What Angels Fear

Chapter 14

Sir Henry Lovejoy took his position as chief magistrate of Queen Square very, very seriously. He often came into the Public Office early, to go over his case notes, and to study reprints of the decisions of his fellow magistrates.

It was a product of his upbringing, he supposed. That, and the habit of industry. Born of solidly respectable tradesman stock, Lovejoy had decided in midlife to become a magistrate only after having amassed a tidy independence as a merchant. Not a fortune, but a comfortable independence.

It was a shift in direction he hadn’t undertaken lightly, for Lovejoy was a methodical man who never did anything without prolonged and careful thought. He’d a number of reasons for this change in vocation, not the least of which was his conviction that a childless man ought to leave something worthwhile behind him, some contribution to society. And Sir Henry Lovejoy was, now, a childless man.

He was sitting at his desk, a muffler wrapped around his neck to ward off the morning chill, when Edward Maitland appeared in the open doorway and said, “Three Bow Street Runners had Devlin trapped at an old inn on Pudding Row, near St. Giles.”

“And?” said Lovejoy, looking up from his notes.

“He went out a window and escaped over the roof.”

Lovejoy sat back in his chair and peeled his eyeglasses off his nose.

“I’ve sent some of the lads over there to have a look around,” said Maitland. “Although I daresay there’s not much point.”

“Interesting.” Lovejoy chewed the earpiece of his spectacles. “Why do you suppose he’s still in London?”

“No place else to bolt, I expect.”

“A man of Devlin’s resources?” Lovejoy shook his head. “Hardly. How is Constable Simplot?”

“Still alive, sir. But he won’t last much longer, not with a sucking wound.”

Lovejoy nodded. The knife had punctured the young man’s lung. It would be only a matter of time now. Tipping his chair forward, Lovejoy searched amongst the litter on his desk. “What, precisely, have you discovered about this Rachel York?”

“What is there to find out?”

Lovejoy pressed his lips together and refrained from pointing out that if he’d known the answer to that question, they wouldn’t have needed to discover it. “You searched her rooms, of course?”

“First thing yesterday morning. When we spoke to the maid.” Maitland shrugged. “There was nothing of interest. I left one of the lads there, like you ordered, to watch the place overnight.” A waste of time and resources, his tone said clearly, although he would never voice such a thought aloud.

Lovejoy gave up looking for his schedule. “When am I due in court this morning?”

“At ten, sir.”

“Not enough time,” muttered Lovejoy. “I’ll have to clear my docket for this afternoon then.”

“Sir?” said Maitland.

“There are certain aspects of this case which disturb me, Constable. It warrants looking into further, and I intend to begin by viewing that unfortunate young woman’s rooms myself. Something is going on here. I might not know what it is yet, but there’s one thing I do know.” Lovejoy stuck his spectacles back on his nose. “I know I don’t like it.”