Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 7

The Boar’s Head on Fleet Street was one of those comfortable old pubs with dark paneled walls and low ceilings that reminded their patrons of winter evenings spent tucked away in the cozy Jacobin inns of Leicester and Derby, Northampton and Worcestershire. Sebastian supposed it was that warm familiarity that had made it an attractive refuge for three young men with bruised spirits and aching memories.

Ordering a pint of ale, Sebastian paused beside the low, ancient bar. The three friends huddled around a table in the corner, unaware of his presence. A somber group, they sat with shoulders hunched, hands cupped around pewter tankards, chins sunk in ambitiously tied cravats. Occasionally one would make a comment and the others would nod. No one laughed.

The eldest of the three, Davis Jefferies, was but twenty, a slight, incredibly gaunt young man who looked more like sixteen. To his left sat Charlie McDermott, another slim youth with the pale skin and flaming red hair of the far north. Only Lord Burlington, a baron’s son from Nottingham who’d come into his title as a child, approached Dominic Stanton in size and bulk.

Sebastian watched the men for a time, then walked over to their table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Three startled pairs of eyes turned toward him. “I’d like a few words with you gentlemen,” he said quietly, “if you don’t mind?”

The three exchanged hurried glances. “No. Of course not,” said Jefferies, stammering slightly. “How may we help you, my lord?”

“I understand you attended yesterday’s mill down at Merton Abbey.”

Jefferies hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“With Mr. Dominic Stanton?”

The redheaded Scotsman, McDermott, spoke up, saying in a rush, “I beg your pardon, my lord, but what is this about?”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair. “I’m wondering if you know of anyone Stanton might have angered lately. A gentleman annoyed by Mr. Stanton’s attentions to his lady, perhaps? Or perhaps someone he bested in a game of chance or a wager?”

The three were silent for a moment, thinking. Then Jefferies shook his head and said, “Dominic wasn’t much in the petticoat line. And he never could pick a winner—or run a bluff.”

“Was he in any way acquainted with Mr. Barclay Carmichael?”

“Are you roasting me? A bang-up Corinthian like Carmichael? No. We all admired him, but…that was it.”

Burlington spoke up suddenly. “You’re trying to figure out who did it, aren’t you?” The boy’s face was pale and puffy. When Sebastian looked into his soft gray eyes, Burlington glanced quickly away.

“Do you have any ideas about what happened to him?”

All three boys shook their heads, their eyes wide.

“Where did you gentlemen go after yesterday’s fight?”

“To the White Monk,” said McDermott. “Outside Merton Abbey.”

“Until when?”

“Just before midnight. But Dominic left long before that. His mother wanted him home for some dinner party she was giving.”

“So he left alone?”

Again, the three exchanged glances. It was Burlington who swallowed and licked his lips before answering. “He asked me to go with him. Said he didn’t want to ride back to London by himself. But I just laughed at him. Made fun of him. Told him he was acting like a shrieking little housemaid.” The boy’s voice cracked and he looked away again, blinking rapidly.

“What time did he leave?”

“About half past five, I’d say?” McDermott looked around the table for confirmation. The other two nodded their heads. “Yes. Half past five.”

“Driving himself in his curricle?”

“No. We all rode. Dominic has—had,” he corrected himself quickly, “a sweet-going little mare named Roxanne. Last I heard, she was missing, too.”

“What does she look like?”

“A dapple gray. With four white socks and a white blaze.”

Sebastian pushed back his chair, then hesitated. “You said Mr. Stanton was nervous. Was he often so?”

“Dominic? No. At least, not until lately.”

“When you say lately, what exactly do you mean?”

Again there was that brief consensus taking. “The last month?” said Jefferies. “Maybe more.”

“Do you know what was making him nervous?”

The question was met with a heavy silence. After a moment Burlington cleared his throat and said, “He thought someone was following him. Watching him.”

“Did he ever see anyone?”

“No. No one. It was just a feeling he had. He was spooked. It’s why we all laughed at him. God help us. We laughed at him.”