Helen had only seen Denbull once or twice and never been introduced, but Galway was acquainted. Denbull dressed well, despite his apparent affinity for parsnips. “Yes.”
“Good.” He cocked his head, fingers stroking his beard. “You’re useful, Helen. Maybe I won’t let Vulture here have a go. Might keep you for a bit.”
If that was meant to be reassuring, it was not.
Lark proceeded to read page after page of the book, asking Helen questions about the peers whose names appeared, mostly whether they were wealthy or important. In return, Helen wasrewarded with a stream of lewd tales about each gentleman along with less than tasteful anecdotes concerning their sexual preferences. A great many of those mentioned were prominent in Parliament, which was in close proximity to The Dancing Swan.
Fletcher’s mother, this…Delores Bean had run the brothel for years, collecting information though she’d rarely blackmailed anyone. Helen supposed it gave Delores Bean a sense of power, to wield influence over such important men. Lark was of a different opinion.
He planned to use Bean’s Book to blackmail every title in London.
Fletcher was in the way because Lark assumed he’d read the book. Unfortunately, Lark reading the book out loud to her told Helen he meant to kill her at the end of this.
She glanced at Mary. The girl hadn’t moved in all the time Lark read in his slow way, stumbling over some words, asking her the meaning of others. Mrs. Bean had been extremely detailed in her assessments.
“Will you allow me, Mr. Lark, to at least check on Mary?”
“I’m not done.” He scanned the page before him, mouth moving as he attempted to sound out a word he came across.
Lark might be some sort of criminal mastermind in The Devil’s Acre, a place Helen had heard mentioned infrequently and knew nothing about other than it was a rookery, but his reading skills left much to be desired as evidenced by his pronunciation. That he could read at all, she supposed, was unusual.
He flipped several more pages, lips stretching in satisfaction. “I’ve studied this book since I got my hands on it and now thanks to you, I know who will pay me well to keep my mouth shut. Good money, blackmailing your betters.” He flipped through several pages before stopping. “Ah, always knew Mrs. Bean waskeepin’ something big in here.” A dirty finger tapped at the page. “This right here,” he told Helen. “Will make me a wealthy man. I need no help from you, ladybird, not on this matter.” The grin widened. “I know him well though we haven’t met.” A flash of pure fear crossed Lark’s coarse features before it was gone. “Jesus,” he whispered.
“Who?” Helen was curious. What sort of man would Lark be afraid of?
“Always thought it were personal,” he said more to himself than Helen. “Murdering a person like that, ’specially a duke. Now it makes a great deal of sense.”
“A duke?”
“Stabbed a street over from Parliament.” Lark’s eyes, filled with calculation, gleamed back at her. “Carriage attacked as His Grace left for the day. Stabbed dozens of times. The cuts to his chest were so deep, he came apart at the waist.”
Bile filled Helen’s mouth.
“Those weren’t done by the hired help, so to speak. But after. He watched the duke dragged from the carriage. Wanted to see to it himself.”
Absolutely horrifying.
“If you’re after a purse, ladybird, your mark gets a clean shot to the head or their throat slit, which is a bit messier, but quick. Just business. But when you bloody up a gent that much, you hated him.” He winked at her.
“I see,” she said, wishing Lark would stop talking.
“Stabbin’ wasn’t enough.” Lark shook his head, warming to the tale. “His Grace had his throat cut ear to ear.” He pulled a finger across his throat, making Helen cringe. “Mrs. Bean, she had eyes and ears everywhere. Men talk when they’re fuckin’. She wrote it all down.” He tapped the page once more. “Every bit. The duke. His duchess. The solicitor. Even the father. Doesn’t say how she found out about the others, but as I said,Mrs. Bean was clever.” Another twinge of fear flitted across his features. “Don’t know why she cared so much, maybe ’cause it was a duke. Don’t know. Don’t care. But I’ll be rich because of it.” His face hardened. “Not Fletch.”
Helen inhaled through her nose, attempting to swallow down the bitter taste in her mouth. A savage murder, that Mrs. Bean had seen fit to write out in detail and name the perpetrator. No wonder Lark wanted the book so badly. That information was a bit more valuable than…a parsnip up one’s behind.
“Fletch, he’s too stupid to use Bean’s Book. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us in The Devil’s Acre. But he ain’t. This book could have made him a rich man, but instead, he’s been sittin’ on it. I’m the only one that knows what’s in here other than him which is why,” he grinned. “Fletch’ll get a knife to his throat.” He slapped the book shut and retied the red ribbon. “I thank you, Mrs. Bean, for your foresight and curiosity. I do. But I can’t risk Fletch making the mark before me. Nor will I kill him quick.”
A whimper came from Mary, surprising Helen. She’d been certain the girl was dead. “Mr. Lark—” she started, meaning to help Mary. The girl hated her, but Helen couldn’t just leave her on the floor.
“Ah, poor poppet.” Lark walked over to Mary and leaned over, pinching the girl’s nose and mouth shut. “There, there.”
Mary’s legs stretched. Kicked frantically. Then her entire body sighed as a final breath left her.
Oh, Helen’s mind was frantic.Now she’s truly dead.
“You see, I can be charitable. You know what’s in the book, ladybird, but there’s no reason for me to kill you if you’re useful.” His eyes ran over her. “There’s still more in here to unravel.”
Hardly comforting.
