Page 88 of The Scot Who Loved Me
The carriage’s rear spring gave and the footman appeared. “Three more minutes, milady.” His gaze slid to Red Bess. “Is all well here, milady?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, waving him off. To Red Bess, “Go on.”
“The next night, Mr. Ledwell, a warder from Marshalsea, was at the Iron Bell. He had some awful bruises round his eyes, but he was braggin’ ’bout howhegot the best of the other man, a highlander, dragged to Marshalsea, arrested for wearin’ his kilt. I figured it had to be the man I saw the night before.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But how did he get out of prison?”
“You need this—” Ancilla held up a half crown “—to continue your tale?”
“You and I have good accord, milady.” Red Bess took the coin and stuffed it behind stained scarlet stays. “Another pint, an’ the warder told me a woman paid thirty half guineas for the man’s release and his arrest record.”
“Thirty half guineas? A princely sum.”
“A woman who pays that means business.”
“Or she wanted this particular man.” Ancilla’s vision narrowed. Bribes greased the wheels of London’s prison, a standard story, but thirty half guineas for a man Mrs. Neville had met this summer?
“That’s what I thought, especially it being Mrs. Neville. She keeps her warehouse in good repair, but her house is not the house of a woman who can toss around thirty half guineas.”
“Or the warder lied because he wanted to impress you,” she said. In the matter of bribes and information, one had to consider all possibilities.
“No, milady. I have proof.”
“Proof?”
“Show me your next coin and I’ll show you my proof...’cause this is one you’ll want to see.”
Another half crown was passed. Red Bess took it and slid it into her stays. Then she did the oddest thing, pressing her body against the carriage, head swiveling to the left and the right, her hands fishing south on her person. A thump, and the whore stepped back, producing a shiny gold half guinea, clamped between her middle finger and forefinger.
“Mr. Ledwell paid for his tup with this. He took me from the back, which gave me time to look at the coin and think ’bout where I’d seen Will MacDonald’s face. That’s when I remembered you.” Red Bess’s voice dropped as if now the woman was reaching the meat of her tale. “Mr. Ledwell finished his business and I said how smooth and pretty was the coin he gave me. He said all of them were just as smooth.”
“A smooth coin? Not exactly a scintillating fact, I’m afraid.”
Red Bess’s eyes were flinty shards. “How ’bout a fifty-year-old coin? Is that scint’lating enough?”
“Let me see.” Ancilla snatched the coin and read 1703 on one side, VIGO on the other.
The coin was remarkably shiny and clean, its weight solid and true. A tin disc in the middle was a forger’s trick to melt the coin and recast it with less gold. Yet, this coin was true. She’d held enough to know. Red Bess reached into the carriage and took back her coin. The impertinent grasp would normally get her knuckles smacked, but Ancilla’s spine fell against the squab.
How did a five-pounds-a-month (before expenses) warehouse owner accumulate that much money?
“I can tell by yer face that yer beginnin’ to see the value of my information, milady.” Red Bess’sjaw managed to be mulish and her eyes triumphant. “I’m thinkin’ this last bit I have is worth two half crowns.”
“You have more information?”
Red Bess nodded and Ancilla opened her velvet purse and paid the sum.
Red Bess’s fist closed around two half crowns and she finished her late summer tale. “Yesterday, Black Horse Brewery’s new man made a delivery. He’s a Scot, hails from Linlithgow. Said while he was out making deliveries, he thought he saw a man he knew walking by Bermondsey Wall. A Will MacDonald, who fought in the Rebellion of ’45. The Black Horse brewer is a talker. Says he fought in the rebellion too, but that’s not the first time he saw Will MacDonald.”
The open window framed Red Bess’s face, a flushed and avid face about to impart two half crowns’ worth of information.
Ancilla was at the edge of her seat. “Tell me.”
“The brewer says first time he saw Will MacDonald was in Linlithgow summer before the rebellion... when he was kissing a black-haired woman. The very same black-haired woman the brewer saw with Will near Bermondsey Wall.”
Ancilla squeezed her velvet purse hard enough that coin edges bit her palm. Anger, putrid and vile, threatened to overflow. Red Bess jumped back, her eyes flaring wide.
“Is there anything else?” she asked much too softly.
“No, milady.”
