James McGee - Ratcatcher

As far as the Woodburn case was concerned, the obvious course of action would be to pursue enquiries at Mandrake House. Had Warlock gone down that road? If so, and if the dead Runner had not been merely the victim of a robbery, what chain of events had led to his body ending up on the river bank?

Somewhere in the tangled mess of contradictions there lay solutions to both riddles, though, for the life of him, Hawkwood couldn’t begin to see where those solutions might reside.

But he wasn’t thinking straight. He was tired and he was hungry. He should, he thought, have taken up Lomax’s recommendation and ordered a bowl of stew. No matter, he’d ask Maddie to provide something for him. Even a cold platter would suffice. A couple of hours sleep wouldn’t come amiss either. But before he could lay head to pillow he would have to make his report to Magistrate Read. Food first, therefore, followed by a brief call into the Shop, and then bed. By which time, there might even be a message from Jago. Stirred by the possibility, he quickened his pace.

But when he walked through the tavern door he was barely given a chance to draw breath, let alone put in a request for supper. Maddie was on him before he could stop her.

“I want you to get rid of him! Right away! The little devil’s been hanging around for hours. It’s got so my customers daren’t venture outside for fear of being relieved of their valuables! I told him you weren’t here and that I didn’t know when you’d be back, but he insisted on waiting, cheeky beggar! Wanted to wait inside, as well, but I warned him on no account was he to set foot through that doorway. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had fleas, from the looks of him! I do declare, Matthew Hawkwood, for a police officer, you keep strange company and no mistake!”

It took Hawkwood a moment to realize that Maddie had ceased her remonstration. He smiled. “Go easy, Maddie, you’ve lost me. Who are you talking about?”

“Why, that boy, of course. Who else?”

“Er…what boy?”

“That one!” Maddie’s eyes flashed green fire as she pointed an accusing finger.

Hawkwood looked around. A small, grubby face was peering round the edge of the doorframe. A hand beckoned urgently.

An ominous sigh sounded close by. Hawkwood realized it was emanating from between Maddie’s tightly clenched teeth. He sensed the landlady was about to erupt, spectacularly.

“All right, Maddie,” Hawkwood interposed quickly. “Leave it to me. I’ll deal with it.”

Hawkwood walked to the door and stepped out into the alleyway.

“Davey?”

“Over ’ere, Mr ’Awkwood!”

The urchin emerged from the shadow of a nearby archway. One hand was hidden inside his ragged jacket. He looked around nervously.

“What the hell’s going on, Davey?” Hawkwood asked.

“Got a present for you, Mr ’Awkwood.”

Slowly the boy took his hand from inside his coat. He was clutching something. Hawkwood couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Reckon I should give you this.”

The boy held out his hand. Hawkwood stared at the object. His heart went cold.

It was a Runner’s baton.

Hawkwood found his voice. “Where’d you get it?”

The boy looked down, avoiding Hawkwood’s eye.

“Davey?”

“Sorry, Mr ’Awkwood. It were Ned. I didn’t know he ’ad it, honest.”

Ned? Hawkwood had to think for a moment. Then he remembered it was the name of the boy who had discovered Warlock’s corpse.

“Where did he find it?”

“Said it were next to the body. Half-buried, he told me. Didn’t plan on tellin’ no one on account of he thought he could clean it up and flog it. It were Pen who told me he ’ad it. I made ’im ’and it over.”

Instinctively, Hawkwood reached into his pocket, but the boy shook his head. “Nah, that’s all right, Mr ’Awkwood. Don’t want nothing fer it. You been good to us. Treated us fair and square. That other geezer, too. Don’t seem right, takin’ money off you this time. My way of thinkin’ is you can ’ave this ’un with our compliments.” The boy grinned. “On the ’ouse, you might say.”

Hawkwood gripped the ebony baton tightly. “I’m obliged, Davey. I mean that.”

The boy nodded solemnly. There followed a moment of awkward silence, eventually broken by the urchin. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ back. Don’t like leaving the rest of ’em on their own for too long. No knowin’ what manner o’ mischief they’ll be gettin’ up to without me to ’old their ’ands.”

Hawkwood nodded. “Take care of yourself, Davey. You tell Ned I said thanks. I owe you.”

The boy laughed. “Think I don’t know that? Next time, we’ll charge you double!”

Still laughing, the boy ran off. Hawkwood, assailed by a sudden and inexplicable feeling of melancholy, turned and walked back into the tavern.

Maddie Teague raised the coffeepot and arched an eyebrow suggestively. “Would the kind gentleman care for anything else?”

Hawkwood sat back as the beverage was poured. The landlady’s free hand rested on Hawkwood’s shoulder. Covertly, her fingers traced the nape of his neck. “Fancy some company later?”

Hawkwood knew he still had to find Billy Mipps to arrange another meeting with Jago. “Sorry, Maddie. Not tonight.”

Framed by the neckline of her bodice, the shadow between Maddie’s breasts darkened invitingly.

“You’re sure?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “Can’t, Maddie. Duty calls.”

Maddie straightened abruptly and tossed her fiery mane in mock annoyance. “Well, there’s a fine thing! It occurs to me, Matthew Hawkwood, that some men don’t know when they’re well off!”

Hawkwood watched Maddie pout and flounce away. Despite the sense of despondency that had gripped him earlier, he couldn’t help but smile at the landlady’s theatrics. Maddie Teague had that effect.

As he followed Maddie’s departure, Hawkwood thought about Catherine de Varesne, her dark sensuality so different from Maddie’s pale, Celtic beauty. Unaccountably, he felt a sharp stab of guilt at having made the comparison, for there had been many occasions when Maddie Teague had been a welcome visitor to Hawkwood’s bed.

Maddie Teague was a widow. Her late husband had held a captaincy with the East India Company and had purchased the inn from profits made on the Far Eastern spice routes. The captain had perished, lost at sea along with the rest of his crew and a cargo of Chinese porcelain, when his ship had foundered on a reef during a storm off the Andaman Islands.

Maddie had inherited the Blackbird along with several outstanding debts and a small coterie of creditors. The accumulation of debt had meant that the tavern had been at risk. Salvation had come with the timely arrival of Hawkwood, newly returned from the Peninsula, with a letter of commendation from Colquhoun Grant to the Chief Magistrate at Bow Street, and a need for a roof over his head.

Maddie Teague had welcomed him with a cautious smile. The open arms had come later.

Hawkwood had enjoyed his fair share of women. During his years in the army his dark good looks and the uniform had ensured he had rarely been without female company. But military life and the hardship of campaigning were demanding mistresses and it was an understanding woman who was prepared to put up with the life of a soldier, whether it meant staying at home or following him into battle with the other regimental wives.

Becoming a Runner had brought little change in his circumstances. The job and the inherent dangers that accompanied it were all consuming and there had been scant opportunity to develop lasting friendships, let alone anything resembling romance. Male friends were hard enough to find, never mind women.