snow. What she was offering had been known to warm up a body and bring a rosy glow to the cheeks – both sets – but if your pig of a landlord kept an eye out for you bringing men back to your room, leaving you with only a cold, damp alleyway in which to conduct your trade, one drop of rain or a snowflake down the back of the neck might be all it took to cool the ardour, then the only thing you’d be left sucking would be your own thumb. And that didn’t pay the rent or put food on the table.
The market’s fruit and vegetable stalls were already enjoying a steady trade, so it wasn’t as though prospective customers were few and far between. The trouble was, even at this early hour, she wasn’t the only moll on show. With its taverns and coffee houses, the competition was starting to build up. Still, the spot she’d secured under the archway at the end of the Piazza was at least dry. Molly undid a couple more buttons of her bodice. A girl had to use what God had given her. In Molly’s case, the good Lord had been very generous. She was a pretty girl, with blonde ringlets, a shapely figure and a pout that would have tempted an archbishop.
Should have, too, but with archbishops thin on the ground, Molly had been forced to flaunt her charms to a less pious clientele; so far, without appreciable success. She was beginning to think that the Haymarket might be a better bet, though it was probably too early for that.
An army officer came striding down the colonnade, handsome in his scarlet uniform and shako cap. It was too good an opportunity to miss. Hands on hips, Molly stepped out, struck a pose, ran her tongue across her lips and favoured him with her trademark smile.
“Hello, Colonel! Lookin’ for some company?”
The colonel, if he was a colonel – flattery never did any harm – walked on without stopping. Molly sighed and watched him disappear into the crowd. Pity, she thought. He hadn’t been bad looking. She eased back against the wall, lifted her shawl over her shoulders, and looked for her next target.
“Makes you wonder if they ’aven’t all turned queer, don’t it?”
Molly turned. The speaker was leaning against the next pillar, arms folded across her breasts. She had elfin features and blue eyes, framed by a cascade of raven hair. An impish grin split her face.
Molly nodded. Rivalry among the working girls could be fierce, but it didn’t mean they didn’t chat in between punters.
“Thought I might try the Haymarket,” Molly said, drawing her shawl about her. “Might get a bite there.”
The dark-haired girl shook her head. Her curls bounced around her cheeks. “Wouldn’t bother. I was there not long back. It was as dead as old Jack. Bloody nippy, too.”
Molly was surprised the girl hadn’t agreed that a change of venue might be worth exploring. With Molly off on a wild-goose chase, it would have increased the other girl’s chances of nabbing a customer.
Molly accepted the information with a rueful smile. The girl put her head on one side and eyed Molly speculatively. “Don’t suppose …?” The girl made a face. “Nah, p’raps not, lass like you.”
“What?” Molly asked.
The girl held Molly’s gaze for several seconds, as if turning a thought over in her mind. Finally, she said, “It’s just that I’ve ’ad an offer from one of my regular gentlemen for a two-up; him an’ a pair of ladies. Nice-lookin’ toff. Likes ’is earlymornin’ exercise. Asked me to pop out and see if I could find somebody.” The girl lifted a suggestive eyebrow. “What d’you think? You interested? Probably wouldn’t take much more than an hour. ’E pays ’andsomely, too. Wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day freezing our tits off.”
Molly thought about it. “How much is he offering?”
“A guinea for the two.”
Molly’s eyebrows went up.
“Told you he was generous.” The girl grinned. “Not bad, eh?”
Molly usually charged her customers two shillings. Half a guinea for an hour was good money. “An’ you said he was a toff?”
“Proper spoken. He’s a good laugh, too. Better than standin’ around ’ere. You up for it?”
Molly thought about it for all of two heartbeats. “All right, why not?”
The girl laughed and clapped her hands.
“How far is it?” Molly asked.
“Just round the corner. He’s got this room ’e rents, for entertaining, if you know what I mean.” The girl tapped the side of her nose and winked. “Told me when I found someone we were to go right round.” The girl took Molly’s hand. “So why don’t you an’ me go and pay him a little visit and warm ourselves up?”
The two girls left the shelter of the colonnade. Weaving between the stalls and taking care to avoid the puddles and the rats, they made their way across the Piazza.
“What’s your name, sweet’eart?” The girl squeezed Molly’s hand.
“Molly.”
“Mine’s Sally. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Molly.”
Molly grinned in return. Cutting down Southampton Street, the girls turned into Maiden Lane.
The entrance lay between two Roman columns, next to Half-Moon Alley. Above the door were two signs. One proclaimed the place to be the Cider Cellars. The other sign, in the shape of a lantern, advertised
“Says ’e likes to keep a room ’ere, so it’s nice and ’andy.” Sally giggled. “Just like me!” She tugged Molly down the stairs. The place was packed, traders mostly, enjoying a quick breakfast warmer. The reek of rough liquor, sweat and tobacco was overwhelming.
Sally led the way towards a set of stairs at the far end of the room. Her language was coarse as she slapped away the roving hands. Molly took hold of the hem of Sally’s dress and hung on. They tripped up the stairs and down a passage towards the rear of the building.
“Here we are,” Sally said brightly, stopping outside a door. She smoothed her dress, tugged her bodice down and pinched her cheeks. Reaching out, she pushed up Molly’s breasts and winked. “Might as well let ’im see the goods, eh?”
Sally took Molly’s hand and knocked on the door. There was the sound of approaching footsteps and the door opened.
Sally pulled Molly inside. “Look what I’ve brought,” she called brightly.
There were two people in the room, Molly realized. The one who had opened the door and the one seated on the bed. The man on the bed stared at Molly and ran his eye up and down her body. As the door closed he leered suggestively over her shoulder.
Molly turned.
“Hello, darlin’,” Lemuel Ragg said.
15
Apothecary Locke turned away from his window. “You know, I’ve never considered myself a foolish man.”
Hawkwood looked at him. “I don’t recall saying you were, Doctor.”
The apothecary dipped his head and peered at Hawkwood over the rim of his spectacles. “Then perhaps you should confide in me. I may be able to help you.”
“I’m not sure I understand you, Doctor.”
“Tell me what you’re doing here,” Locke said.
“You sent for me,” Hawkwood said. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions?”
Locke raised his head. The youthfulness that Hawkwood had seen at the time of their first encounter had disappeared. There was weariness there now. The apothecary ran a hand along the edge of his desk.
“Forgive me, but on your previous visit I asked why you’d come. After all, with Colonel Hyde dead, surely the investigation was closed. You replied – somewhat curtly, as I recall – that it was for your report.” Locke smiled, almost shyly. “A logical reason, given that our first meeting was interrupted by the arrival of the constable summoning you away. You requested access to Colonel Hyde’s admission documents, and I was able to grant that. And yet, evidently, that was still not the end of it, for here we are again. I send you a message, a vague offer of information, and you arrive at my door within the hour.”
The apothecary lifted his hand and stared at the dust on the ends of his fingers, as if seeing it for the first
