Page 80 of Murder at the Seven Dials
The children took to the task with excitement, turning in the opposite direction and weaving between carts and drays and crates. Audrey followed, hoping they weren’t just leading her into an empty alley to steal her purse. As they ran toward the quay, in the direction of several shanties and dinghies tied up to weirs, she breathed a little easier.
Some of the boats had their insignia carved into the bows, some had them painted on plaques, and others still had no insignias at all. Many had roofed compartments and windows, and others were tented with only canvas sheets. A few were moored so closely they rubbed up against each other, buffered only by blocks or buoys attached to the outside of the vessels.
“There.” The enterprising boy pointed.
Audrey’s heart swelled and her stomach clenched as she laid eyes on a long shanty covered with two pitched canvas roofs.Jackdawwas painted in white on the bow of the withered vessel. She worried her lower lip. Now what? It didn’t look like anyone was aboard, but the two canvas tarps obscured her view of the shanty’s living quarters. She couldn’t search it if Fellows was inside.
She felt a tug on her skirt. The little girl dropped her hand quick and whispered, “The man who lives on this one looks mean.”
Audrey’s attention piqued at the fright in her eyes. She found she understood the girl well. “I don’t wish to run into him. Before I board, I’d like to be sure it’s empty.”
The younger boy picked up a glass bottle near a pile of trash. “Easy.” He lobbed the bottle straight at theJackdawjust as Audrey let out a strangled, “No!”
The bottle landed on the deck and smashed. All four of them froze, the little boy seeming to realize right away what he’d done. Fellows could burst from the covered area and chase them down for a thrashing. And if he saw Audrey…
A few seconds passed like whole hours with her breath lodged in her throat. Then, after another handful of seconds of stillness from theJackdaw, the little boy tugged his hat, victoriously.
“Well?” he said, holding out his hand.
She dropped the coins into his palm with a relieved grin. “Nicely done. Though perhaps not the method I would have taken.”
The children whooped and divided up the coins before scurrying back the way they’d come. She watched them go before turning back toward the shanty. The light of sunset had grown even more dusky; orange and brown streaked the fog hanging just above the water. The shanty was small. It wouldn’t take much time to search. She could be done within a few minutes.
The dock ran right up against the boat, and holding onto the low rail, she swung one leg over. Thankfully, the cut of her dress gave her enough room to not go toppling onto the boat’s deck. She felt the easy undulations of the Thames beneath her feet. She had never cared for boats, or open water, and as she made her way around the smashed remains of the liquor bottle, her legs felt unsteady.
Just to be sure, before she peeled back the canvas flap to the tented area, Audrey called out, “Hello?”
Her voice warbled, her pulse knocking hard in her neck. No answer. Letting out a breath, she pushed aside the flap. The space was cramped and dark, though a few worn spots in the canvas let in the dim light from outside. There was a single table and chair, some crates with liquor bottles set atop them, a cot and blankets, a small stove, and a pail of coal next to it.
Beyond the living space, there was a messy collection of fishing traps and poles, nets, some buoys, barrels, and a grappling hook, and then another opening in the canvas tent cover, leading to the stern. She took a few steps toward the cot and found a balled-up set of blue and gold livery. The same as the Wimbly staff.
This was indeed Fellows’s boat.
Audrey riffled through the crates; they were filled mostly with bottles of liquor. Where would he have put the marchioness’s letter? Would he think to hide it? Or perhaps he’d done as she’d asked and finally burned it. A single long stride took her to the stove. It wasn’t warm, indicating it hadn’t been lit for hours. She opened the grate to a smoking pile of coal ash. In the coal bin, there were nothing but lumps of black. In another metal bin was what looked and smelled like human excrement. She crinkled her nose.
Faster. She had to find it and flee. She had trouble breathing as she turned to view the shanty again.It’s tucked away safe, he’d said.Safe. No, he wouldn’t have burned it. The marchioness had been angry with him for defying her orders, accused him of blackmail. He had kept the letter as some type of protection. More than ever, Audrey needed to know what it said. Needed to see how it could help Philip.
She peered at the livery again; the state of it, wrinkled, cast aside without care, said much about the man’s appreciation of Lady Wimbly’s charity. If he wasn’t wearing it, that meant he was elsewhere today. A thread of worry twisted in the back of her mind.
She picked up the footman’s coat, then pulled back the untucked blanket. When she had been at Shadewell, she’d kept special things hidden from the attendants inside a slit in her mattress, under her pillow. An extra biscuit wrapped in a napkin, a beautiful piece of quartz she found on a walk one day; too sharp to be allowed safe for her, the attendant had made her drop it. On the next walk, she’d scooped it up unseen and hidden it in her mattress.
Audrey tugged the flat pillow aside, and then lifted the bedroll from the cot’s frame. Victory swelled in her throat, and she snatched the folded piece of paper that Fellows had tucked between the cot’s crossed wooden legs. The paper wasn’t cheap; Audrey felt the smooth linen weave between her fingers. With trembling hands, she unfolded the note. Her mouth went dry.
Belladora,
Meet me tonight at my new rooms after your performance. I have something important to discuss with you. I think you will be quite pleased, my songbird. Jewell House, 3rdflr., #12.
-W
It was dated the day of Miss Lovejoy’s murder.
Audrey sucked in a breath.Lord Wimblyhad invited her to Philip’s rooms, claiming they were his own? But then, how did the marchioness know of the letter? Perhaps she had instructed him to write this note? But then why had St. John been there?
She didn’t know all the answers, but the intention was plain: Miss Lovejoy had been lured to Jewell House on false pretenses.
A creaking floorboard was all the warning Audrey had that she wasn’t alone.
Then, a low, rough voice said, “She told me to burn that.”
