Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(43)

“What?” Asa stared at her.

She rose from the table, placing her palms flat against the surface to steady herself. Any sign of weakness on this point would be fatal. “No, I will not stop seeing Lord Caire. No, I will not give up my search for a patron.”

“Temperance,” Winter murmured in warning.

“No.” She shook her head. “If my reputation has already been compromised as Concord says, then what is the point in giving any of it up? The home needs a patron to survive. You all may protest Lord Caire and my virtue, but you cannot argue that fact. Furthermore, none of you have a solution for the problem, do you?”

She looked from Winter’s weary, lined face to Asa’s watchful eyes, and finally to Concord’s disapproving countenance.

“Do you?” she demanded again softly.

Concord abruptly stamped from the room.

She let out her breath, feeling almost giddy. “That’s answer enough, I think. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m to bed.”

She turned to make a grand exit but was stopped by a figure in the doorway.

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” Polly muttered.

The wet nurse held a bundle in her arms, and Temperance caught her breath at the sight. No. No, she couldn’t take another heartache. Not now.

“Dear God,” Temperance breathed. “Is she…?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” the wet nurse said hurriedly. “’Tisn’t that at all.”

She pulled back a corner of the blanket, and Temperance saw dark blue eyes staring back at her curiously. The relief hit her so hard she hardly heard the wet nurse’s words.

“I’ve come to tell you that Mary Hope is feeding at last,” Polly said.

SHE’D BURNED THE joint of beef.

Silence waved a cloth over the smoking meat that night, trying to dispel the acrid odor. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should have been more alert to the dinner, instead of staring off into space worrying about their future, hers and William’s. Silence bit her lip. The problem was that it was so very hard not to think about their troubles.

The door to their rooms swung open and William came in. She looked up eagerly but could see at once that he’d not recovered the shipment. William’s face was lined with worry, his complexion gray even with his tan from the sea. His shirt was rumpled, and his neckcloth was askew as if he’d been pulling at it in his agitation. Her husband seemed to have aged years in the last few days.

Silence hastily went to him, taking his cloak and hat and hanging them on a peg by the door. “Will you sit?”

“Aye,” William replied absently. He ran his hand over his head, forgetting he wore his wig. He swore an oath he’d normally never utter in her presence, and took the thing off, throwing it to the table.

Silence picked up the wig and carefully draped it over a wooden form on the dresser. “Is there any news?”

“None of use,” William muttered. “The two sailors left to guard the ship are missing—either dead or run away with their bribe money.”

“I’m sorry.” Silence stood uselessly by her husband’s side until the stench of burned meat reminded her of the dinner.

Hurriedly she set the table with their pewter plates. At least the bread was fresh from the baker this morning, and the boiled carrots looked appealing. She set out William’s favorite pickles and poured his ale before bringing the beef to the table. She carved the small joint and placed some on his plate with nervous trepidation, but he didn’t even seem to notice that the meat was charred on the outside while still red inside. Silence sighed. She was such a pitiful cook.

“It was Mickey O’Connor,” William muttered suddenly.

Silence looked up. “What?”

“Mickey O’Connor was behind the theft of the cargo.”

“But that’s wonderful! If you know the thief, surely you can inform a magistrate?”

William laughed, a harsh sound. “None of the London magistrates would dare touch Charming Mickey.”

“Why not?” Silence asked, perplexed. “If he’s a known thief, surely it is their job to bring him before a court of law?”

“Most magistrates are in the pay of the thieves and other lawbreakers themselves.” William stared down at his dinner. “They only bring in the ones too poor to pay their bribes. And the remaining magistrates are so fearful of O’Connor that they’ll not risk their lives to bring him in.”

“But who is he? Why are the magistrates afraid of him?”

Her husband pushed his plate away untouched. “Charming Mickey O’Connor is the most powerful dock thief in London. He controls the night horsemen—the thieves who steal at night. Every ship that docks in London pays a bribe to Mickey; he calls it a tithe.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Silence whispered, shocked.

William nodded, closing his eyes. “Indeed it is. ’Tis said he lives in a falling-down house in St. Giles, the rooms furnished for a king.”

“They call this monster charming?” Silence shook her head.

“He’s very handsome and the ladies like him, so ’tis said,” William said quietly. “Men who cross Charming Mickey disappear or are found floating in the Thames, a noose about their necks.”

“And no one will touch him?”