“You watch that mouth, Mary.” Lark curled his hand into a fist, striking the girl so hard she fell to the floor, with a cry.
Helen made to get up and go to her aid.
“She wouldn’t do the same for you,” Lark said, gesturing for Helen to sit back down. “Not only that, but Mary here wants to carve up your face a bit.”
The bed creaked as Helen sat back down.
“You got Ripps killed,” Lark said to Mary. “Nursed Mrs. Bean, who by all accounts was good to you, then you stole from her. You think Fletch will appreciate it?”
“I don’t care,” Mary wailed.
“Much like Mrs. Bean, I expect loyalty.” Lark kicked Mary twice more, this time in her ribs as she curled into a ball. “Now you’ve got me wondering if you’ll stab me first chance you get.”
“I didn’t mean nothing, Lark.” Mary tried to crawl away from him. “I’m loyal.”
“Not another word, Mary. I mean it. Ripps was a good man. Pains me to have lost him.”
“But I’ve something—” the girl whimpered.
“I said, you bloody well shut up.” Lark stomped on Mary’s ear with his boot, so hard blood gushed out, trickling down the slope of her throat to the floor.
Mary made a small cry of anguish, thrashing futilely about, before her body suddenly went still, only her fingers twitching.
A scream crawled up Helen’s throat at the casual brutality. How easily Lark hurt Mary. She had no doubt he’d do the same to her. And Fletcher.
What if Fletcher doesn’t look for me?
“Aw bloody hell, Lark. What’d you do that for?” Vulture muttered. “Now I’ll have to take care of the skirt.” He jerked his chin at Helen. “Can I at least have a taste?”
“Not until Fletch shows. Then you can do what you want to her. We’ll make him watch before I slit his throat.” Lark nudged poor Mary with the toe of his boot. “Maybe she’ll come around. Probably not.” He turned to Helen with a sigh. “Your man has a soft spot for the ladies, you see. Always has, but I guess growing up in at The Dancing Swan…” Lark shrugged. “Terrible weakness of his. Mrs. Bean despaired of the way he coddled her girls.”
Helen said nothing, only smoothed her skirts, afraid if she moved Lark might kick her.
“Mary included. Didn’t want this poor lamb,” he nudged the girl with his boot again. “To be stuck in The Devil’s Acre with the likes of me.” An awful laugh came from him. “So’s he told her to come here.” He waved a hand around. “Told her about this boarding house. That’s when I knew the book was here for sure. Should have guessed sooner but Mrs. Bean was a clever old bat.” He tapped his temple. “I’m smarter.”
Debatable.
“Fletch didn’t know Mary was working for me else he would never have left her alone with Mrs. Bean. Now I’ve got Bean’s Book. Fletch, who couldn’t punch his way out of a sack, willfinally be gone. He knows what’s in the book and I don’t like loose ends.”
She was also a loose end which didn’t bode well for her future. “What is…Bean’s Book?”
“Valuable, is what it is. Shall I read a bit?” Lark cleared his throat and undid the red ribbon with a flourish. “Ain’t like you’ll be tellin’ anyone.”
Splendid.
Lord Denbull.Lark read, sounding out each syllable.Total visits to The Dancing Swan. 16
Denbull likes to be stripped naked, a parsnip shoved up his backside while being whipped with a willowbark switch.
“Do you know Lord Denbull, Fletcher’s ladybird?”
Helen objected to being addressed as a “ladybird.” “My name is Miss Helen Cosgrove and though we haven’t been properly introduced, I think under the circumstances Mr. Lark, you might address me as Helen.”
“Such fancy talk.” Lark chuckled before growling. “Who is he.”
“Lord Denbull is a prominent minister in the Home Office. An earl,” Helen offered. “I’m afraid I don’t know much else about him.”
“Wealthy?”
