In 18th century London, twenty-year-old Dennis Must, otherwise known as Sheba, is successfully plying his trade in the taverns and molly houses of Covent Garden.
His life is turned upside down when a regular customer is murdered, leaving Sheba as the sole witness and prime suspect. He soon becomes hard-pressed to evade the Bow Street constables, let alone the killer. Reluctantly, Sheba teams up with intriguing lawyer Valentine Lee, finding him to be a helpful ally and more.
Can they track down the culprit before Sheba becomes the next victim? And will Sheba’s growing feelings for Valentine prove to be his downfall or his salvation?
“When did you last see Mr. Briggs?”
I was prepared for this question, although I had expected it from a hardened brute of a constable rather than a disarming lawyer.
“The night of the fourteenth. In the Rose Tavern. We had a couple of drinks together.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Well enough to be sorry at his passing. He didn’t deserve what was done to him. He was a good man.”
“So I hear.” The lawyer seemed both regretful and frustrated. “I was barely acquainted with Mr. Briggs. But I’m hearing the same opinion from our associates. There is no obvious cause for such a terrible crime. Apparently, Mr. Briggs lived a blameless existence and was exemplary in his work.”
I looked at him steadily. I had nothing to hide.
Scratch that from the record. I had plenty to hide. But I harboured no ill will towards Briggsy. I didn’t wield the knife that killed him.
“What happened after that?” the lawyer asked.
“We left the tavern together. We went back to his rooms in Russell Street for a couple of drinks.”
That was true enough if you left out what else occurred. Not that I was such a fool to admit to the offence in the presence of the law.
“What time did you leave?”
“I’m not rightly sure.” I pretended to give the matter some thought. “I’d had a bit to drink by then. I was more concerned about getting home in one piece.”
I had an inkling he knew that I was lying through my teeth. Yet he didn’t challenge my story.
“Did Mr. Briggs have any visitors?”
“Not while I was there.”
I could say that with absolute sincerity.
The focus in his eyes intensified.
“Then that means you might have been the last person to see Mr. Briggs alive.”
“Apart from his killer.”
“Quite so.”
Mr. Lee continued to survey me silently. I found him disquieting. I was accustomed to men who blustered and bragged, trying to impress or dominate.
The lawyer was remarkably still.
Under other circumstances, I might have found his manner restful.
With that bright hazel gaze fixed on me, I felt the sweat trickling down my back and was tempted to loosen my neck cloth from around my throat.
I could imagine the effect on witnesses, urging them to spill their guts about anything and everything, relevant or not. I have to admit that I was tempted to reveal all. How I’d found Briggsy, and subsequently bolted.
But I hadn’t survived in our great cesspit of a city without developing a hardy sense of self-preservation.
I bit my tongue against the urge to babble and stared him out, innocent as you like. I didn’t even give into temptation and bat my eyelashes.
“Did Mr. Briggs discuss his work with you?”
The change of subject caught me unawares. I frowned, considering the question.
“Only in the general way.”
“He didn’t mention any difficulties?”
I cast my mind back over the past few weeks. Briggsy had been his usual congenial self, generously buying me a couple of drinks before we did the pleasant deed. Eventually, I shook my head.
“Nothing like that. I was only a drinking companion. When I saw him at the tavern, he was set on forgetting his troubles, rather than dwelling on them.”
Mr. Lee nodded as though that made sense.
From nowhere, I had a sliver of a memory from the week before. Something Briggsy had said that didn’t sit right. I didn’t register much at the time, but it might be important now.
“What is it?”
Mr. Lee leaned over the table, his face avid with concentration.
Blimey, he’s sharp.
The memory nagged at me. I could clearly recall Briggsy’s passing unease. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember his precise words.
I shook my head in frustration.
“I was thinking about what you said. If Mr. Briggs had seemed perturbed. He might have mentioned something but I can’t quite recall it.”
Those green-gold eyes bored into me as if the lawyer could reach inside my head and extract my memories.
Then he relaxed and sat back in his chair.
“Don’t worry too much. It might not be crucial. But if you do remember, you can let me know at Mr. Garrow’s chambers at New Square in Lincoln’s Inn.”
“Not Bow Street?”
Mr. Lee’s smile lifted his face to handsomeness.
“As I already informed you, I’m a solicitor specialising in information-gathering for Mr. Garrow and my own purposes. That doesn’t make me a constable.” His smile deepened with genuine humour. “You can always inquire at Bow Street if you feel so inclined.”
