Old Beatrice was clearlynotchatty. “Did they tell you that they were ill?”
The old woman didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was contemplative as she hemmed. The thimble on her thumb glinted gold in the candlelight as she pushed the needle in and out of the satin material in a gentle rhythm.
Finally, she huffed out a sigh. “Aye. They both had the pox. I told them to use the condom, but these girls . . . . They come here young and pretty, thinking they’ll be the next Sarah Siddons.” The old woman deftly knotted the thread and snipped it with tiny silver scissors. “They have such dreams, and are wooed by every manner of man. They never think they’ll grow old or fall out of favor. Too many end up as Haymarket Wares.”
Haymarket Wares, Kendra knew, were streetwalkers, considered the lowest in the sex worker trade.
“Did Clarice or Isabella tell you that they were receiving treatment for the pox?” she asked.
“Aye.” The seamstress removed the remaining thread from the needle, then slid the needle into her pincushion before hunting through the wicker basket next to her for another spool. “Isabella said that she’d learned of a cure. Silly cow.” She found a spool of gold thread and measured what she needed before cutting it. “Then she was gone. Dead, most likely. But not before she filled Clarice’s head with her tomfoolery.”
Beatrice’s tongue flicked out to wet the thread’s tip, then she drew it through the needle’s eye.
“Now Clarice is gone,” she continued. “Probably dead too.”
“She is. But not because of her illness. She was found in the Thames, no blood in her veins.”
Beatrice picked up another dress and inspected the torn seam. The old woman’s weathered face remained impassive.
“Did they tell you who was helping them?” Kendra asked.
“Nay. They didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” She raised her gaze to Kendra. “Sometimes it’s best to mind your own business, my lady.”
Was that a warning? Kendra wondered. She asked, “What did Edwina know?”
“Why do you think she knew anything?”
“Because Lady Westford was asking about Clarice on Saturday, and then she came back on Sunday. Edwina would be the only one here to meet her.”
Old Beatrice kept her eyes on her stitches. “If she did, she didn’t tell me.”
“Edwina was here,” Kendra repeated. “She witnessed Lady Westford’s murder and was seen running from the theater with a man chasing her. Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
“She never talked to you about her friends? Somewhere she might seek shelter?”
Beatrice’s busy fingers stilled, and she slowly raised her eyes again to lock on Kendra. “Edwina’s a good girl. She don’t need no trouble.”
Kendra studied the old woman. “She’s in trouble, Beatrice. She witnessed a murder and can identify a killer. That killer is trying to find her. Maybe he already has.”
“He hasn’t.”
Kendra stared at her. “You sound certain of that.”
Beatrice said nothing.
“I’m not the enemy, Beatrice. If you want to help Edwina, you’ll tell me what you know.”
Beatrice tilted her head, regarding Kendra thoughtfully. “And how can you help her, my lady?”
“By catching the person who killed Lady Westford. Edwina witnessed her murder; she can provide a description of the man who did it. I’ll make sure she’s safe. I’ll protect her.”
“Seems to me that she’s been protecting herself well enough without your help, ma’am.”
“The murderer isn’t going to stop. He’s killed two more people since Lady Westford. He killed Clarice and Isabella.”And how many more? “Don’t let Edwina become another victim.”
Beatrice continued to study her. “How will you protect her, my lady?”
