Page 48 of What Cannot Be Said

He nodded. “She did, yes. It’s beyond shocking, what she discovered about that place. Given how long they’ve been taking in infants, Laura suspected the Blackadders must have killed dozens of babies. Dozens. How is that even possible?”

“Do you know how she came to hear about the woman?”

The Major took another swallow of beer. “It was because of Rhodes.”

“Basil Rhodes?”

He nodded again. “I know everyone thinks he’s nothing more than an amiable, quick-witted buffoon, and God knows he plays the part well enough. But the truth is, he’s a vile son of a bitch. He rapes his housemaids the same way he’s always raped the slave girls on his Jamaican plantations. And then he dumps their babies on people like Prudence Blackadder, who can be relied upon to ensure the infants don’t live long enough to bother him.”

“Laura told you all this?”

“She did, yes. One of the women she dealt with at St. Martin’s workhouse used to be his housemaid. Not only did Rhodes rape her, but when she fell pregnant, he accused her of trying to foist some other man’s by-blow on him and then kicked her out without a reference after taking the baby from her. The poor girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, and she was so debilitated from the pregnancy and delivery and grief that she couldn’t work, which is how she ended up in the workhouse.”

“And this girl told Laura that Rhodes had given her baby to Prudence Blackadder?”

“Yes. It wasn’t the first time Laura had heard whispers about the Blackadders, so she started looking into them. At first, it all seemed unbelievable. I mean, how could something like that have been going on for years?”

“Is that why she confronted Rhodes in Bond Street last Saturday?”

“No. She didn’t confront him; he came at her. One of her friends is seriously involved with the man, and Laura had decided it was her duty to tell the woman about the pregnant housemaids and abandoned babies and the poor young girls he regularly abuses on his plantation. Except of course the woman refused to believe any of it, flew into a rage, and then told Rhodes what Laura was saying about him. That’s how Rhodes knew.”

“Do you know the woman’s name?”

The Major frowned. “Not off the top of my head, no. She’s some shipbuilder’s widow Laura knew from when they were at school together. Rivers or Lakes or something like that.”

“Veronica Goodlakes?”

“That’s it,” said the Major. “Goodlakes.”

?Sebastian walked home through dark streets lit dimly by the murky glow of widely spaced streetlights and the oil lamps that bracketed the front doors of the stately row houses along Brook Street. The night was cool and still, the moon and most of the stars above hidden by a hazy layer of coal smoke that hung low over the city. He could hear a dog barking somewhere in the distance, but otherwise Mayfair was quiet, with only the occasional lumbering hackney or gentleman’s carriage dashing past; the pungent scent of pitch from linkboys’ torches lingered hot and heavy in the night.

He was aware of a profound weight of sadness settling upon him as he walked. Murder had a way of peeling back the lies and polite subterfuges of people’s lives to expose the tragedies and ugly truths that all too often lay hidden beneath. The innocent, unwanted children left to suffer and die in strangers’ hands. The poor and vulnerable, abused by those with power over them. The young women—and men—forced into unhappy, loveless marriages for the sake of money. Money, power, prestige, position...

Greed could take so many different forms.

The church bells of the city began to ring, one after the other, counting out the hour. Sebastian walked on, his attention focused now on a solitary figure he could see leaning against a lamppost some thirty or more feet ahead. The man was simply standing there, his hands in his pockets, his hat tipped forward to throw his face into shadow. He looked to be of average height, young and strong, his green coat neither fashionably cut nor rough, his buckskin breeches and top boots serviceable. Sebastian had spent enough years in the Army to recognize a former military man when he saw one.

Without altering his gait, Sebastian slipped his right hand into the pocket of his coat to close around the smooth handle of his small double-barreled pistol.

The man didn’t move.

Sebastian was passing the entrance to Livery Row when he heard a sudden rush of feet as a second man, this one a big, burly ruffian in a round hat, came barreling out of the shadows to slam hard into his back. The impact threw Sebastian off-balance and shoved him forward just as Green Coat stepped away from the lamppost and brought up his right hand to smash Sebastian in the face with what felt like a lead-weighted sap.

Chapter 28

Sebastian staggered back, the side of his face exploding in pain, his sight dimming as Round Hat seized him from behind.

“Easy there, yer lordship,” he growled, holding Sebastian steady as the first man sauntered up, a hint of a malicious smile lightening his even, sun-darkened features as he leaned in close.

“You’re to consider this a friendly warning,” said Green Coat, his accent—unlike his partner’s—that of a man of education. “What happened to Lady McInnis is none of your affair. You need to shut up and mind your own business. I trust I make myself clear?”

Swearing crudely, Sebastian threw his weight sideways and down, his coat ripping as he broke Round Hat’s hold and dropped into a low crouch. Yanking the flintlock from his pocket, he came up to step forward and shove the pistol’s twin barrels into Green Coat’s cheek hard enough to knock against his teeth.

The man froze.

“Smart,” said Sebastian, pulling back both hammers with audible clicks. “Now drop the sap or you’re a dead man. I said drop it, damn you.”

Sebastian heard the clattering thud of the sheathed lead hitting the pavement.

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