Page 79 of Murder at the Seven Dials
“Did she say anything else to you?” he asked Basil. Alarm crinkled his valet’s brow as he shook his head.
“No, sir. Her Grace seemed to be in a hurry. I offered her a carriage, but she left on foot.”
“She can’t walk to the wharves from here. When did she leave? How long ago?”
“Fifteen minutes at the most,” Basil replied, removing his hat.
If she’d caught a hansom quickly, she might be arriving at the wharves right at that moment. He swore under his breath.
“Basil, keep your coat on and go to Bow Street,” he said. “Ask for the chief magistrate. Tell him I need a few patrolmen at the St. Katherine wharves right away. Let him know the duchess might be in danger there.”
That should light a fire under Sir Gabriel’s heels.
“What about me?” Sir asked.
Hugh peered down at him. “How well do you know the docks?”
He shrugged a knobby shoulder. “Like the back of me hand.”
“Then you can help me find the duchess,” Hugh said, and with that, the two of them raced into the falling dusk.
ChapterTwenty-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 theJackdaw,” 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 toJackdaw.”
