Chapter Twenty-two
Evans Principle #z: Revel in your successes. Even the smallest of them is worth celebrating.
The next morning couldn’t come soon enough. He hadn’t slept a moment, keeping watch over her from an armchair by the bed. He guessed from her breathing that she hadn’t slept either. As soon as they’d entered the shop, it was clear that she hadn’t reasoned through her choices. There was only one bed—hers—and in a cramped bedroom with barely space for one of the chairs from the sitting room, wedged between the bed and the wardrobe. Until he brought in the chair, she seemed hesitant. He could see desire warring with duty—glazed with a layer of exhaustion. But he’d made a tacit vow to himself that this night would be all platonic innocence. His protection mattered, not his bodily urges . . . or hers. So he planted himself in the wooden chair, propped his stockinged feet on the edge of the mattress, and reassured her that she could sleep soundly without fear of disturbance.
The disappointment in her eyes nearly broke his resolve.
Before he could move, she slipped under the covers fully clothed. She reached for his hand, which he gave readily. Perhaps she was as desperate as he to maintain contact. Hours passed as they simply held hands. Infinitesimally, the room brightened as the gray dawn approached. At the sound of the first street vendors, they both gave up the pretense of sleep.
The sound of a door and light, hurried footsteps had them both standing and tense in a moment. Minnie’s voice gave Honoria only a tiny modicum of ease. It wasn’t an intruder, but her voice still conveyed alarm.
“Miss Honoria! You must help! Miss Honoria, are you in? Please help!”
They both rushed down the stairs to meet the poor, breathless girl. She must have run much of the way from the apartment she and Erich shared.
“What is the matter, Miss Hearsh?”
She hated that both she and Minnie were in such a state, both so close to hysteria, so in need of Alex’s authoritative direction.
“It’s Erich! He’s gone after them! He left me a note this morning! You must help him!”
“Who, Minnie? Did he say exactly who he went after? We tried Peaseblossom House yesterday, but it’s been deserted. Where did he go?”
“His note only said that he has gone to make things right. Here! Please tell me you can figure out where he’s gone!”
Alex scanned the note quickly before handing it to her. What Minnie said was no understatement. Erich’s writing left no clues, only a terse vow. It sounded like a good-bye from someone on a suicidal mission.
“The only connection I have left is Withersby. I will see him immediately,” he said, tense and determined.
“I am going with you,” Honoria said, just as firmly.
“If I thought I could convince you otherwise, I would. Just give me a few moments to send word to some friends, powerful friends, and to my brother.”
After sending a handful of notes out with his footmen and making sure Minnie was secure in the shop, they set off for Withersby’s office. Honoria felt no inclination to inform Devin of the pistol hidden in her skirt, the gift Marissa had left in her closet. With any luck, it would not be needed.
She entered Withersby’s office alone, marching past his assistant’s desk with a quick “Your employer will want to see me.” Abruptly, she halted just inside the door when she found the man she assumed to be Mr. Withersby prone on his desk, face and chest bloodied, being attended to by a physician. His assistant closed the door behind her.
“Is he—?” she hesitated. “Is he seriously injured?”
“Mr. Withersby has taken quite a beating. I expect he’ll be in a bit of pain, but I’ve found no broken bones or internal injuries to speak of. Are you a family member? He’ll need some care and attention for the next few days.”
She swallowed the caustic response that flashed through her mind and simply said, “No, I don’t know him. I came here on business.”
“I am afraid he is in no condition to conduct business. You shall have to call again when he has recovered.”
“I’m afraid that is insupportable. I need to speak with him immediately, regarding a matter of utmost seriousness and urgency.”
“I cannot allow that, madam.”
Honoria drew herself up and determined that it was time to speak plainly.
“I have reason to believe Mr. Withersby was attacked because he has knowledge of a group profiting from the production and distribution of obscene photography, particularly featuring children.” At the physician’s horrified expression, she nodded grimly. “Furthermore, the subjects used for this iniquity are being held captive, forced to endure untold manner of degradation. And I believe Mr. Withersby can tell me where to find these unfortunates and these monstrous villains. He must say so.”
The man looked from her to Mr. Withersby, who had yet to show any sign that he was aware of the conversation. Except Withersby’s hand had moved, she was sure. His right hand now lay over his heart, fingers curled under in a loose fist. When she looked back at the physician, his face was pale.
“He is, um, indisposed, madam, as you can plainly see. He—I—uh, I cannot allow you to subject him to any unpleasantness.”
Only then did it occur to her that this physician might be embroiled in this degenerate business as well. She went to open the door, noticing the doctor’s obvious relief at her assumed departure, and signaled Lord Devin to join her. It was with some satisfaction that she caught the panicked recognition on the man’s face, before he bowed awkwardly. With a sense of pride, she stood by Alex’s side, feeling a deep sense of partnership in this effort. Lying on the desk, Withersby moaned once but made no move.
“Dr. Horwith, I believe. You may recall we met last year when Mr. Withersby’s sister suddenly took ill while visiting him here at the office.”
The physician nodded slowly, darting glances at his patient.
“So, sir,” Devin continued. “Approximately how long have you served as Mr. Withersby’s private assistant?”
Of course. They might not be able to get Withersby to cooperate, but such an operation might need the services of a physician occasionally. Her stomach rolled as her mind shied away from the dark possibilities of what might cause need for a physician under those circumstances. But if he knew anything about these pornographers and their victims, the two of them would drag it out of him. For heaven’s sake, she would resort to acts that would damn her soul if it would help them rescue the forsaken.
Reluctant as he may have been at first, Dr. Horwith proved to be remarkably helpful and direct, almost as if he’d been longing to confess his sins. While she didn’t discount the possibility of a trap, his manner appeared in earnest and his admissions rather graphic. Besides, Devin seemed unperturbed, which was enough to reassure her that things were well in hand. That is, until they arrived at the dubious address in Whitechapel.
Dr. Horwith secured them entrance, claiming Devin was a foreign physician studying venereal diseases and she his assistant. A servant, a young girl whose face was dirtied by perhaps ash or, Honoria feared, old bruises, hurried them into an empty sitting room, claiming someone was badly injured and in need of immediate attention.
It took her a moment to realize that the pile of rags on the floor was, in fact, Erich. She rushed to his side and found his face bloody and swollen almost past recognition. If it hadn’t been for a birthmark on his neck that was remarkably untouched, she might not have been able to confirm it was him. His entire body was disturbingly slack. When the servant brought a bowl of water and some linens, she gently cleaned his face and was relieved to hear him groan, to be assured that he was alive, at least for the moment. There was hope.
That fleeting hope died a sharp stabbing death when a stampede of heavy footfalls approached the room. Devin placed himself directly in front of her and therefore in front of Erich. It was a gesture for which she would be forever grateful, assuming they survived whatever was approaching.
Five men entered the room. From her kneeling position by Erich and partially obscured by Devin, she could not see much of them. The two in front seemed roughly dressed and were carrying clubs. Two near the door were dressed more formally; they could have entered the House of Lords without a stir. Of the fifth man, all she could see were muddy trousers and boots. Then she felt, somehow, Devin tense—and she heard the fifth man speak.
“Never thought I’d have the bad luck to see you again, milord.”
The man who broke into the shop. They’d come full circle. If there was any need for confirmation that they were in the right place, this was it. A dark, red emotion surged through her, causing her scalp to tingle. A copper-tinged bitterness flooded her mouth. She gripped the handle of the pistol in her skirt pocket, determined that he would not live to leave this building.
Without conscious thought, she stood. Devin tried to pull her close behind him, shielding her body with his, but she refused to be subdued. Instead, she stepped in front of him, touching his sleeve as if to keep him in place, and said, “You cannot get away with your depravity. I will see to it that you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for your abuse and indecent exploitation of women and children.”
“Ah, this day is lookin’ up,” said the hooligan from her memory.
She fought hard to suppress the tremor of revulsion that ran through her. The thugs remained emotionless while the well-dressed men behind them laughed.
“My dear woman,” said the man on the left, the one with a blazing golden waistcoat finely embroidered, “you say that as if you believe you will be allowed to leave here alive. Surely, following the trail of bodies like bread crumbs, you must realize there is only one possible conclusion.”
“We are not the only ones who know about this place, about your . . . business,” she said. “Several authorities have been notified. I’m sure they are making their way here as we speak.”
“That is unfortunate. For you.” The Golden Boy looked to the other gentleman and said, “Mr. Smith, please make ready to welcome any additional guests.” The other man quietly stepped out. She feared what these degenerates might have in store to defend against intruders.
“Gentlemen.” Alex drew their attention away from her as he walked slowly toward the center of the room. What on earth was he doing?
“Watch yer step, pup. I already owe you and mean to collect very soon.”
“Gentlemen,” he repeated in an unbelievably reasonable tone, seeming to ignore the brute and address only the leaders behind him, “there must be a way for us to resolve this without bloodshed or assault. Surely, you realize how impossible it would be for you to dispatch a viscount and a respectable merchant without drawing intense scrutiny. As the lady has said, our visit here is widely known. In fact, I have a dossier being held in trust that documents what we can prove of your activities. Sales records from chemist shops throughout the region suggest a pattern and identify a regular purchaser.”
As stunned as she was by his revelation, it was nothing compared to Golden Boy’s reaction. His face drained of color.
“That is impossible,” the man said as he took a step back toward the door. His voice squeaked. The ruffians turned back to him and then to each other for guidance. Clearly, they were disconcerted by their leader’s show of weakness.
“It is not only possible, Lord Feldspar. It is a fact. Your name and that of your associate, along with a hefty file of documentation, have been delivered to Bow Street. The Lexington Company will not be pleased to hear that you have used company funds or staff for such depravity. Silver nitrate is common enough, but when combined with the glassware, paper, and other materials that can be traced back to the same account, the evidence is clear enough.”
When the no-longer-golden Lord Feldspar turned tail and ran out the door, his guards followed close on his tail, hollering that he pay them before he escaped.
With their lives no longer in imminent danger, Honoria’s legs suddenly gave way. The dull thud of the pistol as she sank to the floor drew Alex’s attention.
“Are you all right, Nora? What was that?”
“Ridiculous is what it was. Mrs. Clarke loaned me a pistol. Despite having never fired one before in my life, I thought it might prove useful in this situation.” She gave a sad laugh.
“It could very well have, if Lord Feldspar or his associates had responded differently. Come. Can you stand? We should see if we can find the unfortunates being held captive. My brother should be here soon with reinforcements.”