Page 1 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
Prologue
Covent Garden
London
Miss Glynn Foulgerstretched and put down her sewing. The crowds were thin, this late in the afternoon. She’d made a little progress on her project, but now the light was fading. Cool evening air brushed her cheek, bringing the stink of the Thames with it. Flinching from thoughts of the river, she stood to survey the goods she had left after a long day’s work.
Not so many blooms remained, thank goodness. Her stall was a prime location, located as it was just outside the flower market building in Covent Garden. The farmer she worked for expected top results. He would be happy with today’s take, but she still expected to make a few sales to the girls who sold flowers at night—those who frequented the areas outside the theatres and music halls. Ah, and here they were, starting to trickle into the Garden.
Glynn had sold nearly everything when a pretty brunette stopped at her stall.
“Jeanette says she wants one of your specials, as nice as ye can make it. But she’s running late and says please don’t leave till she comes.”
Glynn closed her eyes. “Did she sayhowlate? Jeannette knows I like to be gone from here before dark.” All the night girls knew it, butthey came early to buy from her because she always kept some of her nicest blooms back for them.
“She didn’t say. Jeanette’s got something going on, though. She particularly asked you to wait. She thinks your specials are good luck.”
Glynn gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll wait. Have a good night, Doris.”
The brunette scampered off with an armful of wallflowers. Glynn set to work making a special bouquet, shaping up a bunch of lavender, hyacinths, and violets, all tied prettily with a fancy lattice of lace ribbon. Once it was finished, she tried to take up her sewing to ease the wait. She was fashioning a smock again, the sort she often put together and donated to the Waif’s Wardrobe, a charity that donated decent clothing to those in need.
The Wardrobe was a fine enterprise, smoothly run and well organized. Their work made a difference for some of London’s poorest, and the people who volunteered there had become her friends—the only true friends she’d found since coming to London.
Squinting, she carefully examined the embroidery that would make this smock unique. Usually her donations were anonymous, given over to the society and distributed by the workers specially chosen to seek out the needy, but this smock was different. She was making this one for a girl she knew. One with circumstances that required a few alterations, like a warm lining and a snug jacket to go over it all.
The light was too far gone, though. She packed the smock away in her carry bag, along with the day’s earnings and a last, lonely potted tulip—and she waited. And waited. Glynn lingered far past the time she normally would have departed to spend the evening at home, or perhaps to enjoy the camaraderie of the volunteers at the Wardrobe. She fought back impatience and anxiety as the shadows lengthened. Covent Garden at night was an entirely different place—and she had business to do tomorrow morning. Business that would keep the dark stink of corruption from the light that was the Waif’s Wardrobe.
At last Jeanette came running over the cobblestones, breathlessly apologizing as she came. “I’m so sorry. Glynn. Ye’re a gem, ye are. Thank ye for waiting.” The flower seller’s eyes lit up when Glynn produced the bouquet. “Cor!What a beauty! Here.” Jeanette tossed coins at her. “Oh, the gent will pay big for this ’un, so it’s only fair ye get some extra, too. Keep a bit for yerself, aye?”
Jeanette did not linger, but was quickly off, to Glynn’s relief. It was full dark now. Taking up her bag, she set out, her nerves on edge. Moving quickly, she reached the edge of the Garden—and jumped when someone addressed her out of the darkness.
“Sorry, Glynn! Didn’t mean to startle you. Just sayin’—ye’re here late tonight.”
“Good evening, Bertie. Yes. I’ve been waiting on a sale. But you’ve stayed later than usual, too?”
The vegetable vendor sighed. “Aye. ’opin’ to make a little extra to take home to the missus. It’s her birthday, innit? But the cabbages didn’t much move today.”
Glynn reached into her bag and pulled out the potted tulip. “Take this for her—and don’t tell her it’s from me.” The woman’s husband had thought of her, after all. Glynn would have to give over the extra coins from Jeanette, but Bertie’s wife was a sweet lady.
“Truly? My thanks to you, Glynn. She will love it. Here, now!” He tossed her a cabbage. “Take that in exchange.”
She caught it. “Thank you, Bertie.” She tucked it away in her bag.
“’eadin home, then?”
“No.” She didn’t want to be alone with her nerves about tomorrow’s meeting. “I think I’ll go and see who might be hanging about the work rooms at the Wardrobe tonight.”
“See ye tomorrow, then. And thanks again to ye.”
“Tomorrow.” Glynn headed for the steps of St. Paul’s and went into the church. The chapel lay quiet tonight. She saw only one lone woman before the altar as she headed for the back and the door into the churchyard. The garden back there was an oasis of peace and quietgreenery in the bustle of the Garden. The end of the space butted up to the back of the Waif’s Wardrobe. The main entrance, on Bedford Street, would be locked up tight by now, but there were sure to be a few souls lingering in the workrooms, being social, and having a cuppa while they sewed, folded, or sorted.
Her steps slowed as she breathed in the quiet and calm, but the light from the backroom beckoned. She headed for the door—only to pull up short as a figure stepped out of the shadows.
“You!” She took a step back. “No. You had your chance. Leave me alone and let me pass.”
“I hadmychance?” A soft growl sounded out of the darkness. “I warned you, Glynn.”
“Warned me? That’s rich. You are the one who is acting in an utterly inappropriate manner.”
