Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 33

THURSDAY, 19 SEPTEMBER 1811

Sebastian hesitated in the cool morning shadows of the ancient arcade, his gaze on the gentlewoman ladling porridge at a table set at the far end of the courtyard.

The poor and hungry of the city pressed past him, their gaunt frames clad in filthy rags, their faces drawn and desperate. The smell of unwashed bodies, disease, and coming death mingled with the dank earthy scent of the old stones around them. Once, before Henry VIII cast his covetous eyes upon the wealth of the church, this had been the cloisters of a grand convent. Now it was a half ruin that served as an open-air relief center, part of a vast yet woefully inadequate network of private charities that struggled to alleviate the worst of the sufferings of London’s burgeoning population of poor.

A young girl clutching a wailing baby cast Sebastian a curious look, but he kept his attention fixed on the gentlewoman quietly dispensing porridge: Lady Carmichael. A tall, starkly thin woman in her late forties, she wore a plain black apron tied over a fine walking dress also of unrelieved black, for she was in deepest mourning. Beneath a simple black hat covering dark hair heavily laced with gray, her face looked nearly as gaunt and drawn as those of the men and women who crowded around her, cracked and chipped bowls clutched eagerly in desperate hands.

Sebastian had known other women dedicated to good works. Most were nauseatingly condescending and self-righteously conscious of their ostentatious benevolence. Not Lady Carmichael. She worked with a quiet selflessness that reminded Sebastian of the nuns he’d encountered on the Iberian Peninsula and in Italy. She was as generous with her smiling words of encouragement as with her porridge. Yet she did not strike Sebastian as either gentle or soft. There was a firmness there, along with a calm self-possession that marked her as a strong, formidable woman.

Sebastian continued to hang back, watching her, until the last of the porridge was distributed and the throng began to thin. Only then did he step forward.

“Lady Carmichael?”

She turned at his words, her gaze assessing him. He had the impression she’d been aware of him, watching her from the shadows. “Yes?”

Sebastian touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “I’m Lord Devlin. I’d like a word with you, if I may?”

Considering the way Sir Humphrey Carmichael had reacted, Sebastian knew he was taking a chance, identifying himself to her. She continued looking at him steadily for a moment, then said, “You wish to talk to me about my son.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

She drew a deep breath that flared her nostrils, then nodded crisply. “Very well.”

She motioned to her servant to continue packing up the supplies, then turned to walk with Sebastian beneath the ancient arcade.

“Why have you involved yourself in this, my lord? What prompts a wealthy young nobleman to participate in a murder investigation? Hmm? Morbid curiosity? Arrogance? Or is it simple boredom?”

“Actually, it was at the request of a friend.”

She glanced sideways at him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“Sir Henry Lovejoy,” he said.

“Ah. I see. Yet it’s my understanding Bow Street has taken over the investigation. And still you persist. Is that not arrogance?”

Sebastian found himself faintly smiling. “I suppose in a sense it is. But that’s only part of it.”

“And what’s the other part? Don’t tell me it’s a desire to see justice done. There is very little justice in this world, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. But I can’t allow something like this to continue, if I can stop it.”

Again that arch of the eyebrow. “You think you can stop it?”

“I can try.”

A brief flicker of what might have been amusement softened the grim line of her lips, then faded. “And have you discovered anything, my lord?”

“I think so, yes.” Sebastian studied the gentlewoman’s delicately boned profile. “Did you by any chance accompany Sir Humphrey on his trip to India five years ago?”

“India?” She swung to face him, the dark skirts of her mourning gown swirling softly around her. “Whatever has India to do with my son’s death?”

“Sir Humphrey and Lord Stanton were both return passengers aboard a ship called the Harmony, captained by Edward Bellamy.”

He watched her lips part on a quickly indrawn breath. “You think that’s the connection between the deaths of Dominic Stanton and my son? The Harmony?”

“Considering what happened to Adrian Bellamy on Tuesday night, yes.”

She brought up one hand to press her fingers to her lips. “You mean the young naval lieutenant killed on the docks? That was Captain Bellamy’s son?”

“Yes.”

“But his body wasn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

“No. But there is evidence his death is connected, nevertheless. Were you a passenger on that ship?”

She shook her head. “No. I do sometimes travel with my husband, but not on that trip, thankfully.” She turned to continue walking, the soft soles of her shoes whispering over the worn stones. “You’ve heard what happened to them?”

“Yes.”

“Sir Humphrey was ill for months after his return. I sometimes think he’s never entirely recovered from the ordeal.”

“Do you know who else was on that ship besides your husband and Lord Stanton?”

She hesitated, the frown lines between her eyebrows deepening with thought. Then she shook her head. “No. There were some six or seven others, but I don’t recall their names.”

“Was one of them a clergyman?”

“Actually, yes. A missionary and his wife returning from some years’ stay in India. I remember because he annoyed Sir Humphrey excessively.” Her gaze flickered over to Sebastian. “Why?”

“There was a young man murdered down in Kent last Easter, in Avery. The son of one Reverend William Thornton.”

“And this Reverend Thornton was on the Harmony, as well?”

“I don’t know for certain yet, but I suspect so, yes. I do know that he and his wife spent some years on a mission in India.”

They walked along in silence for a time, their footsteps echoing in the stone-vaulted corridor. At last she said, “It makes no sense. Why would someone be killing the children of the Harmony’s passengers?”

“Someone who wanted revenge, perhaps.”

“Revenge for what?”

Sebastian met her gaze and held it, and the air between them crackled with all that remained unsaid. The desperate, starving men and women of the Harmony might have kept their secret for five long years, but there was no escaping the implications suggested by the butchered bodies of their children.

Lady Carmichael’s eyes widened. She shook her head fiercely, her throat working hard as if she were forced to swallow a rise of bile. “No. You’re wrong. Nothing like that happened on that ship.”

“Can you be certain?”

Her voice throbbed with emotion. “My husband is a hard man, Lord Devlin. A hard, brilliant man who can be brutal in business if he must. But only in business. He could never, ever have done what you are suggesting. Never.”

Sebastian stared off across the now silent, half-ruined cloister, all that remained of what had once been a thriving community. “Most of us probably think we could never do such a thing,” he said. “Yet when faced with the stark choice between that and death, I suspect we’d all be uncomfortably surprised by how few would choose death.”

“You’re wrong,” she said again. But she was no longer looking at him, and Sebastian suspected she spoke the words in a futile effort to convince herself.