Chapter 7

 

 

 

Oliver considered the men sitting around the table. They were attending a meeting of The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park in a secluded building on Albany Street. It was the first such gathering in over a month. Introductions between Rett and the rest of the group had already transpired. Now they were waiting for their president, Damon Cranston, the Duke of Chellenham, to call the meeting to order.

Across the table, Shinwell and Linton whispered together, casting glances at the other men. Shinwell stood. “Before we get to business, I wish to make a proposal.”

“By all means,” Damon remarked nonchalantly. “You have the floor.”

“I do not care for the direction this gathering is taking. Charitable works? We are called The Rakes. Yet, at our last meeting, you proclaimed that this would be the main direction of the group going forward. It is not what this assemblage was founded on and is not why I joined. There is time enough when I am in my dotage to give to people in need. But for now, I want to pursue all the delights life has to offer.”

A murmur of agreement came from a couple of the men.

“Honestly, this is all a crashing bore,” Shinwell continued, his tone conceited. “You recently married men have suddenly become pillars of the community, steadfast and faithful. I thought a few of you would still indulge in amatory adventures. But no. You are all devoted husbands or husbands-to-be. Chellenham, your change of character boggles the mind. You were one of the most notorious rakes in this city—you and Watford. No one makes such a transformation in a matter of weeks or months. You are both living a lie.”

Growls came from Damon and Watford, and Allenby laid his hand on Damon’s arm to halt him from vaulting out of the chair and physically attacking Shinwell. Or so Oliver surmised, for Damon had a murderous look. The arrogant fool viscount was correct on one matter. It had been quite the conversion that had taken place in Damon. And Watford, too, for that matter. Oliver welcomed it. Falling in love could change a man. Who would have thought it? There was no doubt more to it than that, but it is Damon’s business. And Watford’s.

“I propose that the purportedly virtuous men form your own group and leave those of us who wish to be rakes to continue with the decades-old tradition,” Shinwell concluded, giving them a self-righteous smile.

You could hear a pin drop in the cavernous room.

“That will not happen,” Damon ground out. “If you and others wish to splinter off, have at it. The name remains with us.”

Watford nodded in agreement. “As the last original founding member, I also say the name stays here. You have no claim on it. And do not endeavor to take it, as you do not want to cross me or any other here. We are not so staid as you believe.”

“You only adopted the Rakes name recently. What do you care?” Shinwell shot back.

“Officially, that is true. But the sobriquet has existed for years. It stays with us,” Watford bellowed.

“I do not see why we cannot do both,” Gregory McFadden said. “There is more to life than never-ending debauchery. Especially in this enlightened age of industrialism and aestheticism.” McFadden was a recent prospective member, a successful businessman with his fingers in numerous pies, including newspapers and railroads.

“Not in my life,” Shinwell retorted. “What do I care about industrialism or the great unwashed of London, including snotty-nosed by-blows living on the streets? Really, Chellenham? A home for foundlings? And you will be taking in some of these bastards into your home? What a disgrace. But the bigger scandal is you claiming these brats as your siblings. You’re as mad as a March hare.”

This time, Allenby did not hold Damon back. The enraged duke was out of his chair, pushing Shinwell against the wall in the blink of an eye. Damon jammed his forearm into Shinwell’s neck, causing the viscount to gasp and wheeze.

“Utter one more word of insult, and I will crush your windpipe. Gather your things and leave now. Never return.” Damon stepped away, breathing hard. Oliver was shocked at Damon’s sudden burst of implied violence but felt it warranted.

Shinwell coughed, rubbing his neck. “You are completely deranged. Come, Linton. Let us leave this pathetic group to their reformist lives.”

Allenby turned toward Linton, who stood next to Shinwell. “Really, Rome?” he questioned his new stepbrother.

Linton shrugged. “I agree with Shin. I have better things to do with my time than raise money for orphans or whatever good deeds you have planned.”

Viscount Tolwood stood.

Damon laughed cynically. “You always were a sniveling dog, always following others. Good riddance, Tolwood.”

“I thought you were seeking a bride?” Asher Colborne, Baron Wenlock asked Tolwood. From what Oliver understood, Wenlock, Tolwood, Allenby, and Damon had known each other since their early days at school.

“Well, I am, Ash,” Tolwood replied meekly. “But I say, why not have a little fun as I do?”

“McFadden?” Shinwell questioned.

McFadden brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve, imaginary or not. “I am not interested. I have a business reputation to protect and can do that well enough here. Besides, I don’t like you, Shinwell. Not from our first meeting. You are a vain, self-seeking arse, and I want no part of you.”

Well spoken. Oliver could not agree more. 

Shinwell scowled. “Tensbridge? Considering your do-gooder family ties, I presume you will stay with these boring converts of pious philanthropism. You know, I have never seen you darken a brothel’s door. I do not trust a man who doesn’t indulge.”

“And I don’t trust a man who indulges too much,” Oliver retorted, keeping the bulk of his anger under tight control. “My vices run more to gaming, not that it is your concern. I am staying here. And so is my cousin.”

“But of course, he is,” Shinwell barked cynically as he gathered his coat and hat. “Well, gentlemen. By all means, go forth and indulge in tedious charity work. I have organized an exclusive private party at The Velvet Vine tonight. If any of you change your minds, the bacchanalia starts at eight sharp.” He gave the men a mocking bow. Then, turning on his heel, Shinwell swept from the room with Tolwood and Linton close behind him.

The door slammed.

Exclusive private party. Which meant an orgy of various delights, sexual and otherwise.

“First note of business, change the locks,” Damon snapped irritably. “Second note: donate Tolwood, Linton, and Shinwell’s recent membership fees to various charities.”

“I concur,” Watford snarled.

“Some of us have known Tolwood most of our lives. How many times had we protected him from bullies through the years, and he up and swans out of here following Shinwell? Of all men?” Wenlock exclaimed, shaking his head. “So much for loyalty.”

“Are all the meetings this dramatic?” Rett asked as a footman entered the room, carrying a platter of sandwiches.

“Not quite,” Allenby smirked. “Though the delivery of a severed leg last year certainly tops the list.”

Rett’s eyebrows arched skyward. Oliver would have to tell him the story later, as he had only recently learned of the episode. It is where Allenby met his duchess, Eleanora Galway, the co-owner of the Galway Investigative Agency.

“Thomas,” Damon called out to the footman. “When you are done serving, I want you to rouse a locksmith and have him come immediately. I will pay the man extra. All the locks to this club must be replaced. Tonight.”

“At once, Your Grace,” the young man replied firmly.

When they were alone, Damon pushed the journal away. “It was bound to happen. Some of us have changed. But for others, the transformation began long before any of us fell in love. Well, perhaps not Watford.”

The men chuckled. 

“But as soon as he met Olivia, he fell hard. Love can be transformative,” Allenby added.

“As the rest of you will someday discover,” Wenlock said. “So, where does this leave us?”

“I indeed wish the main focus of this group to be philanthropic initiatives, but there is no reason why we cannot continue recommending various places for those who wish to indulge in whatever,” Damon suggested. “Only please let us dispense with the grandiose bragging of one’s conquests. It is tedious to the extreme, even when I did it.”

The men laughed.

“I propose we dispense with titles,” Wenlock proffered. “We are all friends here, first names only going forward when we are alone like this. And any new members who join must have the full approval of all the other members.”

The Rakes pounded the table in agreement.

“And any prospective members, like Gregory, Rett, and Oliver, should be full members this very moment,” Wenlock concluded. 

Damon began to write in their club journal about the recent doings. Talk broke out among the men as the sandwich platters were passed around, along with coffee, tea, and the whiskey decanter.

Oliver tried to keep track of the conversation, but his mind wandered toward Shinwell’s declaration about the revel in the East End. He would no doubt be taking Bryan to the brothel with him. Which meant Claudia would follow them. The Velvet Vine had a good reputation, although its neighborhood was not the best.

Would his brother be attending? He had to know. Right now. He should track them to see if they stay clear of danger. Oliver glanced at the clock. It was closing in on seven.

He stood abruptly. “Gentlemen, I have another appointment. I must take my leave. Rett, you stay and take copious notes. Tell the group about your idea of opening another free medical clinic within the Hornsby-Wollstonecraft initiative.”

Rett blinked rapidly, then glowered. He was putting his cousin on the spot, as they had yet to discuss the idea at length. Oliver didn’t wait for Rett’s response, as he had already grabbed his coat and hat and halfway down the stairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had started to sink, causing rays to skitter across the clouds, casting an array of pink and purple colors in the sky. It was a rare but beautiful sunset. Claudia paid the hansom driver and jumped out of the cab.

Poplar High Street. The men couldn’t be going to The Velvet Vine and Tackle, could they? Claudia had followed their cab to the East End from Notting Hill. She knew Shinwell and Linton attended a meeting on Albany Street because Tensbridge had sent a note to her informing her of that fact. So Claudia stayed in Notting Hill, watching the younger Wollstonecraft. Three men arrived at Notting Hill long enough to gather Bryan, so she followed behind in another hansom. Tonight, Claudia wore a wig of long flowing ebony locks and a putty nose. She slipped into the alley behind The Velvet Vine. Trying the door, she found it open, but before stepping across the threshold, she was met by a solid muscular wall.

Claudia looked up. “Colin, it’s me. Mary O’Toole.” She used her Irish accent.

The cook approached the door, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “That’s Mary, sure as brass. Let her in.”

Colin stepped aside, and Lily, the brothel’s cook, smiled. “Look at you! I thought you were off on a new adventure?”

“I am in disguise.”

“Well, it’s convincing. That is quite the hook on that nose.”

Claudia swept aside the tangled locks to show the full force of a convincing cosmetic scar. “I am following someone. Will Pan see me?”

“I’m sure he will. Colin, take Mary to his office, through the back way. I have to attend to my meat pies. It is for a private party.”

No doubt the men she had followed will be attending.

“Ta, Lily. You are a dear.”

Colin took her through the behind-the-wall walkway to Pan’s office. “Stay here. Don’t wander about,” Colin grumbled. 

“Aye.”

The only one who knew of her real name was Pan. Even when she told her friends of her new opportunity—without revealing many details—she never mentioned her actual name or past. To their credit, they didn’t ask. Claudia wanted to make a clean break from life on the streets and her Mary O’Toole persona. How ironic that she wound up back here.

Pan entered the room, showing no surprise at her appearance. No doubt Colin had already told him. “Claudia. Wonderful to see you. On a case?”

“I am,” she answered, using her own voice. “I followed Shinwell and his party here. One of the men is my subject of interest. The eager puppy with the wavy brown hair.”

Pan swept his arm toward the chair before his desk, inviting her to sit. “Shinwell and guests have been situated in one of the salons upstairs. I imagine the activities are already underway. And the eager puppy is with the group. Practically shaking with anticipation.”

“I can well imagine. Is there any way to observe the goings on?” Pan had various voyeur rooms and strategic peek holes to ensure safety and observe the clientele to make sure they did not get out of hand with the sex workers in any way.

“Well, that would violate my customers’ privacy, but Colin will watch the eager puppy, and I will send you a report to Cleveland Street. Will that suffice? They will be here all night, so there is no use hanging about for hours. I doubt they will go anywhere from here except home.”

“Perhaps you have the right of it.”

Pan clasped his hands and placed them on the desk. “Are you settling in? Your girls have been asking about you.”

“They are hardly my girls,” Claudia dismissed. 

“Oh? Not from what they have told me. You were their protector, their guardian angel. You collected the money and saw that they were fed and had a roof over their heads most nights. And you kept none of the earnings for yourself. You stood up to any men who threatened them. Even cut a few.”

“It was more than a few. I was, in essence, the ladies’ procurer, their flesh peddler, their pimp. Let’s not gloss it over. When I found myself alone at 16 years old, I soon learned there was strength in numbers. I surrounded myself with others in my situation. We managed to survive.”

“And here you are within another group of women. The lady detectives. Are you protecting them, or are they protecting you?” 

Pan hit a little too close to home. He always was an astute study of human character, its strengths and frailties. It is why he was an efficient manager in running successful brothels. As to his question, Claudia did not know the answer. That may be why she agreed to work for the investigative agency. In reality, she did move from one protective circle into another. Strength in numbers? Or maybe she needed the company of others more than she believed. To feel safe. Shielded. 

What complete hogwash.

Claudia stood abruptly. “I must be off. I appreciate that you’re sending me a report. Let me know if the eager puppy returns anytime, with others or alone.”

“Bryan Wollstonecraft? Of course. I ask for names and references from all my customers. Shinwell claims the young man just joined the Rakes of St. Regent’s Park.”

“As far as I know, Wollstonecraft is not a part of the group unless that is a recent development.”

“Interesting. I will look into that. As an aside, Colin informs me that a fancy carriage with no insignia on the door is parked on the street. It may be related to your case.” Pan stood and came around the desk to face her. He gently clasped her hand. “Believe it or not, I care what happens to you. Make a friend of Olivia. You have much in common. Both of you could use a good friend.”

Claudia laid her hand on top of Pan’s, genuinely touched by his concern. “Olivia has already made overtures. We went shopping a few days ago and had tea at Lyon’s. I am attending an afternoon tea at her house next week.”

“Good. I’m delighted to hear that. Drop by and visit us when you are not on a case. Come for tea some afternoon and see how your girls are. You will be proud of them.”

“I will.” Then, Claudia did the strangest thing. She leaned in and kissed Pan on the cheek.

“Well. That I did not expect. A show of affection? You never cease to astonish me. Go through the rear entrance. The carriage is not far. Be careful.”

Claudia released Pan’s hand and made her way back to the rear of the building. Once in the kitchen, she came up to Lily. “Let the girls know I will visit soon, some afternoon for tea. Pan already made the invitation.”

“Oh, they will be pleased to hear that, Mary. It’s been a while since I made afternoon tea. Do let us know.”

Claudia moved toward the door, then halted. “My real name is Claudia.” She disappeared into the dark alley.

Peeking out onto the street, she located the carriage Pan had mentioned. It looked vaguely familiar. It was a landau often used by the well-to-do, a luxury carriage with a folding top. Like the one Oliver Wollstonecraft had arrived in for his meeting at Cleveland Street. It was black with silver trim and scrollwork, like this one. Standing in the shadows, she glanced up at the carriage driver. All in black, and his face remained in shadow. Claudia would lay coin Oliver Wollstonecraft sat inside.

Looking both ways on the empty street, she sprinted across the cobbles, grabbed the handle, opened the door, and slipped inside, sitting on the empty bench. Across from her and half hidden in the dark sat a well-dressed man in a long gray coat.

“Honestly, my lord, why even hire me to follow your brother if you will do the job yourself? Unless you are here to join the festivities at The Velvet Vine.”