Unfortunate, indeed.
Needless to say, her intemperance in positively flinging the cross into the lake enraged me. I fear I flew into quite a passion myself. Heated words were exchanged, and she departed in high dudgeon. I never saw her again.
Sebastian studied the stout man s flushed, self-satisfied face. He was obviously quite pleased with the tale he had concocted. But where the actual truth lay was impossible for Sebastian to guess. He said, I assume the servants at Gough Hall can corroborate your story?
There is only an elderly caretaker and his wife in residence at the moment, but I have no doubt they will vouch for me, yes. Old Bentley even helped me drag a grappling hook along the edges of the lake. But we gave it up after an hour or so. I fear the cross is lost this time forever.
You believe it was genuine?
I believe it was the cross presented to the world by the monks of Glastonbury in 1191, yes.
Which was not, Sebastian noted, precisely the same thing.
He watched a cluster of legal students hurry across the gardens, their black robes flapping in the hot wind. You say Miss Tennyson was angry?
She was, yes. It s a very choleric family, you know.
And melancholy.
Melancholy, yes.
From here they could see the broad expanse of the sun-dazzled river, the massive bulk of the bridge, and the warehouses and wharves of the opposite bank. Sebastian said, There s just one thing I don t understand.
Oh?
What in the incident you describe could possibly have made her afraid?
Childe s smug smile slipped. Afraid?
Afraid.
Childe shook his head. I never said anything about her being afraid.
That s because you left out the part about the dangerous forces with a nonmonetary motive.
A sudden gust of hot wind stirred the branches of the beeches overhead, letting through a shaft of golden sunlight that cut across Childe s face when he turned to stare blankly at Sebastian.
I m sorry; I don t have the slightest idea what you re talking about.
You don t?
No. Childe cleared his throat and nodded to the arm Sebastian still had resting in a sling. You injured yourself?
Actually, someone tried to kill me last night; do you have any ideas about that?
Childe s jaw went slack. Kill you?
Mmm. Someone who doesn t like the questions I m asking. Which tells me that Gabrielle Tennyson had good reason to be afraid. Whatever is going on here is dangerous. Very dangerous. It s not over yet, and it looks to me as if you re right in the middle of it. You might want to consider that, next time you re tempted to lie to me.
The antiquary had turned a sickly shade of yellow.
Sebastian touched his good hand to his hat and smiled. Good day, Mr. Childe. Enjoy the rest of your pottery exhibition.
Chapter 26
Twenty minutes later, Sebastian turned his curricle into Bow Street to find the lane ahead clogged by a raucous, tattered mob that spilled out of the public office to overflow the footpath and completely block the narrow carriageway. Ragged men and gaunt-cheeked women clutching an assortment of howling, filthy, malnourished children jostled and shoved one another in a frantic melee swirling around a small, bespectacled magistrate endeavoring to push his way through the motley crowd.
Lord Devlin! called Sir Henry Lovejoy, determinedly turning his steps toward the curricle.
What the devil is all this? asked Sebastian as Tom jumped down to run to the frightened chestnuts tossing heads.
Lovejoy staggered against the side of the carriage, buffeted by the surging crowd. It s been like this since yesterday. We ve been positively besieged by parents offering up their children for Mr. Tennyson s reward everything from babes in arms to sturdy lads of twelve and fourteen. Even girls. And this is only the overflow. Tennyson has hired a solicitor with chambers near Fleet Street to whom anyone with information is supposed to apply.
My God, said Sebastian, his gaze traveling over the desperate, starving mass. No indication yet of what actually happened to the Tennyson children?
Lovejoy blew out a long, tired breath and shook his head. It s as if they simply vanished off the face of the earth.
The magistrate gave a lurch and almost fell as a wild-eyed, pock-scarred woman clutching what looked like a dead child careened into him. He righted himself with difficulty. The crowd was becoming dangerous. Have you discovered anything of interest?
Not yet, said Sebastian. As much as he trusted Sir Henry, when it came to murder investigations, Sebastian had learned to play his cards close to his chest. I was wondering if you could provide me with the direction of the girl who found Miss Tennyson s body.
You mean, Tessa Sawyer? She lives with her father a few miles to the southwest of the moat in a village called Cockfosters. I believe the mother is dead, while the father is something of a layabout. Why do you ask?
I have some questions I thought she might be able to answer.
Sebastian was aware of the magistrate giving him a long, steady look. But Lovejoy only nodded and took a step back into the shouting, jostling crowd.
Cockfosters proved to be a tiny village consisting largely of a church, an aged inn, and a few villas and scattered cottages lying to the west of Camlet Moat.
Following directions given by the curate at the village church, Sebastian drove up a rutted track to a tumbledown thatched cottage of whitewashed, rough-coursed stone that lay on the far edge of the hamlet. A young girl of some fifteen or sixteen years of age was in the dusty, sunbaked yard pegging up clothes on a line stretched between a corner of the house and a half-dead mulberry tree. A slim, tiny thing with baby-fine brown hair and eyes that looked too big for her face, she hummed a fey, haunting tune as she worked, so lost in her own world that she seemed oblivious to the elegant curricle drawing up outside her gate.
Sebastian jumped down into the dusty lane and felt a shooting jolt of pain in his arm, for he had dispensed with the sling on the drive out to Enfield. He paused a brief moment to catch his breath, then said, Excuse me, miss; are you Tessa Sawyer?
Oh! The girl jerked, her hands clenching the wet shirt she held to her chest, her nostrils flaring in alarm. Ye startled me, ye did.
I beg your pardon. Sebastian paused with one hand on the gate s rusty latch. May I come in?
The girl dropped a nervous curtsy, her eyes widening as she glanced from Sebastian to the carriage waiting in the sun-soaked lane, its high-bred chestnuts flicking their tails at the flies. Oh, yes, sir. But if yer lookin fer me da, he s not here. He s out helpin search for the bodies of them dead boys, he is.
Sebastian had to whack his hip against the gate to get it to open.
Actually, you re the one I wished to speak to. What makes you think the boys are dead, Tessa?
Tessa shook her head in some confusion. It s what everyone s sayin, isn t it? I mean, it stands to reason, don t it?
Sebastian let his gaze drift around the yard. A few scrawny chickens pecked halfheartedly at the bare earth, while a brown goat with a bell around its neck nuzzled a pile of rubbish beside the remnants of an old stone shed. If there had ever been any glass in the cottage s windows, it was long gone, the unpainted shutters hanging at drunken angles. From the looks of the worn, moldy thatch, Sebastian had no doubt the roof leaked when it rained.
He said, Did you see any sign of the children when you were at the moat Sunday night?
Tessa shook her head. No, sir. I didn t see nor hear nothin cept a little splash. And I can t rightly say what that was. It coulda been a water rat, or maybe a frog.
Had you ever seen the lady in the boat before?