She could no longer hold back the horror of her present circumstances. Reaching for the chamber pot, Helen threw upthe meager contents of her stomach, gagging until there was nothing more.
Lark pulled a filthy rag from his pocket and tossed it at her. “Wipe your mouth,” he said with disgust. “I’ve got to be on my way.” He held up the book. “Got a meetin’ to attend, but I’ll return, don’t you worry. Fletch isn’t at The Swan, so he’s been holed up elsewhere since he killed Ripps. He’ll come for the book, see you and well,” Lark lifted his palms. “I’ll let Vulture have a bit of fun with you two until I return.” He turned to Vulture at the door. “No killin’ him until I’m back. Or her. She’s useful.”
Vulture made a disgruntled sound, clearly not pleased.
Helen wiped her mouth, staring at Mary’s dead body and tried to keep from fainting. There wasn’t any telling what Vulture might do to her if she were unconscious.
“Vulture’ll move Mary in a bit. Might do you good to have the company though.” He burst into a fit of giggles, a disturbing, childish sound from such a horrible man. Then without another look in Helen’s direction, Lark arrogantly sauntered out.
Vulture shut the door behind him, leaving Helen with a dead girl, trying not to become hysterical at her circumstances. She shut her eyes against the sight of poor Mary, the blood from her ear still dripping down her throat.
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” she whispered. Helen stood and ripped the quilt off the bed, unable to bear the sight of the poor girl a moment longer. She wanted to scream, though it would do her little good. No help was coming. The house was deathly silent around her. Whoever had lived here before Lark and Vulture arrived, they were gone.
And Helen didn’t think of their own accord.
Covering Mary’s small form with the quilt, she said a prayer for the girl’s soul. As she dropped the quilt over her body, Helencaught sight of something red in Mary’s fist. Like a small dot of blood.
Yes, only blood.Helen glanced at the spot again.No. Not blood. Wax.
Helen hunched down and carefully unfurled Mary’s fingers, though she didn’t want to touch her at all. A crumpled note lay in the girl’s palm. Wax seal, unbroken.
She took up the bit of paper.
Mary hadn’t read the note. Or possibly she couldn’t. The girl had been trying to give this to Lark before he—best not to think of it again.
Note in hand, Helen hid it in her skirts and went back to the bed. Whatever was written must be important. She glanced at the door, ready to read the contents when Vulture appeared. He winked at her, a toothpick caught between his yellowed teeth. The smell of onions followed him into the room.
“I’ll do you a kindness and take her out,” he said, nodding at Mary. “Remember that when I tell you to spread your legs, Fletch’s ladybird. Bet I can pleasure you better than him.” He stuck his tongue out, wiggling it at her while Helen shrank back in revulsion.
“Ah, you’ll warm up, I expect.” He looked down at Mary and picked her up, carrying the girl out of the room. Dropping the body with a thud in the hall outside, he winked at her once more before closing the door.
Helen sat perfectly still. She took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. Fletcher would come, not for her, but that terrible book. Lark was certain of it. And she would need to be…notin a state of panic.
First things first. She needed to read this note, memorize the contents, and then dispose of it lest Lark or Vulture see it. Helen carefully unfolded the paper, fingers trembling as she read the salutation at the top.
My Darling Freckle
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lark had Helen.The words echoed over and over in his mind, the worry for her increasing every second.
I wasn’t as careful as I thought.
Fletcher had made a great many mistakes. First letting his guard down around Mary, and then not believing he’d be followed by any of Lark’s men to the better parts of London.
And now Lark had taken Helen.
He crawled back a bit further into the barrel that was currently his hiding place. Ribs aching as he twisted around to get a better view of Mrs. Baldwin’s boarding house. After killing Ripps, Fletcher had come directly to Cheapside but didn’t dare approach the boarding house in light of Mary’s betrayal, so he watched for any sign of Mrs. Baldwin or the other boarders.
Not one soul went in or out.
Curious, Fletcher finally crawled out of the safety of the barrel. Pulling his hat down low, he wandered into the market a few streets over and struck up a conversation with one of the merchants, pretending he was looking for a room to let.
“Heard there’s a decent boarding house on Wood Street,” he said to the man.
“Not anymore,” the merchant replied. “Closed up suddenly. But there’s two on Milk Street.”
That’s when Fletcher knew with certainty, Lark had come to Cheapside.
