Chapter Twenty-Five
“It’s been a week since Lord Adler left. Do you think he will ever return for his portrait?” Lily asked, stretching out on the daybed in Emma’s studio and rubbing her eyes.
“I don’t think so, dear,” Emma replied as she added highlights to Simon’s likeness. Without forethought, she pressed her free hand to her chest, where, hidden underneath her dress, Simon’s ring hung from a blue satin ribbon. He might not return for the painting, but surely he would return for the ring. Wouldn’t he? She was starting to doubt it.
“Then why do you continue to work on his portrait?”
Emma wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was penance. Looking at it made her heart ache. Twice during the week, she’d contemplated going to Simon’s residence in Mayfair and telling him the whole truth about that night she and Lily had entered his house. But what good would it do? It might prompt him to make the same offer, and she wasn’t sure she’d say no to becoming his mistress. It was better to stay away from him. Better he hate her.
“He might return for it.” Emma forced her voice to remain even.
“I miss him and Nick,” Lily said, propping a pillow under her head. “Mr. Radcliffe . . . I mean Lord Adler, was topnotch at rolling a trundling hoop, and I was hoping he’d trounce that braggart Timmy Johnson in a race. And Mrs. Flynn misses Mr. Baines. She says she’s angry at him, but I think if he came back, she’d say all was forgiven.”
Emma didn’t wish to talk about it anymore. Tears were already welling up in her eyes as she thought of the empty house across the street.
The room grew shadowed as the sun began to set. She glanced at Lily, who’d grown surprisingly quiet. Her sister appeared to have drifted off to sleep. Quietly Emma washed her tools and moved to the water ewer to clean her hands, only to find it empty.
She draped a blanket over Lily and exited the room with the pitcher. As she descended the steps, the knocker struck the front door.
Simon? Her stomach fluttered. Emma set the ewer on the entry hall table and took several deep breaths. She smoothed her skirt with her damp palms and opened the door.
Two men in wrinkled plaid sack suits stood on the top step. The tall one sported a wide moustache and muttonchops. The setting sun reflected off the man’s hair, slick with pomade. He flashed a gap-toothed grin.
The other caller was shorter, with several days’ worth of stubble and a metal toothpick clamped between his teeth. Without smiling, his gaze traveled a leisurely path down Emma’s body. A licentious grin turned the corners of his lips upward.
Wretched man.
She folded her arms. “May I help you, gentlemen?”
The man with the muttonchops combed his fingers through the coarse hair on his jaw. “Indeed, you may,” he replied with a thick cockney accent. “Is this the residence of Michael Trafford?”
What could these two men want with her brother? “It is. May I ask what this is about?”
The second man scraped the toothpick between his two front teeth. “Is ’e ’ome?”
“No, he’s at . . .” An unsettling feeling gripped her stomach as she thought about Michael’s odd behavior. Best not to reveal where Michael attended school. “No, he’s not, but if you leave me your calling card, I’ll make sure he receives it.”
The fellow with the muttonchops stepped closer to her. The scent of strong cologne and perspiration wafted to her nose. “Now you wouldn’t be lying to us, would you?” He motioned to the man next to him with a jerk of his thumb. “Me friend ’ere don’t take kindly to liars.”
The shorter man plucked the toothpick out from between his lips and ran the sharp, pointed edge down the left sleeve of her dress, applying enough pressure that the edge scraped her skin.
Fear gripping her, Emma started to close the door. The taller man set his hand against the wood, halting its progression.
Mrs. Flynn’s heavy footfalls moved up the steps from below stairs. She strode into the back corridor, which ran from the front door to the rear of the residence. “Who’s at the door, miss?”
Emma swallowed. If Mrs. Flynn thought these men meant Emma any harm, the elder woman’s protective claws would come out, and she doubted the housekeeper was a match for these two brutes. “They have the wrong address. I’m giving them directions. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”
The housekeeper’s retreating footsteps made the air held tight in Emma’s lungs exit on a heavy exhale.
The man lowered his hand from the door and flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Tell your brother we’ll be back, and he best have the money, ’cause Mr. Wolf ain’t take kindly to those who don’t pay ’im back.”
Her throat too tight to speak, Emma nodded and slammed the door closed. Knees wobbling, she slumped against the hard surface. What type of man had such unsavory characters working for him? And how had Michael come to owe the man money?
A noise jerked her gaze to the frosted glass window at the end of the corridor. A dark, shadowy figure stood outside, trying to wrench the lower pane up.
Heart pounding fast, Emma pulled Papa’s old walking stick out of the umbrella stand and raced down the corridor.
The lower sash slid up a couple of inches. A clearly male hand reached in to grasp the bottom of the window. The thundering in Emma’s chest made her ribs hurt. She raised the cane and swung, striking the man’s thumb.
“Hell and fire,” the voice hissed.
She froze. “Michael? Is that you?”
Her brother peered through the opening. His face ashen.
“You all but scared me to death,” she scolded, shoving the sash up. “What’s going on? Who is Mr. Wolf, and why do you owe him money?”
Her brother climbed through the window and grasped his injured thumb. “I’m in trouble, Em.”
“Yes, I realize that. What have you done?”
He scrubbed his hands over his boyish face. “Gambled. Every cent I had and some I didn’t.”
Good Lord. Her temples began to throb. “And now you owe this Wolf fellow?”
Michael stared at the floor and rubbed the toe of his shoe against the dull and scratched wooden planks. He glanced up. Her brother’s face flushed red. “Yes. Some call him the Devil of Danbury Street.”
Emma clutched the bodice of her dress. She now recognized the name. Owing a merciless creditor was frightening enough, but the Devil of Danbury . . . Oh heavens. She’d read about the unsavory man in a recent article in one of the daily papers. It proclaimed him ruthless. Two days after the newspaper published the article, a suspicious fire caused extensive damage to the publisher’s offices. Even the police were leery of the moneylender.
“How much do you owe him?”
Without looking at her, Michael rubbed at his thumb. “Three hundred pounds.”
Her heart skipped several beats. A king’s ransom as far as they were concerned. An unattainable amount.
Fast-moving footsteps charged down the stairs. Lily rubbed at her heavy-lidded eyes and squealed, “Michael! I thought I heard your voice.” The child ran to their brother and wrapped her slender arms about his waist.
Emma took a deep breath and fought the urge to wrap her hands around Michael’s neck, or grab his shoulders and shake him until his eyes rolled in his head. What had he been thinking, gambling such a staggering amount of money? Obviously, he’d not been thinking at all. They didn’t possess such a sum.
“Hey, poppet.” Michael returned Lily’s embrace and kissed the top of her golden head.
“Lower your voices.” Emma stepped into the morning room and pulled the front shutters closed. The two thugs might still be lurking around out front.
Holding Lily’s hand, Michael followed.
“What’s the matter?” Lily frowned.
Mrs. Flynn appeared. Wiping her hands on her apron, the housekeeper stepped into the room. Her gaze volleyed from Michael’s pale face to Emma’s, which was most likely even paler. “What’s wrong?” she asked, a nervous pitch to the older woman’s voice.
Everything. Emma paced. “Lily, please go upstairs for a bit.”
Lily set her hands on her hips. “Why?”
“Because I need to speak to Michael. Alone.”
“But I want to know what’s going on. Why is he home from school again?”
“Come, dearie.” Mrs. Flynn grasped Lily’s hand. “Let your sister talk to your brother in private.”
Grumbling about how unfair Emma was acting, Lily allowed Mrs. Flynn to pull her into the entry hall. The housekeeper closed the double doors behind her.
Emma spun toward her brother. “How long do you have, to get the three hundred pounds to this moneylender?”
Michael shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and stared at his shoes. “I was supposed to pay him yesterday. I came home to warn you that he might send a couple of his thugs here.”
“Indeed, he already did.” She rubbed her arm, which still stung from where the little runt had scraped his metal toothpick down her sleeve.
“Blast it! Did one of them hurt you, Em? I’ll kill them!” Michael rushed to her side.
She stepped away and strode to the other side of the room. “No, I’m fine. I bumped my arm this morning.” She spun back to face him. “Do they know where you attend school? Are you safe there?”
“I believe so.”
Thank God. But the two men would return here. She was sure of it. Then what would she do? Her knees wobbled. Emma sank into a chair and momentarily buried her face in her hands, frightened not only about how she would get the money, but terrified of the harm this wretched Mr. Wolf could inflict on her family.
“I’m sorry, Em,” Michael said, drawing her from her tumultuous thoughts.
She glanced up. “When did this happen? Did you go to a gaming hell?”
“I stopped there on my way back to school after Easter break. My friend . . . you know the one I told you about, Ernest Montgomery. He told me of a pub on St. George Street in Stepney. There’s a back room where one can play cards.”
Goodness! Emma had known Michael getting mixed up with some highborn lad would cause problems. Boys like that lived off their father’s wealth. They didn’t worry where their next coin would come from.
“I thought I’d try my hand at it,” Michael continued. “I did well at first. Doubled my money. Then my luck changed . . . ran dry. A tall man approached me; told me he could see I was a fine player and offered to give me a loan. Said his boss did that for those he thought a good bet. Like him, I was sure my luck would change. Em, if I could have twenty-five pounds, maybe I could win it all back.”
Emma clenched her hands. It appeared Mama had dropped all three of her children on their heads. She stood and jabbed her finger against Michael’s chest. “Promise me you will never gamble again. You were set up.”
Her brother shook his head. “That’s not true. I tell you, I was winning every hand. I-I . . .” He scrubbed his hand over his face and slumped onto the ottoman. “Dash it all. I fell right into their hands. Didn’t I? The perfect pigeon.”
“Is that why you came home over a week ago? To gamble again?”
“I thought I could win some of it back, but I only fell further into debt. When I saw your neighbor outside, I thought one of the Devil’s thugs had found out where I live.”
Now everything made sense. “You must return to school.”
Michael stood and set his hands on his lean hips. “I’m not going, Em. I must take responsibility for my actions. I will go and talk to Mr. Wolf at his place of business on Danbury Street in Spitalfields.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She couldn’t allow Michael to go to this wretched man, or his thugs, without the money. She would figure something out. “You will do no such thing.”
“But—”
She slipped her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. “No. I have nearly enough to pay him, and in a day or two, I’m to receive a commission from a nobleman,” she lied.
Wide-eyed, Michael’s mouth gaped. “God blind me, really?”
“Yes.” She stepped up to the tall secretary desk, stood on the chair before it, and removed a key from the top of the piece of furniture.
As she stepped down, Michael grabbed her elbow to steady her.
She opened the desk, unlocked the small door centered between a series of drawers, and removed her bank passbook. She tried not to frown at the amount. She’d spent all the money from Mrs. Naples. And used a substantial amount of the money Simon had paid for the painting of the family walking in the park. What was left would have lasted them several months until she found another commission, but it didn’t come close to the amount Michael owed.
Forcing a smile, Emma waved the book in the air. “I sold one of my paintings to a wealthy gentleman, and he’s commissioned me to do his portrait, so I shall have the full amount shortly. You need not worry.”
“Thank God.” The relief in Michael’s voice was almost tangible.
“Yes, and the gentleman is so pleased with my work, he intends to send more clients my way shortly.” Lying wasn’t her best skill, but since Lily’s escapade at Simon’s residence, Emma believed she might have perfected her duplicity. “And I’ve sent a note to an art dealer, Mr. Bishop, asking him if I might show him some of my work, so he might send some new clients my way.” At least this was true.
Michael slumped against the wall. His blue eyes shone with unshed tears. He rubbed the heels of his hands against them and looked back at her. “I’m sorry, Em. So sorry. I will pay you back. I promise.”
“Just promise on Mama’s and Papa’s graves that you will never gamble again.”
Standing up straighter, he nodded.
“Good. Now, you must head to Victoria station first thing before daybreak tomorrow morning and return to school.”
He squared his shoulders. “No, I will bring the money to Mr. Wolf.”
“You can’t be serious. It is dangerous. I will wait for his men to return here.” Emma turned away from her brother and slipped the bank passbook back into the secretary desk and locked the small center door. She couldn’t allow Michael to see her balance and know she lied. “I must go to the bank tomorrow, and you must return to school before the headmaster realizes your absence. When the two men return, I’ll give them the funds.”
Emma opened the doors and stepped into the entry hall. “Mrs. Flynn!”
The woman rushed down the stairs.
“Will you pack Michael a small satchel with food? He is to return to school at daybreak.”
The housekeeper’s gaze volleyed between Michael and Emma.
“Please, Mrs. Flynn,” Emma said.
The older woman wiped her thick fingers on her white bibbed apron and nodded.
Emma dashed up the stairs so fast the toe of her shoe caught on her hem. She stumbled and fell forward at the first-floor landing. Her knee rammed against the hard wood. Tears blurred her vision.
Lily stepped out of the drawing room. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She battled to keep her voice calm. “I just tripped.” Emma avoided her sister’s direct gaze and swiped at the tears trailing down her cheeks and righted herself. “Michael must return to school first thing in the morning. You may spend some time with him before you go to bed.”
“What is wrong, Em?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not a fool. I know something is wrong.”
“It shall all be taken care of. You needn’t worry yourself about it. Now go see your brother.” She gave Lily a quick hug and moved up the steps. Emma closed the door to her bedchamber and swiped at a fresh batch of tears.
After allowing herself to cry for a minute, she dragged the cuff of her sleeve across her wet eyes. Crying would not solve this problem. She needed to do something. But what? She glanced down at her aching arm. Several specks of blood spotted the fabric. That little runt had not only meant to frighten her, but hurt her. And he’d succeeded. What would those two thugs do if they caught up to Michael, who didn’t have the funds he owed the moneylender? Too dreadful to think about. On her deathbed, Mama had asked Emma to take care of her siblings. And she would.
She lit the gas lamp on her dresser and flipped open the lid to her mother’s jewelry box. Her fingers brushed against the ruby necklace. The stones might be paste, but if genuine they would be worth a great deal. She removed the necklace, along with Mama’s cameo and gold wedding band.
As soon as Michael left tomorrow, she’d go to the pawnbroker and see what the pieces were worth. Perhaps if she gave the moneylender some of what Michael owed the man, he wouldn’t harm her brother. She undid the top buttons of her dress and touched Simon’s gold signet ring. It weighed quite a bit. How much was it worth? Most likely more than any of the other pieces.
She slumped on the bed and curled her fingers around it. She could pawn it, and when she had enough money, reclaim it. It was wrong, but she couldn’t weigh her moral convictions against her brother’s life.