Page 35 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

But even so, how could she have known in advance that she would have that opportunity?

How could Mavis? Alice must have expected to go to the back door like all servants and never have got near the post in the front hall.

To hand the letter over to one of the manor servants would have been to give herself or her mother away.

Pure luck had left the front door open. And the maid polishing the mirror in the hall had said nothing about seeing Alice, only feeling the draft. Alice had waited outside.

Which brought Constance back to the drawing room guests.

Mr. or Mrs. Raeburn? The vicar would have to be positively evil to preach a sermon like that against something he himself had done!

He was not evil. Neither was his wife, although recalling the way she had monopolized Solomon, Constance considered the possibility with unkind relish before discarding it. No one at the vicarage lived alone.

Miss Fernie? The stealing proved her to be considerably subtler than Constance had initially given her credit for. But she had pushed Constance down the stairs for her sin. Not cut out print from a newspaper and sent her an anonymous letter. That was not her way.

Which left only the Chadwicks. The doctor, probably, had been too busy to attend a tea party, but Mrs. Chadwick and Sophie had almost certainly been there…

According to Peregrine Mortimer, “It was a Wednesday, when they all come bleating for free food.”

And Sophie had borne that out . “I take him to tea at Miss Mortimer’s every Wednesday.”

Constance’s heart gave a thump and seemed to stop.

She tightened her grip on Solomon’s hand so convulsively that he winced. Her thoughts and other people’s words and faces raced through her mind, fading out the vicar’s voice and those of the congregation as the ritual prayers continued.

I know who did it. This time I do know. The vicar has not been honest with us …

*

Abel Drayman came to with the sound of voices in the next room and the sense of danger flexing his limbs. Though he felt awful—mixing gin and rum did that to a man—he sprang up from the bed with silent speed and didn’t even feel dizzy until he stood facing the door with his knife in his hand.

Then he did reel slightly, but at least he knew where he was—in one of the back bedrooms of his favorite brothel, where Rosie let him sleep sometimes.

There were signs of her presence all around, half-full perfume bottles, skimpy gowns and underclothes.

Her robe was not hanging on the rusty hook on the door, so she must be wearing that while she talked to her visitor in the next room.

“Look, I ain’t seen him,” Rosie whined more loudly. “You got no cause to come round here bothering my friends.”

“We’re not bothering your friends, are we, Rosie? Or you.”

Drayman’s flesh crawled. He knew a peeler when he heard one. Instinctively, his eyes sought the loose plank in the floor, beneath which he’d hidden his good fortune from Rosie’s prying eyes.

“I only want to know when you last saw Drayman.”

Drayman cursed beneath his breath. They knew his name, whether in connection with the thefts around the docks, or worse, the croaking of Herbert Chase. He had to get out of here. How long would Rosie be able to keep them out?

“Not for ages,” she was saying. “Must’ve been months ago. Or was it…?”

Drayman dropped down and used his knife to ease up the floorboard, trying not to make any sound louder than Rossie could talk over.

“Wait, no, I tell a lie!” she exclaimed. “I saw him just a week ago. Or was it two? Hey, Mags! When was it Abel turned up here, middle of the night, drunk as a wheelbarrow? Was it last Tuesday? Or the one before?”

“Abel who?” came the muffled answer from another room across the passage.

Drayman grinned as he set the plank aside and loaded up his pockets with what he’d hidden in the floor cavity—a fair bit of money and a few pieces of gold jewelry.

He thought briefly of leaving Chase’s gold watch.

It might get the rozzers off his back by setting them on Rosie instead.

But when it came down to it, the watch was solid gold, and he needed it.

He crammed that into his pocket as well and crept over to the window.

“Anyway, I told him to bugger off, he can’t come round here bothering me in that state and expect to stay here for free. Free! I asks you now, inspector, is that fair or reasonable? No, it ain’t, so I told him not to come back.”

There was another peeler waiting outside the building, his back to the wall, looking for a fight. Drayman wasn’t ready to give him one. To the side of the window frame was a narrow, secret door that opened to the next room. Drayman took it and closed it behind him.

One of the whores was snoring her head off on the bed.

Drayman ignored her and crept toward the door.

On the hook there hung a dirty white cap and a moth-eaten velvet cloak.

Grinning, Drayman crammed the cap on his head, swung the cloak about his shoulders, and left the room.

The door to Rosie’s outer room stood open to the passage.

He could still hear the peeler asking questions as he strolled along the passage away from him, swinging his hips as he went.

Then he bolted down the stairs and left by the secret back entrance, avoiding all the traps set for the unwary and unknowing, where he hung the cloak and cap on a spike.

From there, it was easy to escape into the dank warren of narrow allies and steps and passages where the rozzers would never find him.

On the other hand, he had to consider how they’d got onto him in the first place. He’d been lying low, on account of the Chase trouble nine years ago, and used a different name until he’d actually seen Chase, most definitely alive, and knew it was all for nothing.

The bastards had sent him off on that vile ship without pay or even the spices he’d taken as his share of Chase’s loot. And they’d behaved as if they were doing him a favor! He’d been afraid to go home, even missed the death of his old mum. Chase and Captain Blake had fooled him.

There was no point in getting angry about that again. He’d seen to Chase this time, all right. And relieved him of all he was carrying. He had the feeling that was how the rozzers knew his name. Because there had been another man from the Mary Anne at the Crown and Anchor that night.

Johnny, who’d not been right in the head. Or he was delirious with fever. Drayman hadn’t really cared which at the time, but he’d clocked Johnny in the Crown and Anchor. He’d seen him look in a puzzled sort of a way at Chase too, though he’d paid no attention to Drayman.

But later, when he’d been going through Chase’s pockets, it was Johnny who’d come out and seen him. He’d shouted and the peelers had come running, and both Johnny and Drayman had it away on their toes in opposite directions.

They must have caught Johnny, who’d have bought his own life with Drayman’s name.

In which case, Johnny was the only proof they had. Drayman would be happy enough to do away with him too. If he could find him.