Secret Night (10 page)

"There is too much evil in this world, Mr. Hamilton."

"And you believe Hannah More has the answer to it?"

"No. The answer, sir, must lie within ourselves." She studied him soberly for a moment. "You are like Papa, aren't you? In your books, one must either be a crazed reformer or a profligate." "And you?" he asked softly.

"I am a selfish person whose life was touched by Ben," she answered. "As I saw how Papa treated him, I came to realize that we all wish to think ourselves better than others. Somehow it is better to be born poor in the Church of England than to be born rich and Jewish or Catholic. But I am not at all certain that God cares for the difference. Sometimes I think He must look down upon us and shake His head at our follies."

"You sound like a Methodist, Miss Rand."

"Well, I am not. Not that there is anything wrong with them, sir," she hastened to add. "I just happen to admire Hannah More and what she has done to alleviate the suffering of this world."

"What are you going to do with Pearl? Presuming she lives, of course."

"I could not leave her in that place—I could not. We were handing out pamphlets in Covent Garden last week, saying that everyone deserved food and shelter," she recalled slowly. "She came up to me and touched my dress so carefully, as though she feared to soil it, and I asked her where she was from. She pointed to that house, then began to cry, and when I asked why, she said it was because of the men, that she knew her soul was lost. She could scarce speak for the cough, that awful cough."

"Consumption," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes." Elise dared to meet his eyes. "Mr. Hamilton, she is but fifteen."

"There is no cure."

"I know, but why must she spend the rest of her days in a place like that? Even if Mrs. Coates no longer sells her, she is in a living hell, sir."

"And now she will die amongst strangers."

Ignoring the truth of his words, she went on, "She wanted to come with me that day—I know it. But Mrs. Coates's man came and took her back."

He was silent as he considered what she'd said. Finally, when he spoke, he tried to reason with her. "Miss Rand, what you are doing is dangerous. No gently bred female should be standing on the streets in Covent Garden, no matter how noble the purpose."

"You sound like Papa. But no matter what he wishes, I am not a gentlewoman, Mr. Hamilton. I am a Cit"

"A rich one with no business in Covent Garden."

"I have no wish to be wasteful of my time on earth. I cannot sit idly about, doing naught but watercolors. If I were a man, I should not be content to make bricks like Papa, not at all." Once again, her chin jutted defiantly. "I should be a Whig and stand for Parliament. I should introduce and reintroduce the bill against climbing boys over and over again until it passes. And against slavery. And for the emancipation of the Catholics."

"And the Lords would defeat every bill."

"There will come a time when enough people realize that the Lords should not be entitled to stifle every piece of progressive legislation simply because they have been born to tides, Mr. Hamilton."

She spoke with passion, reminding him much of himself in the days when he still believed a younger son could be what he wished, even an actor.

"How old are you, Miss Rand?"

"Twenty-two. Definitely not in the first bloom of youth."

"I wouldn't say that"

"Mr. Hamilton—"

"No, no—I admire you, Miss Rand. You have chosen not to trade on your face to gain yourself some wealthy, tided, and altogether pompous husband." It was his turn to look out the window. "I had different dreams, I am afraid."

"You wished to be a rich barrister."

"No, not at first." His mouth twisted. "I wished to be the greatest actor since Kemble—greater even than Kean. As a youth I would practice alone in the Scottish hills, shouting into the wind to strengthen my voice."

"You do not have a Scots accent," she said softly.

"I read aloud the same passages over and over, trying to sound like a sophisticated Englishman, until I got the hang of it."

"Well, you have succeeded in that. But why did you change your mind and read law?"

"Because I am a Hamilton, Miss Rand. And even a poor Hamilton must remember the illustrious line from whence he has come. Hamiltons," he declared with a finality, "go to Eton, then to Oxford. My great defiance was to choose Cambridge."

"And the law."

"And the law. What is the law but a stage, and what are barristers but actors? The great body of common law provides the script, and we adjust the parts to suit the circumstances. I submit to you, Miss Rand, that we posture as much as Kean."

"And you are exceedingly successful, sir."

"Yes. But now I have my eyes set on another stage." He paused, letting that sink in as he would before a jury. "I am considering a run at Parliament."

"You could do a great deal of good."

"A position of power is perhaps the grandest stage of all." He smiled crookedly again. "All I need is the right wife, a powerful patron, and a platform from which to harangue my fellows."

"I see. And do you have these already discovered?" she asked, smiling back.

"Every one."

"Well, I hope you choose the Whigs, for they are the only ones with any conscience at all."

He didn't know why he said it, why he'd confided anything to her at all, but he shook his head. "I expect to cast my lot in with Dunster."

"But he is a Tory! And they are against everything!"

"But they are in power."

Her smile faded completely. "Then you are no better than Mrs. Coates, are you?"

There was no mistaking the censure in her voice. He stared again out the window. "Thankfully, Miss Rand, I do not have to answer that. You are at home."

Still, he felt compelled to add, "Unlike you, my dear, I am quite practical."

She knew she had no right to rip up at him, no right at all. And she also knew that both of them could have been killed beneath the runaway coach's wheels when he'd chosen to save her. She sighed.

"My wretched tongue again. Too often it takes me where I ought not to go."

"Brutally so."

As the hackney driver opened the door, Patrick jumped down, then reached up for her. She hesitated, then leaned into his arms before sliding to the ground. As he looked into her upturned face, he forgot his anger entirely.

She held out her hand. "I must thank you for everything, sir—my life, the lift home." She looked up again, then dropped her gaze self-consciously. "Yes— well, I doubt we shall meet again, so regardless of how wrongly you have chosen, I shall wish you well."

"If you need my assistance to explain, I can come in with you," he offered, taking her hand.

"No. For all his faults, Papa still loves me dearly." Pulling away, she quickly went up the steps. When she turned back, he was still watching her. "And if he is at home, I shall just have to tell him what has happened." She smiled. "Good day, Mr. Hamilton."

Accompanied by Big Tom, Maddie Coates slipped through the narrow, cramped lane into a dead-end alley, passing those who'd stumbled out of the opium dens to lie in stupor amid garbage and filth. Holding a perfume-drenched handkerchief over her nose to mitigate the stench, she directed her manservant to bang upon an ancient door.

Hinges creaked as it swung inward, then an attendant peered out before silently stepping back to let them pass. It was dim and smoky within, making those who hunched over hookahs as well as those who sat on the floor appear as vacant-eyed wraiths from some nether world. Big Tom whispered to the doorkeeper, who nodded, then directed Maddie to a corner table where a solitary man awaited, his face shrouded by the hood of his cloak.

As she sat down, Maddie's eyes darted with the eagerness of a lover to the small tannish cake on the shingle. "It looks good, it does." "It is."

Her heart pounding, she watched him chip off bits of opium, then powder it with a pestle, mixing it with sugar before dividing it between them. His gold ring flashed, an odd bit of light amid the heavy haze that surrounded them. Her hand shook as she took a pinch and carried it to her mouth, where she tasted it. She made a face, then shuddered.

"Oooh, 'tis bitter, it is," she complained.

"The purest as can be had," he told her. "Wait and you will feel it."

She reached into her reticule and brought out a tiny, blackened spoon. Dipping into the drug, she ate of it determinedly, wanting the pleasure she knew it would give her. Across from her, her companion watched, his expression one of contempt for her.

“Your business, Maddie?" he prompted her. "You said you had a matter of import, as I recall. Something as cannot wait, wasn't it? And you was wanting opium, you said, else you would spill the budget. Well, I brought it, so's you can speak up anytime you was to want."

But her eyes were closed as she tried to feel the first effects of the powder he'd made for her. "Aye," she murmured. "Where'd you get it? 'Tis strong."

"Like it, don't you?" he said, nodding. "And well you ought, for 'tis the best to be got anywheres—had to pay good gold for it." This time, his ringed finger pushed his own small pile of sweetened opium toward her. "Best as can be got, Maddie—purest stuff. Pure as country snow." His voice was low, seductive, but his eyes were narrowed on her face. "Spill your business, and I got more for you."

Already she thought she could feel the pleasant warmth, but despite her anticipation, she sensed there was something different about it. Her tongue tingled oddly. "Aye," she said. "Ye got something else in it?"

"Ain't used to it like that, are you? You been getting the stuff as is more sugar than poppy, eh?"

"I ain't rich like some, ye know." She ran her tongue over her lips. "My business," she began. "Aye, my business," she repeated more stoutly. " 'Tis about Peg."

"Peg?" He seemed taken aback.

"Ye know-—the one you was always pesterin'—the one as ye was wan tin' me ter swing fer." A slow, sly smile curved her reddened lips. "Ye know the one, don't ye? The one as was once under Maidenhope's protection until she was poppin' with his babe. Aye, ye know which one, fer ye paid extra fer her."

His manner changed abruptly, and he sat back, his eyes malevolent. "Old woman, if I was you, I'd not tell this," he warned her.

"I ain't no older'n ye—most likely younger, if ye was ter have the truth o' it." She leaned forward to stare beneath his hood. "And I know—aye, I
know.
Ye can fool the watch mayhap, but ye ain't giving the slip ter Maddie, I can tell ye. Ye was the one as dumped her in th' river, wasn't ye?"

"You are a fool," he growled. "A silly fool."

"Oh, but I ain't. I got it figgered out, don't ye see? And don't be thinkin' ye can do with me as ye did poor Peg, for I brung Tom wi' me ter watch as ye don't try ter snuff me out. I wouldn't want ter tempt ye, ye know, so I ain't going nowheres with ye save where there's folks as can see ye." She waved her hand toward the big man, who waited for her by the door. "If ye was ter want ter harm me here, ye'd not live ter the alleyway. Tom—" She blinked again, thinking the opium was taking effect. "Tom's got a sticker as would carve ye like a goose—a big long 'un. Aye, ye'd be carved like ye was a big, fat goose."

"You've eaten too much opium, Maddie," he responded coldly.

The drug was potent, more so than any she'd had before. She tried to focus her eyes and return to the matter at hand. "But if ye was ter do right by me, why I'd be real fergitful, ye understand. I'd—" Her tongue felt too thick for speech. "I'd not tell the magistrate what I know."

"Why, you old tart—you miserable old tart," he sneered, shaking his head. "There's none as would believe you."

"Tart is as may be, ye old devil. At least I ain't killed a body, which is—" She stopped to pull at her tongue.

He looked around uneasily, then laughed harshly. "If you was to tell a constable, you'd be clapped up in Bedlam for sayin' it was me—aye, there ain't a man in London as would believe you. I got money, Maddie, and money buys anything I was to want I could snap m'fingers, and they'd a be putting you away—
away,
Maddie."

"Ain't anything as says I got ter tell—I might, and I might not, ye know." This time when she dipped her opium spoon, her hand was almost too heavy to lift. "Ye see, I might be persuaded ter keep what I know close—real close—ter me. Then ye could be knowin' yer secret was safe within me bosom." "I ain't your mark, Maddie."

"Fer a bit o' yer money," she went on, " Maddie'd fergit as how ye treated me gels—-or what ye wanted from Peg, don't ye see? Aye, ye do, don't ye? And I figger I got the blunt comin' as 'twas me that nearly went ter the Nubbing Cheat for what ye done."

For a long moment he glowered at her, then spat out, "How much? How much was you wanting?"

"Fer five thousand quid, I'd be real quietlike—why, m'lips'd be tight shut, they would. Aye, be a sort of justice fer Peg, wouldn't it? Ye'd be a-paying fer what ye did ter her."

"I ain't the fool as you'd take me for, Maddie. Why, there's none as would believe such a tale," he said again.

"But being a respectable gent, ye'd not be a-wantin' 'em ter ask ye about it, would ye?" She closed her mouth around the spoon and sucked on it, scarce tasting the bitterness. " 'Tis good, it is," she said thickly, "but next time I'd have—more sugar in it. Got too much opium—" She was feeling it now, the lethargy that wanted to overwhelm her. "Where was we? Oh—money. Aye-—money, it was." She dropped her spoon onto the table. "Mebbe they won't believe me, but when there's more gels in th' river, mebbe they'd remember, eh?"

"You'd not stop at five thousand, you old bitch."

"If they wasn't findin' more, I would." It was getting hard to speak, and her limbs seemed to be going numb. "Don't know if I was ter want more o' this," she mumbled. "Real good, but—" As she said it, she felt an enveloping dizziness. "Pure," she decided. "Too pure."

"I brought you what you was askin' for, Maddie."

His voice seemed to be coming from a distance, whispering to her brain. "Too strong by half," she gasped. "Too—strong—by—half."