Before we descended from the study to the drawing room, Colin and I had a refreshing discussion about how to approach Mr. Hancock. My husband felt we ought not accuse him outright of running the King’s Boys, while I felt direct assault the most likely way to get an unguarded reaction from him. In the end, however, I acquiesced to Colin’s demands. He presses me on very few occasions, and when he does, uses methods I shall not discuss except to say I do not consider them entirely fair. They all but guarantee him a satisfactory result and leave me incapable of voicing complaint. We would go easy on Mr. Hancock.
“What a delight to find you had called,” he said, after refusing my offer of tea. “I’m more sorry than I can say to have missed you. You ought not be wandering around the East End, Lady Emily, even with an escort. It can be rather dangerous.”
His words struck me as more ominous than he had likely intended. “I was in the neighborhood on other business and heard mention of your name,” I said. “As I told you when we met, I am looking for charitable works I might support in the area.”
“It’s very good of you,” he said. “I do hope we can find a way to work together. There is so much to be done.”
“Quite,” Colin said. “If you will forgive me, my dear, I do have concerns about your plans. I’ve heard a galling number of stories about the gangs that run riot in the neighborhood, the King’s Boys in particular. I don’t like the thought of my wife being harassed by them.”
“The King’s Boys are no worse than some of the others, and better in ways than most,” Mr. Hancock said. “That might be why I’ve had no luck turning its members away from crime. They’re not so recklessly violent, and, hence, tend to spend less time in jail than some of their compatriots.”
“How do you entice them to leave their evil ways behind?” I asked.
“I have a certain reputation, you understand,” he said. “It is known that I will help anyone willing to do honest work find a position, even if I have to guarantee his—or her—character myself. I can offer a bit of money to ease the transition and do my best to show them an example of a better way of life. I am not a rich man, Lady Emily, but I have done well enough to live comfortably. What man could ask for more?”
“I’m surprised to hear you say the King’s Boys aren’t so violent as other gangs.” Colin crossed to the table upon which stood a crystal decanter filled with his favorite whisky. He poured two glasses and gave one of them to our guest. “I know you’d rather not indulge, my dear.” I smiled sweetly and hoped I looked demure. In truth, I wanted to laugh at him playing the part of the typical husband. He returned to his seat and continued. “I’ve been told more than once that the King’s Boys are the most notorious villains in the East End, that their leaders operate anonymously, and that their treatment of their underlings is quite vile. But of course, you have far more experience than I.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Closer proximity to them, perhaps, but little else. All I know is that despite years of trying, I’ve never been able to persuade even one of the King’s Boys to pursue an honest life.”
“I spoke with someone this morning, not far from your house. He was wearing a green scarf—I believe that represents the King’s Boys, does it not?” I asked. Mr. Hancock nodded. “He was called Rodney and seemed not altogether dedicated to the organization. I could be wrong, of course, but it felt to me like he was looking for a way out. He was considerably older than I expected, which is silly as there would have to be adults at the top of the organization. I hadn’t seen anyone else his age sporting a green scarf, which led me to approach him. I thought he might be running the show, but it became clear he reports to someone else. Have you met him?”
“Rodney?” Mr. Hancock frowned. “No, I don’t believe I have. I can’t think of anyone of my acquaintance called that.”
So much for drawing Rodney’s surname out of him. “Well, you ought to seek him out, Mr. Hancock,” I said. “I am certain he’s ripe for conversion. I understand that a number of Lizzie Hopman’s friends ran with the King’s Boys. Did you recognize any of them at her funeral?”
“I can’t say I did, Lady Emily.” His eyes danced. “You’ve got quite a spitfire here, don’t you, Mr. Hargreaves? I reckon she could have the whole East End cleaned up in a fortnight if she set her mind to it.”
“She’s unstoppable,” Colin said. “Which is why I’m so grateful that she’s found you, Mr. Hancock. Perhaps together we can persuade her that she can offer the backing required for your work while you handle whatever must be done in situ.”
“An admirable suggestion, sir, admirable. I had hoped for as much, and, as a result, brought you a little summary of some of my plans. If you would be so kind as to look through this list, Lady Emily, and select whichever strikes your fancy, we could, perhaps, start there. There is an orphanage not far from St. Botolph’s that is in dire need of renovation. The poor children don’t even have a yard to play in. I could see at once that you have a kind heart and thought this might be a wonderful way for us to begin our partnership, if I may be so bold as to call it that.”
I took the folder he held out to me. “How marvelously observant you are. I shall read through this all as quickly as I can and make a decision. Would it be best if I send a cheque along with my response? That way we can get to work with as little delay as possible.”
“I am speechless, Lady Emily, at your generosity, but there is no need to send money at once. Let us first set our goals and construct a plan. Take your time considering the options and reach out to me when you are ready. In the meantime, please accept my thanks for your gracious assistance.” He thanked Colin for the whisky, complimented me on my housekeeping, and left us with a charming smile.
“He seems less and less like a criminal mastermind,” I said. “If he hadn’t rejected my offer of a cheque—”
“He seems to me more and more like a criminal mastermind,” Colin interrupted. “Too smart to let us think he was after money, careful not to make you feel pressured, full of compliments and kind words.”
“I had hoped he might be able to give us information about Rodney, but he showed no sign of knowing the man. But then, if he is, as you suggest, a criminal mastermind, he would be careful to reveal nothing.”
“You leap to the conclusion that Rodney is significant to anything. Most likely he’s a mid-level thug who doesn’t even matter to his mother. She would have given up on him years ago.”
I frowned. “I hope you’re right. Not about his mother, but that he isn’t important to the organization. Mentioning his name might put him at risk. I should have thought of that. It was careless of me not to.”
“Would you like some whisky, my dear? I hated not to offer any to you, but thought it best in the circumstances. I had the impression you wanted Mr. Hancock to see you as a very earnest and very naïve sort of wife.”
“I did, indeed,” I said. “Was it not what you counseled me to do? But no whisky for me, thank you. I’d prefer port if anything, but need a clear head at the moment. I still worry that we ought to have warned him about the possible threat to whoever is running the King’s Boys.”
“I don’t see how we could have done that without revealing more than we wanted to.” He crouched in front of the settee upon which I was sitting and took my hands in his. “If Hancock is involved in the gang, he is dangerous and deceitful. As I’ve said before, a warning of any sort might alert him to you not being entirely honest about your own role in this mess. And that, my dear, could put you in an intolerable amount of danger.”
“But not having done so could prove fatal to him.”
“There are times when one must accept that risk as part of the job. It is unpleasant—surprisingly so when the individuals involved are the worst sort of reprobates—yet unavoidable. A decent man, or woman, does not take anyone’s life lightly. Sometimes the only comfort one has is knowing that one’s actions, in the end, do more good than harm.” Still in front of me, he opened my hands, turned them over, and kissed each of their palms.
“I am most grateful for your wise words,” I said. “I realize you have far more experience than I.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning to do that spurs you to take advance action to soothe my ego?”
“Nothing at all,” I said. “Although I cannot help feeling that we are missing something. Given that all of the clues in your scavenger hunt have to do with Henry V, is there some connection between him and the Battle of Hastings? Did he admire William the Conqueror above all other kings or show signs of fascination with his military tactics? There is, after all, a sword drawn on the note you found at the museum.”
“Not that I can think of.” He stood up and poured himself another whisky. “I do see what you’re getting at, though. If the murders and the letters are related, discovering how might help us prevent more violence. You’ve ordered Pickering to find out everything he can from the constables who cover the area where the King’s Boys are active?”
“Yes. He thought it unlikely they’d have anything to say beyond what we’ve already read in reports, but it’s worth a try. And I assume the wretched Inspector Gale is still convinced it’s all a plot to assassinate Bertie, er, the king?”
“Naturally. He’s a stubborn buffoon, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong,” Colin said. “The king’s safety must be my primary concern, even if I’m beginning to come around to your idea that this may be more about revenge and gangs than the monarchy.”
Now I raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, are you planning that spurs you to take advance action to soothe my ego?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “Come, let’s go see the boys. I haven’t heard a peep from them in hours and I’m rather concerned Henry may have taken the others, Nanny included, prisoner.”
* * *
Jeremy collected me in the motorcar the following morning, shockingly early as I requested, a sin he was not likely to forgive anytime soon. “I have a reputation, Em,” he said, passing me his spare set of goggles. “I can’t be seen zipping around town before noon. What will people say?”
“Tell them it’s only because you haven’t yet gone home from the night before,” I suggested.
“Darling, if I’m out all night, it would be due to a romantic encounter, and I would never motor to those. First, because the motorcar is rather conspicuous and I wouldn’t dare draw attention to my presence in such a circumstance. Second, the speed at which it travels has a rather deleterious effect on one’s appearance, don’t you think? And I would never want to disappoint a lady.”
“If you’re trying to shock me, it won’t work,” I said. “I asked Colin about your habit of kissing married ladies and he only laughed.”
“Good man, Hargreaves,” Jeremy said. “Perhaps I’ve underrated him all these years.” We lurched forward before I could reply and once in motion found that it was all I could do to keep my hat on my head, despite having secured it with a scandalous number of pins and tied the whole thing round with a long, filmy scarf. Clearly Jeremy had no intention of letting me question him further about his romantic dalliances, and that was fine by me. I had other things to ponder.
We were headed back to the East End, where I hoped the motorcar—and my friend’s habit of flinging coins to the boys who vied to keep an eye on it—would provide illumination on several matters. I had asked Jeremy to park near the Black Swan, thereby giving us the opportunity to see what we could get out of the boys as well as enabling me to check in on Mary, from whom I’d heard nothing since Lizzie’s funeral. I did not want Jeremy to accompany me inside, knowing that he was likely to provoke a fight with Mr. Brown—an outcome I might welcome at another time, but that would prove inconvenient to my accomplishing what I hoped to—so I suggested, in my most magnanimous tone, that he was better suited to questioning the boys than I.
They swarmed around the vehicle before he had finished parking it, and I gave them a cheery wave. The tallest, whom I recognized from our previous visit, shook his head when he saw me.
“She don’t mind trouble, does she, sir? Can’t keep her in hand, can you?”
“My dear boy, I would never dare try,” Jeremy said. I could tell from his tone that he was on the verge of offering a load of highly inappropriate advice on the subject of ladies to the lad, so I hastened to my destination, knowing that nothing good could come from my hearing what he said.
Mr. Brown, the proprietor of the Black Swan since Mr. Casby’s death, managed to hide most of his chagrin upon seeing me once again cross his threshold. I had brought a sturdy parasol with me, emulating a lady about whom I had read in the newspapers. She had, on numerous occasions, wielded a similar accessory as a weapon, and I recognized the wisdom of this at once. Not that I expected to come to blows with Mr. Brown, but I could well envision drawing great satisfaction from poking him with a pointed ferrule.
“Aw, blimey, Lady Emily, what have I done now to draw your attention? Can’t you let a fellow run a legitimate business?”
“We are both all too well aware that you are doing nothing of the sort,” I said. “Where is Mary Skypton? I need to speak with her.”
“I suppose you might as well. She’s ill and of no use to me. I won’t even charge you for her time. You can go up to her room. It’s the third door on the left.”
I narrowed my eyes but didn’t bother to point out that his comment about charging for her time proved just how illegitimate his business was, contenting myself with throwing him a searing glare and giving him a swift jab with my parasol. The action was even more pleasurable than I had anticipated and I decided to write a brief note of thanks to the lady from whom I had borrowed the idea.
Worn carpet that emitted a moldy odor when trod upon covered the stairs to the first floor. The poky corridor at the top was dimly lit by one flickering gaslight. I rapped on Mary’s door and turned the handle to open it without waiting for a reply. Her small room was dark, its single window covered with a thick curtain that might once have been velvet. Now it looked as if it had been gnawed on by any number of unpleasant creatures.
“Come to check on your charity case?” came a voice from the narrow bed that filled most of the room. She had a grotty blanket pulled up to her chin.
“What are you playing at?” I asked. “You don’t look ill.” Enough light made its way in from the corridor for me to see that her face was bright and clear and her eyes were flashing.
“Close the door, will you?” She was whispering. “I don’t want him to hear.”
I did as she asked but only after opening the curtain to reveal a filthy window and turning on the one small light in the room. “Why are you hiding up here?”
“Don’t get excited and think I’ve decided to reform myself,” she said, sitting up and swinging her legs around so they hung off the side of the bed. “I will admit that you have shown me a different sort of life, but I don’t want to be no one’s servant. I might, however, be able to go out on my own and have a better place than this. Attract a higher class of client, if you catch my meaning.”
I preferred not to discuss her clients, higher class or otherwise. “I think you could do far better than that, but I shan’t try to convince you at the moment. I came to ask you about the King’s Boys. What do you know about them?”
“You think they had something to do with Casby’s murder?” she asked. “It don’t seem their style. They may fight brutally, but they don’t generally kill anyone but their own members, and then only when they’ve betrayed the gang. Casby paid for protection, naturally, he had no choice, but he had nothing else to do with them.”
“Several of Lizzie’s friends were members of the King’s Boys. Do you know if any of them—Ned Traddles, for example, or Gilbert Barton—got into trouble?”
“I already told you I didn’t know Ned. Gil, well, I do remember him a bit. Decent-seeming bloke, quite good-looking. Always wished I could land him as a client. He seems the sort who would know what to do with a—”
“Please don’t elaborate,” I said. “There was another man, called Rodney, who Lizzie may have—”
“Oh, Rodney, yeah, I know him quite, quite well.” She grinned and I could see she was enjoying this. “He’s a real operator, that one. Don’t take nonsense from anyone and will protect a girl like anything. I’ve spent many nights—”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“I wouldn’t have thought he’s your type, Lady Emily.”
I sighed. “Mary, I am perfectly well aware of what your chosen profession requires, so there is no point in your trying to shock me. Where can I find Rodney?”
“In the morgue, I suppose. He died in a fight last night.”