Dark Tide Rising Page 3

  Monk was annoyed with himself. He knew the river well enough to have thought of this. Not that the outward appearance would be so different, but the way of moving or holding one’s head, sheltering from the wind or hiding from sight, would. Think like a thief and you would have the best chance of looking like one.

  He stood up. “Right. We’ll tell the men and decide where they’ll go in. We’ll have to do some careful positioning to block every way out. You go and see if you can find Celia Darwin. I’ll give you her address. She may have noticed something. It’s not much of a chance, from what Exeter said of her, but we’d be stupid to overlook it. Whatever happens, be back here at three.” He wrote down the address Exeter had given him and handed it to Hooper.

  Hooper looked at it. “Ceylon Street. Where’s that?”

  “Just off the Battersea dock road. Not so far from where Kate Exeter was taken, but nothing like Southwark Park, where the Exeters live, even though it’s close. Exeter said Celia was the cousin from the side of the family that married down. He didn’t say his side married up, but the fact that he said anything at all suggests he’s…” He looked for the word.

  “Jumped-up,” Hooper supplied for him.

  “Yes,” Monk agreed. “Doesn’t make him any less a victim. Or his wife. Apparently, she liked the cousin enough to be close to her. They were friends. Be patient with her, Hooper. She may be…”

  “Upset. She’s not worth much if she isn’t, sir.”

  Monk smiled again. “Yes. Doesn’t mean she won’t remember something.”

  * * *

  —

  CELIA DARWIN HAD BEEN at home in her very modest house on Ceylon Street when Harry Exeter had called upon her. The previous day had been the worst of her life. All past pain or disappointment was swallowed up by the loss of Kate, the cousin who was like a younger sister to her.

  She ran to the door to answer it herself, not giving her one maid the chance. She flung the door open and saw Exeter on the step. For a moment hope surged up in her; then she saw his face, and it died.

  He came in, almost pushing her out of the way.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What has happened? You’ve heard something?” She followed him into her small parlor and closed the door behind them.

  He turned to face her immediately. He looked terrified. His skin was drained of all color.

  “They want money,” he said. “More than everything I have…or they’ll kill her.”

  He already knew that she had nothing, not even anything to sell. The few pieces of jewelry her mother had left her were worthless. He had pointed that out, in one of their more unpleasant exchanges.

  “What can I—” she started.

  “I know you loved her…” he began.

  “I still do!” She would never have dared raise her voice to him before, but now nothing else mattered.

  “I know,” he said quickly. “And Kate knew—knows it, too. I know how to raise the money, but I…I should ask your permission, even if it is actually Maurice who has the power. Celia…please?”

  She did not hesitate. He was referring to Kate’s inheritance from her maternal grandmother, which she would come into when she was thirty-three, just over a year from now. If she died before that time, the money would go to Celia and her cousin Maurice Latham. He was a lawyer, and naturally the trustee. One did not give such responsibility to a woman.

  “Of course,” she said instantly. “Will it be enough?”

  He relaxed. His whole body eased as if the pain had left him. He smiled at her through sudden tears in his eyes. “Yes. Yes it will just do it, with what else I have. Thank you, Celia. I…I knew you would agree…but I still had to ask you.”

  “And Maurice?” she pressed. She had little affection for him, although she had known him on and off for most of her life. He had always seemed condescending, as if he regarded her as something of a failure, having neither a useful occupation nor a husband and children to care for. And she owned that he was probably in some senses right. She had not these things. She was of a class too high to be a servant and not high enough to have inherited anything but the smallest means. Nor was she pretty, with that slight limp.

  Exeter was slow to answer. “Oh, Maurice will be all right, I’m sure. I had to ask you first. Thank you, Celia. I know you love Kate, and would do anything…you’ll be on my side, if I have to argue with Maurice…won’t you?”

  Was that why he had come to her first? Maurice was a pompous man at times, but he would never refuse to save Kate’s life! It was her money, after all…unless she died before she could inherit it. But that was a vile thought. Celia could feel her face heat up at even allowing it into her mind. “But it won’t be necessary,” she said.

  “No,” Exeter agreed. “I didn’t mean to…Celia, I’m…”

  “I know,” she said quickly. “We all are. There’s no need to explain yourself. None at all. Go and speak to Maurice, and get this done. Don’t waste time with explanations. Just get her back!”

  “I will,” he said with a bleak smile. “Thank you.”

  He had turned and found his own way to the front door, and she had heard it close behind him.

  It was going to be all right! They were going to get Kate back. The nightmare would be over. Thank God.

  * * *

  —

  HOOPER TURNED MONK’S REMARKS about the cousin, Celia Darwin, over and over in his mind, as he made his way upriver from Wapping to the pier just south of Chelsea Bridge, and then walked the mile or so to Ceylon Street. If Celia was out, he would have to wait for her return. Tomorrow would be too late to be of any use.

  Hooper did not know women well. He had joined the Merchant Navy as a young man. His home was unsettled, his father rough-tongued, a man more used to expressing himself with his hands than with words. When his mother died, Hooper had been happy enough to escape.

  He had come ashore after twenty years of sea and did not look back. Those times were better passed over. The Thames River Police seemed a natural place for him, and he was at ease with it, surprised to find himself good at the work. And he liked Monk. Of course, in many ways the commander was a difficult man, but he was honest, in his actions as well as his words, and Hooper was not afraid of him.

  Hester Monk was the only woman Hooper was comfortable with, too plain in her speech for most men who liked a little coquetry in a woman. And Hester did not even know how to behave that way, much less wish to.

  What would Celia Darwin be like? From what Exeter had told Monk, not much use, but he had to try.

  It was a pleasant neighborhood. Not prosperous, as he had imagined Exeter’s to be on the north side of the river. Did Exeter have to pledge his house to raise the ransom?

  He came to Ceylon Street and turned the corner. It was quiet in the clear, sharp winter sun. He stopped at number twenty-six and knocked on the door, then stood back so as not to crowd whoever opened it.

  It was a very young girl, perhaps fourteen. She was dressed in a plain dark-brown dress and white apron. “Yes, sir?” Her eyes were wide with alarm at finding a large man she had never seen before on the doorstep.

  “Good morning,” Hooper said quietly. “Is Miss Darwin at home?”

  She clearly did not know how to answer, which meant that Celia Darwin was in, but very possibly not willing to see him.

  “I am from the River Police,” he continued. “It is about her cousin, Mrs. Exeter. Miss Darwin may be able to help us.”

  “I’ll ask if she’s…well enough…to see you,” the girl answered, then was clearly unsure whether to close the door on him or not.

  He stepped back, to help her decision.

  She gave him the ghost of a smile and closed the door.

  Then, in a few minutes, she returned and let him in.

  Celia Darwin received him in the parlor. It was a
small room, very tidy, but somehow it looked lived in. The cushions on the settee, arranged for comfort, were well-worn, the colors faded. The fire was already lit, although it was banked low and with much coal dust to close it off from burning too quickly. There were ornaments on the mantelshelf that had no relationship to each other, except in the mind of the person who had collected them: a single candlestick from what had once probably been a pair, an old pewter salt dish with a matching spoon, a crystal vase such as might have held a single bud, a china frog with a pleasantly ugly face.

  Celia Darwin stood in the center of the softly patterned carpet, whose colors were wilted by time and wear. She was taller than he had expected. Her face was very pale, her features stronger and blunter than was fashionable, but he saw a sincerity in her that pleased him.

  “I’m John Hooper,” he introduced himself. “I’m here to find out what you remember of Saturday’s events. I’m sorry to ask you to go over it again, but anything you can tell us might matter.” He was careful not to suggest any answer to her. He had made that mistake before and learned how easy it was to skew someone’s thoughts.

  “Of course,” she answered. Her voice was soft and unusually pleasing. “I understand that it is necessary. Please sit down, Mr. Hooper.” She sat herself, in the middle of the sofa.

  He took the armchair opposite her, a little closer to the fire. After the cold wind on the river, it was welcome. “Thank you. You were walking together along the path a few yards from the riverbank?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you often do that?”

  “You mean, might someone know to expect us? Yes, I think so. Usually, if the weather is fine, about once a week.”

  “At the same time of day?”

  “Usually.”

  He noticed that she answered with as few words as possible. He did not find it terse. On the contrary, it felt relaxing to him. He avoided asking if she and Kate had been close. If they had, it would stir her emotions, perhaps too much to control. He would rather judge by the tone of what she said, the pitch of her voice. “You were walking together, talking?”

  “Yes, but we were silent now and then. As we were at the time the man spoke to her. He behaved as if he knew her. He was respectful, but not…timid.” She looked up at him for an instant, and he saw how distressed she was. Then she looked down and continued speaking. “I thought they were acquainted, and I did not wish to intrude…to be part of a meeting that did not really include me. I wish now that I had!” Suddenly she was angry with herself, and it was sharp in her tone.

  “Then you might have been taken, too,” Hooper said quickly.

  Celia looked up at him. “Then she would not have been alone!” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away angrily, yet unashamed.

  “But you are here to tell us anything you noticed about him.”

  “He was about two or three inches taller than Kate,” she began. “And Kate is tall—as tall as I am. He was dark-haired, but he did not have dark brows. I noticed it, because it was unusual. His face was long—long nose, long chin—but altogether not ill-looking. And he moved easily, even gracefully.”

  “Thank you. That is very individual.”

  “He was slender,” she went on, “and dressed in dark clothes. Very ordinary. I could not describe them usefully, I’m sorry.”

  “What direction did he come from?”

  “Up the bank. From the water.”

  “So, you looked away. To allow them privacy?”

  She looked down at her hands, motionless in her lap. At a glance they seemed at ease, until he noticed the pale knuckles. “I wish I had stayed. I moved quite a few yards away, so I didn’t look as if I were overhearing them. I looked the other way. A group of people passed me. I would say six or seven. And…when I looked back, they were gone! It was only a few moments…or perhaps a little more.”

  “But you didn’t hear her cry out?”

  “No. If I had, I would have gone to her, fought with him, if necessary. I had an umbrella: I could have struck him with it.”

  “Was there anyone else near you? Say, within fifty yards?”

  “Only the group I mentioned, moving away quite quickly. I looked around to see if she had gone in any other direction, or if there was someone I could ask. There was no one.”

  “Then he chose his moment carefully,” Hooper said softly. “There was nothing you could have done, except describe him, as you have.”

  She faced him squarely. “Please do not try to make me feel better. It is…condescending.”

  He should have been irritated, but instead he felt the heat rising up his face.

  She saw it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hooper. I am distressed and afraid. It seems not fair to you. You are trying to help me concentrate on facts that are painful. I would like to just sit here and weep, but I realize that would be embarrassing and quite useless.”

  “I am also trying not to distress you more than necessary.”

  For the first time, she smiled. It gave a great gentleness to her face. “I know. Are you going to try to get her back?”

  “Yes. Mr. Exeter has managed to raise the money.” Perhaps he should not have told her, but he did not regret it even so.

  “Oh…”

  “You did not expect him to?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know…I’m not sure.”

  Hooper opened his mouth to suggest what she might be thinking, then knew he should not.

  She was silent for a moment.

  “I do not care for him,” she said very softly. “But I am glad he has. Please…please help him to make the exchange safely.”

  “We’ll do anything we can. They want the money—he wants Mrs. Exeter back.”

  She watched him for several long seconds.

  He would not promise her that all would be well. The words were on the edge of his tongue, but he had learned better.

  Oddly, the silence was not uncomfortable. He knew she understood.

  Finally, he stood up. “Thank you, Miss Darwin.”

  “Was it any use?” She rose also.

  “It will be, when we have your cousin back and we can go after them without endangering her.”

  She gave a tiny nod. “Thank you, Mr. Hooper.”

  He took his leave and walked out into the clear, cold air blowing up from the river, but the warmth of the room stayed with him.

  * * *

  —

  IT WAS LATER THAT same morning that Celia received her second visitor. She was having a cup of tea, trying to steady her racing imagination, wondering how Kate was, if they were being cruel to her, browbeating her—or worse.

  “Miss Darwin,” the maid began nervously.

  Celia looked up. “Yes…? I’m sorry. Did you speak to me and I didn’t answer?”

  “No, ma’am. Mr. Latham is here, he says it’s important. I wasn’t sure whether you wished to see him.” The girl looked nervous. She adored Celia and knew that Maurice would upset her.

  “It’s all right. Ask him to come in. I suppose you had better bring a second cup. The tea is still hot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She went out, almost brushing past him in the doorway as Maurice came in. He was no taller than average, but very robust, and had put on a little weight in recent years. He was about the same age as Celia. Kate had been the youngest of the three cousins, and an only child.

  Maurice closed the door behind him, perhaps imagining the maid might listen in to the conversation. He was always suspicious where Celia thought he had no need to be. She would not say so, but she thought he was judging other people by his own standards.

  Today Maurice looked very grim, as she would have expected. How could anyone smile in the face of current events?

  “Good morning, Maurice,” she said quietly. “I have sent for another cup, if you wou
ld like tea. It is fresh.”

  “How can you be worried about such trivialities at a time like this?” he said tartly. “Really, Celia, there is no use hiding from the truth. You can deny it as much as you like! It will change nothing. We are facing tragedy, and the most appalling crime. No doubt the newspapers will plaster it all over their front pages.” His mouth was tight, unusually bleak, even for him. He might have been quite good-looking if years of uncertain temper had not marked the lines of it downward.

  Celia felt the warmth drain from her. She tried to keep it from showing but knew he read it in her. “If we get her back it will not be a story the newspapers will be interested in,” she replied. “And good manners are a habit. It is natural to ask you if you wish for anything.” She meant it as a rebuke.

  He ignored it. “Harry has asked me, as trustee of Katherine’s funds, for permission to withdraw them entirely from Nicholson’s Bank, and hand them over as ransom payment. It is a major responsibility, but I feel I have no alternative. Obviously, it is what she would wish.” He gave the ghost of a smile. “It is of no use to her if she is…not alive.”

  “Of course not,” Celia agreed sharply. “There is no question. You must do so immediately.”

  “It is only right that I tell you!” he replied, equally sharply. “Should Katherine die before she inherits the money, it is split between the surviving cousins—which, as you are aware, are you and me. If she dies, it is yours and my future that is being paid…”

  Celia could hardly believe her ears. Surely, he was just being pedantic? “Maurice, it is her money! It is inconceivable that either of us should refuse to save her life with it.”

  “Of course it is. I still should tell you. After all, should she die, for some reason, you would come into an enormous amount. It would alter your life entirely. You would be a rich woman—even with your half of it. It would alter your prospects even more than mine. I have my own profession. To you…for a start, it would make you marriageable. Even a man of a background suitable for you to accept would not turn his nose up at that kind of a fortune.”