Chapter 6

 

 

 

Oliver paced back and forth in the study, waiting for Claudia Ellingford’s arrival. Since their encounter in the alley, he had barely slept a wink for the past two nights. He would have to stay even more detached than usual when meeting with her today. It was his only protection from taking her into his arms and kissing her soundly. He flexed his hand as he could still feel her breast. Never had he been so—hard. When she had touched him, running her finger along his stiff and throbbing shaft—

The aching. The yearning. 

The intense sensation had overtaken him, sending rolls of desire throughout his body, awakening every nerve ending, and stirring those hungry emotions to life.

What he had done was bold, rubbing against her, caressing her breast. And kissing her soft neck. What had compelled him? The danger they were in? The fact he was concealed under a disguise and free to act audaciously? For he would never behave that way as Viscount Tensbridge.

Oliver swiped a couple of books off the top of his desk in frustration. They clattered to the floor. When he glanced up, Dalton stood in the doorway with Claudia Ellingford next to him, one eyebrow cocked in question.

Damn it all.

“Miss Ellingford to see you, my lord. I will see that the tea tray is sent up,” Dalton declared.

So much for staying detached; she looked lovely today, wearing a soft gray skirt, a matching short jacket, a small gray hat, and a white ruffled blouse. Her red hair was carefully pinned in place and swept up from her neck. That lovely neck Oliver wished to nuzzle and kiss again. But another attractive feature was her light hazel eyes, more green than brown—a perfect match for her glorious red hair.

“Please, take a seat, Miss Ellingford.” He waved his arm toward the chair in front of the desk. Oliver swiftly sat, for arousal gripped him tight once again. 

“Did you receive bad news, my lord?” she asked.

“What? Oh, the books. It is nothing of consequence. Tell me of your preliminary report.” God, he sounded imperious. 

Claudia reached into her case and brought out her notebook. “I followed your brother for four nights. All of them were spent in The Piggeries. Notting Dale. A slum area, if you were not aware, my lord.”

“I am well aware as we discuss such things in Parliament. I have been told that clearances have already started in Notting Dale. There are plans for a mix of public and private housing to be completed by 1910.” He sounded arrogant. But Oliver had to keep his distance, physically and emotionally.

“I will believe that about the housing when I see it, my lord. And isn’t Tensbridge a courtesy title? Why would you be in Parliament?” she questioned. Claudia was polite and professional, and she wasn’t holding his superior tone against him. 

“I am not in the House of Lords. But since I’m the heir to the Earl of Carnstone, I am allowed to sit on a particular committee. Please continue.”

“Your brother was in the company of Shinwell, Linton, and another man. I described the man to the Galways sisters, and they identified the man as Viscount Tolwood. The men attended an illegal dog fight, a pub, a gambling house, and a brothel. And that was just the first night.”

Oliver expelled an exasperated breath in response. 

“They stumbled home about one o’clock in the morning, and Tolwood took a hansom cab to his home, I assume,” she continued, reading from her notes. “I started surveillance again at five o’clock the next afternoon. The place they are staying in was recently converted into flats, as many grand town houses have been of late. The residence belonged to a peer. It might have been Shinwell’s father, but whoever owns it recently sold the property to the Central London Dwelling Company. I passed the information on to Miss Eleanora, and she stated Allenby would confirm the information.”

It happened all over the city—prime real estate was grabbed up and turned into flats or rooming houses. It made sense with the overcrowding in various parts of London, but these companies were in it only for profit, not for any philanthropic reasons. These flats were not meant for those needing housing, like the homeless or working class looking for better accommodations. They were for the wealthy and no one else.

“Your brother and his flatmates are on the bottom floor.” Claudia continued, “Easy for me to peer into the windows. There was a woman with them, I assume a prostitute, but who knows? Anyway, they shared her.”

His brother was all in on the debauchery. “And you saw this?”

Claudia shrugged. “The draperies were open enough for me to peer in. After the woman departed, they drank. Copious amounts. Then, they returned to The Piggeries. I tracked them to the Black Moon pub, where they imbibed some more. Later in the evening, I followed them to a small shack. There were no signs on the building. They were only there for a few moments. Then they headed to Bangor Street, where the prostitutes congregate, and each had back-alley sex before returning to the flat.”

His brother was a reckless, imprudent dolt—and he probably hadn’t used any protection. 

“The small shack in question,” Claudia stated. “I discovered that it is a place to buy street-grade opium.”

Oliver went very still. It was his grandmother’s worst fear. Although the Pharmacy Act of 1868 controlled and registered the sale of certain poisons—of which opium was one—a trade still existed for those who did not wish to buy it from a chemist. The drug found outside an apothecary’s control was also cheaper, not regulated, or of the best quality. Oliver had learned plenty from being a member of Hawkestone’s caucus group.

“Where is this shack located?” Oliver asked.

“Why do you wish to know?”

Claudia Ellingford was maddingly inquisitive—a good trait for an investigator.

“To bring it to the attention of those in power.”

“As if they are going to do anything about it. Very well, it is on Pottery Lane. It is a shack, more of a lean-to, next to the Black Moon pub.”

“Are there opium dens in this Piggery area?” Oliver asked.

“They are in decline, even in the East End, but I assume there are dens in most sections of London. Most are by the dock area to service sailors. Anyway, allow me to give you more of my report. I peered through the windows in the rear of the house, and all I could see was half-eaten food and dishes everywhere, along with empty liquor bottles. A woman stopped in on the third day. I thought it might be another prostitute, but I observed her taking rubbish to the outside bin. They must have someone coming in to clean now and then.”

“So, not living in complete filth, there’s a mercy,” Oliver murmured sarcastically.

“I have taken a few photographs during the day when there is light. But most of their activities are nocturnal. Do you wish me to continue with this surveillance, my lord?”

Dalton entered with the tea tray, setting it on the desk between them. There was also a plate of iced sugar biscuits. Dalton served the tea and then left them alone. Claudia poured milk into her tea, took the cup and saucer, and sat back. She sipped, watching him closely over the rim of the cup.

“Yes. Continue for now. My family wishes a thorough report over several days and perhaps a few weeks.”

“Is this what is referred to as sowing those wild oats? Did you not do the same in your twenties, my lord?” The tug of a teasing smile pulled at the corner of her lovely lips.

“I am still in my twenties, Miss Ellingford. And no, I do not indulge in excessive immoralities. I live a more regulated life.”

“I can well imagine,” she murmured as she sipped her tea. “It is my experience that young men of means eventually run afoul of the law or, worse, the criminal element within slum areas.”

“Precisely what I—and the family—wish to avoid. I assume there are gangs of thieves in this Notting Dale?”

Claudia reached for a biscuit. “Yes, my lord. And a ruthless rookery boss. Pottery Lane is not referred to as Cut-throat Lane for nothing.” After consuming two biscuits, she flipped open her notebook to a fresh page, pencil in hand. “Now, tell me about your brother and your family. Do you have any siblings?”

“What has this to do with the case?”

She eyed him askance. “So I can ascertain your brother’s character, calculate his next move, and how he will respond to certain circumstances.”

“Fine. I am the oldest. Next comes two sisters, Lorene and Judith, and Bryan is the youngest. Yes, he is spoiled. My parents are the first to admit it. He has been mischievous his entire life, always getting into trouble. But mildly so, nothing like this. We are close-knit to a fault. I grew up surrounded by aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, and multiple levels of cousins, as we all live within a three-to-ten-mile radius. We love and respect each other. To me, family is everything. That is why I and others in the family are concerned about Bryan.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Claudia felt that pesky emotional lump forming in her throat again. She knew little of what Tensbridge spoke of, at least, the extensive, loving family aspect of it. She and her late mother were close; all they had was each other. But this? Claudia experienced a twinge of envy.

She pointed to the black armband. “I am sorry for your loss, my lord.”

“Thank you. I lost my grandfather, the earl, and great-granduncle within ten days. Both of whom I admired greatly. They were the pillars of the family. I was particularly close to my grandfather. He was, in essence, my hero.” Tensbridge’s countenance softened, and she could see the sadness in those beautiful greenish-gray eyes of his. His heartfelt declaration also caused her heart to squeeze with empathy. And touch her in an unknown place. 

Blast the man for making me feel.

“Is your brother attending university?” Claudia asked, wishing to change the subject.

“No. Bryan completed his studies this past spring. He has a common law degree from Cambridge, and the next step is to take his Postgraduate Certificate in Law. We had expected he would find work at a law firm as an apprentice before completing his studies, but he has not done so as yet. My brother is intelligent enough. He finished 10th in his class.”

“Impressive. So not a dunderhead when it comes to education. However, lacking in basic common sense, am I correct?” Claudia observed.

“You have the right of it. My brother stopped by at ten this morning,” Tensbridge continued gravely. “I told him that if he still wished to receive his allowance, he must check in every Friday. He looked the worse for wear, but I decided not to lecture him. Not at this juncture. Continue with the case, and when next we meet, I will require a layout of every place Bryan visited and any names of shady characters he has contact with on a continual basis.”

Claudia bit back an exhalation. This would mean an extended period in The Piggeries. There was one man she loathed to cross paths with and the main reason she wore an elaborate disguise. A cruel criminal who placed his sticky fingers in every vice in the slum. A man who, for a short period, had taken up with her mother. Her mother had lived in fear, never knowing when his foul temper would explode. Her mother, Aileen, entered the relationship for monetary reasons only to keep a roof over their head (such as it was) and the wolf from the door. And as a sort of protection.

Jedidiah Danaher.

In reality, Jedi Danaher was worse than any hungry wolf. He stood as a beast in a class all his own. There was still a large Irish contingent in Notting Dale. Was Danaher still the rookery boss? Did he still own the Black Moon Pub? If there were any justice, Danaher would be dead already. How old would he be now, early to mid-forties? It was always hard to gauge his age, and Danaher never spoke of it. Chances are, he wasn’t aware of his exact age anyway.

“Miss Ellingford?”

Claudia was pulled from her disturbing thoughts. “Sorry. Yes, I will try to discover any people your brother comes in contact with.”

“Do not put yourself in danger. If there is not a safe way to collect these names, then by all means, dismiss the request.”

“I will keep that in mind, my lord.”

“Please call me Tensbridge. I am still not used to all this ‘my lord’ falderal.”

“As you wish. The Duke of Allenby is making inquiries about Shinwell and Linton. I should have more to report the next time we meet. Shinwell is the heir apparent to his father, the Earl of Darrington. Do you know the earl at all?”

Tensbridge shook his head. “No. The Wollstonecrafts stay mostly near home in Kent. We do not socialize with London society except when necessary. My grandfather only traveled to the city when Parliament was in session. I imagine my father will do the same. I am only here because of the progressive caucus I am in. If only my brother’s interest ran more to helping others than helping himself.”

Progressive? How interesting. Her opinion of Tensbridge rose a notch. “Are there any other family members currently in the city that your brother might seek out besides your cousin, Garrett Wollstonecraft?”

Tensbridge shook his head. “No. My father and mother will arrive next month and stay at the Carnstone house near mine. And I believe another cousin will be traveling with them. Ronan Wollstonecraft. He is my Uncle Bennett’s son and 26 years old. He, Rett, I, and a few cousins grew up together. We are close. Ronan will no doubt come to stay with me at some point.”

“But your younger brother was not part of this tight-knit group?”

“No. Being five years younger, my brother did not fit in with our various adventures and revelries. Ronan’s twin brother, Ryan, was also part of our group.”

So Tensbridge was 27 years old. She thought him older, judging by the mature air he emanated. “Identical twin?” Claudia asked, caught up in the family narrative.

“No. My father and Uncle Bennett were twins, my grandfather and his brother, Riordan. None of them are identical. My parents did not have any twins.”

Claudia peeked up from her notebook and smiled at Tensbridge. “You have quite the family tree. How lucky you are.”

He raised an eyebrow as if trying to note the sarcasm in her statement, but he would find none. Tensbridge was blessed to have such a large, devoted family. And Claudia should not have commented on it. It made things too personal. Her smile disappeared as she continued to take notes.

“And you were not so fortunate?” Tensbridge asked softly.

“No. But I am not here to talk about me.” She stood abruptly. “I should go. I have much to do and will continue the surveillance tonight.”

Tensbridge was out of his chair in a flash, his movement so swift, it passed her sight as a wool suit blur. He took her hand, and that contact caused heat to wrap around her insides. What on earth was going on? Now, another man caused a physical reaction? It was so startling that Claudia pulled her hand from his as if she had been burned.

She took a step toward the door. “Shall I report back at the same time next week?” Her voice sounded cold to her own ears.

“Yes.” The viscount stood stock-still with his hands clasped behind his back. His intense gaze never wavered. “Until next week. Dalton!”

The butler stepped into the room. “Yes, my lord?”

“See that Miss Ellingford catches a hansom cab to her destination.”

Claudia headed toward the door with the butler.

“Good afternoon, Miss Ellingford.” 

Claudia stopped in her tracks. His farewell was spoken with a subdued, almost sensual tone. No coldness at all. She turned, met his heated gaze, and nodded. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Claudia had replied in the same soothing voice. What was she doing? Flirting? There was no time to think about her ill-thought-out response, so she rushed toward the door. As she followed Dalton through the front entrance, she laid her hand over her heart. 

Hell’s bells, it’s pounding like mad.

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.