Chapter 15
Oliver was not well. He might not have a raging fever, but he felt queasy, his muscles ached. The tiny bits of food he had consumed churned in his stomach like a ship caught in a storm. They must have been down here over twelve hours, perhaps closing in on eighteen or twenty-four hours. It was difficult to tell.
If the knife cut had nicked his colon or kidney, he would be dead by now. But it was apparent the injury developed a minor infection. And it would worsen if they did not escape their hiding place. What did he know of medical matters? Next to nothing. Oliver drew conclusions from books and articles he had read. There is no basis in fact.
Holding Claudia in his arms made him forget his wound and all it entailed, at least temporarily. She had cried quietly until she fell asleep. Oliver smoothed her hair from her forehead until she stirred. Her story had touched him deeply, and he understood there was more to it. What transpired once she escaped to the East End? How did she meet up with her group of ladies? Is that where she met the owner of The Velvet Vine?
Whatever the rest of her story, it was up to her to share it. Oliver would not pester her. But one conclusion he came to: Oliver wanted to see more of her, be with her. Smitten is a word that came to mind. Infatuated. Enamored. Whatever adjective fit, he felt it.
Claudia yawned and snuggled closer, causing his erection to harden further. He was injured and feeling nauseous, yet still aroused. The intimacy they had shared, all in the dark confines of a stone cellar, was part of it. His attraction toward her was not only physical—far from it. When they finally escaped, would that closeness continue in the world above ground? Oliver wanted it to endure—and grow.
“Why be The Sentinel?” she asked softly.
“Detective Simpson recently asked the same question.” Oliver repeated what he had told the detective and the man’s succinct response.
“I think the detective is right. It is a little of all your thoughts on the matter.”
“Yes. It certainly isn’t any particular incident; it was more of seeing and hearing what occurs in the slums. While attending university, my family volunteers at one of the family initiative clinics, either medical or legal. It certainly opened my eyes. I decided I wanted to be of more help than a few hours a week in a free clinic. So, I made a study of vigilantes, not that there is written history, but they have been part of oral history for centuries.”
Oliver chuckled. “Or maybe it is just a song or ballad passed down, like Robin Hood, which may or may not be fiction. But in asking around, I heard tales of ‘phantoms and certain highwaymen’ through the recent decades in London. They were more prevalent before the Metropolitan Police was formed in ’29. Not so much now. I’m young and fit, why not use it for good? There is time enough to sit in smoky rooms at Westminster and craft laws. I wanted to make a difference—now.”
“That is all fascinating, and what you just described and what you told the detective—is all part of it. It makes me admire you all the more. But perhaps boredom may be an inducement as well.”
Oliver frowned. “That makes me sound shallow, that the other reasons are trifling.”
“They are far from trifling. In fact, I believe you wish to do good more than anything. That is obvious. But you cannot deny those with money, title, and power become jaded easily.”
Claudia wasn’t wrong on that score. How many times had The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park sat around the table, expounding on the tedium of their lives? Couldn’t boredom be the primary motive for their group in the first place? They were rather arrogant, but most of them were peers, after all. Egotistical thoughts were part of the makeup. And having no purpose in life.
“Perhaps your brother is bored,” Claudia continued. “Instead of focusing his restless energy on doing something worthwhile, he internalized.”
“Internalized? I have never heard it put that way.”
“I don’t know why I said that. I do not think it is even a proper word. But it fits. You said your brother was spoiled. Bryan chose a self-seeking path despite his affectionate upbringing and fine examples of altruistic family members. How to coax him from that route may be daunting.”
Daunting, indeed.
The family may have to hold an intervention. Another generation of Wollstonecrafts cloistered away at the sanitorium? It may come to that. Could it be a familial weakness passed through the generations? Could such personality quirks or traits be passed on?
“You said before your grandfather was and is your hero. That in his youth, he suffered an opium addiction.”
How interesting her question mirrored his thoughts. “Yes, as I said, he turned his life around. He went undercover in a cotton mill as a supervisor, and all the information he gathered assisted in crafting better labor laws for women and children toiling under hazardous circumstances. He met my grandmother, a nurse, at the sanitorium and later at the mill. It is a love story for the ages.”
“So you are The Sentinel for that reason as well. To be like your grandfather, who you admire and love. To honor his memory.”
Yes, that also could be another motivation. Oliver hadn’t made the connection before, but it fit. Aidan Wollstonecraft was and still is his hero, as Claudia said. His sudden death hit the family hard. It was the first time Oliver had seen his father break down and sob uncontrollably.
“I spoke in jest about tying your brother to the roof of the carriage and taking him to Kent,” Claudia said, tearing him from his thoughts. “But you may have to do exactly that. And soon. I overheard a conversation at Olivia’s afternoon tea.”
Claudia told of Shinwell’s mother washing her hands of him. That he had been a hellion since birth. Yes, he would sink—and take Bryan with him. Perhaps Oliver should approach the Duke of Coldbridge. He was Christian, the Duke of Allenby’s stepfather, and a decent sort. The duke wanted to ensure that his second son, Rome, did not become collateral damage along with Bryan—something to consider if he ever gets out of this quandary.
“Drastic action may be the ultimate outcome. As soon as we are out of this predicament, I will talk with Allenby about how to approach his stepfather, Coldbridge, regarding his son’s involvement with Shinwell.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the conversation, but Oliver remained determined to do it to keep his mind off the rolling waves of pain coiling through him.
“How long do you plan to keep it up? Being The Sentinel,” Claudia asked, bringing him back to the present conversation again.
“I have not given it much thought. As long as I am physically capable of doing so. I am trying to recruit my cousin to join. And I probably should not have revealed that. I will keep it up until I satisfy whatever empty part inside of me urged me to take this up in the first place. I thought it prudent to remain anonymous, and this seemed like the perfect solution.”
“Why all the leather?”
“It makes for ease of movement. I saw a photograph of men in the wilds of the American West wearing leather vests, long coats called dusters, and leather coverings over their trousers. I paid a saddle maker good money to craft a similar outfit I designed.”
“How clever. And it is smart to stay anonymous. And if your cousin joins you, that secret is also safe with me. Are there any other reasons for doing this?” Claudia asked, wholly absorbed in their conversation.
“Well, as I mentioned, I help people in real time. It is infinitely more satisfying than working on legislation that may take years. I try not to obsess over it, for I cannot help everyone. Oh—Christ!” Oliver yelled, biting his lip. The pain that trundled through him caused his vision to blur.
Claudia sat upright. “No more conversation. You need help now. I have been working on a plan. Hear me out,” she whispered as she laid the blanket over him, tucking it under his chin. “I will change into those laborer clothes in the trunk and head to the police precinct and locate Simpson. I will ask him to do a raid in The Piggeries, inspect houses and the like, and even arrest a few of Danaher’s men, make a real show of it. Simpson and two constables will enter this building, and two will walk out. One of them will be you.”
“How?”
“Simpson can smuggle in a uniform for you to change into. It means you must walk out as if you are not injured. As for the uniformed copper, he can slip out and join another group of constables.”
“Danaher’s men might be watching the rear of the courtyard; they may catch you before you can even put this plan into motion. And it is a good one.”
She is utterly magnificent.
Especially when her beautiful hazel eyes sparkled with excitement and interest.
“Thank you. Perhaps I should wait until the sun goes down, but it is best I go now. As I said earlier, you can bet others have noticed that we have been missing all night. I am sure your servants and your cousin are aware, and so are Edwina Callen and The Galway Agency.”
“Then, I am obliged to marry you since we have been alone all night,” he smiled shakily.
Claudia gave him a dubious look. “You are jesting, surely.”
“If this were 1806, society would insist. My honor as a gentleman would brook no argument. Also, and more importantly, your reputation must be protected.”
Claudia chuckled. “Now I know you are kidding. I have no reputation to protect.”
Still, why in hell had he mentioned it? It must be the fever. Somewhere, deep inside of him, that germination of an idea, silly or not, took a foothold in his mind.
“Let’s be serious,” Claudia stated firmly. “Perhaps family and acquaintances have coppers looking for us right now. They all know I have been to Notting Dale, and so does your cousin. This would be the logical place to look. I have to try and get assistance. You require immediate medical attention.”
“What if Danaher and his men apprehend you? Perhaps we should just stay put. Simpson knows of this hiding place.”
Claudia shook her head. “But Simpson doesn’t know that we are missing.”
Oliver’s mind was in a whirl, his thoughts jumbled. “He doesn’t know—yet. I told Rett about Simpson. Maybe he will seek out the detective.”
“That is a big if. And it may take more time than we can spare.”
The flame in the oil lamp flickered. Oliver cast a glance toward it. “There is only a little oil left.”
“All the more reason for me to leave. There is hardly any food or water remaining. We cannot stay down here any longer.” Not waiting for his reply, Claudia tore off her tattered gown and tossed it aside. Wearing nothing but a thin chemise and frayed drawers, his heart hitched at her luscious curves. Strapped to her thigh was her knife, tucked away in its holder. He moaned at the glorious sight of her.
“Are you in pain?”
“Of a sort,” Oliver croaked, growing aroused. “Is it wrong of me to admire your beauty again, but most of all, your courage?”
Her look softened. “No, it’s not wrong. I am quite gratified that you find me attractive.”
“Is it reciprocated?” Be damned if he sounded emotionally susceptible.
She dropped to her knees before him, cupping his face with her hands. “Oh, yes. It most definitely is.” Claudia leaned in and kissed him. That touch of her lips, the warmth and softness, gave Oliver a brief spurt of energy. He hungrily devoured her mouth, his tongue slipping in and tangling with hers. She froze momentarily at the ferociousness of his kiss but then dove in, giving everything back and more.
Oliver had kissed his share of young ladies. But this? Beyond all his expectations. Earth-shattering. Utterly splendid. He tunneled his fingers through her glorious hair, which was as silky as he had imagined. Moaning, he took the kiss deeper, eager to taste her sweetness. A soft sigh escaped the corner of her mouth as she moved her hands into his hair, gently grabbing fistfuls while she enthusiastically kissed him in return. Passion existed deep within Claudia. Of that, there was no doubt. He wanted more, oh so much more. Then, as if a puncture had deflated a balloon, Oliver fell back on the pallet, weakness overtaking him.
“Hell’s bells,” she murmured, brushing her finger across her swollen lips.
“Indeed. We have much more to explore,” Oliver rasped faintly.
Claudia plopped down next to him, pulling him into her arms. His head rested against her breast, and her heart thumped madly, in tune with his. Her fingers tangled in the lock of hair falling across his forehead. Her soothing touch cooled his fevered brow—and aroused him to the point of pain. No other woman ever affected him like this.
“That may not be wise.”
Disappointment shot through him. “I think we make a formidable, splendid match. We would be foolish not to pursue it.”
Claudia kissed his forehead, then gently pushed him aside and stood. She frowned as she collected the garments from the trunk. “What happened down here and what was said, it is best it stays here. You know that.”
Oliver knew nothing of the sort but had no strength to argue the point.
She turned away, removing the knife holder, then pulled on the trousers and rolled up the cuffs. Claudia tore off the chemise, wrapped it around her chest, and hurriedly dressed in the flannel shirt and wool coat. Tying her hair in a knot, she tucked it up under the workman’s peaked cap. She then pulled up the trouser leg and strapped on the knife holder.
“I am about seven inches over five feet, tall enough to pass for the height of most men. Once outside, I’ll smudge dirt on my face and hands.” Claudia faced him. “How do I look?”
“Eminently kissable.”
Claudia crossed her arms and huffed. “You are incorrigible. You are not going to let this go, are you?”
“About the solid and lasting bond forming between us? No, I will not let it go. You should know it now: I can be a stubborn bloke.” Oliver paused. “If anything were to happen to you—don’t go. Do not leave me.” Now, he certainly sounded pitiable, but Oliver was more afraid of her well-being than his selfish needs.
“I know these streets. I lived in this area for close to two years. Danaher and his men will not catch me.” Then she gave him a teasing wink. “I promise I will be careful.”
“Listen. Simpson may not be at the station, as he mentioned working night shifts. He is staying in rented rooms not far from here. Go there first.” He gave Claudia the address. “Say The Sentinel sent you.”
Claudia picked up the near-empty water jug and placed it in his shaking hands. “Be prudent with the water.” Then she handed him a tin. “There is a little cheese and a biscuit left. Please nibble at it. You must keep your strength up. I will return, I promise.” She brought over the bucket to him. “Do you need to urinate?”
“I can manage,” he croaked. “Douse the lamp before you go.”
She did, and darkness covered them like a cloak.
“Make certain the coppers clear this place out. There should be no clues left as to our identities,” Oliver croaked. His throat was killing him, and fatigue was again rolling over him.
“Yes. Of course.” Claudia took a step toward the stairs. Then halted. “If anything were to happen to you—please stay safe.” Then she ran back to him and kissed him hard on the lips. She was gone before he could muster any semblance of stamina to kiss her in return.
* * *
Edwina Callen paced back and forth in the Duke of Chellenham’s drawing room. Althea sat beside her duke fiancé on the sofa, her bandaged leg resting on a pillowed stool.
“I have only known Claudia briefly, but she would not stay out all night and the next morning without sending word. Miss Althea, you made that stipulation quite clear in our training,” Edwina declared.
“Yes, I certainly did. Always let others know where you are,” Althea replied. “What has Claudia told you?”
“I last saw her at afternoon tea yesterday. She mentioned she was about to head to Notting Dale to follow her subject. She always returned around one or two in the morning on previous nights. Sometimes, I waited up for her. Last night, I was too tired and went to bed around half past eleven. When I arose in the morning, I saw her door was shut and assumed she was sleeping late as she had been since accepting this case.” Edwina wrung her hands in agitation. “Oh, if only I had checked earlier!”
Althea could not help but be worried. This is the first time someone from their agency has not checked in. “Her subject is Bryan Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge’s younger brother, correct?”
Yes, it is,” Edwina replied.
“I should head to Oliver’s and see if he knows anything,” Damon interjected.
Althea held out her hand, and Damon took it and squeezed it assuredly. What would she have done without this beautiful man by her side these past weeks? He was with her every step of the way during her operation and continued recovery. When the kindly Doctor Stevenson initially told her that she might have to use the cane for a few years, Damon held her as she cried out her crushing disappointment. Thankfully, that feeling passed, for many had it worse off.
Damon had reassured her that all would be well and that she could continue with her investigative agency. And so far, that had come to pass. Althea felt more robust each day and eager to begin her new life, blending being a duchess with her professional life. It would be a challenge, but one she happily accepted.
And Damon’s much younger half-siblings coming to live with them after their marriage? Althea looked forward to that, too. Damon had already hired a governess and a nurse to assist. The future looked bright, indeed. But back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, by all means, go to Oliver’s. I will go with Edwina to Cleveland Street. We will meet you there.”
Damon kissed her forehead, then headed into the hall, shouting for the butler and footmen.
Althea’s brows knotted in worry. Claudia’s first solo case, what if she had run afoul of some nefarious criminals? The agency never had any dealings with Notting Dale before. Perhaps they should have canvassed the area more thoroughly before sending in a novice.
Enough doubting.
The young woman was confident, capable, and resourceful if Althea gained anything from her initial interview and subsequent dealings with Claudia Ellingford.
Hopefully, there will be a logical explanation for her absence.
Althea stood, leaning on her cane for assistance. “Come, Edwina. We will locate her. Let us go to Cleveland Street and start the investigation.”
Nothing will happen to Claudia, not while Althea drew breath.