Heart's Blood(55)

Pearl laughed. "I always was a girl, Rosie dearest. I just never dared dress like one till now." She curtseyed, and slipped into her East End accent. "I'm a proper sorcery apprentice now, I am. Come up in the world, 'aven't I?"

Grey tapped Pearl's arm, then his own lips with the same forefinger. "Names," he murmured, reminding her. "It did us no harm this time, but you need to get into the proper habits if you are to continue seeing and communing with spirits."

Her eyes went wide, her hand clutching at his, the umbrella in her other hand trembling in her distress. "I am so, so sorry," she whispered.

"Just keep it in mind. No harm done today." Grey turned back to Rose. "My dear, we've called you here for a purpose."

Didn't fink you invited me to take tea. Rose fluffed her very fashionable, very pink skirt. I was murdered, wasn't I? Allus figured as 'ow I'd go that way, livin' like I did. Coulda been smarter, I reckon, but better to 'ave fun an' die young than to push and strive and be afraid all the time, and die old and bitter. That's wot I always says, any road. She winked. An' I did 'ave me some fun, I did. So 'oo murdered me?                       
       
           



       

Grey couldn't help chuckling. He liked her attitude. "That's why we've called you here. Do you remember anything about your death?"

Rose screwed up her face as she thought. Nope, not a fing. She frowned. Is that usual?

"It isn't unusual," Grey said. "Particularly in the case of murder."

Archaios and Ferguson had moved closer during Grey's conversation with the dead girl's spirit, their umbrellas bumping against the one he shared with Pearl. She shivered and huddled closer as well, which was not like her. Did she find it disturbing to converse with the spirit of someone she knew? She hadn't seemed to, not at first.

He looked down, but Pearl's attention wasn't on Rose, or even the other magicians. He followed her gaze across the park to the ragged paupers under the trees, their attitudes filled with obvious rising hostility.

"Little friend." He called Mary's name with his magic. "Would you keep watch over our audience? Do let us know in time for us to scarper, if there comes a need for it."

I always warn you in time, Mary huffed.

"Just." He thought she enjoyed watching his narrow escapes. She always did have a broad sense of humor.

Was it gruesome? Rose asked when he turned his attention back to her, so eagerly he knew she'd been waiting. My murder?

Grey blinked at her. Pearl had to speak while he recovered from his astonishment.

"You've been to too many Judge and Jury Court plays," she accused the spirit. "I don't know how you stood it, listening to them play at testifying about awful murders."

They're ever so interestin', Rose said. I like bein' scared. Reminds me I'm alive. She giggled. 'Cept I ain't no more, am I?

"Well, your murder was quite, quite gruesome," Pearl said. "The awfullest I ever heard of. The papers will be writing about it for weeks and weeks, about how poor Rose Bowers died and her body found in St. James's Park."

'Ere? Rose looked around and nodded, satisfied. I allus did like this park.

Cows lowed from the meadow across the lake. Grey hoped they didn't take it in mind to wander this way. Cows never helped a situation. "My dear, what do you remember of the last moments of your life?"

Rose made her thinking face again. I remember I didn't 'ave no posies to sell, an' it was cold an' miserable. So I went over to the Garden to see if I could find a likely gentleman 'oo'd be willin' to pay enough for a tumble as would let me buy a flop in th' back o' Sal Busby's. An' one turned up. She shrugged. Don't recall more'n that.

"Who was the gentleman?" Grey asked. "Do you remember a name? A face?"

Rose's scornful look told him he should know better. Conjurer's ain't the only ones as don't use names. As for a face . . . She squeezed her face up slightly less this time. Ain't comin' to mind. 'E 'ad one o' them wider-brim 'ats. Like yours. An' it were dark. It may be I didn't see 'is face.

"What garden, dearest?" Pearl asked. "Covent Garden, or Cremorne Garden?" She named the new pleasure garden across the river that had opened several years before Vauxhall closed.

Cremorne, o' course. A girl gets-not a better class o' patrons, but a nicer one. Them gentlemen is more considerate of a girl's comfort, they is.

"How tall was he?" Pearl asked. "Taller than us, of course, but was he taller than Mr. Carteret here? As tall as Mr. Archaios?" She gestured toward the Greek in question.

Not so tall as that one, Rose said. Not so tall as either of those gentlemen. In fact, he were a bit shorter than this other fellow 'ere. She indicated Ferguson, who was perhaps three inches shorter than Grey. 'E weren't enough taller 'n me to make it awkward, if you knows wot I mean. I was lookin' forward t' not bein' smothered.

"Anything else you remember, dearest?" Pearl urged. "Anything at all? What about his clothes-a distinctive scarf or watch fob? Or-did he have a limp, or use scent, or have a particular way of speaking? An accent perhaps?"

'E sounded like any fine gentleman, 'ceptin' 'e spoke in a sort o' whisper. Disguisin' 'is voice, maybe. An' 'is clothes was black, like gentlemen wears. All black. 'E didn't 'ave a limp. Didn't even carry a walkin' stick . . . Rose's voice trailed off. But 'e did 'ave a scent. Not like some blokes do, flowers over sweat, but-like sulfur maybe, an' chalk dust, an' . . . grass?

Pearl was doing better at drawing Rose out than he had, Grey mused. The scent-was that something they could use? It didn't sound like the sort of thing one ordered from the perfumers, so canvassing perfume shops probably wouldn't help. But perhaps it could help identify the man once they narrowed the field of suspects.

"Thank you, my dear," he said thoughtfully. "You've been a great deal of assistance. If you remember anything else, do let us know. If you don't care to return to this plane, just inform my friend, here-" He indicated Mary, who waved cheerfully at Rose, who grinned back. "Who will convey the information to me."

He took his notebook and pencil from his pocket and drew a large sigil of release atop the summoning marks. Easier than erasing everything. "Thank you," he said, dismissing Rose's spirit by shifting the magic into the overlying sigil. Without the energy provided through the sigils to maintain her presence, Rose faded away, like any new spirit.

"She seemed happy, don't you think?" Pearl sounded hopeful.

"What did you learn?" Ferguson intruded. "Did she give a description?"

"Spirits are always happy, my love." Grey patted her hand as he took the umbrella from her, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. "She didn't see his face, but-"

"Too bad," Ferguson said. "I take it she did not recall the murder itself?"

"Many do not, at first, after they make the transition from ghost to spirit," Grey said.

A shout came from the forefront of the crowd of vagrants, men and women alike, who'd ventured from the shelter of their trees. "Oi! You're magicians, ain't ya?"

"That's right," Ferguson shouted, before Grey could stop him.

The first bit of rotten fruit was followed immediately by mud and stones from the lake's edge. "Murderin' swine!"

Grey pushed Pearl out of the line of fire, toward the carriage and safety. She slipped his grip-damned umbrella-and marched straight at the miniature mob, ignoring the mud they splattered on her pale dress and the rain dripping from her bonnet onto her nose. Grey scrambled after her, the other men with him.

The crowd faltered, startled and a bit daunted by the slip of a woman striding fearlessly toward them. One brave pauper threw another rock and hit her in the head. Grey roared and charged, flinging the damned umbrella aside. They'd hurt her.

The rock had hit her cheek. Blood mixed with the rain trickling down to her chin. "No." She pushed him away, and he let her. The injury was minor.

He could pick her up and carry her to safety. He wanted to. God, he wanted to, and he would if he had to. But she had stopped the crowd's advance with nothing save raw, naked courage. If he carried her off, he would trample on that courage. He could not do it. Not unless and until it became necessary.                       
       
           



       

The crowd stood a few paces away, silent and watchful. Wary, but waiting to see what she would do.

"Rose Bowers was my friend!" Pearl shouted against the muffling rain. "The woman whose body was found here. Did any of you even know her name? She was my friend."

Grey stood behind her, backing her up, water dripping off his hair and down his neck. He'd lost his hat somewhere, too. Pride in his bride-to-be filled him to bursting, though he'd had no hand in it. Only the wisdom to choose her for his own. Though he hadn't exactly chosen, had he? He'd fallen over his own-well, not his feet.

"We were just talking to her, to her spirit, to see if she knew who had killed her, who it was that handed her over to a demon as a toy! The murdering swine who killed her was no magician!" Her voice hovered on the choked edge of tears.