A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,57

pencil back into his coat. “Thank you for your time.”

Harry turned from the boardinghouse and looked around the street. He could make other inquiries. Surely someone would have seen the women who’d been visiting—or staying with—Madame Sybila.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time at present. He needed to get to Saffron Hill to pursue the information he’d received at Spring Hollow the other night. Though his rendezvous had been interrupted by the theft of the woman’s bracelet, the informer had found Harry later. He’d asked a footman to tell Harry to meet him.

Middle-aged, with a nervous demeanor, the informer had refused to give Harry his name. He’d said the fire in Saffron Hill hadn’t been started by the Vicar, but that everyone had been told to say that it was. When Harry had questioned him for more information, the man had been frustratingly ignorant. He didn’t know who had told everyone to say it was the Vicar, nor could he say who had started the fire. He also couldn’t provide a description of the Vicar. And of course, he wouldn’t say how he knew this information or why he’d chosen to give it to Harry. The entire encounter had left Harry feeling annoyed and more than a bit skeptical.

Nevertheless, he was on his way to Saffron Hill to see what he could learn. He caught a hack and had it drop him near the location of the fire four years ago. There was a new building there now. A clothing merchant occupied the ground floor.

Harry briefly closed his eyes and saw the charred remains of the flash house where the feared leader of the gang who’d controlled this neighborhood and his right-hand man had perished along with several children and young women. Blinking, he took in the bustling street around him. There were women shopping, men going into a tavern, and children—so many children. Too many, in fact. Harry had to assume a good portion of them were orphans or perhaps had a single parent who couldn’t provide for them. Some were begging, while others carried a haughty air of defiance as they stood in small clusters.

As Harry walked, he considered what the informer had told him—that someone had instructed the residents of Saffron Hill to say that the Vicar had started the fire. Who had the power to convince them all to go along with that story? Would they still? There was only one way to find out.

Harry went into a cobbler’s shop situated across and down a few buildings from where the flash house had been. The proprietor had been one of the witnesses who’d reported seeing the Vicar leave the flash house.

The shop was small but tidy. As Harry walked toward the counter, a man with close-cropped dark hair eyed him warily. Though four years had passed, Harry immediately recognized him as the cobbler he’d interviewed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gregson,” Harry said with a smile.

The cobbler squinted at him. “Do I know ye?”

“We spoke several years ago—after the fire across the street.” Harry had reviewed his notes that morning, so he recalled precisely what Gregson had told him. “I was a constable at Hatton Garden. Now I work for Bow Street.”

The man’s gaze remained guarded. “How can I help ye?”

“I’m here to ask about the fire again. Back then, you told me a man called the Vicar started it. I’ve some new information that requires me to reinvestigate the crime. At the time, you were confident the Vicar was responsible. However, your description of him doesn’t match anyone else’s. In fact, everyone seemed to have a slightly different recollection of what the man looked like.” Harry cocked his head to the side. “Did someone tell you to say it was the Vicar?”

Gregson paled. His throat worked, but he hesitated to speak. Harry waited patiently, allowing the uncomfortable silence to prod the cobbler to spill the truth. At length, he croaked, “No.”

Harry clucked his tongue with a shake of his head. “That’s not what I hear. As a man of the law, I remind you of the importance of giving honest testimony, Mr. Gregson.”

“Everyone said it was the Vicar.” The man seemed to shrug, but the movement ended up looking more like a flinch, as if he were physically trying to keep himself from talking.

“You were just going along?” Harry asked. “I can understand doing that. It’s difficult to be the one person who says something different.”

The man’s eyes widened and stayed that way, making him look incredibly frightened.

Harry continued. “Would