Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The Tower of London stood as a black monolith against the umber glow of sunset.
The damp weather was bringing in a mist off the Thames.
Within the hour, Audrey figured the St. Katherine district would be swimming in the thick brume.
The natural cover would have been appreciated now, however.
She paid the jarvey and he cracked the whip, the carriage trundling off and leaving her alone on a narrow street.
To her left was a busy warehouse, its doors open with cargo boxes, spools of rope, and open-slatted crates stacked into precarious towers. The workday was not yet over, and the commotion of the busy warehouses, taverns, and shops filled the air.
No one paid her arrival any mind; the laborers continued with their hauling, their shouting, and the people passing her didn’t so much as tip a hat or make a nod.
Perfect. Here, now, she was nobody. Not worth being seen.
If she were going to make her way onto Fellows’s shanty and find the letter from the marchioness, she needed that obscurity.
With any hope, the shanty would be empty, Fellows himself still out working. Maybe even at Wimbly Manor.
If not, well, at least she could discover where Fellows lived, and she could wait for Hugh Marsden to arrive.
His valet had taken the note and was sure to deliver it, but Audrey hadn’t been able to wait.
Patience was not her virtue, and Philip’s removal to Gibbets Sanatorium could even be happening tonight.
Doing so under the cover of darkness would be beneficial for Westborough, Michael, and the other lords who had agreed to the alternative.
Hugh Marsden had commanded her to stay away from Bow Street, and a quick look around the wharves and riverside in St. Katherine wouldn’t necessarily be dangerous.
To her right, the Thames was a cluster of activity, with ships and boats of all kinds either sailing or moored.
From dinghies to clippers to tugboats, there was hardly any part of the riverfront wharves that wasn’t clogged.
Doubt took over. These were all working vessels, nothing like a shanty.
She imagined Fellows’s houseboat would be small, rustic.
Walking farther upriver, the wharves thinned out and smaller boats bobbed in the black, brackish water.
The fog rolled in a little more, a bell clanging somewhere in the distance.
Gulls screeched overhead. The smell of the river and the undeniable stench of refuse and fish turned her stomach.
One got used to the odors, she imagined, though she didn’t think she’d be able to cleanse it from her nostrils for some time.
A few children—two boys and a girl, their faces dirty and their shoes worn—ran toward her, looking as if they were racing. Audrey held up her hand.
“Wait, children, excuse me.” All three children slammed their heels into the stone street with matching looks of alarm. “I wonder if you could give me directions to a particular shanty that moors in this area?”
The children continued to stare at her. The little girl’s eyes stuck on Audrey’s shoes, the polished boots practically gleaming like fairy dust in comparison to everything else in the vicinity. There was the possibility they would pickpocket her, but she hadn’t brought much with her anyhow.
“Which shanty?” one of the boys asked.
“It’s called the Jackdaw,” she said
The boy started to speak, but the other one slammed a forearm into his chest, holding him back. “What’s it worth to ya, lady?”
Audrey bit back a surprised grin. She couldn’t fault them for making it work in their favor. She reached into her skirt pocket, where she’d kept her coin purse, and without removing the pouch, extracted a few coins. The children’s eyes brightened when they saw the copper pieces.
“Betcha got more’n that in yer pocket,” the same boy said.
“Perhaps, but this is what I am offering you. Unless…” she shrugged, pretending to consider, “I need to ask elsewhere.”
She made to put the coins back into her pocket.
“No, no,” the boy said, holding out a hand to stop her. “We know all the shanties ‘round here. We’ll take ye to Jackdaw.”
The children took to the task with excitement, turning in the opposite direction and weaving between carts and drays and crates.
Audrey followed, hoping they weren’t just leading her into an empty alley to steal her purse.
As they ran toward the quay, in the direction of several shanties and dinghies tied up to weirs, she breathed a little easier.
Some of the boats had their insignia carved into the bows, some had them painted on plaques, and others still had no insignias at all.
Many had roofed compartments and windows, and others were tented with only canvas sheets.
A few were moored so closely they rubbed up against each other, buffered only by blocks or buoys attached to the outside of the vessels.
“There.” The enterprising boy pointed.
Audrey’s heart swelled and her stomach clenched as she laid eyes on a long shanty covered with two pitched canvas roofs.
Jackdaw was painted in white on the bow of the withered vessel.
She worried her lower lip. Now what? It didn’t look like anyone was aboard, but the two canvas tarps obscured her view of the shanty’s living quarters.
She couldn’t search it if Fellows was inside.
She felt a tug on her skirt. The little girl dropped her hand quick and whispered, “The man who lives on this one looks mean.”
Audrey’s attention piqued at the fright in her eyes. She found she understood the girl well. “I don’t wish to run into him. Before I board, I’d like to be sure it’s empty.”
The younger boy picked up a glass bottle near a pile of trash. “Easy.” He lobbed the bottle straight at the Jackdaw just as Audrey let out a strangled, “No!”
The bottle landed on the deck and smashed. All four of them froze, the little boy seeming to realize right away what he’d done. Fellows could burst from the covered area and chase them down for a thrashing. And if he saw Audrey…
A few seconds passed like whole hours with her breath lodged in her throat. Then, after another handful of seconds of stillness from the Jackdaw, the little boy tugged his hat, victoriously.
“Well?” he said, holding out his hand.
She dropped the coins into his palm with a relieved grin. “Nicely done. Though perhaps not the method I would have taken.”
The children whooped and divided up the coins before scurrying back the way they’d come.
She watched them go before turning back toward the shanty.
The light of sunset had grown even more dusky; orange and brown streaked the fog hanging just above the water.
The shanty was small. It wouldn’t take much time to search. She could be done within a few minutes.
The dock ran right up against the boat, and holding onto the low rail, she swung one leg over.
Thankfully, the cut of her dress gave her enough room to not go toppling onto the boat’s deck.
She felt the easy undulations of the Thames beneath her feet.
She had never cared for boats, or open water, and as she made her way around the smashed remains of the liquor bottle, her legs felt unsteady.
Just to be sure, before she peeled back the canvas flap to the tented area, Audrey called out, “Hello?”
Her voice warbled, her pulse knocking hard in her neck.
No answer. Letting out a breath, she pushed aside the flap.
The space was cramped and dark, though a few worn spots in the canvas let in the dim light from outside.
There was a single table and chair, some crates with liquor bottles set atop them, a cot and blankets, a small stove, and a pail of coal next to it.
Beyond the living space, there was a messy collection of fishing traps and poles, nets, some buoys, barrels, and a grappling hook, and then another opening in the canvas tent cover, leading to the stern.
She took a few steps toward the cot and found a balled-up set of blue and gold livery. The same as the Wimbly staff.
This was indeed Fellows’s boat.
Audrey riffled through the crates; they were filled mostly with bottles of liquor.
Where would he have put the marchioness’s letter?
Would he think to hide it? Or perhaps he’d done as she’d asked and finally burned it.
A single long stride took her to the stove.
It wasn’t warm, indicating it hadn’t been lit for hours.
She opened the grate to a smoking pile of coal ash.
In the coal bin, there were nothing but lumps of black.
In another metal bin was what looked and smelled like human excrement. She crinkled her nose.
Faster. She had to find it and flee. She had trouble breathing as she turned to view the shanty again.
It’s tucked away safe, he’d said. Safe. No, he wouldn’t have burned it.
The marchioness had been angry with him for defying her orders, accused him of blackmail.
He had kept the letter as some type of protection.
More than ever, Audrey needed to know what it said. Needed to see how it could help Philip.
She peered at the livery again; the state of it, wrinkled, cast aside without care, said much about the man’s appreciation of Lady Wimbly’s charity. If he wasn’t wearing it, that meant he was elsewhere today. A thread of worry twisted in the back of her mind.
She picked up the footman’s coat, then pulled back the untucked blanket.
When she had been at Shadewell, she’d kept special things hidden from the attendants inside a slit in her mattress, under her pillow.
An extra biscuit wrapped in a napkin, a beautiful piece of quartz she found on a walk one day; too sharp to be allowed safe for her, the attendant had made her drop it.
On the next walk, she’d scooped it up unseen and hidden it in her mattress.