Page 51 of Razors & Ruin

Not for long. Meeting Nellie was her big mistake.

“No. What happened?”

“Lady Wetherby was murdered,” Hawkins says. “She was found naked in the garden. It’s clearly a sex crime of some kind, but Lord Wetherby refuses to allow the pathologist to examine her.He’s been most obstructive, in fact. Told me I should stop asking him questions and come to arrest you for threatening him.”

Ah. Right. I knew this was coming—kid gloves are needed. I don’t need to lie for once, so this should be easy.

I sigh deeply. “Officer, I hoped to keep this to myself. Wetherby came by here a few days ago and tried to coerce Mrs. Lovett into working as a prostitute in return for keeping her shop afloat.”

Hawkins frowns. “And you took offense?”

“I did indeed. Wouldn’t you?” I take to my feet, pacing the floor. “Mrs. L is my fiancée. I was most incensed, and I will admit to harsh words. But I made no threats.”

“He has a cut on his neck.”

“Hard to imagine lower hanging fruit. I’m a barber. I gave him a shave and a haircut at the party last night; ask anyone there. If I nicked him, I’ll apologize, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to answer these paranoid accusations!”

Hawkins stares at me, trying to get a measure. Then he stands, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform.

“I’ll be honest, Mr. Todd; it doesn’t look good for Wetherby. His wife was known to be of loose morals, and he has some salacious rumors attached to him. Talk of selling poorhouse kids, using a clergyman to move them along, things of that nature.”

He sniffs. “The Beadle wasted little time telling me his suspicions of his erstwhile friend. Whether His Lordship killed his wife or not, it seems clear he’s mixed up in it somehow. But you know how it is with these upper-class types; they close ranks. It’s not worth my wage to get in their way. They can keeptheir nasty business to themselves, and I’ll stick to burglars and pickpockets.”

“Ah yes, the honest people of the street,” I say.

Hawkins laughs. “I’m happy to draw a line through your name, sir. Wetherby is floundering, trying to deflect attention from himself, but his former friends are lining up to fuck him over. Ain’t it ironic?”

“Nothing to do with me, mate. I just work here.”

He laughs. “I’ll take my leave, Mr. Todd. Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Nellie rolls pastry like an over-wound automaton, her hands working forward and back too fast over the counter.

The door closes behind the policeman, and with the click comes a barrage of panicked babble, her words crashing into one another.

“What did he want?” She hurls herself to my side, clutching my arm. “Did they find Marianne? Were you seen with Beatrix? WasI? Oh God!”

I pat her hand. “It’s alright, pet. It was about Beatrix, sort of, but not in the way you’re worried about. Our dear friend Lord Wetherby does not know my identity after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Wetherby had identified me as Currer Brook and stated such, that copper would have been far happier to believe I’dthreatened him. He’d also be a damn sight more interested in me as a fit for Beatrix’s killer, even in the absence of a motive.”

“I see.” Nellie relaxes her grip. “So whatdidyou tell him?”

“In short, Wetherby is a fantasist, and I am an innocent bystander, trying to make a living and protect my woman.”

She fans herself. “That’s so dashing. I’m still unclear on what’s happening, though.”

“The Beadle has turned on Wetherby. The officer mentioned something interesting about Wetherby and his trade in workhouse kiddies. If I put it together with what the Beadle toldme, it’s clear Wetherby has his fingers in even dirtier pies than yours and has done for some years. He deserves to die for that, let alone trying to muddy the water by playing the victim.”

Nellie looks pensive. “Charitably, Mr. T, it has to be said; the bastard didn’t actually kill his wife or, by carelessness, allow his nefarious deeds to direct the act. What does old Plod think?”

“The law doesn’t care,” I say. “They are content to let high society judge its own. I suspect there have been many gladhands over the years, enough for police and judges to pay lip service to an investigation, close it, and let the truth bubble up via another route.”

I catch her eyes in time to see her pupils dilate. Something has unsettled her more than any policeman’s visit; she’s watching me like I’m an adder.

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