Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Much like Mrs. Bean, I expect loyalty.” Lark kicked Mary twice more, this time in her ribs as she curled into a ball. “Now you’ve got me wondering if you’ll stab me first chance you get.”
“I didn’t mean nothing, Lark.” Mary tried to crawl away from him. “I’m loyal.”
“Not another word, Mary. I mean it. Ripps was a good man. Pains me to have lost him.”
“But I’ve something—” the girl whimpered.
“I said, you bloody well shut up.” Lark stomped on Mary’s ear with his boot, so hard blood gushed out, trickling down the slope of her throat to the floor.
Mary made a small cry of anguish, thrashing futilely about, before her body suddenly went still, only her fingers twitching.
A scream crawled up Helen’s throat at the casual brutality. How easily Lark hurt Mary. She had no doubt he’d do the same to her. And Fletcher.
What if Fletcher doesn’t look for me?
“Aw bloody hell, Lark. What’d you do that for?” Vulture muttered. “Now I’ll have to take care of the skirt.” He jerked his chin at Helen. “Can I at least have a taste?”
“Not until Fletch shows. Then you can do what you want to her. We’ll make him watch before I slit his throat.
” Lark nudged poor Mary with the toe of his boot.
“Maybe she’ll come around. Probably not.
” He turned to Helen with a sigh. “Your man has a soft spot for the ladies, you see. Always has, but I guess growing up in at The Dancing Swan…” Lark shrugged.
“Terrible weakness of his. Mrs. Bean despaired of the way he coddled her girls.”
Helen said nothing, only smoothed her skirts, afraid if she moved Lark might kick her.
“Mary included. Didn’t want this poor lamb,” he nudged the girl with his boot again.
“To be stuck in The Devil’s Acre with the likes of me.
” An awful laugh came from him. “So’s he told her to come here.
” He waved a hand around. “Told her about this boarding house. That’s when I knew the book was here for sure.
Should have guessed sooner but Mrs. Bean was a clever old bat. ” He tapped his temple. “I’m smarter.”
Debatable.
“Fletch didn’t know Mary was working for me else he would never have left her alone with Mrs. Bean. Now I’ve got Bean’s Book. Fletch, who couldn’t punch his way out of a sack, will finally be gone. He knows what’s in the book and I don’t like loose ends.”
She was also a loose end which didn’t bode well for her future. “What is…Bean’s Book?”
“Valuable, is what it is. Shall I read a bit?” Lark cleared his throat and undid the red ribbon with a flourish. “Ain’t like you’ll be tellin’ anyone.”
Splendid.
Lord Denbull. Lark read, sounding out each syllable. Total visits to The Dancing Swan. 16
Denbull likes to be stripped naked, a parsnip shoved up his backside while being whipped with a willowbark switch.
“Do you know Lord Denbull, Fletcher’s ladybird?”
Helen objected to being addressed as a “ladybird.” “My name is Miss Helen Cosgrove and though we haven’t been properly introduced, I think under the circumstances Mr. Lark, you might address me as Helen.”
“Such fancy talk.” Lark chuckled before growling. “Who is he.”
“Lord Denbull is a prominent minister in the Home Office. An earl,” Helen offered. “I’m afraid I don’t know much else about him.”
“Wealthy?”
Helen had only seen Denbull once or twice and never been introduced, but Galway was acquainted. Denbull dressed well, despite his apparent affinity for parsnips. “Yes.”
“Good.” He cocked his head, fingers stroking his beard. “You’re useful, Helen. Maybe I won’t let Vulture here have a go. Might keep you for a bit.”
If that was meant to be reassuring, it was not.
Lark proceeded to read page after page of the book, asking Helen questions about the peers whose names appeared, mostly whether they were wealthy or important.
In return, Helen was rewarded with a stream of lewd tales about each gentleman along with less than tasteful anecdotes concerning their sexual preferences.
A great many of those mentioned were prominent in Parliament, which was in close proximity to The Dancing Swan.
Fletcher’s mother, this…Delores Bean had run the brothel for years, collecting information though she’d rarely blackmailed anyone. Helen supposed it gave Delores Bean a sense of power, to wield influence over such important men. Lark was of a different opinion.
He planned to use Bean’s Book to blackmail every title in London.
Fletcher was in the way because Lark assumed he’d read the book. Unfortunately, Lark reading the book out loud to her told Helen he meant to kill her at the end of this.
She glanced at Mary. The girl hadn’t moved in all the time Lark read in his slow way, stumbling over some words, asking her the meaning of others. Mrs. Bean had been extremely detailed in her assessments.
“Will you allow me, Mr. Lark, to at least check on Mary?”
“I’m not done.” He scanned the page before him, mouth moving as he attempted to sound out a word he came across.
Lark might be some sort of criminal mastermind in The Devil’s Acre, a place Helen had heard mentioned infrequently and knew nothing about other than it was a rookery, but his reading skills left much to be desired as evidenced by his pronunciation.
That he could read at all, she supposed, was unusual.
He flipped several more pages, lips stretching in satisfaction.
“I’ve studied this book since I got my hands on it and now thanks to you, I know who will pay me well to keep my mouth shut.
Good money, blackmailing your betters.” He flipped through several pages before stopping.
“Ah, always knew Mrs. Bean was keepin’ something big in here.
” A dirty finger tapped at the page. “This right here,” he told Helen.
“Will make me a wealthy man. I need no help from you, ladybird, not on this matter.” The grin widened.
“I know him well though we haven’t met.” A flash of pure fear crossed Lark’s coarse features before it was gone. “Jesus,” he whispered.
“Who?” Helen was curious. What sort of man would Lark be afraid of?
“Always thought it were personal,” he said more to himself than Helen. “Murdering a person like that, ’specially a duke. Now it makes a great deal of sense.”
“A duke?”
“Stabbed a street over from Parliament.” Lark’s eyes, filled with calculation, gleamed back at her. “Carriage attacked as His Grace left for the day. Stabbed dozens of times. The cuts to his chest were so deep, he came apart at the waist.”
Bile filled Helen’s mouth.
“Those weren’t done by the hired help, so to speak. But after. He watched the duke dragged from the carriage. Wanted to see to it himself.”
Absolutely horrifying.
“If you’re after a purse, ladybird, your mark gets a clean shot to the head or their throat slit, which is a bit messier, but quick. Just business. But when you bloody up a gent that much, you hated him.” He winked at her.
“I see,” she said, wishing Lark would stop talking.
“Stabbin’ wasn’t enough.” Lark shook his head, warming to the tale.
“His Grace had his throat cut ear to ear.” He pulled a finger across his throat, making Helen cringe.
“Mrs. Bean, she had eyes and ears everywhere. Men talk when they’re fuckin’.
She wrote it all down.” He tapped the page once more.
“Every bit. The duke. His duchess. The solicitor. Even the father. Doesn’t say how she found out about the others, but as I said, Mrs. Bean was clever.
” Another twinge of fear flitted across his features.
“Don’t know why she cared so much, maybe ’cause it was a duke.
Don’t know. Don’t care. But I’ll be rich because of it. ” His face hardened. “Not Fletch.”