Anne Perry - A Christmas Odyssey

“Really?” Ash looked only mildly interested. “A Christian burial? Why?”

“Because I want something from you,” Henry replied. “Of course.”

“What?”

“That you tell people the truth, so Lucien is not blamed for either death.”

“And you’ll bury Rosa, decently, like a Christian?”

“I will.”

“Where is she?” Henry said wearily.

Without speaking again Ash turned, leaning awkwardly on his stick, and led them out of the room. In the passage he started in the opposite direction from the one they had taken before. After a hundred feet or so they went into a small side room, cold and dry, where two bodies lay side by side on a table. One was a young woman, her long dark hair loose around her face, her hands folded as if totally at peace. Her eyes were closed. Even so, her features were a finer, almost beautiful echo of what Ash’s might have been in his youth, before disease spoiled them.

Her dress was matted with blood where someone had stabbed her over and over.

The man, by contrast, bore only one wound, to the heart. His arms were by his sides.

They stood in a few moments’ respectful silence. It was Crow who broke it.

“I’ll carry her,” he said quietly. “Do you have a cloth of any kind to wrap around her?”

W hen they were far beyond the hall and heading toward the way up, they came face-to-face with Sadie, and behind her Lucien and Bessie.

Henry stopped instantly, Squeaky, Crow, and Ash close on his heels. One glance at Henry’s face was enough to show that he did not understand, but Squeaky did. It was all now horribly clear. Sadie had been so eager to help because she needed to see where they were keeping Lucien. Now she had gone back to collect him—for Shadwell! Always his servant, bought and paid for with the cocaine she could or would not live without.

Bessie had come as well, either with them or close after. Her ridiculous sense of loyalty would make her do that. Now they were all trapped. He didn’t even need to turn around to know that the way would be closed behind them.

Shadwell was there in the half-light, as Squeaky had known he would be. He did not even notice if he was tall or short, except that he wore a frock coat, like an undertaker. It was his face that dominated everything else, every thought and emotion. The lantern on the wall threw his left side into high relief, illuminating the bony nose and sunken cheekbones, the wide, cruel lips. The darker side was only half visible, the eye socket lost, the bones merely suggested, the mouth a shapeless slash on the skin.

There was an instant’s utter silence, then Henry spoke.

“Mr. Shadwell, I presume?” he said quietly. His voice was absurdly polite, and shaking only a very little.

Shadwell remained motionless where he was. “And you, sir, must be Henry Rathbone.” His reply was almost gentle. As Sadie had said, it was a voice that crept inside the head and remained there.

“I am,” Henry agreed. “We would be obliged if you would allow us to pass. We are taking the body of Rosa in order to give her burial.”

“Ah, yes, Rosa.” The man let her name roll on his tongue. “What an unfortunate waste. She was hardly Sadie, but she was still worth something. By all means bury her. Put a Christian cross above her empty soul, if it gives you some sense of your own worthiness. It will fool neither God nor Satan.”

Squeaky gulped. He wished Ash had not had to hear that.

“All obsequies for the dead are to preserve our own humanity,” Henry answered him. “Reminders of who we are, and that we loved them. The present is woven out of the threads of the past.”

Shadwell inclined his head a little, allowing the light to shine on his face, making it look worse. “A silken rope to bind you,” he agreed. “I will let the good doctor go, taking Rosa. The rest of you stay. I dare say in time I shall find a use for you.”

“And Lucien,” Henry added.

“And Bessie!” Squeaky insisted. How could Henry forget her?

“You make a hard bargain,” Shadwell responded. “What do you think, Sadie? Could you teach this bony child to be a good whore?”

Squeaky looked at Sadie. Her face should have been beautiful, but now there was an ugliness inside her that soured it.

It was Lucien who moved. He stepped toward Shadwell, his head high, his arms held a little forward, still protecting his wound.

“I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever you need, even bring in men from my own society who want to come, if you let all these go, including Bessie. I’m of far more use to you than she’ll ever be. She doesn’t know or care how to please men. She has no art at all.” He stood a little straighter, his eyes never leaving Shadwell’s. His face was yellowish gray in the sullen light.

Shadwell’s eyes widened, like sunken pits in his skull. “You trust my word?” he asked incredulously.

Lucien tried to smile, and failed. He was shaking. “Of course not. I shall bring to you every greedy and twisted man who can pay you, for as long as I know they are safe, including Bessie.”

“Indeed. Or you’ll do what? Are you threatening me?”

“Or I will kill myself,” Lucien said simply. “I am no use to you dead, but alive and willing, I can bring men—and more women as lush as Sadie.”

A look of anger and surprise filled Shadwell’s terrible face.

Lucien had won the bargain, at least for the moment. He knew it. His skin was ashen. He was entering a real hell: one that he understood intimately, could taste on his tongue and in his throat, and one that would never leave him.

Henry Rathbone was smiling, and tears welled up in his eyes. He watched and said nothing. That was when Squeaky knew that, for him, Lucien had redeemed himself.

Henry took Squeaky by the arm very firmly, so that his fingers dug into Squeaky’s flesh, and pulled him away.

Bessie was on Squeaky’s heels. Crow followed, still carrying Rosa’s body. Ash was nowhere to be seen.

They walked as quickly as they could along the tunnels and passages, and up the flight of steps, slippery underfoot, lit only by a couple of rush torches soaked in pitch.

Bessie pulled so hard on the tails of Squeaky’s jacket she very nearly tore the fabric. He stopped and whirled around on her, then did not know what to say.

Behind him Crow stopped as well, leaning against the wall, breathing hard. He carefully allowed the weight of Rosa’s body to rest on the ground.

“We in’t goin’ ter leave ’im, are we?” Bessie said, her voice trembling.

“No,” Henry answered her. “But we must think very carefully what we are going to do, and how. I think we are far enough away to take a rest. And we must keep our promise to Ash, wherever he has got to.”

“ ’Im?” she said in disbelief. “ ’E’s a—”

“It is our promise, not his,” Henry reminded her. “But quite apart from that, he did keep his bargain.”

“So where is ’e then?” she demanded.

“Probably watching us, to see if we keep our part,” Crow said wryly. “He doesn’t know you as well as we do.”

Henry gave him a quick smile. Squeaky thought of all the sane, sensible people above them in the daylight, preparing for Christmas, buying gifts, getting geese ready to roast, mixing pastries and puddings and cakes. He could almost smell the sweetness of it. There would be wreaths of holly on doors, music in the air. Sometime soon there would even be bells. These people knew what Christmas was supposed to be.

“But we’re going back for Lucien?” Bessie insisted.

“Of course we are,” Henry assured her. “But we must do it with a plan. We have no weapons, so we have to think very carefully. Crow, you had better take Rosa’s body somewhere safe, where it can come to no possible harm, and where we can be sure it will be given a Christian burial, should we find ourselves in a position where we cannot attend to that ourselves.”