Chapter 10

 

 

 

Claudia returned to The Piggeries once again, as her subject was drinking in the Black Moon Pub with his companions in vice. They have been in there for over an hour, and hanging about the area any longer would draw suspicion. Tonight, she wore a messy, short brown wig, another fake nose, and a scar. The Galway sisters had a good mix of disguises, and Claudia found she enjoyed playing a role while undercover.

Pulling her tattered shawl tighter, she headed toward Bangor Street. It wouldn’t hurt to converse with some of the prostitutes to ascertain the lay of the land. There were gas lamps on some of the streets, but only a few were lit. The muted illumination cast an unnerving glow across the cobbles. The fog was thick tonight, rolling along the roads like a creeping marauder. Finding a group of women standing at the head of an alley, she sidled up next to them.

Just as Claudia was about to speak, an older woman gave her a hard shove. “Hie off, this be our corner. You don’t want Himself to find you.”

“Who you on about?” Claudia said in a low voice, using her Irish accent. “Does Jaysus run this territory?”

“I wish it were Jesus and all, at least he were kind to whores. This bloke—you don’t want to cross,” the woman replied. “Now, sod off. Don’t be hanging about here.”

“Tell me who I should be lookin’ out for,” Claudia demanded.

The women scattered, disappearing into the shadows. They had skittered away so fearfully; Claudia knew the man they had been speaking about was heading toward her. Icy needles prickled all along her spine, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end. Only one man caused this reaction of dread.

He grabbed her arm roughly. Standing directly behind her, he leaned in, his gin-soaked breath skimming across her exposed neck. 

“Who are you, bitch, one o’ mine?” he barked. The man spun her around, and Claudia came face-to-face with Jedi Danaher. It took all her inner fortitude not to react with disgust—or fear. Not that she exactly feared him. She never had, but she did not want to tremble before him. Enough people had done that, and no doubt still do.

“No, sir,” Claudia replied in an even tone. “Just passin’ through. I’ll nip along sharpish. If you let me go.”

Time had not been kind to Jedidiah Danaher. He looked older than his mid-forties, not that she knew his age. A large scar bisected his left brow, ending at his upper hairline. It was ugly, puckered, and mottled, as if someone had done a botched job on the stitching or the injury had not been appropriately treated. It was as if someone had laid the left side of his forehead open with a hatchet. Another scar, this one thin, began at the corner of his mouth and traveled partway down his neck. Yet, enough of the boyish handsomeness was still visible—on a face with empty, dead eyes and a cruel mouth—might appeal to certain women.

“You want work? You got the look of a whore.” He brushed aside her hair with his free hand. “Not a complete hag,” he rumbled as the tip of his finger ran along her cheek near the fake scar. Claudia silently prayed it stayed in place and that he didn’t grab her hair or the wig would come loose or fall off. She remembered he liked to grasp the hair and pull, as he had done that to her mother.

“I ain’t done much whorin’. I was a yanker some time back. Sir.”

Jedi pushed her away. She will have bruises on that arm and no mistake. He was still a horrendous lout—and a miserable bastard.

“What the feck is a yanker?” he demanded, still looking her over.

“I pulled on cocks, yanked them—you know, friggin’—nothin’ more.” Claudia spoke the truth. When she and the girls needed extra money, Claudia would frig a man to completion for a few shillings. It had been disgusting work, but it was either that or starve. If there was one thing Claudia could claim from those horrible years on the street, it was that no man ever violated her. Or penetrated her. And no man ever will unless she allows it.

Certainly not this one.

At least Jedi never touched her during their eighteen months under his rule. Although he allowed them to stay in the pathetic two-room hovel at the end of a lane, he was rarely there. 

Thank God. 

The first night back in The Piggeries, Claudia sought out where she and her mother had lived. All she found was an empty lot.

“Well, go on, then. Yank it, bitch.” He started to unbutton his trousers. “If you’re good enough, you’ll work for me right on this corner. Half of all earnings go to me. Protection and the like.”

“I’m not lookin’ for this kind o’ work.”

With the quickness of a predatory jungle cat, his meaty hand closed about her neck. “Then get gone, and don’t return. This is my territory, yeah?” He squeezed, causing her to gasp. 

“Yes, sir,” she croaked as his fingers tightened further.

He released her, and Claudia turned to depart. Oh, how she was tempted to whip out her knife, stick it deep in his middle, and gut him like a fish from the Bethnal Green market. But Jedi grabbed her arm again, causing her to wince inwardly.

“I know you, I’m sure of it,” he hissed dangerously in her ear. “And I will puzzle it out, no mistake. So don’t show your face here again, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He freed her again, and instead of running, Claudia sauntered away with her head held high. In the distance, she heard a decided snarl, and Claudia smirked in response. Yes, she understood Jedi. The bully was quite put out that she hadn’t cowered in his presence. But now she may be compromised from coming into this rookery again. The disguises will have to become more elaborate.

Seeing that horrid excuse for a man brought up old recollections that Claudia would rather forget. And she had a large enough stockpile of dreadful memories to haunt her dreams for the rest of her life without adding her time living in The Potteries. But she had learned it was best to face one’s tribulations head-on. 

Even so, she should wrap this case up right away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Oliver awaited Claudia’s arrival for their Friday update. Bryan had shown up at ten that morning, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed. His clothes were wrinkled, and his appearance had deteriorated, with dark circles under his eyes and a decided pallor to his skin. He had answered Oliver’s questions in a monotone, staying only ten minutes. 

Oliver was tempted to withhold his reckless brother’s allowance. Instead, he gave him half of the stipend. His brother had promised their father and grandmother that he would look into certain London law firms to find gainful employment. Bryan had done none of it. Next week, ultimatums would have to be made. That was something he was not looking forward to. Oliver had to remain cautious. If he demanded too much, his brother could effectively disappear into the bowels of London as his grandfather had done decades before. And London was far more significant population-wise than it had been in the 1840s.

Caramel, the cat he had adopted, was sleeping soundly on the cushion by the fireplace. Dalton initially had been horrified at the prospect. But after a bath and a feeding of sliced chicken, Caramel had captured the staff’s hearts, including his unflappable butler. In less than a week, Caramel was right at home, following Oliver about the large residence as if she were a dog.

“Who’s a pretty girl?” Oliver murmured.

Caramel raised her head and, through slitted eyes, blinked slowly at him. “Mur-reow?”

“Yes, you.”

Rett entered the room, rolling his eyes. “Carrying on a conversation with your cat, once again?”

“And she understands every word.”

Rett plopped down into a nearby chair. “Just don’t bring home every stray you come across.”

“As I have said many times, I cannot save everyone. I am aware of that fact, and my declaration also extends to animals. Besides, Caramel adopted me.”

“Right.” Rett glanced over at the cat, who was bathing before settling in to continue with her afternoon nap. “What is the update with Bryan? Is it worrisome?”

“Yes. Remember Shinwell and his private party at The Velvet Vine?” Rett nodded. “Well, Bryan attended.” He informed his cousin of what he had observed and what Claudia had reported. Then he told Rett about Mitchell Simpson.

“Jesus, Oliver! A detective knows your identity? Why did you allow that?” Rett exclaimed.

“What do you suggest, that I murder him for knowing too much? He recognized me. I made a snap decision. Having a local detective in my confidence may prove to be fruitful. Besides, he is Damon’s half-brother; I believe I can trust him.”

“Just how many illegitimate siblings does Chellenham have?” Rett asked.

“Too many to count. Four of them, aged five to thirteen, are coming to live with Damon once he and Althea are married.”

Rett whistled low in his throat. “It is certainly a strange group of men you have me involved with.”

“But at their core, decent men. Have you given any further thought to joining my cause?” Oliver asked.

“To a small extent. I am still considering your proposal and—”

His butler, Dalton, entered the study. “Miss Ellingford, Your Grace.”

The men stood and turned toward Claudia. She never failed to take his breath away. Her glorious red hair was swept up from her neck, and he yearned to see it tumbling down her shoulders.  Oliver wanted to remove the pins himself and nuzzle her neck, kissing her soft skin as his hands tunneled through her silky hair. He willed away the sensual thoughts—for now.

“Miss Ellingford, may I introduce my cousin, Garrett Wollstonecraft. Rett, this is Miss Claudia Ellingford, an investigator with The Galway Agency.”

Rett stepped forward and took her gloved hand, bending over it. “My pleasure, Miss Ellingford. I am actually a third cousin, twice removed, or is it a second cousin? We have lost track, so tangled are our family branches.”

Claudia gave Rett a warm smile, and Oliver’s heart squeezed with envy, for she had never given him such.

“It is a third cousin, Rett, as well you know,” Oliver said through gritted teeth.

Rett released her hand. “True enough. My grandfather was half-brother to Oliver’s great-grandfather. As I said, there are many tangled limbs. And on that note, I will take my leave and allow you to converse in peace.” 

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Claudia smiled, causing Oliver’s envious annoyance to spike further.

His cousin bowed, then quit the room, closing the door behind him.

A tea tray sat on the small table by the settee. Oliver swept his arm toward the area where the sofa and two wing chairs were located near the fireplace. A small fire crackled in the hearth. It was the sixth of October, and a noticeable chill lingered in the air.

Claudia gave him a slight nod and headed toward one of the wing chairs. Oliver sat opposite. Again, she wore the gray wool skirt and jacket and carried a leather satchel. Once seated, she pulled off her kid gloves and laid them over the arm of the chair.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

So, it was going to be like this: formal and distant. There was no use calling Claudia on it.

Caramel meowed and rubbed against Claudia’s wool skirt. She looked down at the cat, and her face lit up. It was the most astonishing thing. It enhanced her beauty if that were possible. “Oh, how adorable. So pretty! I wasn’t aware that you had a cat.”

“A recent event. I found the hungry kitty on the street, and she adopted me.”

Claudia glanced up and caught his gaze. Was there a softening in her eyes, or was it his overeager imagination again? If so, he would gladly adopt fifty stray cats if only to see that warm and luminous expression. Claudia rubbed under the cat’s chin for several moments, then, satisfied, Caramel headed toward her cushion and settled in.

“Would you mind pouring, Miss Ellingford?” Oliver kept his voice steady and his tone reserved. Hard to do since his insides quivered with desire. He wanted to pull her out of the chair, gather her in his arms, and kiss her until he ceased to breathe.

She sat the pouch at her feet. “Of course, my lord.” Claudia went through the motions, passing him a cup of tea.

Oliver could not resist. Taking the saucer, he trailed his index finger along hers, watching closely for any reaction. It was subtle, but there, nonetheless. A slight flush to her cheek, and she did not pull her hand away for several moments. As for him, that subtle touch of skin against skin stirred the simmering embers into a full-on blaze.

Claudia sipped her tea, staring at him frankly as if she were about to mention their brief contact. Instead, she placed the cup on its saucer and opened her case, bringing forth a ream of papers. “I have the report from The Velvet Vine, my lord.”

“Read it aloud. If you please.”

 

 

Though initially eager for the activities to begin, Bryan Wollstonecraft was told by his mates that he had to pass an initiation before joining the fray. One of the male sex workers would suck him off and bring him to completion. The young man balked, and an argument ensued, with punches being thrown. My men immediately entered the salon and broke up the fight. I informed the men that they were effectively banned from this establishment forthwith.

 

 

Claudia looked up from the paper. Did she just say, “suck him off?” The image formed in his mind; only Claudia did so to him. And enthusiastically. He shook his head. This was not the time for erotic daydreams. Oliver would save that particular fantasy for later at night.

“Do you wish me to continue?” she asked, watching him closely.

“There is more?”

 Claudia nodded.

“Then, by all means.”

 

 

The viscount did not take it well. Shinwell broke furniture, cursed, and punched one of the male workers. I threw him out on his ear. The following morning, I received your note stating that Shinwell, Linton, and Tolwood were no longer part of The Rakes Club and that Bryan Wollstonecraft was never in the association. I must be more diligent in admitting certain people going forward. In that vein, I had one of my men (not included in the fight) follow Shinwell et al. to other brothels. They ultimately wound up at The Crowing Cock, in Spitalfields, and the four of them hired six females. They were there the rest of the night.

I have let it be known to the higher-class brothels that we are in contact with to shun Shinwell et al. in the future. Please pass on this information to Chellenham and The Rakes because Shinwell is still using their club to gain entry into various places of vice. 

 

 

Claudia folded the paper and tucked it into her satchel. Then, she passed him another form. It was a well-drawn map of the tangle of streets and lanes in the Notting Dale area. Various boxes were labeled, identifying places his brother had no doubt been.

“Honestly speaking, my lord, I cannot see this surveillance continuing. You have ample proof that your brother indulges in selective vices and the locations. Your brother and his flatmates have not ventured to the East End since that night. They have, however, hosted various entertainments in their flat. Tolwood was in attendance at the most recent gathering. I spoke to the landlord; he has already received complaints about the noise and has given them a warning. If they are evicted, you can bet they will find lodgings in less pristine settings.”

“And the downward spiral will continue,” Oliver said, frowning.

“Yes, it will persist. The young men spend much of their time at the Black Moon Pub, as I have learned some prostitutes use the rooms upstairs to conduct their business. The place next door? The shack? It has a small opium den in the rear. Out front? They sell tea and other goods.”

“An opium den. ‘Where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.’ Oliver Wilde.”

“He is an author, correct? Is that from a book?” Claudia asked.

“Yes. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Wilde was just released from prison last May, where he served two years for gross indecency. I hear he is a shell of his former self and in poor health due to his incarceration.” Oliver remained silent for several moments. “So, has Bryan partaken?”

“I had no way to gain access, my lord. But seeing his state when he emerged with the others, a burst of euphoria and the like, I can assume your brother indulged in something.” Claudia picked up the cup and sipped her tea. “I can inform Eleanora Galway to finalize the bill.”

“No.”

Claudia arched an eyebrow at him. “No? My lord, I just told you there is nothing more I can do. Continuing with the surveillance will just be more of the same. And an added expense for you.”

“I said before to call me Tensbridge. Give me two more weeks, and I will personally pay you a bonus. With the Galway sisters’ permission, of course.” Yes, he offered a bribe, but he really wanted further observation to ensure his brother did not run afoul of the rookery boss, Danaher. “A few weeks ago, I met the Duke of Chellenham’s older half-brother. He is a detective at the Lancaster Road precinct. Perhaps he can give you information on the criminal element in the area. His name is Mitchell Simpson.”

“I am already aware of the criminal element. The rookery boss tried to recruit me to be one of his girls working on Bangor Street. He was not best pleased when I turned him down. That is another reason I am not keen to return to The Piggeries. My disguises would have to be more intricate.”

Jesus. She had a run-in with Danaher? “Then forget I even requested it. I do not want to place you in any danger.”

Her mouth quirked. “I am in danger the moment I step foot into that area; anyone is. I can handle myself. In fact, I will continue for two more weeks. I will gain Eleanora’s acceptance of the deal. And I agree to the bonus. However, it will be just between us. I will require twenty pounds. Is that satisfactory, Tensbridge? Shall we shake on it?”

God, she was fierce. 

His admiration for her grew, as well as his desire. 

He held out his hand across the table. “Then, it is a deal.”