Sunday, 18 October
Jack was making his way back to the Boar’s Tusk when a hulking shadow crossed his path. ‘Noreys!’ He yanked his dagger from its sheath to face him … and faltered when he saw the bewildered countenance of Hugh Buckton instead.
‘Master Buckton!’ He breathed with relief and sheathed his blade. ‘I didn’t know it was you, sir.’
‘I come to see if I could help you any further. Maybe there’s another man you would have me identify. For there are all sorts of scoundrels on the streets. I see them all.’
‘I’ll wager you do. But I have naught at the moment.’
‘Oh. Then maybe we should look around Mistress le Porter’s lodgings. Just to see.’
‘See what?’
‘What might have been left behind.’
‘The sheriffs went through it, Master Buckton. If it’s your money you’re looking for, well, they would have been sure to snatch it up already.’
‘Oh, I see.’
They stood in thoughtful silence for a time. Until Buckton heaved a sigh. ‘Well, then. If there’s nothing else I’ll be off.’
‘God keep you, master.’
The man said nothing as he reluctantly trudged away. He stole glances over his shoulder at Jack, but Jack urged him on with a nod of his head. He watched a long time until the eel monger finally disappeared. Shaking his head at man’s folly, Jack turned away toward Gutter Lane and reached the Boar’s Tusk at last. He kept to the rear of the tavern, hoping to remain inconspicuous. He needed time to think.
He tried to keep all the facts fresh in his mind, but as he saw it, he had two main concerns: He had to identify the possible murdering client or clients of the strangled women, and he had to find that third witness. Why was the man in hiding? Why keep his identity a secret? It was a fine puzzle, but also a frustrating one.
It was also frustrating that Isabel was so busy that she couldn’t spare him a moment. He wanted desperately to talk to her. But she was either consumed with the heavy work of the tavern or that slattern Ned was trying to worm his way into her good graces. She gave Ned her smiles, too. Had Jack misread them? Had she simply given every man she met her charming smile and attention? It was driving him mad.
As he considered Isabel and his vexing problems, he also kept half an eye on the door. He didn’t necessarily want it known that he was there at the Boar’s Tusk, just in case the sheriffs got it into their heads to nab him.
And then the door opened and he nearly slipped off his seat from shock.
‘I beg your mercy,’ said the woman to someone at a table near the door. ‘Do you know where I can speak with Crispin Guest? I was told … his lodgings … I was told he often came here.’
He did not hear the reply but he did see the man rise and point directly at Jack. So much for his own stealth. He stood as Helewise Peverel made her way improbably toward him through the Boar’s Tusk.
He wiped his face and straightened his shoulders.
‘Master Tucker,’ she said. She appeared nervous, twisting her fingers. ‘I must speak to Crispin Guest. Can you get a message to him?’
‘I am afraid, madam, that currently he is beyond my reaching him. But if I can help you …’
She searched around the tavern, no doubt taking in the rough faces and accents of those surrounding them. The low laughter, the dangerous arguments. But Jack had nowhere else to go. ‘Won’t you … sit down, Madam Peverel? May I get you ale … or wine?’
‘No, thank you.’ Gingerly she sat on a bench, drawing her cloak in around her so that she would not touch anyone or anything unseemly.
Jack sat opposite and leaned in, folding his hands together on the table before him, as if he did business with rich and important clients all the time in the Boar’s Tusk. ‘Now. Won’t you tell me why you’ve come?’
‘Oh, Master Tucker. I fear … I fear … that much must be explained.’
She looked far different from the proud and wealthy patron she had appeared to be in her own residence with her pet squirrel and her retainers. And Jack could see no retainers nearby at all. That was always troubling.
‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘All is not as it appears to be, Master Tucker. Far from it. I weary of it all. The lies, the deceptions. Times have been rough for the last few years. Investments have dried up. Crops have been bad. Livestock, sick. My finances … We all thought my dear husband had left me in good stead, and in many ways it was the truth. But in many other ways …’ She sighed. Jack poured ale from a jug into his cup and slid it toward her. She took it and downed it, setting it aside with a grimace.
‘My family relic.’
Jack breathed. He knew he was about to hear something vital and it was about time, too.
‘Jack!’ Ned suddenly slid in beside him on the bench.
‘Ned! What are you doing here?’
Ned scratched his ruffled hair. ‘I work here.’
‘I know that but I’m—’
‘Look here, Jack. I think you’ve got your notions about Isabel and I got mine …’
‘Ned!’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘Not now.’ He gestured across the table toward a weeping Madam Peverel.
‘Oh! I … sorry.’ Ned rose from the bench, but before he left he leaned in to Jack’s ear. ‘No doubt she’s rich, but she’s a bit old, isn’t she?’ he hissed.
Jack gave him a sour look as Ned wended his way back through the tables, looking worriedly over his shoulder at Jack.
Jack settled himself on the bench again, face blazing with heat. He folded his hands before him and tried again to look like a professional. ‘I apologize for that interruption, madam.’
She rose. ‘If you are too busy, perhaps I should leave …’
‘Oh no, madam.’ Jack stood and with calming gestures, urged her back down. ‘You were saying—?’ He dropped his voice to a quieter level. ‘About your family relic …’
She nodded and smoothed out her gown. ‘The Tears of the Virgin. How proud we were to have it.’ But her words had an ironic lilt to it as she frowned and stared at the table. ‘Recently, as recently as a fortnight ago, I was preparing to approach our rivals, the Noreyses.’
‘Oh?’ He tried to keep his tone neutral and official, much as the sheriffs did.
‘Yes. I was preparing to … make them an offer.’
‘You were going to sell it to them?’
‘Yes. They’ve wanted it for years. They certainly made no secret of it.’
‘They said it belonged to them.’
She crushed her hands into fists but just as quickly relaxed them. ‘Yes. I know. Which was why I was preparing to sell it to them. But then those bedeviling Noreys boys tried to break into my home – my home, mind you – to steal it! I did not know what to do. Approach Master William or not? Sell it to him or lock it away? But … times are hard. It was time to sell it for a goodly sum. And even as I fended off his unruly sons, even as I tried to negotiate … I still couldn’t do it.’
‘The relic … it is a precious thing.’
‘Not for that.’ Tears filled her eyes and one small bead spilled over and ran down her cheek. Jack unfolded his hands and reached across the table to touch her hand … but stopped when he looked again at her face. Someone little better than a servant offering her comfort, touching her? He withdrew his hand, knowing it wasn’t fitting.
‘Our family possessed that relic for years. Years! But … my husband did not bring it from the holy land or acquire it by reverent means. My husband … won it in an unfair wager … from William Noreys, more than ten years ago.’ She put her trembling hand to her mouth at the horror of it.
Jack realized that she had probably never uttered those words aloud to another living soul. His hands dropped to his lap and he blinked at her. Finally he recovered from his amazement and licked his lips. ‘And so … the Noreyses’ contention that it belonged to them all along is true.’
‘Yes, yes! How many times must I say it? It is the humiliation of my family. To hold such a holy thing in so dubious a circumstance. But it is all moot now. I need the money to maintain my household. Although, that is not the worst of it, Master Tucker.’
‘I’m listening.’
She leaned farther in and spoke in low tones to the table. ‘A few years ago a dreadful accident happened. I was holding the Tears, as I was sometimes wont to do, praying, seeking guidance as to what to do with it. You see, I did not feel that we should keep it. It was acquired under such a dirty state of affairs – when I … dropped the phial. Oh holy saints! It shattered into a thousand pieces. The Tears. I did not know what to do. I cut myself trying to soak it up in my gown. But I finally surrendered to the disgraceful moment. After all, my prayers had been answered. The Holy Mother decided that no one should possess the Tears, for surely it was her hand that made my fingers slip.’
Jack listened rapt, mouth open, eyes huge. The rest of the noisy tavern fell away, and there was only the voice and snuffling of the woman before him.
‘I gathered what pieces of the phial I could. I locked the chapel and allowed no one to enter. And then I secretly sought out a craftsman to make me a new phial to resemble the old. And when that was done … Oh God forgive me … I filled it with false tears. With oil. And I placed it back in its monstrance and behaved as if nothing had changed. It’s monstrous! Monstrous what I did! And more! Oh my sins were not enough. No. For it was this phial, this false relic that I was attempting to sell to William Noreys. His own relic. And yet not his relic, but a fakery, a devil’s own snare. How will I ever be forgiven?’
Jack wiped his hand down his face. ‘So … what you are telling me is, the relic I saw and that my master saw in your chapel … was a fake?’
‘Yes. All of it. Deception. Lies. And you knew it, didn’t you, Master Tucker? That’s why you asked me if the relic had been replaced. My sin was obvious even to you.’
Jack considered but then another thought occurred to him. ‘Then … wait. If that were so, then the reason Elizabeth le Porter left was also false, for she could not have been overcome by the relic’s power for it was not a true relic.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. You see how far my sin treads. That, too, was a lie.’
‘Then why did she leave?’
‘I don’t know. One day she came to me and told me she had to leave. I argued with her, I pleaded. For she was a dear, dear servant to me, though she had not been with us long. I felt that she was more than a servant. Kin, you see, and I didn’t want her to depart. But she insisted. Apologized to me as if … I don’t know. As if it were for more than her leaving.’
Jack frowned. ‘Well! Madam Peverel. I don’t know what to make of all that. It certainly doesn’t change the fact that the Noreys boys wanted to steal the relic and went to great lengths to make their attempts.’ What madness! Here the Noreyses wanted the relic to sell because of their dire circumstances while at the same time Madam Peverel wanted to sell it to them for the same reason. What cruelty! And now neither would be redeemed.
But it got him thinking about Madlyn Noreys, for Hugh Buckton had seen her visit le Porter as well. What was her business there? Was she too trying to get the maid to steal it? But no. Elizabeth le Porter was already gone from the widow’s employ when she got her lodgings on Watling Street. It would have been too late. So why were the Noreys boys troubling her there as well?
Jack realized that he had been silently contemplating and suddenly looked up. Madam Peverel’s face was tired with worry, but her confession seemed also to have lightened her soul. Her eyes were still wet but not weeping.
‘How long had Elizabeth le Porter worked for you, madam?’
‘Three months. She came highly recommended.’
‘By who, may I ask?’
‘Well … I don’t know. My steward was in charge of that.’
‘I thank you for this most interesting information, Madam Peverel. Is the relic … the Tears, I mean, still in your private chapel?’
‘No. The sheriffs came yesterday to confiscate it as evidence for the trial of your master. They are keeping it safe at Newgate … for all the good it will do now.’
‘That was announced at the trial, I think. For now, madam, I would not tell this tale to anyone. Unless or until you must at the trial. It is safe at Newgate and as long as it is there, you are safe.’
She nodded. After a moment, she pushed herself up from the table and stood. ‘I thank you, Master Tucker. You have been most discreet. I pray your master is acquitted shortly.’
Jack bowed. ‘Madam.’ He watched her make her way out of the Boar’s Tusk. Whistling low, he fell back into his seat. ‘God blind me with a poker. That’s the damnedest tale I ever heard.’
‘What’s the damnedest tale you ever heard?’ asked Ned, taking up the empty jug.
‘Never you mind. And by the way.’ He poked Ned in the chest. ‘You stay away from Isabel.’
‘Eh? What’s it to you, Tucker? I saw her first.’
‘Well I saw her next. And … and …’ Was he to tell this knave before he ever mentioned it to Isabel? What if he bragged about courting her and she turned him down flat? He’d never hear the end of it. He shut his lips and adjusted his belt and cloak. ‘Just never you mind. I’ve got important business to attend to.’
Ned crossed his arms over his chest with a sneer. ‘All right.’
‘All right!’ Jack yanked his hood up and swept away. And it would have been a proud exit, too, if he hadn’t tripped over the bench and nearly spilled himself onto the floor. He righted and left hurriedly, red-faced, ears ringing with Ned’s laughter.
He shucked his embarrassment to concentrate on what needed doing. Monday would be upon them sooner than he desired. But where to first? Mercery Lane or Watling?
Jack decided that the strangled women took precedence, so Watling it was. But as he traveled through the streets, edging past oxen hauling their carts, boys running without looking where they were going, a man with a prize porker tapping a stick on its back to urge it forward – and Jack got a pungent whiff of the creature as it passed him – he felt that strange tingle at the back of his neck, and he well knew what that meant.
Slyly, he maneuvered to the edge of the road where the ruts were fewer and slipped into a doorway so that he could look back.
He scanned the lane but no one looked out of the ordinary until … Yes, there was a man with his hood over his face, and he lingered by a shop selling pelts. Who the sarding hell is that? Too big and husky to be a Noreys. Could be the sheriff’s man but, if so, there was no reason for his stealth.
He got it in his head that it was the third witness. But why would he be following Jack? Did he think Jack would lead him to Master Crispin? And yet the question was still why?
Nothing for it but to keep going. He’d have to keep an eye on his shadow and make certain he didn’t interfere with his investigations.
He cut up to the lane just off Watling Street to the neighbor woman who had known Joan Keighley. He knocked, hoping she had returned from church and would talk with him. Surreptitiously, Jack glanced behind him and found his ‘shadow’ still in place.
The door opened, and Jack bowed to the woman standing in the entry.
‘Yes?’
‘I beg your mercy on this Lord’s Day, demoiselle, but perchance your neighbors alerted you that I would return to ask my questions. I am Jack Tucker, humble apprentice to the Tracker of London.’
‘Oh! Yes, they told me you’d come back.’ She eyed Jack a little too lingeringly. ‘Tracker’s apprentice, is it?’
Jack smiled uncomfortably. ‘Er, aye. I was told you knew some of Mistress Keighley’s … clients.’
Her flirting demeanor changed. Her downcast eyes wore nothing but sadness. ‘Yes. And further. I think I know who killed her.’
‘You do?’ Jack took a hasty glance about them. No one on the busy street could hear, even the shadow man. ‘Who then?’
She drew near and kept her voice low. ‘She talked of him sometime. He had an odd … custom. She told me he liked to strangle the women he lay with. Not to death, mind. Just as … something he liked. He’d pay extra for it. But after a few times when she nearly blacked out she wouldn’t do it no more. He’d come back occasionally to her, but he took other girls instead. But I think it was him. I think she let him come back and he killed her!’ Great rolling tears streaked down her face. She wiped it away with the backs of her hands.
‘Demoiselle, this is very important. Do you know the name of this man?’
‘Richard … something.’
‘Richard?’ He scrambled for his scrip and pulled out the parchment with his notes from the stew on Catte. He scoured the list of names. ‘Richard … Richard … Ah! Was it Richard Gernon?’
‘Yes! Yes, that’s the name!’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. You don’t happen to know the whereabouts of Richard Gernon? On what street he lives?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I never knew that.’
‘You’ve been of great help, demoiselle. More than you know.’
‘I’m glad for that. I’ve heard of other girls he’s nearly killed. Maybe he had in the past. I hope your master can do something right quick.’
‘I’ll see that he does, demoiselle. Much thanks.’ Jack bowed and pivoted but then turned back. ‘Oh demoiselle, can you give me description of the knave?’
‘He has brown hair and a brown beard.’
‘Bless me, that’s nearly everyone in London.’
‘True. But he also had a long nose. Like a beak.’
‘Well, that helps. I thank you again, demoiselle. God’s blessings on you.’
‘And to you, Master Tucker.’
Jack hurried away, thinking, but keeping the edge of his eye on his foe. He’d lead him as Master Crispin often did, down alley after alley until he could corner the knave.
He listened to the steps behind him. ‘Keep following, me lad. Keep following.’
Finally he turned down a narrow alley that had a slim outlet, barely a handspan between the houses that his husky shadow could not traverse but that Jack, in his slender frame, could. At least he hoped so.
He slipped none too easily through and used the tightness to climb, his back on one wall and his feet shuffling him higher on the other. Finally he reached the roof and pulled himself up, relieved he was free of the narrow passage. He crouched on the slant of the roof, waiting. Presently, the man appeared, stopped, and looked about perplexed.
Jack leapt.
The man fell and Jack was thrown clear. But the man quickly enough scrambled to his feet, hood still low and shading. When he pulled a knife, Jack froze.
He’d seen that long slender knife before, or at least one like it. Its twin had been burned black and had lain in the bottom of the remains of his lodgings.
‘You! It was you what burned down my home!’ Jack pulled his own knife, but the man saw this as his cue to flee.
He took off back down the alley and Jack gave chase. But as soon as Jack had gained the main road, he encountered a holy procession of monks carrying aloft the statue of the Virgin blocking the road. He made only a weak attempt to skirt past them, but he knew it was useless. He slumped, watching them pass, knowing his shadow man had made his escape. Who was that whoreson?
With a sigh, he spun and ran right into Isabel.
He pushed her back at arm’s length. His emotions ran the gambit: Gladness at seeing her, anger at seeing her here, worry that she could have gotten hurt getting in the way. ‘What are you doing here?’ He dragged her to the edge of the road and shoved her against the wall.
She cried out, but silenced herself when those who had come to watch the procession shushed her.
She rubbed at her shoulder and raised her chin defiantly. ‘I saw you leave the Boar’s Tusk and I wanted to follow you, see what you were doing.’
Exasperated, Jack threw up his hands. ‘Lass, you can’t do that! I do dangerous things. Like what happened back there. You could have been hurt.’
‘Who was that man? Why did he pull a knife on you?’
‘Isabel! You’ve no business following me. And not only will you get yourself in trouble with your uncle but me as well. He’ll think I put you up to it.’
‘I’ll tell him you didn’t, for it is the truth.’
‘That won’t matter. All he will see is his ward in danger and that it was my fault.’
She bit her lip. He couldn’t help but snatch a glance at the gesture. It threatened to undermine his scolding her. He girded himself and grabbed her arm, yanking her with him. ‘We’re going back.’
‘Jack, I’m sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as you’re going to be.’
‘But you lead such an exciting life. I liked helping you last time.’
‘I told you that was a one-time situation.’ He shook his head. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have done it. It’s put bad ideas into your head.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘And here I was, wanting to talk to you.’
‘You did? I’m here now.’
She stumbled as he dragged her over the rutted road of Friday Street, fingers wrapped tight around her slender arm. ‘I’m afraid it’s all moot now. Gilbert will never let me … he’ll never … And it’s your fault! Bah! It’s shown me what a fool idea it was anyway. You belong with someone who will live a nice quiet, peaceful life. Not someone who has to scrape to get by, who runs into trouble with a knife blade at his throat at every turn. Someone … with a past.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Never you mind,’ he grumbled, seeing all his plans slip away. What right did he have to woo someone like her anyway? She was genteel. Raised by a merchant. True, she was in a tavern now, but it was a fairly clean one, and an honest one to be sure, and with enough customers to keep the place busy and in coins. There was always a warm fire and food, and wasn’t that all anyone really needed? And here he was, the son of a scullion, a cutpurse by age eight … and worse.
He kept his lips tightly closed, angry that his chance had slipped away. Maybe she was too willful to woo. Who wanted a wife who took off at a moment’s notice? How would such a creature ever care for children? They’d be wild, dirty, and unkempt. And isn’t that what he deserved for leading the kind of life where danger lurked in every shadow?
They turned the corner at Gutter Lane but well before he could even see the ale stake of the Boar’s Tusk, Jack whirled and slammed her against a wall again.
‘You don’t understand.’ His voice shook, cracked. Her eyes were wide, lashes dark against her fair skin. ‘I was going to ask you … ask you …’
‘Ask me what?’ Her demeanor softened. Her gaze darted from the scrappy beard on his chin to his amber eyes.
‘I was going to ask you if you … if you would accept me. As a suitor. I already asked Gilbert and he told me aye. Now he’ll take that back.’
‘You were going to ask to woo me? You were going to ask … if I wanted you to?’
He stepped back, feeling like a spring fool. He flapped his arms in surrender and stared miserably at his muddy boots. ‘Of course I was. Maybe you don’t even like me.’
‘I do,’ she said hurriedly. She smiled to hide her own embarrassment. ‘I do like you.’
Yet the sudden spike of warmth could not ignite the flame that had been doused within his chest. ‘But I wager you like Ned, too.’
‘Ned? From the Tusk? No.’
That small spark was back. ‘You don’t like Ned?’
‘No. Oh, he’s a fine lad and all. But he’s coarse. He’s not … like you. Handsome and all.’ She dropped her gaze.
The ember in his breast burst into flame. ‘You think I’m handsome?’
She rocked herself against the wall but didn’t look up. ‘Maybe.’
‘And you like me? Then … shall I be your suitor? Shall I … Isabel?’
She said nothing for a long time. She merely rocked, her shoulders rolling along the wall. When she finally raised her head, she wore a tender expression. ‘If you want. If you want a willful, disobedient girl as a wife.’ A splinter of worry pulled her delicate brows downward. Jack drew closer.
‘A willful disobedient wife. That’s not much to recommend to a lad.’
‘I know.’ She bit her lip again, twisting it in her teeth so tightly that it reddened. Jack couldn’t look away from it. He stood directly above her now. She came up to his shoulder and he had to crouch slightly to keep that rosy lip in his sight. He drew closer, for those lips called to him, made him brazen with longing. He wanted a taste of those lips. Just a taste. For he knew now they were his. He leaned in to take them.
‘Are you Jack Tucker?’
Jack leapt back. ‘God’s blood, man! Can’t you see I’m … I’m … occupied!’
The young page could see that very well, and he grinned. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ He bowed to Isabel. ‘Demoiselle.’
Jack stepped in front of her. ‘What do you want?’
‘I have a message for you.’
Jack snatched it out of the boy’s hand. He wore livery, but Jack could not tell whose arms they were. ‘A message from who?’ He broke the wax seal and tore open the folded parchment.
‘Master Crispin!’ He read on.
Jack glanced back at Isabel. Guilt at having forgotten the dire circumstances of his master served to cool that ardent fire that threatened to set him aflame. He read on.
He did not sign it, but Jack well knew his master’s hand. ‘God blind me,’ he muttered. The youth was still there, rocking on his heels. ‘Well?’ said Jack, stuffing the missive in his scrip. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘A farthing maybe.’
‘How about the sole of my boot.’ Jack swung his leg back and the page stumbled backward.
‘No need to be rude, my lad. Fare you well. With … your doings.’ He offered Jack a salacious grin and a wink before he trotted away up the lane.
‘Was that from Master Guest?’ asked Isabel.
He’d almost forgotten her. ‘Aye. I have to go. But please, Isabel. For my sake. If you care … and I think you do … don’t follow me again. I can’t be worrying about you while I pursue the knavery of London.’
She nodded soberly. ‘Very well, Jack. I promise.’
He moved closer again and took her hand. ‘Do you? Do you promise?’
‘I do. And don’t worry. Uncle Gilbert won’t even know I was gone.’ She smiled and tore away from the wall, skipping back to the Boar’s Tusk, but instead of taking the front door, she went around the corner. Jack suspected she would either hop over the wall or gain entrance in some other stealthy way. A resourceful wench, he’d give her that.
So now. Pursue this Richard Gernon or the third witness? Though he had a feeling that somehow, he had met the latter already in that alley.
He was about to decide when he heard the thunder of hooves down Newgate Market. He was as surprised as anyone on Gutter Lane when the horses – the sheriffs, he suddenly saw – came hard around the corner and headed straight for him.
He backed himself against the wall and the horses roared forward, stopping just shy of trampling him. The stallions’ hot breath snorted into his face. He could almost see his reflection in their polished bridles.
‘Tucker!’ snarled Sheriff Loveney. ‘Where is it?’
Flattened against the wall with nowhere to go, Jack stared up at him. ‘Where is what, my lord?’
‘The damned Tears of the Virgin. And don’t lie to me.’
For a moment, Jack was seized with a blankness of mind. He blinked. ‘Begging your mercy, sir, but … don’t you have it?’
‘Of course I don’t have it. That’s why I’m asking you!’
‘But I thought it was in safekeeping at Newgate.’
Walcote shuffled forward on his saddle. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Get one of the serjeants to beat it out of him.’
‘Here now!’ cried Jack. ‘I haven’t got it. I swear by the Virgin herself. Why would I take it?’
‘To delay the trial of your master, perhaps?’
Jack bit down on what he wanted to say. Wasn’t that rather on the sheriffs now for releasing Master Crispin in the first place? What guarantee did they have but his master’s word? And though Jack knew that word was law, there was always a twist that could angle the meaning just enough to suit Master Crispin.
‘And just where is your master, Tucker?’
‘I don’t know, my lords. I thought he, too, was safe at Newgate.’
‘He’s not at the Boar’s Tusk?’
‘On me mother’s grave, my lord, he is not.’
Walcote glared for a long uncomfortable moment until he glanced at his companion. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
Loveney shrugged and glared heavenward. ‘I think I want to go back to bed and forget this case ever crossed our paths.’
‘Amen to that.’ But Walcote wasn’t done with Jack. ‘What have you discovered, Tucker? Or have you been idle?’
Jack popped away from the wall, getting right up to the horses’ muzzles. They shied, stamping and backing up. ‘I have not been idle! I’d never shame my master so. But …’ – he shook his head in frustration – ‘when the Tracker investigates, only pieces of the puzzle come our way. And in the muddle, we don’t always know what’s important and what isn’t. It’d be foolhardy to tell you all. Although … have you come across any other records of women having been strangled in Bread Street Ward?’
The sheriffs exchanged surreptitious glances.
‘Have you, my lords?’
Walcote fiddled with his reins. ‘Well … it seems … there were a few. But none like this, one atop the other. They were … spread out over a number of years.’
‘And was anyone ever apprehended for the crime?’
‘No. We looked into that,’ said Loveney.
Jack considered, but in the end, three heads were better than one. ‘Have you ever heard of the name Richard Gernon?’
‘Richard Gernon?’ said Loveney with a deeply suspicious tone to his voice. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well … because his name came up twice … on both client lists of the women who were murdered.’
Walcote was silent, simply eyeing Jack. Loveney found his saddle pommel unusually fascinating.
‘What?’ asked Jack eagerly. ‘Do you know him?’
Quietly, Loveney said, ‘Yes. We know that name well. It is the name of a man of our acquaintance, one of the most respected aldermen of the city of London.’