Chapter 23

 

 

 

Jedi Danaher sat and brooded in a small room at the rear of the Black Moon Pub. Since the raid three days ago, he had moved about constantly, hiding in case the police returned to the area and tried to flush him out.

But they hadn’t. The coppers hadn’t discharged his men as yet, either. Because of that, Jedi did not dare head to the station to talk to his connection within the precinct. 

He hated darting about like a rat, keeping to the shadows, but he had no choice until he had a handle on the particulars of the situation.

Cillian burst into the room. “I know who The Sentinel is.”

“Well, spit it out!”

“That copper, Detective Sergeant Simpson. The new bloke at the station.”

Jedi snorted skeptically. “Give over. Who told you that tale?”

Cillian sat opposite, laying his peaked cap on the table before him. “No one. I figured it out myself. Think about it. That copper just transferred in about the same time that masked nutter started showing up in Notting Dale. This Sentinel beat up Charlie and later rescued some nob walking along the street—right after Simpson’s arrival. And get this, he works a lot of night shifts.”

Jaysus.

Jedi recalled hearing of the attack on the man in the street. Unfortunately, the assault did not come from any of his men but from vagrants passing through Notting Dale to points unknown. So, there was no way to check up on the incident since it was hearsay instead of tangible information. 

Back to his son’s declaration. Could it be the copper? What Cillian said made sense. But wait. “I sliced the Sentinel bloke good and proper. And yet, Simpson raids Notting Dale? Why? I saw him marching about, giving orders. He didn’t look incapacitated to me.” Jedi frowned. “Unless the man giving orders wasn’t Simpson at all. We need a good description of him. I will find out as soon as I can speak to my police contact.”

Cillian shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t slice him as bad as you thought. He’s injured enough that he can’t leap about buildings but well enough to work as a copper.”

Maybe. “So why raid Notting Dale?”

“To rescue Ellingford. That bitch said the coppers would come if we didn’t let her go. We had her in that room for hours. When she didn’t show up, the coppers swooped in. I will bet you she knows who The Sentinel is.”

Jedi rubbed his forehead, his usually agile mind trying to process this information. Some of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Did Claudia know? Jedi could have sworn she told him the truth about not knowing the vigilante’s identity. But she was a clever piece, and no mistake. But if The Sentinel was Simpson, why rescue Claudia and not vice versa? Why would she come back to Notting Dale? Was it to follow some toff as she said?

“Remember, Charlie said he saw a red-haired woman bundled into a police wagon. Who else could it be but this Ellingford?” Cillian absently touched the gauze bandage on the side of his face. “And the night Charlie was attacked? That vigilante was seen running with a woman. What if it was Ellingford with another wig?”

“Still angry Claudia got a slice in?” Jedi cackled. Then he sobered. “When I spoke to Charlie about it earlier, he couldn’t say whether the masked eejit was with a woman. But good work, Cillian. I mean it. You’ve impressed me. Who knows, you may be right. On the other hand, it’s a lot of ‘ifs.’ Here’s what we do. Claudia said she worked for an investigative agency. Sniff around. You will find agency ads in the newspapers. See if any redheaded women work for them and report back.”

“Fair enough. And what about Simpson?”

“Leave him to me. I’ll find out what he looks like and go from there. When the men are released, we will post them at every street, alley, and courtyard.” Jedi paused. “Once they are posted, I want every toff who comes into my territory brought to me. There is some connection here, and I aim to find it.”

A copper as a vigilante? 

It seemed absurd at first blush, but the more Jedi thought about it, the more it made sense. He had heard the oral history of vigilantes, especially in decades past. The vigilante group formed in Whitechapel in ’88 during the Jack the Ripper murder spree was one of the more recent ones. It seems strange that one pops up in Notting Dale. Maybe this detective couldn’t get his fellow coppers to enter Notting Dale, so he decided to police the area—anonymously.

In days past, Jedi often allowed his emotions to cloud common sense. Not this time. He would gather evidence before acting. 

No one threatened him or his domain—police detective or not. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Oliver tapped on the connecting door and then entered. Claudia was packing her small case. Miss Callen had brought Claudia a carpetbag with clothing and other essentials yesterday.

Four days had passed since they were rescued from the cache, and although he was walking about, he still wasn’t quite fully recovered. Since the night they cuddled together in his bed, he and Claudia had not much opportunity to talk further. 

He leaned against the wall. “I believe it best that you stay.”

Claudia turned to face him. “You are far too tempting and too much of a distraction.”

That statement gave him a little hope, at least. “I will not keep you here against your will, but what do you suppose Danaher is doing at this moment?”

Claudia returned to her packing. “Checking out various investigative agencies. Looking for me. For he believes I will lead him to The Sentinel.”

“You cannot return to Cleveland Street. Not yet, as it is not safe. We need to formulate a plan of attack.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Attack?”

“Yes. We cannot hide forever. Danaher should be seen to.”

Claudia continued with her packing. “That is the police’s job. Not ours.”

Oliver strode toward her, gently clasped her arm, and swung her about to face him. “Why are you running from me?”

She gazed up at him. “You know what will happen if I stay. I cannot complicate my life.”

Oliver grazed the back of his fingers along her flushed cheek. “There is more to it than that. Something you are not telling me. Do not turn from this—from us.” Carefully and slowly, he cupped her cheeks, waiting for her to protest. She didn’t.

Oliver nibbled on her lower lip, and she opened in invitation. He took the kiss deeper in increments, tilting his head slightly as his tongue clashed with hers. Briefly, she returned his growing passion until Claudia stepped back, placing a hand against his chest as if to place distance between them.

“We need to stop,” she whispered.

“Do we?”

“I agree that I cannot return to Cleveland Street. Olivia invited me to stay with her and Gideon. I think I should. Please understand. What is happening between us? It’s too much. Emotional overload. There. I am admitting a weakness.”

“Emotions are not a weakness,” Oliver stated, fighting to keep his disappointment in check.

“You have said that before. Maybe not to you, but to me, it is. We need time and space apart. All right, I need it.” Claudia exhaled unsteadily. “I know you want more from me, both physically and emotionally. I thought I was incapable of giving any portion of myself to anyone. Part of me wants to throw myself into your arms, but another—is scared witless. There. I admit that, too. I cannot move forward until I understand what is happening inside me.”

“I am to have hope, then?” Oliver asked quietly.

“Perhaps.” Claudia snapped the case shut. “Please respect my wishes.” 

Oliver stepped in reverse. “I will respect your wishes. All I ask is that you do not completely dismiss the bond between us. It is more than shared trauma. At least, to me.”

Dalton knocked, then entered. “My lord, the Duke of Allenby and the Duke of Chellenham are downstairs. They ask for an audience with both you and Miss Ellingford.”

Great timing, Oliver fumed inwardly. 

But timing had not been on their side from the beginning. Oliver knew that if Claudia had no interest in him whatsoever, she would have said so—right to his face. The fact she asked for time to think lightened his heart—at least a little bit.

He yanked the ties of his dressing gown tighter across his waist. He wore trousers and a shirt underneath, appropriate enough to greet his friends. “Will you join us? It no doubt concerns the case.”

“Yes, but I must leave right after. Olivia is expecting me.”

“Of course. I will have my driver take you.” He held out his arm to indicate that she go through the door first.

Once out into the hallway, Claudia turned to face him. “Did I sound too cold and dismissive? I do not mean to be. Truly, I don’t. Not with you.” She gazed up at him. Her eyes had softened. “I am not turning away you, not really. I need a little time.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “It is fine, Claudia. I understand. Time you want, time you shall have.”

“You were right. That is not the only reason.” Claudia took a shuddering breath. “I want—need—to protect you. If anything ever happened to you, if Danaher got to you through me, I-I would die and—”

Oliver pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. His heart soared at her heartfelt confession. He tasted every inch of her sweet mouth. Claudia threw her arms around his neck and enthusiastically kissed him in return. This continued for several moments, but they reluctantly broke apart when they heard voices below the stairs. With a smile, Oliver brushed the pad of his thumb across her swollen and well-kissed lips. “You have given me hope.”

Claudia took his hand and kissed it before releasing it. Then she slipped her arm through his. “Let us help each other down the stairs.”

Despite her protestations, Claudia cared for him—more than she realized. But he would never dismiss her hesitation and fright, for it was real and deeply felt. He respected her too much to make demands. They slowly and carefully made their way to Oliver’s study, where the men waited.

“We could have come to you,” Christian said as they entered the room.

“We need to be up and moving about,” Oliver replied as he gingerly sat on the sofa. Claudia sat next to him but at a slight distance. 

“We have some information regarding Shinwell and his father,” Damon said as he sat opposite. “The Earl of Darrington’s fortunes are not as robust as believed. He did sell the unentailed viscount residence recently, as you suspected. The very one your brother and the others are staying in. The earl worked out a reduced rent for his son.”

“As for the earl’s past, we discovered Darrington smuggled opium, at least before the law changed in ’68. But that money ran out long ago,” Christian interjected. “Rumor has it he has his fingers in numerous schemes, including smuggling other goods besides opium.”

“But why?” Oliver asked, puzzled. “Since free trade agreements were brought forth in the ‘40s and beyond, it all but eradicated illegal smuggling.”

“Not for some items. Like cheap French wine. That is the main product the earl traffics in,” Damon replied. “There are also rumors he deals in stolen goods and is involved with the criminal element. With whom and to what extent, we do not know.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Oliver scoffed.

“And Shinwell?” Claudia asked.

“Besides the fact he cheats at cards?” Christian replied. “Shinwell is an arrogant, indolent leech, spending his father’s money faster than the earl can make it. He also attends orgies. Shinwell attended the late Duke of Chellenham’s last sordid function. He’s been bragging about it openly.”

“Good Christ,” Damon shuddered. “Sorry, Miss Ellingford.”

“I’ve heard worse, Your Grace,” Claudia replied. “Your reaction is entirely appropriate.”

“I have further gossip to share about Shinwell,” Christian interjected. “The Countess of Darrington’s orphaned niece, Celia Gillingham, came to stay with them some years back. She is the daughter of the late Sir Anthony Gillingham, a baronet. He and his wife were lost at sea when the girl was ten. Anyway, the three-years-older Shinwell wouldn’t leave the girl alone. She had to be sent away to school before anything untoward transpired.”

“That deviant reprobate,” Damon snarled. “Where is the niece now?”

“My mother said Countess Darrington hasn’t mentioned her for some time. I can task my mother with finding out if it is important,” Christian replied.

“Wait,” Claudia interrupted. “In the conversation I overhead at the afternoon tea, the countess said her niece was married and had moved away. Because of that, the countess would probably holiday in Italy come winter.”

“Well done. I don’t believe we need further information on the niece. Thank you both for the data. I would say this portion of the investigation is ending,” Oliver stated. “Rett and I have a plan on what to do next.”

Claudia stood. “On that note, I will take my leave. Olivia is expecting me. No need to get up, gentlemen. I will collect my bag and see Dalton about the carriage. Good afternoon.”

Oliver watched Claudia depart.

“Oh, you have it bad,” Damon tsked after Claudia closed the door. “I am certain I showed that same yearning look on my face after spending time on my case with Althea. As did Christian, if memory serves.”

“She is going to Olivia and Gideon’s to ‘take time to think.’ We haven’t had a chance to explore the attraction between us, with recovering from our injuries—outside of a few heated kisses.”

“And how do you feel?” Christian asked. “Or tell us to shut it if it is none of our business.”

“I do not feel whole unless she is in my arms. My heart doesn’t beat. And—”

“Tell Claudia, at least do it soon,” Damon interrupted. “Althea asked for time, and now we are engaged. Be patient. I have a feeling it will all work out for everyone.”

Yes, he could wait. But it was more than beating hearts, yearning, and the like. 

Oliver was falling in love. There was no mistake.