Page 50 of Dead Beside the Thames
For a moment, Lady Selborough pale’s gaze remained fixed on Penelope’s face, then in a low tone, she replied, “The last time I encountered him in private—the last time he indulged me with any comments about what he did with his life—he was well beyond the pale and striding down the road to depravity and damnation.” She shuddered, then with her voice gaining strength, went on, “He was afiend, plain and simple. And it’s myfirmopinion that the family should reward whoever removed him from this earth, thus sparing us from what would undoubtedly, at some point, have been untold ignominy and wretched grief.”
Slowly nodding, Penelope digested that, then refocused on Lady Selborough. “One last question. Did Sedbury ever mention any particular part of town in relation to his deplorable activities?”
Lady Selborough frowned, clearly trawling through her memories. “Dockside.” She nodded and met Penelope’s gaze. “He mentioned the docks and being near the river several times.”
“Thank you for your help.” Penelope included the marchioness in her nod. “Your candor has given us much to think about.”
She rose, as did Charlie and Claudia. Charlie took his leave of the marchioness and Lady Selborough and, with Penelope and Claudia, walked into the front hall, leaving the older ladies sharing reassuring whispers.
Penelope sighed, halted, and glanced at Claudia and Charlie. “Quite obviously, Sedbury was a massive scandal in the making, a volcano that could have erupted at any time.”
Claudia looked faintly shocked. “I had no idea he’d become that bad.”
“Hmm.” Penelope frowned. “We came here hoping to learn whether Sedbury had any interest in the area around the Cole Stairs—the sort of interest that might have led to him going to a midnight meeting there.” She looked at Claudia. “It seems your aunt has given us the answer.”
His expression grave, Charlie said, “Because that area was the one to which he went to satisfy his darker urges. He went to meet someone with his whip in hand and in an expectant mood. Odds are that meeting was connected to his usual activities in the area.”
Penelope nodded. “Precisely.”
Claudia was frowning. “If Sedbury regularly went to that area to indulge his warped tastes, doesn’t that mean that the locals will very likely know him?”
Penelope blinked. “An excellent point.” She looked at Charlie and Claudia with renewed enthusiasm. “We’ll send a messengerat once to Stokes, Barnaby, and your brothers. In canvassing the locals, they need to know what to ask.”
By the time Penelope’s groom-cum-guard, Connor, caught up with Barnaby down by the river and conveyed her latest information with the implication that Sedbury would be known to the locals in a more definite way than the investigators had supposed, Barnaby and Jonathon, who had been doing their damnedest to reassure the locals and glean what they knew of Sedbury, had already come to the same conclusion.
“This”—Barnaby flicked Penelope’s note with one finger—“confirms that Sedbury was regularly and quite deeply involved with those living in this area.”
Jonathon looked utterly mystified. “Why, for heaven’s sake?” He turned, arms extended, indicating the drab reality of the narrow lane in which they stood. “What on earth brought him here?”
“According to Penelope, your aunt believes it was his warped tastes that drove him, in that he could indulge his habits to the hilt around here, and no one could say him nay.” Barnaby looked disgusted. He refolded the note and returned it to Connor. “Find Stokes and give him that. Lord Bryan Hale is with him.” Barnaby pointed eastward. “They were questioning locals over that way.”
Connor saluted and left.
Jonathon frowned. “So what now?”
Barnaby looked at the next house along the cramped lane. “Now we go on as we were, but dig a bit deeper. We need to frame our questions in a way that conveys we already know that Sedbury was often around and see what confidences we can entice.”
The area was a hodgepodge of tiny houses and cramped shops interspersed with stores and warehouses crammed with goods. They continued along the lane, knocking on doors and venturing into businesses and warehouses. About them, four constables did the same, and several of Barnaby’s lads were working along the nearby lanes in their own way. It was easier for the lads to get chatting with the locals, and Barnaby had encouraged them to range ahead of where he and Jonathon were plodding along.
Barnaby and Jonathon came out of a shipwright’s store to find one of the lads, Jordan, waiting.
Barnaby arched a brow in question, and Jordan tipped his head down an alley. “Reckon you need to hear what this old lady has to say, guv.”
Barnaby nodded. “Lead the way.”
Jordan turned and trotted down the alley, then veered into a connecting lane.
They were halfway down the lane when an old woman—probably not more than fifty but worn down by life—leaned out of an open doorway a few paces ahead. Her stained apron fluttered in the breeze, and her iron-gray hair was caught up in a net.
Her gaze landed on Jonathon, and for a second, she froze. Then her eyes flared wide, and she tensed to pull back.
Jonathon halted and called out, “I’m not Sedbury.” Barnaby and Jordan halted as well.
The woman blinked. After a pregnant pause, she shuffled into the doorway proper and stared hard at Jonathon, scrutinizing his face, then running her gaze down his long length. Eventually, she nodded and looked into his face. “Aye, you ain’t that devil. But who’s to say you’re not cut from the same cloth?”
Jonathon waved at the pair of uniformed constables who were coming up behind him and Barnaby. “Do you think I would be helping the police if I was?”
The woman looked at the constables, then sniffed. “Not sure talking to you or the rozzers is like to do any of us around here any good.”
