Three Nights of Sin (5 page)

“Mr. Penner?” Noble asked, an easy smile on his face, his features somewhat obscured and softened by a low slung cap.

“Yes?”

Noble stuck out a hand. “Nathaniel Upholt, from the
Times.
We’d like to do a piece on your capture of the Middlesex murderer.”

Penner’s square shoulders puffed back and two spots of color appeared in his cheeks as he vigorously shook the proffered hand. “Come in, come in.”

Marietta followed Noble inside. Her first impression of Penner’s house was that it was…fastidious. Too many perfectly framed pieces, no
spare bits of color or style. Geometric. She looked again. Square. Everything was squared away, just like Penner himself.

“This is my assistant, Miss Klein. Don’t mind her. She’s more for display,” Noble whispered in a stage voice.

Marietta didn’t know whether to be offended or amused. And what was he thinking? Nathaniel Upholt was a real journalist. Noble didn’t seem to understand the importance of that, though, as he calmly retrieved an ink pot, quill, and paper.

Penner gave her a once-over and licked his lips. “Nice, nice.”

In her low cut outfit she wasn’t surprised she warranted a second look from a man with a taste for shopgirls. Noble had given her cosmetics to apply, and they made her look surprisingly different. They hadn’t turned her into a raging beauty, but they had softened her harsh angles and made her look halfway alive again. Her eyes were longer and more almond-shaped, her cheeks and lips brighter, the shadows and pale features covered by the brightness.

“Have me commendation right here.” He gave her what she assumed was a coy look. “A real upstanding member of London.”

Marietta kept her mouth from falling open. Sure enough, there on the wall of his study was a framed piece of paper with a scrawled commendation from the head of the watch. They really had tried and convicted Kenny without so much as a peep of a trial.

“And the reward bill. Even looks like the brigand.”

Marietta looked at the framed handbill with its vague drawing of a man sporting a serious scruff. Nothing like Kenny’s baby cheeks. The reward proclaimed the sum of fifty pounds to anyone who apprehended the murderer.

“Planning to use the money to do good works. You can print that.” He pointed to Noble’s poised quill.

“What type of good works?” Marietta had to ask, despite Noble’s warning glance.

“Oh, this and that. Make sure the lads at the pub have a round or two.”

Noble gave her a look that promised death should she continue her line of questioning.

“Now, where were you when you realized you had the Middlesex murderer in your grasp?” Noble asked, his tone both flattering and curious.

Penner leaned forward. “I was at me pub. The White Stag. Went out for a bit to clear me head. Been celebrating with the lads. Anyways, I heard a sound. A cry for help. I ran around the corner, ready to help the fair lady, but I was too late.” He hung his head. “The bastard had already done her in.”

“How do you know?”

“He was hunched over the body! Covered in blood. His eyes met mine. Devil’s eyes! I knew immediately ’twas him. I let out a yell and tackled him.”

Noble lifted a brow. “You tackled him? Very brave of you.”

Penner puffed up some more. “Couldn’t let him get away. I’m quite the sportsman. Know how to put a man down. Can handle me fists.”

Marietta smiled weakly as Penner gave her another
coy glance. She looked at Penner’s form. Tall, lanky Kenneth had probably gone down like a sapling felled by a monstrous axe.

“Did he say anything? Try to proclaim his innocence? Try to run?” Noble asked.

“Blighter looked smacked in the gob. Like he didn’t know why I had hit him. As if murdering women were not a sin.” Penner closed a fist in disgust.

Marietta exchanged a look with Noble and was gratified to see a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“And then what happened?”

“The watch guards came. We have about five fellas from the Stag that do rounds. One of the men on duty was in the pub.”

“The man who arrested K—the brigand—was intoxicated?” she asked.

Noble’s lips pinched together as Penner’s head swung toward her.

“No more intoxicated than need be. Just what are you implying, miss?”

Noble tapped the feather of his quill against his leg. His expression said,
Talk yourself out of this one.

“Well, it—it just seems such a dangerous business. You probably needed to double your efforts to keep the murderer subdued if the watchman on duty was below the weather.”

It wasn’t her best effort at dissembling, but she watched Penner process her words and his slow nod turned more vigorous. “Yes, just doing my duty.” He leaned into her space. “I know how to take care of things.”

His expression grew coy again. Not quite what
she’d had in mind when she’d lamented her failed charms.

“Lovely.”

Noble gave her another warning glance, but was no longer glaring as he turned back to make a few more notes. He asked a few more questions—about Penner’s commendation, the White Stag and what had happened after the tackling, but nothing stuck out in Penner’s answers. Just a do-gooder who Marietta fervently wished had not “done good” that particular night.

“If you need any more information, send your assistant back. I’ll make sure she gets all she needs.” He smiled. “I’m a hero.”

Marietta forced a smile in return. She had been told she would make a decent mistress once. That her sharp tongue could be put to good use, as disgusting as that had sounded from a man three times her age and size. If she were truly desperate enough to go that route, she would choose someone other than Archibald Penner, the man who ruined Kenny.

They walked from the house, and Marietta held her tongue until they were well away.

“What were you thinking to impersonate Nathaniel Upholt? What is Mr. Penner going to do when he doesn’t see his write-up in the paper?”

Noble looked unconcerned. “Oh, the article will appear in the
Times.
”

“What? How?”

“I spoke to Nathaniel this morning. He was more than happy to give me the task of interviewing Archibald Penner.”

Her jaw dropped. “You spoke to Nathaniel Upholt?”

“By way of courier, yes.”

“And you did all of this before I awakened?”

“Not all of us can afford to be layabouts.” His arms swung loosely at his sides as he walked. “You upper class types are all the same. Sleep until noon and then fritter your nights away.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I do not fritter my nights away.”

“Really? And what do you do at night?”

“I go to social events. Parties or galas. Sometimes a musicale. Or a charity event,” she tacked on with satisfaction.

“Well, I must retract my frittering comment in that case.”

“It’s not frittering. It’s surviving.” She gritted her teeth.

“Oh, yes. Social survival, is it not?”

“Quite.”

“That must be very satisfying.”

“I find you irritating, Mr. Noble.”

“I am most distressed to hear that, of course, Miss Winters.”

He tipped his hat to two girls passing on the sidewalk. Marietta looked back to see the girls madly whispering, eyes wide as they watched him, girlish giggles rolling out one after the other.

“Must you do that?”

“Walk?”

“Encourage them.”

“I tipped my hat. Are you against politeness?”

“At this time, quite possibly. My irritation borders dangerously close to dislike.”

“Yes. I can’t say I’m fond of you either.”

The lazy grin with which that was delivered made her heart speed up two notches. She was quite irritated by that as well.

M
arietta closed her eyes in awakened bliss, then lazily opened them in the way of a contented cat. The smell of the herbs and feel of the warm steam on her face…the colors sharpened, from the tomato red hand towels on the kitchen rack to the daffodil yellow of the sunbeams peeking above the trees. Brought back into a world where color and optimism existed.

She made a last sweep of her bowl with a piece of the rosemary and dill bread that had become her morning staple. Her belly had been full for days and she was finally beginning to fill back out. Her thoughts raced like a well-oiled phaeton instead of the sluggish, rusted hack she’d been. Her temper had improved as well, though Noble seemed determined to push it.

She looked up to see amused eyes watching her. She blinked and the vibrant green was once again shadowed, the gaze arrogant. A picture of masculine confidence and virility, perfection leaning atop the
deeply scarred table littered with debris. One long-fingered hand rolled a perfectly formed walnut, hard and brittle, between his thumb and forefinger.

She pulled the overlapping edge of her robe even further together, tightened like a trussed-up nun.

His eyes fell to her robe, and she felt one layer shy of naked. “We are going to Cold Bath Fields today. You’ll need to wear servants’ garb.”

She straightened, her hand still gripping her robe. “We are? Truly?” She felt light-headed.
Kenny.

“Yes. As soon as you are dressed.” He looked her over, his gaze taking in everything from her hair to her robe’s sash. “You shouldn’t need help changing.” His smile turned wolfish, though his eyes remained dark. “Unless you want my help, of course.”

“That won’t be necessary.” That particular gaze did strange things to her. Her skin warmed, a low thrum beat inside her—and her teeth ground together in continued defiance of becoming one of his worshipers.

She didn’t respond to his knowledge of her clothing. Clarisse had mentioned creating pieces along the same lines before. No doubt Noble had relieved more than one woman of her clothes in the years that he’d done this type of work. And he was right—one of the dresses was made up of three separate pieces that connected together in the front and on the side. She could handle dressing on her own. Mrs. Rosaire must have come to fix the meal and then been dismissed for the day.

She ran upstairs. She was going to see Kenny.

Marietta was unsurprised to discover they were walking to Cold Bath, even though it was quite a distance. For the last few days they had walked nearly everywhere. Noble seemed much happier on foot. Or perhaps he thought walking would annoy her. On the contrary, she enjoyed the exercise, but maintained a neutral expression to keep him from guessing her attitude. He seemed to always be watching her, tossing an unbroken walnut in perfect timing to his steps. In a game where he held all of the pieces, she had to get in her digs where she could.

They approached the prison and Marietta shivered. In the otherwise decent neighborhood of cheerful row houses, the sparse, barred windows and spartan trim made the hulking building into a dismal fortress. Some kind soul had planted rows of flowers across the street in an entirely vain attempt to lift the mood.

A stocky, bearded man stood outside on the sidewalk, and upon seeing them, abruptly turned and hobbled inside. She looked to Noble, but he didn’t respond to the man’s odd behavior. They followed his path into the prison, and she could see the man’s dark shirt as he turned a corner.

Noble shadowed the odd little man, and she trailed Noble. Guards and magistrates passed them, chatting or moving prisoners. No one questioned their presence, whether it was due to their purposeful movements or something else, she didn’t know.

Two hallways turned to three and the crowds of people dwindled to small groups and then individuals as the wide hallways narrowed to cold paths. She held her breath as they rounded the fourth hall to see the
odd, sour-faced man with his hooked nose and bushy brows standing against a massive iron door. No one else was present.

“You can only be here for this half hour when the guards are on rotation.” His voice was gruff. “No one should question your presence, as only someone with a key can enter, but if anyone does, I’ll take care of it. Three turns right, cell in the center.”

The man spoke with a thick accent she couldn’t place.

“Thank you, Oscar. That will be the fulfillment of the second favor, then,” Gabriel said, his voice smooth and easy.

“Dem right.” Marietta blinked at the pugilistic set to the small man’s face. “Bertha’s all over me backside.” He growled. “The sooner the third is over, the better.”

“Poor Bertha. Still sore with me over the cat incident?”

The man started muttering, and Marietta heard the words “never forgive” and “nearly ripped me leg off” in the mumbles.

“Tell Bertha that my neighbor has kittens should she want one.” Noble’s voice and face were filled with barbed amusement.

“Nothing but trouble, you are. Kittens, bah, I’ll eat them,” he said irritably as he unlocked the door and held it open.

Noble winked—winked!—at her as he walked through. Marietta stared dumbly after him for a moment, then recalled herself and turned to Oscar, whose eyes were narrowed. Judging. The prickly fond
ness that may have been present for Noble was completely absent now. His lips thinned as he continued to watch her, but he didn’t say a word.

“Is something the matter, sir?” Something about the way he was looking at her, like something found under a rock, made her uncomfortable.

“Trouble. I can already see it.”

“Pardon me?”

“Go on now.” He motioned toward the door, his face set in unfriendly lines. “Thirty minutes is all you get. Not a minute more.”

Her feet took her through the door, but she pivoted to ask him about his comment. He closed the door in her face and the lock slammed into place. She blinked.

The sound of a tapping foot made her turn. A perfect brow lifted. “Are you going to tarry all morning, or shall we go find our prey?”

She took a quick step toward him, unnerved by Oscar’s actions. “He is not our prey, you horrid man.”

He put a hand over his chest and his head bowed. “Your words warm my cold, brittle heart.” His hand came back down to rest at his side, the walnut appearing from somewhere and once again rolling between his fingers. He lifted a sardonic brow. “Let’s find our prey, princess.”

He strode forward and took the first turn. Marietta glanced to the right and left, noticing the cells for the first time, Noble once more having captured her entire attention when he was within the same space, cursed man. Filthy, ragged hands appeared around the bars, followed by ripped sleeves black with dirt. Soulless eyes stared back.

“I’ll be your prey, pretty.” A clawed hand reached through the bars toward her. Before she could move, something pinged off the iron and the claw disappeared inside the dank cell. A walnut rolled into the corner and wobbled to a stop.

She turned, but Noble was nowhere to be seen. Moving quickly down the hall, she was relieved when she turned the corner and focused on his back once more. She concentrated on him as she walked, the edges of his garments brushing each other as they met in perfect alignment along his shoulders, hips, and legs. Better to look at the cursed man than to see the monstrous conditions of the cells and inmates. To think about what Kenny might look or act like.

They took the last turn and she saw Kenny in an area by himself, as dreary and dark as all the others, but at least empty of the thousand soulless Hecatonchire eyes. He was absently picking at the buckle on his shoe, looking miserable.

“Kenny!”

His head shot up and he sprang forward, gripping the bars, his ripped shirt falling off one shoulder making him look even more gangly and lanky.

“Marietta!” He gripped her firmly as she tried to embrace him through the bars. “Finally! You are here to release me! It’s been wretched. I’ve ruined my shoes. My hair’s a mess.”

He touched his hair with one hand and maintained his hold on her with the other. “I’ve a lump on my head that still smarts. Some dilettante hit me!” She tried to say something but words kept falling from his lips, as if he hadn’t talked to anyone in a week. “Tackled in the
middle of the street. Thank God you are here. Where’s the key?”

“Er.” She untangled herself from his arms and the bars. “That’s a slight problem, Kenny.”

“Yes, I know! They’ve held me here for a week! The food is wretched and there are rats. Rats! I saw one try to steal my bread last night.” He sent a glance toward one corner of his cell and edged farther into the bars, gripping them like the other prisoners. “And the Middlesex murderer is somewhere in the prison. What if he murders me in my sleep? The guards mutter about him all the time. They’ve even forgotten to feed me meals because of him.” His stomach rumbled. “About time they nabbed the bastard, though I can’t say that I agree with them lessening my rations because of it.”

She took a firm look at her brother, who was inhaling deeply after spewing that all out in one breath. He didn’t
seem
to be suffering from insanity. “Kenny, you know why you are here, don’t you?”

He waved a hand. “They think I killed someone. Ha. As if I can stand the sight of blood.” He shuddered. “Knew they’d discover their mistake sooner or later. But it’s been a week! Outrageous. Where is the key?”

He looked so expectant that all she could do was blink. A hand came through the bars to grip her arm. “Marietta?”

She didn’t know how it happened, but she suddenly found herself disengaged from Kenny, with her brother holding his fingers in pain. Noble’s hand fell from her arm before she even realized it was there.

“Ouch. What was that for? Who are you?” Kenny asked, sucking one suspiciously clean finger into his mouth.

“That is of little concern to you. Do you really expect us to believe that you are that clueless as to why you are imprisoned?” Noble asked.

Kenny looked bewildered. Poor boy had never been the brightest tulip. “I’ve been falsely arrested, and Marietta has come to save me?”

There was so much hope in his face and she hated to be the one to ruin it.

“Yes, your sister has come to save you,” Noble said, surprising her. “Little though you seem to deserve it.”

Kenny’s eyes widened. He had always made friends so easily, unlike her. “I didn’t kill that woman. No one can believe I did.”

“Not only do they believe you killed her, but they think you killed two other women as well.”

Perhaps he wasn’t the quickest man, but Kenny wasn’t terminally stupid. Comprehension turned to horror. “They think I’m the Middlesex murderer?”

Marietta moved to touch him and noticed Noble shift his position. “Kenny, you are in real trouble. Haven’t you noticed?”

He chewed his lip. “I thought they were keeping me away from the others. The guards mostly avoid me. Do they really believe that of me? Does—” his voice lowered. “Does anyone else know?”

Marietta swallowed. “Yes.”

“No,” he whispered. He obviously read all that she wasn’t saying in her one word reply.

Marietta examined her sturdy slippers. “You need
to help us, Kenny. It’s the only way we can get you released.”

“Have you sent for a barrister?”

Her lips compressed. “Yes, but one is of little use in these types of cases.”

She had read the laws as she’d promised herself. Noble had been right, damn it.

“But then, what—what is going to—”

“You can answer our questions, for a start.” Noble’s tone was cold, but he didn’t look as completely unapproachable as he had the first night she’d met him. “What were you doing around the White Stag when you were arrested?”

Kenny sent her a questioning glance, his face a mirror of the sharp planes and dark circled brown eyes she had sported before eating Mrs. Rosaire’s hearty stews. Though unlike her, his wide eyes made him look comically innocent. Marietta had a vague stirring of hope that a jury would see him that way too. She nodded encouragingly in response.

He ran a hand through his dirty hair and it stood on end. “Mark and Marietta were fighting again. Just had to get out of there.”

Marietta bit her lip, the flare of hope quickly firing into guilt.

“I walked for a while. Passed a number of taverns—there wasn’t much action in any of them and they lacked friendly faces. Headed east. I had a few pence on me.” He looked sheepishly at Marietta. Mark had distributed their “pin” money with the new clothing items they couldn’t afford—part of the reason for the fight in the first place.

“There was a raucous tavern. I could see it from a block away. Looked perfect. So I headed for it. Wasn’t three strides to enter when I heard a noise. Like the tap of metal against stone. Someone screamed, ‘You!’ There was this weird sound. Like the screech of a cat.”

His eyes pinched together. “I walked around and toward the sound. A woman was lying there. Then everything went black. I woke up in a puddle of blood with a knot the size of a grapefruit on my skull.”

“You didn’t see anyone with the woman?”

“No. Must have knocked me out. Hurt like the devil when I woke. I couldn’t stop moaning. Then I saw the body.” He shivered. “Lying there, right next to me.”

He paused, his eyes widening. “Dear God.” He looked as if someone had just struck him again. “The Middlesex murderer.”

“How long do you think you were out?”

“Don’t know.” He scratched his head, flattening a section and making another stand further on end. “Maybe twenty minutes? Was about ten when I left the house, and I heard a guard say it was half past eleven as they were locking me up.”

“And after you saw the body what did you do?” Noble asked.

“I touched her arm. It was so…cold. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there looking down at her. Then this man came barreling down the alley and tackled me. Wouldn’t listen to a word I said. He just kept yelling at me. I was here not twenty minutes later. Shoved
into this rathole.” He kicked a piece of straw. “They think I’m the Middlesex murderer. Unbelievable. And to think, he was right there. Could have done anything to me.” He shuddered.