The Pursuit of Pleasure (24 page)

McAlden let out a low whistle of admiration.

“Yes,” Marlowe agreed. “We’ll have to take her out to a mooring to take on crew, and guns, away from curious eyes.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange it with the harbormaster by the time the tide turns.”

“Very good. They’ve let us pick a few men of our own—Wills and Davies, as well as the Gypsy.”

“Good men.” McAlden walked farther forward to assess her lines. “Things will change once we’re on board.” He spoke in an offhand manner, and without looking at his friend and superior, but Marlowe understood.

“Will they? Do you think you can manage to call me Sir without choking?”

“No.” But he smiled. “I’ll keep a slop bucket at the ready.”

“And I’ll make sure you have to say it at least twelve times a day.”

That got a laugh out of McAlden, and seemed to dispel his air of gloom.

“They had me rename her.” Marlowe gestured to the painter working below the bow in a dory. “Something not Navy. No H.M.S.”

“
Defiant
?” McAlden read the bow carving. “Isn’t that a bit obvious?”

“Is it?” Marlowe smiled at the saucy, bare-breasted figurehead the painter was giving a coat of red hair.

“Oh, Jesus.” McAlden passed his hands over his eyes. “You’ve named it after the ginger-hackled witch. Why do I have a horrible feeling our luck is about to change?”

“Come along, Mrs. Tupper. You’ll need to pack yourself a bag. We’re going back to town.”

“London, ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, only Dartmouth. And only Hightop House, but I think this is a propitious time for a visit.”

Mrs. Tupper heaved a massive sigh of relief. “Now that’s the first sensible thing you had to say since you got here. I’ll see to packing your trunk.”

Lizzie did not quibble with her. Nor did she feel the need to mention the visit was not permanent, and she would be using the opportunity to hire suitable servants to populate Glass House properly. Servants who knew how to use guns. And replace plaster. Surely there could be no shortage of such along the south coast.

Because now they, whoever
they
might be, knew she was armed, they weren’t likely to be as ghostly and circumspect in using their weapons next time. A show of greater force, and greater occupancy, was necessary if she didn’t want to blow holes in every run of plaster in the house.

And with a visit to her mother she could finish her order at the drapers. Check on the progress of the upholsterer. Order some new linens. Get some answers to her questions.

And search out Phineas Maguire.

Lizzie drew the line at visiting public houses by herself. She had at least that much care for her reputation. But she asked every shopgirl and errand boy, every ostler and stevedore she encountered. No one knew. Or would say.

Maguire was finally found, of all places, at the kitchen door to Hightop Manor. He simply presented himself there two afternoons after she had arrived.

Mrs. Tupper, whom she had kept with her as her personal servant on this short trip, because she knew not to fuss, bustled across the terrace to rouse Lizzie from her contemplation of French-style chairs for the music room.

“Big fellow to see you, ma’am. He looks respectable enough and had a civil tongue in his head, but he does seem … a bit rough.”

That might have been any number of her acquaintances along the south coast. But there he was at last, the grizzled old specimen.

“Mr. Maguire, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Nice to see you, missus. I give you my gratulations on your wedding. And my most true condolences.”

“Thank you, Mr. Maguire, you are very kind. I wonder if I might have a word.” Lizzie closed the kitchen door on Mrs. Tupper and led Maguire back down through the gardens for a stroll, much like she’d taken Jamie. And for the same reason. Out in the shrubbery, their talk could be entirely private. It seemed such a long time ago, that last walk.

“What could you want with old Maguire?”

Maguire didn’t seem particularly old to Lizzie, but he wasn’t young either. He had looked exactly the same since the first time she had met him, well over fifteen years ago, when he had plucked her out of the Dart and into his dory. She had been seven and attempting the great feat of swimming all the way across the river. Maguire had most likely saved her from drowning.

He had the look of an aging prizefighter. Tall build, broad shoulders, enormous, capable hands, wide broken nose. His skin was bronzed to the color of mahogany. The difference was in his eyes: they were clear and bright blue, once one got close enough to see them.

His hair had always been a short, salty mixture of gray and white, his teeth (and he still had his teeth) had always been crooked, and his warm blue eyes had always twinkled when he was amused. And he often was. Little whiskers of lines etched out from the corners of his eyes, but they always made him seem merry, rather than old.

And he always knew what was what.

Lizzie lowered her voice. “Answers. About the free traders.”

“Now, missus, I been out of that ken for more than a score of years. Game’s changed, it has.”

“But you still have an ear to the sand. You still know more than any three men in this county about what’s going on.”

“I might know a thing or three.”

“Then you know about the house at Redlap Cove? How it’s come to me in my marriage settlement?”

“There’s been some talk. High and low.”

“How flattering. And what do you make of it?”

Maguire gave her a squinty-eyed assessment.

“Come Maguire, I’m past being shocked. Putting a barrel full of birdshot into Dan Pike rather put paid to any delicate sensibilities I might have had left.”

His pale blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Been some talk about that as well.”

“And how does it go?”

“You’re a cool mort, they’ll give you that.”

“I’m flattered, but how will it all play out?”

“Well then, the way I see it, missus, you got two lays.”

“Yes?”

“You can either abandon this ken—Redlap—or you can try to parlay with the gang running out of Redlap and take your cut.”

“Simple enough. What’s the rub?”

His face cracked into a smile. “Clever girl, you always were. Aye, there’s a rub. Don’t know as you’ll want to parlay with them lot. Don’t know as you can. T’weren’t like the old days. These fellows aren’t the usual run. Near as I can reckon, the Redlap gang are part of a sort of clearinghouse ken. Someone’s running two, three large gangs at the same time, see. Powerful they are. Don’t mind a gratuitous application of force, like. But then, from what I’ve heard, neither do you.”

“Ah, but mine wasn’t gratuitous. Dan Pike was housebreaking. I had ample justification.”

“But now, they ain’t so very likely to make a parlay, or offer you a cut, if you see what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I do.” If only she hadn’t been so sure the house-breaker was the mole, McAlden. She might have had the presence of mind to simply offer the man a drink and a parlay. No. She was only fooling herself. And forgetting Dan Pike’s loaded pistols. “So now, what do you advise I do?”

His eyes were positively glowing now. “Well, depends on what you want.”

He didn’t like these morning visits. He had never been very good at explaining himself. Especially when he didn’t have good news. And he didn’t have good news.

Still, best to take it like a man and get it over with. He gave his coat one last tug at the hem and smoothed his hands over his waistcoat. Nervous gesture that.

He was shown in directly, without being announced.

“What are you doing here in town?” the figure on the chair asked testily without greeting. “You’re meant to be elsewhere—at Redlap.”

“Good morning. I’m afraid a difficulty has arisen.”

“Difficulty?”

“Yes. The house is still occupied.”

“By you, I should hope. That was my instruction.”

“Yes, well, no.”

A hissed sound of impatience urged him to clarify. “I have not been able to take up residence. Even with Marlowe dead, Elizabeth continues to live in the house.”

“Still prostrate with grief, and can’t be moved? Ridiculous. Self-indulgent nuisance. You must get rid of her.”

“As I said, she’s become rather more than a nuisance.”

“Are you deficient in understanding? I said to get rid of her. It ought to be easy enough to move one flighty young woman.”

“We tried. She shot Dan Pike last night.”

“Shot him? How?”

“I sent them in to frighten her. I thought she’d go easily enough. But she shot him.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

The silence that followed was not pleasant.

“Then, all things considered, perhaps it is time you shot back.”

“I don’t—”

“Or is it in nerve that you’re so lacking?”

“No, I …”

“Get rid of her.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t care. And I don’t care to know how. Just get it done. Only do it yourself, carefully this time. Don’t leave any trace of connection back to you. Or me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Lizzie heard the bell on the front door and looked out her sitting room window, down over the threshold. It was too late in the day for visitors—Mr. Tupper had collected her in to eat another hearty, healthy dinner Mrs. Tupper had prepared just to tempt a few pounds onto her thinned frame. And she had told them to turn away all visitors.

It was Sir Ralston Cawdier and a small company of men. Lizzie felt her surprise as if it happened somewhere outside her own head. How strange. She had not expected the magistrate to trouble himself on her behalf regarding Dan Pike.

“Elizabeth Paxton Marlowe, if you please.”

“One moment, please, sir, I’ll see if she’s at home.”

Lizzie could hear Sir Ralston’s deep gravelly voice from the entryway as she made her way down the upper corridor. “… not here on a social visit. I’ll see her whether she’s receiving or not.”

“Sir, Mrs. Marlowe is still in mourning …”

“It’s all right Mrs. Tupper, thank you.” Lizzie took her timecoming down the stairs. “Sir Ralston. Do come in. To what do we owe the honor of your,” she searched for the correct word, “visit?”

“No visit, I’m sorry to say. I’ve come on business, and I’ll come right to it.” He turned to face her, but focused his eyes on a spot somewhere above her head. “Mrs. Elizabeth Paxton Marlowe, as magistrate of this county, I am here to inform you that someone has laid information against you for the murder of your husband, Captain Jameson Marlowe, late of this parish. You’ll need to come with me.”

There was a very long, absurd moment of silence while Lizzie grappled to understand. She looked at Mrs. Tupper, whose mouth stood agape, and then back at Sir Ralston, who continued to look at the wall. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, sir. What do you mean, murder? My husband was killed on active duty in the navy.”

“I am arresting you for …” He consulted a folded piece of foolscap from his large pocket. “For conspiring to murder, or have murdered, your husband.”

“But that’s preposterous. He died while aboard ship out of Portsmouth, or somewhere.” She waved her hand in the direction of the Channel. She couldn’t recall where the letter from the Admiralty had said he’d died, if it had mentioned it at all.

“Be that as it may, you’ll have to come with me.” He clamped a meaty fist around her upper arm.

She slid out of his grasp, more indignant than angry. “Sir Ralston. Unhand me this instant. This is preposterous.”

“Information has been laid against you, and that’s all there is to it. Now, you’ll come along, Mrs. Marlowe, or the sheriff will cuff your hands.” He reached for her again.

“No! God damn it. Let go of me. Tupper. Tupper! Do something!”

For a portly man, Sir Ralston’s grip was surprisingly strong. He hauled her easily towards the front door, despite Mrs. Tupper clinging to his other arm like a terrier, pulling in the opposite direction.

“Damn it, woman,” he shouted at the housekeeper while not letting Lizzie loose by so much as an inch. “Let go, or by God I’ll haul you in as well, on a charge of disrupting the peace.”

At his call, the men from outside entered and took her by the arms, one to a side, while Sir Ralston held off Mrs. Tupper. There was nothing either Mr. or Mrs. Tupper could do, though Lizzie was touched to note Mrs. Tupper had to be restrained by her husband from doing Sir Ralston any further harm. She had the impression of watching them from afar, at a great remove. It was unreal and all so thoroughly, entirely ridiculous. A very, very bad joke.

“Where are you taking her?” Tupper asked.

“Dartmouth Gaol. Murder is a capital offense.”

“Sir,” Tupper reasoned. “There must be some mistake. My mistress—”

“No mistake.”

Cold reality descended with bruising speed. Lizzie began to feel a desperate pressure in her chest.

“Sir Ralston, you’ve known me all your life. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows I could never …”

“Aye, everyone knows you, and has heard your views on marriage often enough to wonder why you’d marry a man like Captain Marlowe, when it was clear you had no liking for the man. You stated publicly you should like to become a widow.”

“How dare you! My affections for Captain Marlowe are none of your business, nor are they anyone else’s business.”

“They’re my business right enough when someone lays information against you for conspiring to murder.”

“Who would do such a thing? Who would tell you such lies that you’d believe them? Captain Marlowe was killed on duty—on his ship! How could I possibly be responsible for that? Didyou check these ridiculous allegations with the Admiralty? Are you entirely mad?”

Sir Ralston ignored both her logic and her insult, and dragged her out the door. “You’ll be held in Dartmouth Gaol until the Assizes, yours being a capital case. That’ll be sometime after the Quarter Sessions at Midsummer.”

“Midsummer isn’t till the end of June,” Mrs. Tupper blustered. “That’s near a month away!”

“That’s right. Doesn’t matter when to me. But it will give you plenty of time and money to spend on your defense. Come along.”