Anne Perry - A Christmas Odyssey

They entered a cellar deep below a tavern. The yellow gaslight made the stone walls look even more pitted and stained. They did at least serve good brandy. Apart from warming Squeaky’s body a bit, the drink encouraged him to think that this was the kind of place that might attract a man like Lucien Wentworth, who was raised to know the quality of brandy and partook only of the best.

It was actually Crow who began the conversation with a nearby stranger that finally yielded the first scent of Lucien.

“Clever,” Crow observed amiably to the man nearest him. They were both looking at a provocatively dressed young woman who was miming an obscene joke to the delight of onlookers.

“Cost yer,” the young man remarked. “But they all do.”

“I prefer something a bit …” Crow hesitated. “Unusual.”

The young man looked him up and down as if assessing his taste. “You’da liked Sadie.” He sighed wistfully. He was so slight as to be almost emaciated. The bones of his wrists looked fragile when his shirtsleeves slid back. “She was beautiful.”

“Really …” Crow had difficulty pretending interest. Squeaky realized he had no idea what kind of woman Crow liked. The subject had never arisen.

“Face pale as a lily,” the young man went on dreamily. “Hair like black silk. And sea-blue eyes, bright as deep water in the sun.”

Squeaky let his mind wander. This was all a waste of time.

Crow was still pretending to be interested. “She sounds different,” he said, regarding the young man closely. “You pursued her? Was she all you imagined?”

The young man lifted one bony shoulder. “No idea. She only had time for Lucien.”

That caught Squeaky’s attention, and he sat upright too quickly. The young man turned to stare at him, breaking the thread of his remembrance.

Crow glared at Squeaky.

Squeaky scratched himself, as if it had been a sudden itch that had disturbed him. “Too bad,” he commiserated. He caught Crow’s eye and decided to say no more.

“Is she still around here?” Crow asked casually.

“What?”

“The girl with the sea-blue eyes.”

“Oh, Sadie? Haven’t seen her.” The young man fished in his pocket, but apparently did not find what he was looking for. He furrowed his brow. “I’m getting out of here. This is becoming tedious. Do you want to come to Potter’s with me?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Crow agreed, without asking Squeaky. “I’d like to hear more about Sadie. You make her sound special, something new.”

“Won’t do you any good.” The young man rose to his feet, and swayed a little. Crow caught him by the arm, steadying him. “Obliged,” the young man acknowledged the assistance, letting out a belch of alcoholic fumes. Don’t bother with Sadie. I told you, she went with Lucien.”

“Where to?” Crow asked him, still holding his arm.

“God knows.” The young man waved a hand in the air.

“We aren’t on conversational terms with God,” Squeaky put in acidly. “I ask, but he doesn’t bleedin’ answer.”

The young man started to laugh and ended with a hacking cough.

Crow patted him on the back. It was a useless gesture, but one that allowed him to keep a firm hold on his arm and prevent him from collapsing altogether as he guided him toward the way out.

The journey to Potter’s was made erratically along footpaths slick with ice. Holding on to each other was a way to maintain balance as well as to make sure that they did not lose the young man, and that he did not pass out in one of the many doorways. He might well freeze to death if he did.

“Fool,” Squeaky muttered under his breath. Now that he was not making money out of other people’s vices, he had a far less tolerant view of them. “Fool!” he repeated as the young man stumbled. He would have fallen flat on the ice-covered paving stones if Crow and Squeaky had not yanked him to his feet again.

When they finally reached Potter’s they found that the place was dimly lit, mostly by tallow candles in a variety of holders. Despite the lateness of the hour it was still full of people. Some were drinking, while others lounged in corners quietly smoking what Squeaky knew from past experience was tobacco liberally laced with other substances, possibly opium derivatives of some sort. The air was heavy and rancid with the stench of smoke, alcohol, sweat, and various other bodily odors.

Crow wrinkled his nose and shot a grim look at Squeaky. Squeaky tried to smile but knew it looked sickly on his face.

They were offered brandy, and bought some to try to revive the young man. He seemed to be falling asleep, or possibly into a kind of stupor.

The sharp spirit going down his throat stirred him, at least temporarily. “What?” he said abruptly. “What did you say?”

“You were telling us about Sadie,” Crow prompted him. “How beautiful she was, and how much fun.”

“Yes, Sadie.” He repeated the name as if rolling the flavor around his mouth. “What a woman. Skin like … like …” He could not think of anything adequate. “So alive,” he said instead. “Always laughing, dancing, making jokes, kissing someone outrageously, places you wouldn’t believe.”

“Lucien …” Crow put in.

“Oh yes, him especially,” the young man agreed. “He would do anything for her, and did.” A slow, dreamy smile spread across his face. “She dared him to swallow a live fish … eel, I think it was. Revolting.”

“Did he?” Squeaky asked.

The young man looked at him with disgust. “Of course he did. Told you, he’d do anything for her. Admired her.” There was envy in his face. “Said she made him feel like a god—or a fallen angel, maybe. Can you see it?” He smiled a little vacantly. “Spiraling down from the lip of heaven in an everlasting descent to the fires of hell and the dark underlight of those who have tasted all that there is and know everything that the universe can hold.” He began to laugh. It was a strange, shrill sound broken by hiccups.

One of the candles on the cellar wall guttered and went out.

There were several moments of silence before he spoke again. “And of course there was Niccolo,” he added. “Never knew if she actually wanted him, or if she just used him to make Lucien mad with jealousy. Either way, it worked.”

“Niccolo?” Crow repeated the name. “What was he like? Who was he?”

The young man stared blankly.

“Who was he?” Crow repeated with exaggerated patience.

“No idea.” The young man seemed to lose interest. Squeaky fetched more brandy, but it didn’t help. Their informant was beginning to drift off into a stupor.

“Who was Niccolo?” Squeaky said, his voice edged with threat.

The young man stared at him and blinked. “Sadie’s lover,” he replied, giggling in a falsetto voice. “Sadie’s other lover.” He started to laugh again, then slowly slid off the chair and fell in a heap on the floor.

Crow bent down as if to pick him up, or at least to try.

“Leave him,” Squeaky ordered. “He’s probably as well off there as anywhere else. You won’t get anything more out of him. We need to find this Sadie. Can’t be too many as look like her. C’mon.”

It was now past five in the morning, and there was hardly anyone left sober enough to give them any answers. They went out into the early morning darkness and the bleak easterly wind. Crow started to turn down toward the river, and his home.

“No yer don’t!” Squeaky said sharply. “We in’t finished yet.”

Crow snatched his arm away. “There’s nobody else awake at this hour, you fool!” he said impatiently. “It’s pointless looking now. Not that there’s much point at any time. I want some breakfast, then to sleep.”