Viper in the Nest (eBook)

a gripping historical mystery set in 18th century London

Georgina Clarke (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025
320 Seiten
Verve Books (Verlag)
978-0-85730-896-2 (ISBN)

Infos

London's streets are sinister. But what if the real danger lies closer to home?

London, June 1759. When a charmless civil servant takes his own life, few are interested in his death. But Lizzie Hardwicke, who plies her trade in the brothels of London whilst also working as an undercover sleuth for the magistrate, can see no reason why a man who had everything to look forward to would wish to end his life.

Lizzie's search for answers takes her from the smoke-filled rooms of fashionable gambling houses, where politicians mix ambition with pleasure, to the violent streets of Soho, ready to erupt with riots in the sultry summer heat. All the while, she is navigating her complicated feelings for the magistrate's trusted assistant, Will Davenport, and a disturbing situation at home.

Then a gambling house owner is brutally murdered, and Lizzie finds herself tangled in a chaos that she cannot control. The darkest of secrets threatens to turn Davenport against her forever; its exposure will send her to the gallows.

The third instalment of the gripping and vividly imagined historical mystery series set in 18th century London, from the author of acclaimed historical novel The Dazzle of the Light. Perfect for fans of The Household by Stacey Halls and Daughters of the Night by Laura Shepherd-Robinson, as well as readers of Laura Purcell, Sarah Waters and Diana Gabaldon.

'A wild ride through the seedy side of 1750s London... Lizzie Hardwicke is razor sharp and brilliantly original. I couldn't put it down' - JOE HEAP, author of When the Music Stops

'This novel is a refreshing add to the historical mystery genre. Atmospheric and full of authentic details... Brava to this new, engaging voice and her strong woman protagonist!' - KAREN ODDEN, author of A Lady in the Smoke

'A gripping page-turner with a sassy and fabulously original heroine in the form of Lizzie Hardwicke - I loved it!' - ANNIE LYONS, author of Eudora Honeysett is Quite Well, Thank You

Textauszug

2

The White Horse was as lively as ever. Harry Bardwell, the jovial red-faced landlord, welcomed us in and found us the best and largest table in the far corner of the room, shunting out the poorly dressed molls who had lately been occupying it. He knew that we were celebrating, and the Berwick Street girls, when we were in high spirits, brought him good custom from the culls who would gather to join our table and buy us wine or punch.

And we were in very high spirits – even by our own standards. Polly and Emily had been over to Half Moon Street earlier in the evening to buy fresh supplies of condoms. They were laying the long sheep-gut sheaths on the table in order of size and inviting any man who passed the table to own as to which would fit him best. Polly was judging the accuracy of their boasting by thrusting her hand into their breeches – in return for a coin, of course. None of the men were complaining at this and were readily reaching for their purses.

Lucy was not interested in such antics. Instead, she was bending my ear about Mr Merrick. He wanted to buy her a ring, and she was trying to decide on exactly the right sort. I was pretending to give her my full attention, while at the same time laughing along with Polly, growing merry with wine and offering my assistance with the judging.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the door open to admit a gentleman in a miserable brown coat. He stood at the threshold for a moment, scanning the room with his hat in his hand and a scowl on his face. He was looking for someone. Possibly me. It was William Davenport, one of the magistrate’s men. I’d had dealings with him before – although our business had been murder, rather than pleasure. The men of Bow Street were few in number and relied on people like me to be their informers, their ‘eyes and ears’ around the streets, as he had called them. I had lately been useful to Mr Davenport, and to the magistrate, John Fielding, following the death of a customer of mine in March, and then once again in a matter concerning the theatre at Drury Lane.

A little over a week had passed since we had last met. He had come to my room at Berwick Street to share news with me, but our meeting had ended uncomfortably. He had been on the verge of asking to take me to bed, and I had thrown him out.

William Davenport had once thought me a thief and a murderer, but I had proved him wrong and earned his grudging respect. At the same time, I had found myself drawn to him. Unlike most of Mr Fielding’s men, this one was a gentleman; educated and fair-minded. He could be sharp-tongued and was far too sombre, but he took my opinion seriously, and held my confidences. There are very few people I trust. He is the only man I trust.

I should have taken his money. God knows, I need the coin. But then he would have become like all the others – just another one who paid to do what he wanted.

I had pushed him away and he had gone.

Lucy’s voice grated in my ear. She was wondering whether to press Mr Merrick for earrings to match her new ring.

‘Lucy,’ I said, turning and clutching her by the shoulders. ‘You deserve the best. Ask him for everything.’ This was exactly the right comment for the woman who dreamed of jewels.

I stood up, and whatever she said in response faded into the hubbub as I danced towards Davenport, glass in one hand, wine jug in the other.

He greeted me – politely, if uncertainly. It was possible that I was looking a little flushed.

‘I wondered whether you might be here.’

‘We’re all here tonight,’ I said. ‘Ma’s allowed us out. We’re celebrating, as you can see.’ I waggled the jug. ‘You’re most welcome to join our table…’ I gestured to where Polly and Emily were now blowing into the condoms, inflating them to the size of large cucumbers, to the applause of their audience.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves,’ he said, his eyebrows lifting as he saw where I was waving. ‘But I came to see the landlord.’ He caught sight of Harry Bardwell and raised a hand to attract his attention. ‘What are you celebrating?’ Harry hadn’t noticed him.

I shared Lucy’s news as he tried again, still unsuccessfully, to catch Harry’s eye.

‘Merrick?’ he said, frowning a little, as we watched Harry slapping someone on the back before making his way to a table of his regulars, ready, as always, to sit and share a pipe and a drink. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard of him. His name’s familiar to me, although I can’t recall how.’

‘There’s no reason for you to know him,’ I said, stifling a hiccup. ‘He’s as dull as a rainy day in February, but fabulously rich. New money, but Lucy doesn’t care where his fortune has come from; she’s already spending it for him.’

‘I can imagine.’ He had met Lucy.

‘Drink with me?’ I said, nudging his coat sleeve with my wine jug, wanting his company and conversation more than I wanted to hear Lucy’s crowing.

He hesitated. Polly was shrieking with laughter in the corner. I didn’t dare look at what she was doing.

‘We can find somewhere quieter,’ I said. ‘We can talk about anything you like. But if I have to put up with any more of Lucy’s talk of Mr Merrick, I swear I’ll die.’

‘Well, I can’t allow you to die, can I?’ he said, beginning to smile. ‘My business can wait for a moment.’

He caught the arm of the tavern girl as she passed and he asked for beer as we drifted towards a table.

‘You aspire to such a life yourself?’ he asked when the girl arrived with his drink. ‘Mistress to a dreary fortune, like Lucy?’

‘Certainly not,’ I said, pouring more wine into my glass. ‘I couldn’t bear being shackled to someone who was quite that dull.’

The tavern noise rolled on around us. Someone had started singing a well-known song and a few drunken voices picked up the chorus. The room was full of men in search of fun, and the prospects for earning were good tonight.

He dropped some coins on the girl’s tray, took a mouthful of beer and set his tankard down. He stared at it for a moment, shoulders hunched, as if he were considering what to say.

I knocked back the wine, poured some more and saluted him with my glass.

‘Come now, Mr Davenport, I’m in the mood to be entertained and had hoped you would oblige me. What news from Bow Street?’

‘Well… we’re chasing a pack of mad dogs around Covent Garden, but it’s hardly entertaining.’ The brown eyes were as serious as they always were, but he was obviously relieved that I wished to engage him in a straightforward conversation about the magistrate’s work, as if forgetting our last encounter. ‘The warmer evenings seem to have brought them out in hoards.’

‘Mad dogs? I take it that you’re not referring to Mr Grimshaw?’ He knew that I disliked Jack Grimshaw, his burly colleague.

He gave me a wry smile. ‘No, these are real dogs with four legs and fur. They’re terrorising people in the Garden, snapping and biting passersby. Mr Fielding was unbothered by them at first – he even thought that they might drive the street girls and pickpockets away – but now there are teams of young men running about the streets armed with cudgels, beating any dog they can find. It’s chaos.’

‘I’m not sure I can help you with a dog problem.’

‘I’m not sure you can, either. The wretched dogs are taking up too much of our time. And they’re the least of our troubles.’ He became more serious. ‘People are restless. Tax has gone up on beer, wine too. We’ve seen scuffles on the streets, nothing serious, but tempers are becoming frayed.’

The wine we drank in Berwick Street was of good quality. It was expensive, and I knew that much of the expense was a result of the heavy duty on French goods. Ma refused to buy the cheaper Spanish or Portuguese wine. I rarely bought my own drinks in the taverns, so didn’t worry about how much they cost. It was those who worked hard and earned little who suffered most when their life’s few joys were taxed hard. No wonder they were unhappy. No one I knew was grumbling, but then, the men who enjoyed my company needed to be wealthy enough to pay for the finer delights I offered.

‘Added to this, a couple of the smarter Soho properties have had their windows smashed and a silversmith has had some tools stolen. A house was broken into on Dean Street. Some of Mr Fielding’s friends have expressed concern that there might be organised gangs of thieves operating around here – which means we’re now also supposed to discover whether this is, indeed, the case, and to round them all up if it is.’ He gave a weary sigh.

‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’ Clarity cut through the fog of inebriation. ‘It’s why...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 10.4.2025
• Reihe/Serie: A Lizzie Hardwicke Mystery
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Historische Kriminalromane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller
• Schlagworte: best historical fiction 18th century drama • britain london soho urban fiction city streets • disguise dress up mistaken identity • feminist literature women sleuth sisterhood family • murder investigation blackmail corruption kidnap • mystery crime detective private investigator • period romance swoonworthy slow burn bridgerton
• ISBN-10: 0-85730-896-3 / 0857308963
• ISBN-13: 978-0-85730-896-2 / 9780857308962