A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,58
it help you to know that I’ve already spoken to someone who said he was told to say it was the Vicar?”
Gregson exhaled, but the apprehension didn’t completely leave his expression. “Who told you that?”
“Ah now, that wouldn’t be fair to him, would it?” Harry leaned over the counter. “The fire was so long ago. Surely whoever cared about it then doesn’t anymore.”
“Please don’t ask me anything more.” There was a desperate plea in the man’s voice.
“Then direct me to someone else who will tell me something. Otherwise, I may bring you to Bow Street for interrogation.”
The stark fear returned to Gregson’s eyes. “It wasn’t the Vicar. I don’t even know who he is.”
“Who’s in charge of this area now?” Harry asked.
“Frost.” Gregson cowered, as if uttering the name would bring physical harm down upon him.
“Where can I find Frost?”
Gregson shook his head. “That’s all I know. Please, sir,” he begged. Though he didn’t say what he wanted, it was clear to Harry: he wanted Harry to go away and never return to his shop.
“I’ll go in a moment,” Harry said benignly. “Who else can I talk to?” Hopefully, his meaning was also clear: give me a name and I’ll leave you alone.
“Maggie. She weaves baskets down the street a bit.” Gregson used his thumb to gesture to his left.
“Does she remember the fire?”
Gregson nodded. “She was in the building.”
“Thank you for your…cooperation.” Harry frowned. “I’m sorry you’re so frightened.” No one should have to live like that. Whoever terrified the people of this neighborhood should be brought to justice, and Harry would do his best to make sure that happened. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to look further than Frost.
Harry departed the shop and turned to the left. Walking along the street, he finally saw the weaver sitting near the corner of a shop that sold crockery. She was perhaps fourteen, dressed in a pale, dingy gown of indeterminate color. Her dark hair hung limply to her shoulders as she wove a basket in her lap.
Harry went to her. “How much for a basket?”
She didn’t look up at him as her fingers continued to weave. “Thruppence.”
Squatting down next to her, Harry produced a shilling. “Can I ask you about the fire that happened over there?” He glanced toward where the flash house had been.
Her hand stilled as her gaze shot to the coin in his hand. “I s’pose.”
“I understand you were inside the building.” He put the coin in her basket. “What do you remember?”
Plucking up the shilling, she held it up and squinted at the coin. Apparently satisfied, she pressed it into something hidden beneath the neckline of her gown. “I was downstairs trying to wash my brother’s face. I smelled smoke, but I was too busy with my brother. When someone yelled fire, I scooped him up and carried him out.”
“Do you know where the fire started?”
She shook her head and went back to weaving.
“What about who started it—do you know that?” Harry asked.
“Everyone says ’twas the Vicar.”
“So I understand,” Harry said wryly. “Did you see him?”
Maggie shook her head again.
“Do you know who the Vicar is?”
She glanced up at Harry. “’E worked for Partridge. We all did.”
“What did you do for him?” Harry was fairly certain he knew.
“Usually, I pretended my brother was sick—I made ’im look really dirty, and people took pity.”
“They gave you money.” Likely, she had a minimum amount she was to earn every day to appease Partridge’s requirements. At her nod, Harry went on. “Were you glad when Partridge died?”
She looked at Harry, an edge of fear in her gaze.
“It’s all right,” Harry soothed with an encouraging nod. “Do you work for Frost now?”
She shook her head a third time but much more vigorously. “My brother does, though.”
“Where can I find your brother?”
Going back to weaving, she shrugged. “’E’s around.”
“One last question, and I’ll leave you alone, Maggie. Do you know who told everyone to say the Vicar started the fire?”
The fourth time she shook her head was the least convincing because she hesitated the barest moment. Harry wouldn’t press her. “Thank you, Maggie. I work at Bow Street. If you ever want to come and talk to me, I’d be honored. About anything. Mayhap I could even help you.” He thought of Winter’s home and how an environment like that could transform Maggie’s life. Hell, had Winter and Madame Sybila won him over?
No. Selina had. She believed in the Home for Wayward Children, and he was starting to as well.
Harry gave Maggie