other cases?” Sam knew how the thieves and gangs of the rookeries often crossed paths with violent results. “Perhaps he ran afoul with someone from another rookery.”
Walters shrugged. “Don’t know. But the landlady is certain he was murdered, and I tend to agree. He was wearing a new wool coat—in August.”
“To stay warm in the Thames?” Sam shook his head. “People with little money don’t spend it on winter clothes while it’s still summer. They live hand-to-mouth and day-to-day. Where is he?”
“At the London hospital until day after tomorrow. Birnie released the body, and the cadaver will be given to one of those anatomy schools.”
Richard Birnie was the Bow Street magistrate.
Sam assumed the body was being held as a favor.
Unless there were extenuating circumstances, an autopsy would be an added expense.
The destitute, unless obviously murdered or afflicted with a plague-like disease, weren’t considered important enough for such a procedure.
“One of those anatomy schools is the reason we are making such strides in the field of medicine,” Sam said. “I’ll be sure to stop by tomorrow, and be sure to thank Mr. Birnie for the extra time.”
“Thank you.” Walters nodded. “And I didn’t mean to ambush ye. Mattie didn’t tell me of her scheme until we were stepping from the carriage.”
“Your gut doesn’t talk to you where your lady is concerned.” Sam slapped Harry on the back. “You can usually smell a trap and figure a way around it.”
Walters, a stocky barrel-chested master of disguise, was the lead investigator for the Peelers.
His work to uncover a plot to murder the Prime Minister and all the British cabinet members, now dubbed the Cato Street Conspiracy, had earned him a knighthood.
That had given him the courage to court an earl’s sister, though Lord Darby was also a friend as well as a previous client.
Harry grinned, his eyes lingering on the backs of the women in front of them. They stepped up to flank the females.
“Ladies,” Sam said with a bow, “I’m afraid I must leave you. It was a pleasure to see you again, my lady, and to meet you, Miss Halden.”
“Do not be a stranger,” Miss Halden said in a husky voice, her lips in a plump pout. Her dark eyes danced with experience an unmarried woman should not yet have.
Sampson lifted a brow and gave Mattie a side-glance.
Lady Matilda’s eyes widened, as if surprised by her friend’s flirtatious manner, before turning to Sam. “We shall see you for dinner next week, Dr. Brooks?”
If you don’t invite any ladies searching for husbands.
“Of course, unless some emergency claims my attention.” He walked his horse to the path and mounted, eager to be away.
If the woman had been a widow, a dalliance may have been possible.
But he wouldn’t entertain a young woman intent on marriage.
Not yet. He was still building his practice, donating time to hospitals, and keeping ridiculous hours.
He made his way back to Cheapside, passing at St. Mary’s Le Bow. It was said anyone born within hearing of its bells was considered a true Cockney. The thought brought to mind Mrs. Brown’s cultured speech. How had she ended up as a vendor? The woman was a conundrum.