Page 48 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
Niall slowed as he approached. Stopping, he stared up at the sign. The Black Swan. He traced the elegantly carved image with one eye while watching the street with the other, debating with himself. If he went in, he risked exposing himself. If he waited outside, Yardley might sneak out another way.
Niall waited several long, agonizing minutes before deciding to go inside. He wasn’t a constable. He could approach the man in a quiet, calm manner. Yardley’s friends would not be spooked if he made it clear that he was on the cobbler’s side. They could talk. He could ask the questions that had dragged him out of bed this morning.
Throwing his shoulders back, Niall entered the pub. He paused, letting his eyes adjust from the bright morning light to the dim interior. A few tired-looking workers sat about, perhaps stragglers from the night hours at the tannery. His gaze swept on.
Ah. There.Yardley sat at a table in the back, watching him with large eyes and a worried expression. Niall started forward, then slowed and looked down. A large hide had been spread across the pub floor. His brain made the connection instantly. His head snapped up—and something struck him hard. He toppled forward and everything went black.
Chapter Eleven
“Is he stirring?”
“I can douse him,” someone offered eagerly. “Gotta bucket right here. Shall I douse him, then?”
“Naw. Give him a minute. He’ll wake. His own stink will do the job.”
Niall rolled his head. It was true. As he came awake, he realized he reeked of fermented fat. The smell of decay clung to him. With a groan, he tried to lift his head. It throbbed like the very devil and his stomach rolled with nausea. At last he managed to lift his head and keep it up—though he was instantly tempted to sink back into unconsciousness.
Blinking, he took in the situation. His hands were tied behind him. He was sitting with his back propped against something soft. A tanned hide, he guessed, as he realized he was in a boat—a lighter used to carry goods on the river. They were heading out from a dock, toward the middle of the Thames. Two men at the stern stood and worked the long oars. The sunken middle contained piles of tanned hides, several strangers grinning at him, and John Yardley, who gazed at him with a glum expression. The stinking, badly tanned hide that Niall had obviously been rolled up and carried in lay at his feet. The smell had him suppressing a gag.
“At the least, you could have used one of the good hides,” he said sourly.
“Where’s the fun in that?” one of the men answered with a grin.
Niall looked to Yardley. “I suppose you were not set free, then?”
The cobbler shook his head.
“How did you do it?” Niall was genuinely curious.
“Yeah, tell us,” one of the men urged.
“Broke yerself right out o’ Scotland Yard,” another marveled. “Who would o’ thunk ye had it in ye, Yardley?”
Niall merely watched the man and waited.
“If only I had removed my equipment from that workroom,” Yardley said mournfully. “That is the thought that haunted me all these days locked in there. Someone used my shoe form. It’s the only real evidence they have. If I had only taken it home, my life would not have turned into this disaster.”
“Yeah, but how did you getout, man?” one of the oarsman called.
Yardley cleared his throat. “Someone came in this morning and caused a big ruckus.”
“Stephen Jephson?” asked Niall.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him. But I heard it. A lot of shouting. It sounded like Detective Frye was involved.” The man’s mouth twisted in distaste. “That bastard is determined to see me hang, Sedwick, and I will tell you again—I didn’t kill that girl.”
“I believe you,” Niall said quietly. “Webelieve you. I was coming to speak with you this morning, to see if you had any new thoughts on who we might look into.”
“I appreciate that, I do, but you don’t know what it’s like in there. They shouldn’t even be keeping me in that holding cell, do you know? I should have been sent off to the Millbank prison or even Newgate while they worked their case. But Frye likes to bring me to a room every day and taunt me. He wants me to confess and thinks he can bully or trick me into it.”
“I’m not sure prison would be an improvement,” Niall said.
“Why? Because I’d be abused? Browbeaten? What do you think Frye is doing? He likes to tell me about the interviews he’s done. He’s only talked to the people who knew me when I was imbibing too much. He tells me how they describe me as mean, arrogant, and violent, how the grand jury will get to know the real John Yardley and the charges will reflect it.” He sighed. “I heard someone say he’d never get away with it, had the commissioner not been called out of town.”
“You do have an ally in there, but Inspector Wooten is trying not to draw attention to his work on your behalf.”
Yardley shook his head. “Frye badgers me, needles me, threatens me. One of his cronies comes around at all hours, waking me from sleep, taunting me, drinking my water rations, putting my meals just out of reach and leaving them there for hours.”
“That ain’t right,” one of the men said.
