Ghost of the Thames Page 8

  “Yes, indeed, Mr. Warren. But you are an uncle who has seen your niece only once in the past ten years. Why, you are not even able to produce a recent portrait of her for authorities, I understand.” He looked at the police inspector, who nodded. “I am told this woman has been charged with raising her since birth. Did you not tell the inspector that this Priya was the last person to lay eyes on her the night of her disappearance?”

  “That she was, but—”

  The crowd’s noise smothered the old man’s response. The beadle had to demand silence, and John Warren was asked to repeat his statement.

  “The woman speaks no English,” Warren protested.

  “None? Then tell the court how she communicated with your niece?”

  “Miss Warren was fluent in Bengali.”

  “And how do you communicate with this Priya woman, now that she is under your roof?”

  “I don’t make it a practice of carrying on conversations with my bloody servants!” Warren snapped. The cane thumped sharply on the floor.

  Mr. Warren, Hodgson knew, was correct not to trust Priya before a judge and jury. Though the old woman had communicated not more than a dozen words of English since arriving in London, Hodgson wondered how much more she was really capable of saying.

  “Very well. There is no reason why the woman cannot appear before us with a translator. In fact, when the time comes, we’ll make the arrangements ourselves.”

  “When the time comes?” Warren exploded, half rising. “What do you mean, when the time comes? How long must this—”

  “The machinery of justice, Mr. Warren,” Harmon responded, cutting him off, “cannot be hurried. Without a body, we must hear all relevant testimony.”

  As the voices in the guild hall rose to the level of one highly entertained mob, the old man sank stiffly into his seat. When the din subsided somewhat, Warren raised the head of his cane.

  “Yes, Mr. Warren. You have something to say?”

  “The woman wishes to return to her homeland,” Warren said. “I have one more ship leaving for India before winter sets in, and I planned on putting her on that ship. Otherwise, she cannot leave for several months.”

  “We have not subpoenaed the person in question. Naturally, you may do as you wish, sir. Of course, that would mean you are willing to hand over Miss Warren’s inheritance to the Crown. A sum of, what was it? Seven hundred thousand pounds? Very generous of you, sir.”

  The courtroom again exploded in a roar. Most attending had no idea of how much the estate consisted of. Hodgson stared open-mouthed for moment at the coroner, wondering how Harmon could have learned the total value of the fleet of merchant ships and the land and the cash.

  "Silence!" the beadle shouted, throwing his arms about and trying unsuccessfully to restore order. “Silence!”

  The sum of Catherine’s wealth, here and abroad, was something John Warren had tried to avoid bringing attention to. Too late. Hodgson could already imagine the front page of every newspaper in London tomorrow.

  “You can see, gentlemen, that there is no reason to continue with this hearing today,” the coroner shouted to the jurors above the din. “You shall be summoned again when more information is available regarding Miss Warren’s disappearance or her whereabouts.”

  The lawyer inclined his head to them. “I hope you do not feel that went badly, sir,” he said with a straight face. “The coroner has not ruled against us, and we can request another hearing next month . . . and bring the Bengali servant along with us.”

  Warren stared at the man, his eyes bulging with barely restrained fury. Seeing the look, the lawyer backed away a step.

  “If I may respond for Mr. Warren,” Hodgson broke in. “It would be best if we talk of this later.”

  The lawyer nodded and hurried off like a cat that had just had its whiskers singed.

  “Gentlemen,” the coroner shouted over the continuing noise. “You are excused.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The quiet knock and sound of soft footsteps padding into the room awakened Sophy from her sleep.

  She raised her head, staring in confusion at the array of pillows before looking up into the smiling face of an older woman. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and how she’d gotten here. She had no clue as to the time, but one bright line of sunlight was streaming in through a narrow slit between the drapes.

  “You’ve slept a full day, miss, and all through the night, as well. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  Yesterday—it must have been yesterday—Edward brought Sophy to a beautiful brick townhouse on a quiet side street just off Soho Square. While she had waited in the foyer, he had made arrangements for two rooms on the second floor. The house belonged to this kindly woman, Mrs. Gilbert. After the captain left—reluctantly, it seemed to Sophy—the landlady had prepared a bath for her and helped her change into a borrowed night dress. Sophy barely remembered crawling into the wide bed, and she’d been dead to the world until now.

  “Captain Seymour stopped by last evening, but he said to let you sleep. He said he’ll be coming by again this morning.” Mrs. Gilbert went about the room, opening draperies and tying them back. Brilliant sunshine poured in.

  The two rooms—a connected bedroom and sitting room—were bright, well furnished, and large. She’d been too tired yesterday to express her compliments on the landlady’s fine taste. She did it now, and the older woman looked around, obviously pleased that her efforts were noticed. Mrs. Gilbert went to the door and opened it wide, motioning someone else to come in.

  “This is Ruth,” she said, introducing a young woman standing with her arms full at the door. “The captain asked me to make arrangements for a serving girl to assist you when you desired. Ruth often helps her sister who is here every day in the kitchen, so it is a good arrangement.”

  Sophy was at a loss for words at the captain’s generosity.

  Ruth—a small, doe-eyed woman in her mid-twenties—curtsied shyly and opened the doors of a large wardrobe, hanging the items she was carrying, one by one.

  “I hope you be satisfied with my choices for today. The Captain requested that I order three dresses and the necessary accessories for you -- until you are well enough to see to ordering the rest of your wardrobe yourself.”

  The bloody clothes she was wearing yesterday were nowhere to be seen. Sophia wondered if they had been destroyed. “I am very grateful.”

  “It is nothing, my dear. And believe me, I am the grateful one to have the financial support of someone as generous as Captain Seymour.” The older lady waved a hand in the air. “Since my husband passed away a year ago, Lord Latham has had possession of these lodgings for a certain friend of his. But the young lady married another gentleman this past month and, since then, the rooms have stood empty. But, thanks to the generous nature of his lordship, the support he has provided has never ceased. But yesterday, Captain Seymour told me that he is taking over the financial arrangements.”

  Sophy climbed out of bed as Mrs. Gilbert continued to talk. It was already obvious that she was delighted to have the company of another woman in the house. It was also apparent that the landlady was accustomed to being discreet. She had asked no questions thus far regarding who Sophy was or why she’d arrived here in a filthy, blood-soaked dress.

  “I’ll have Ruth bring you up your breakfast. You can have it in bed, if you wish.”

  “No. No. I think I will wash up and dress first. It would be wonderful to eat in the sitting room.”

  “Excellent choice. You have a lovely view toward the park from that corner window. In fact, the air is pleasant enough outside today that you can have the windows open. With the winter coming, we won’t be having too many days as fair as this one, I should think.”

  As she washed her face, she realized how different a night she had spent under this roof. No nightmares, no visions, no running away from the physical abuse of ruffians, no need to be constantly attuned to the rest of the household, as she’d
been at Urania Cottage. For the first time that Sophy could recall, she had slept soundly, and as a result her body was rested, her mind clear.

  She stopped, feeling her blood run cold at the recollection of the events in the pleasure gardens in Chelsea. It was so different to be the victim of an assault as opposed to being the witness to one. The night in Hammersmith Village, she’d been able to function perfectly well after bashing the man who was abusing the woman behind the tavern. But after escaping into the night after the attack on herself, she’d fallen apart. Grudgingly, Sophy understood why the ghost would put her in harm’s way in Chelsea. She now understood more clearly the violence that was being inflicted on these women every day.

  There was a tap on the door to the hallway, and Sophy turned to see Ruth coming in.

  “I’ll help you dress, miss. Captain Seymour has just arrived. The Missus is showing him into the sitting room.”

  Whatever calm possessed her a minute ago evaporated as Sophy stared briefly at the double doors separating the two rooms. She followed Ruth to the wardrobe, having no preference as to the choice of dress.

  Her hair was another chore, but she encouraged the young woman to braid it quickly and pile it on top of her head.

  Ruth left the room ahead of her with instructions to tell Captain Seymour that Sophy would join him momentarily.

  Sophy stole a final glance in the mirror. The soft yellow fabric of the dress was accented with white trimming of silky gauze at the neckline and the sleeves. The bodice fitted her perfectly. The corset beneath made the curve of her breast so much more pronounced. She adjusted the silk at the neckline until her exposed skin was limited to a narrow opening. Then, as she turned away, Sophy was surprised by another wave of awareness. The image in the mirror was a familiar one. She knew this woman.

  Sophy heard the captain’s voice. He was saying something to Ruth, and a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach. She opened the door and went into the sitting room.

  He was at the window, looking down the street toward the park. His broad shoulders filled the black morning coat perfectly. His head turned at the sound of her step, and she took a breath, forgetting for a moment to let it out.

  “Sophy,” he said quietly. His gaze took her in for some time, studying her from head to toe before returning to her face. She could tell he was pleased with the transformation.

  She breathed and curtsied. “Captain.”

  He walked toward her, but her feet refused to move. All the common sense of just minutes earlier, all that she planned to say, was forgotten, replaced by the single thought that this was the apartment where Lord Latham had kept his mistress and where Captain Seymour had now placed her. He had the same intentions. She wondered how soon he’d be expecting her to perform her obligations. And she also wondered—with not a small feeling of foolishness—what exactly it was that she had to do.

  “You looked as pale as a ghost yesterday morning. And yet you look flushed now. Are you not well?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

  “No. I am quite well. It’s the clothes. I don’t understand the Englishwoman’s preference to lacing their bodies in so tightly.” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly mortified at having spoken the words out loud.

  His burst of laughter rang through the room.

  “I’m sorry. Please, disregard what I said. I was not suggesting . . . please!”

  “Fine. I shall try my best to be a gentleman and not offer an immediate remedy.”

  He led her to a table by the window, where breakfast had been laid out. The smile remained on his lips.

  “It must be nearly two days since you’ve eaten anything.”

  She was impressed by the crisp white linen and the vase of holly with its bright red berries. Sitting down, Sophy found she was more thirsty than hungry. She poured tea for them both from a silver pot. It didn’t escape her attention that he was watching her every move.

  “Since I have agreed to report every step I take out of this house, I want you to know that I plan to visit the constable in Chelsea and confess what I did.”

  “No need,” he replied, spreading a napkin on his lap. “The man who attacked you is alive. He should recover, I’m told.”

  “I didn’t kill him?” she said, relief washing through her.

  “I made some discreet inquiries. This Jack Slade fellow was apparently carried to a surgeon in Chelsea. The surgeon reported to a friend of mine that Slade told him he was knifed by a pickpocket. There will be no complaints to the authorities.”

  Sophy’s feeling of relief was short-lived, however, as the faces of the women who were leaving Cremorne House that night came back to her. They feared him, and with good reason.

  “How far is Soho Square from Chelsea?” she asked.

  “Why?” he asked, sitting back in his chair. “Do you plan to go back there and finish him?”

  “No! I don’t want to run into him on the street.”

  The captain nodded. “You are far enough away. And I will be watching over you now. That villain will never come near you or touch you.”

  The possessive tone in his voice was unmistakable. His dark eyes could melt a woman to a puddle, and Sophy was far from indifferent to his attentions. But deep down, there was a voice that cried out against anyone owning her, possessing her. But Sophy was aware enough of the realities of her life not to risk offending him.

  “I have to notify Mrs. Tibbs at the Cottage of my whereabouts.”

  “I have taken care of that through Dickens. I met with him yesterday.”

  She put the cup of tea down, embarrassed to think that whatever assumption Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Dickens had made regarding her before, this new arrangement confirmed it.

  “Incidentally, Dickens wants to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  Sophy looked up, surprised. “Why? Does he intend to reprimand me?”

  “No, of course not. He is fascinated by you.”

  She shook her head. “I believe he has disliked me from the very beginning. He must feel he is well rid of me.”

  “’Dislike’? Definitely the wrong word,” he responded. “I think you are correct that he is relieved not to have you at Urania Cottage. You are nothing like his charity cases. But I believe he is intrigued by you and by the circumstances preceding your appearance in front of my carriage. You are a mystery to be solved, and Dickens loves mysteries.”

  Sophy was not ready to be studied like some new species of jungle insect. She sipped her tea. In fact, she wasn’t certain she liked Mr. Dickens, at all, in spite of his forced kindness to her.

  “And do you think of me as a mystery, too, Captain?”

  He was slow in answering, and this made her uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

  “I think you are complicated, smart, and there are pieces of your past that are already apparent to you that you choose to keep to yourself.”

  She put the cup down, fearing that the trembling of her hand would give her away.

  “I think you are brave, but feeling frightened and alone.” He reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb caressing her palm before bringing her fingers to his lips. “I also think that you are extremely beautiful, and if you are a mystery, I intend to enjoy every minute possible unraveling you.”

  Sophy was certain that the pounding of her heart was loud enough to be heard on the street. Her skin was on fire. Her body tingled in the most private places. She drew her hand back and looked down at the food she hadn’t touched. Whatever her past, she was already prepared to be whatever he wanted her to be. She’d do what he wanted her to do.

  “But why don’t you eat?” he said cheerfully. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “We are going to retrace your late night journeys in the daylight. And not on foot, but in a carriage, as I don’t want to tire you too much.”

  “No?” She hazarded a glance at his face.

  “No! I want you awake and rested for what I have pla
nned for you tonight.”

  Sophy was in deep trouble.

  CHAPTER 13

  It soon became apparent to Edward that Sophy had no desire to go back to the places that she had visited at night.

  When they arrived at Hammersmith Village, she refused to step out of the carriage or even speak with the locals to see if anyone might recognize her.

  The trip to the pleasure gardens in Chelsea was met with even less enthusiasm. In spite of what Edward had told Sophy, the injuries to Jack Slade were serious. The pimp was not going to be leaving his bed for quite some time, if ever, by all accounts.

  Even after being told the man would not be up and about, however, she wouldn’t even look out the carriage window. She wanted to be away from there as soon as they arrived.

  This suited Edward perfectly well, of course, as it was very difficult to sit so close to her and not think of touching her or kissing her or taking her back to her lodgings and making love to her. All his good intentions of spending the day helping her search for her past were rapidly being forgotten. She was too tempting, and her coy gestures of trying to keep him at a distance only added to her allure.

  “Would you care for a stroll through Hyde Park? It's a nice day for a walk.”

  She was clearly relieved as the carriage rolled away from Cremorne House, but a new concern showed in her furrowing brow.

  “No, I do not think that is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we might cross paths with people who know you. I cannot allow that.”

  “And why is that?” Edward asked, amused.

  “You are a respectable gentleman. I have no name, no memory. I am a castaway.”

  “So now you are a castaway?”

  “Exactly. The night you met me, I was thrown into the river, with no more value than to serve as bait for the fish. I’ve decided I must have been a river man’s wife.” A lurch of the carriage turning jounced her toward him, and their bodies were pressed together, from hip to shoulder. She sent him a shy look, inching away on the bench.