Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(46)

She met his eyes, her own fearless. “Then we should return to Mother Heart’s-Ease and see if she knows the man.”

“That is my hope,” he said as he set out again. “But I want to impress upon you the seriousness of this business. Before, I merely had to deal with the everyday dangers of St. Giles. Now it seems I may actually have caught the attention of a ruthless murderer.” He glanced sideways at her. “If you wish to quit this hunt, Mrs. Dews, I will still honor my side of the bargain.”

The hood of her cloak obscured most of her profile, but he could still see her lips purse primly. “I’ll not renege on our bargain.”

He leaned over her, bending his head to hers. “Then you had better stay close to my side.”

“Humph.” She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyebrows were knit. “Who had you spoken to the night we met—the night you were first attacked?”

“One of Marie’s neighbors, a prostitute.” His lips twisted. “Or at least I’d tried to talk to her. The woman slammed her door in my face, once she found out what I sought.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“They must be linked somehow—the prostitute and Mother Heart’s-Ease’s gin shop, but I don’t see how.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s only the area—the murderer found out I was questioning Marie’s neighbor and also knew I’d questioned Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

She shook her head. “He’d have to be very quick to take fright, then, if he sent an assassin after you merely for asking questions. No, I think you must’ve found something out.”

She looked at him in question.

“If I did, I don’t know what it is myself.” He laughed a little grimly.

They walked the rest of the way to Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop in silence. Lazarus kept an alert eye out but saw no followers unless one counted a mangy cur, mostly skin and bones, that shadowed them for a minute or more.

When he ducked into the low doorway of the gin shop, the heat and smell hit Lazarus in the face. He caught Mrs. Dews’s arm, scanning the crowded room. A fire roared on the hearth in the back, and a group of sailors were singing drunkenly at one long table. The one-eyed barmaid scurried between tables, avoiding all eyes, especially his own. Mother Heart’s-Ease was not in sight.

Mrs. Dews tugged at his arm and stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear over the noise of the room. “Give me some coins.”

He looked at her, his eyebrow arched, and then took out his purse and shook some shillings into her hand. She nodded and without a word began weaving her way through the throng, patiently stalking the barmaid. Lazarus wasn’t about to leave her side in this company. He trailed behind, watching her movements, glaring when a sailor tried to catch her hand.

Mrs. Dews finally ran the one-eyed barmaid to ground near the fireplace. The girl reluctantly turned, looking a bit more interested when Mrs. Dews pressed a coin into her palm. There was a whispered conferral and the barmaid slipped away.

Mrs. Dews turned back to Lazarus. “She says that Mother Heart’s-Ease is in the back room.”

Lazarus glanced at the curtained doorway. “Then let’s seek her out.”

He lifted the curtain and led the way. Behind the door was a short, dark passageway. A young man leaned against the wall, cleaning his fingernails with the wickedly pointed tip of a knife.

He didn’t bother glancing up at their entrance. “This ’ere’s private like. Go on back to th’ bar.”

“I wish to speak to Mother Heart’s-Ease,” Lazarus said evenly.

The man wasn’t very big, but he looked like he might be quick. Before he could reply, Mother Heart’s-Ease opened a door behind him. A young girl slipped out, tottering on her heeled slippers. She glanced at the guard dismissively but slowed when she saw Lazarus. He turned sideways to let her pass, and she thanked him with a cheeky grin and a wink. He was quite sure that had he shown any sign of interest, she’d be amenable to a quick tête-à-tête in a corner of the gin shop. He shot a glance at Mrs. Dews and was unsurprised to see her lips pursed primly.

“Mrs. Dews,” Mother Heart’s-Ease called from her door. “’Aven’t you enough to busy yourself with at that little home you run? ’Tis twice now in but a fortnight you’ve visited my part of St. Giles. And with Lord Caire, I see. I wasn’t expectin’ you back, m’lord.”

Lazarus smiled. “Because you thought I would be killed at Martha Swan’s house?”

The woman tilted her head and smiled coquettishly—a rather repulsive sight. “I’d ’eard you met with some trouble there. Poor Martha Swan! It’s dangerous, walking the streets.”

“Then you don’t find it suggestive that she was gutted in the same way as Marie Hume?”

She shrugged bony shoulders as wide as a man’s. “Many a lass ’as come to a bad end in St. Giles.”

For a moment, Lazarus studied the old bawd. She was undoubtedly playing some kind of game, but whether it was for money, simply to protect her own mysterious interests, or because she had a more sinister intent, he wasn’t sure. “Be that as it may, the man who attacked me was sitting in your gin house the night I came to question you. He wore a patch over his nose.”