Chapter 10

TEN

Edward Brill had been born in low circumstances, that was certain. His father had been an itinerant dock worker, though his employment had been spotty as he often preferred to spend his time and money at the pubs rather than looking for work. His mother worked occasionally as a seamstress, stitchingby the light of a single, sputtering candle until her eyesight failed her. The alcohol had killed his father in Edward’s thirteenth year, which was when he had taken up the dock work himself to keep him and his mother fed.

And it was working at the docks, moving between Limehouse, Wapping and St. Katherine’s, that Edward began to develop an affinity for the work. He was strong, tall for his age, and built like a barrel. He was always the first to be picked from the groups of men who would gather every morning to move the cargo from the ships to the warehouses, and it was during this time he grew to see the value, not in the moving of the cargo, but in the value of the cargo itself. Wine from France and Italy, coffee from Africa, sugar and cotton from the Americas – none of it for him, of course, or the people of the East End. No, all this luxury was bound for Mayfair, for Belgravia, for the country estates of the wealthy and aristocratic. And they paid handsomely for it. Most importantly, they paid handsomely to store it. Dozens of massive warehouses, filled to bursting with thousands of pounds’ worth of goods. Edward had been all of sixteen when he and some friends had been caught breaking into one of those warehouses and, rather than allow the threat of the police being called to spoil their fun, had threatened the owner of the warehouse that he had better keep quiet or they would return and do far worse than steal.

Their little enterprise grew from there. Soon, they were extracting money not just from the many warehouses around the dockyards; they were protecting shops, factories, pubs… And not just from the other gangs who fought for control of their territory but from them, as well. For a price, of course.

The profit allowed his aging, nearly blind mother to retire from her sewing work. And he liked that. He brought in more people, other men he worked with side by side each day, and soon there was hardly a business in all of the East End who did not make a monthly payment to the growing group of men and women he had dubbed the Limehouse Gang, named for the dock where they had their humble beginnings. It had taken many years, many threats, and countless bribes to the few policemen who dared to try to investigate, but they were soon one of the most successful gangs in the whole of the country.

And then he had met Lizzie. And she turned his world upside down.

She was the daughter of a publican, one of many who paid the Limehousers to protect his business. It was a job that, despite the questionable morality of their methods, they took very seriously. No other gangs dared encroach upon the businesses they protected, and there reigned a long, if somewhat fraught, peace for many years. And then Lizzie came along, and he wanted to be with her more than anything. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and her smile rivalled that of the sun for its brightness. But she wanted nothing to do with him. Of course, she didn’t. He and his gang had spent years siphoning money from her father’s business, a business that was not exceptionally lucrative to begin with. He could have forced her – he possessed enough power to do so – but he didn’t want her that way.

He ended the protection payments for her father. But she would still have nothing to do with him. She asked him, what of all the other businesses locked in this arrangement, struggling every month to pay the bills, to feed their children, to keep a roof over their heads? Could he not see what damage his gang was doing to the people? Did he not want better for the men and women who had come from the same low circumstances into which he had been born?

And Edward learned, if he was to earn the love of this miraculous woman, he would need to change. And he did. It took time and many of his men were unhappy with his newfound benevolence, until he showed them that there was a better way to make a living. He opened his own businesses and employed those same men to run them, and then opened schools for their children. Edward, with Lizzie now by his side as his wife, wanted more for the people under him. He did not rule through violence or threat; he was beloved by his people. And if anyone stepped out of line and threatened them, well… he wasn’t afraid to administer suitable punishment.

And thus, he spent two wonderful years with Lizzie, working with her and all of the Limehouse Gang to improve their lot in life. But it was not enough. After a particularly cold winter, a virulent strain of typhoid swept through the docklands, and it took his Lizzie. For a long time, he was angry, as he had been in his youth, and it seemed pointless to continue all he had built with her. However, he could not disregard all those who now counted on him for their livelihoods, and he knew Lizzie would have wanted him to keep going. And keep going he did. But as much as he could improve, there was always a cold winter, or a sickness, or a lack of funding, or crumbling housing, that always remained to keep down the residents of the East End. And he knew there must be more he could do.

But when Archie Neville, leader of the Bruisers, the gang who had been a constant thorn in Edward’s side, finally got out of Newgate, he knew there would be chaos to follow. Archie wanted what Edward had built all those years ago – not the businesses and schools and charities – no, he wanted the protection rackets, and the extortion schemes that Edward had long left behind. And there was not a chance in hell that Edward was going to allow that again. Especially not now that Archie had made the very grave and very dangerous mistake of targeting his people.

It was a chill October afternoon when Edward sat in his office, overlooking the warehouse he had bought with his very own money. He was supposed to be reviewing the ledgers for the Brooklyn Club, the gentleman’s club he had also bought with his own money – it was his pride and joy, his ticket into high society and the influence that came with it, among the many other businesses he and the rest of the Limehouse Gang ran. Instead, he sat in his fine leather chair, staring at the wall of windows opposite his desk, the ones looking out over Limehouse Basin, the dockyard where he had made his start. Anger roiled inside him; an anger he had not felt in a long time, not since he was a boy and his father had come home from the pubs, drunk and screaming, to beat his wife and lash out at his son. Two of his men were dead, cut to pieces and discarded, like so much refuse, in nearby Covent Garden. There were no witnesses, his contacts within the Metropolitan Police had no leads, but Edward knew, as sure as the sun would rise, that Archie Neville was responsible.

Edward’s network of informants had already given him the reason – Archie was convinced it was he who had turned him in and got him sent to Newgate. Truthfully, Edward would have gladly done it himself, but now the Bruisers’ leader had gone too far.No one attacked his gang – no one.

Edward was stewing, plotting the many ways he would get revenge for the men who were dead as he toyed aimlessly with the pen he held, when the door to his office opened and his right-hand man, a former docker like himself named Matthew Gibbons, entered the room. Edward blinked, banishing the dark thoughts chasing through his mind, and turned to face the other man, who looked back at him with a forbidding expression.

“What is it, Matthew?”

“Boys caught someone wanderin’ around our patch, brought them back here for you. It’s her.”

“Who?”

“Violet Latimer.”

Edward sat back in his chair, disbelieving.

“What? Here?”

Matthew nodded slowly.

“Yeah… and you won’t believe who she has with her.”

Edward’s brow rose in expectation and Matthew smirked as he folded his arms over his chest.

“She’s with John bloody Barrow.”

Edward’s head tilted to the side at this information and a long, drawn-out silence passed between the two men before he finally rose from his chair.

“Bring them up, Matthew.”

Matthew nodded and turned, closing the door behind him. In the silence which followed, Edward glanced down and slowly reached out to open the top drawer of the plain wooden desk he stood behind. Nestled inside, gleaming upon a stack of blank paper, was a small knife. Small, but deadly. He left the drawer ajar as the door opened once more and a woman stepped into the office. She had a crown of golden hair, fashionably styled, and tucked up under an equally fashionable hat of crimson velvet and feathers. Her gown was constructed of impeccably tailored crimson wool to match her hat, and over it she wore a voluminous cloak of black velvet. But it was not the gown nor the hat which drew his attention, it was the determined look in her emerald-green eyes, and she held his gaze the instant she crossed the threshold.

It took Edward a moment to register, then, when someone followed her into the room, someone he was also familiar with. John Barrow towered over the lady, and he looked every bit the bareknuckle boxer he was – a fading yellow bruise marred one eye, and a recently split lip had begun to heal. He didn’t enter the room, however, waiting in the doorway instead as the lady strode towards him and stretched forth a gloved hand across his desk.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brill. My name is Violet Latimer.”

Edward glanced down at the outstretched hand, covered in fine white kidskin, then back up at those blazing green eyes.

“I know who you are, Miss Latimer.” He took her hand in his and grinned. “Everyone knows who you are.”

She blinked, as though confused, and withdrew her hand. He chuckled as he gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.

“Archie’s got the whole city out lookin’ for you.” He glanced over her shoulder. John Barrow remained hovering in the doorway, silent and impassive. Edward met her gaze once more, but he was smiling no longer. “Is that why you’re here?”

It was now she cleared her throat and perched upon the edge of the proffered seat, folding her hands primly in her lap.

“It is, Mr. Brill, yes.” She paused now and her gaze became earnest. Her lips pursed before she spoke again. “I know what Archie’s done. To your men.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. No one spoke for a minute, but Edward never looked away from the woman sitting opposite him. The figure in the doorway didn’t move. The knife in his drawer was within inches of his hand. Finally, he spoke.

“What d’you know about Archie?”

Miss Latimer let out a long, beleaguered sigh.

“All too much.” She drew in a breath and shook her head. “Perhaps I should explain.” She gestured now to John Barrow, who still stood in the doorway, and he came forward at her signal. Edward’s hand inched towards the drawer. No Bruiser was going to catch him unawares.

“This is John Barrow?—”

“I know who he fuckin’ is,” Edward said with a growl as he snatched up the knife and pushed himself up, toppling the chair behind him. The lady gasped as he came around the desk just as her companion stepped forward and raised his fists, ready to defend himself when Miss Latimer inserted herself quite firmly between the two men.

“Stop!”

Her small, gloved hand was upon his arm, the one which held the knife, and he looked down into those emerald eyes, eyes that spat fire, and lowered his arm. Her fingers tightened around him.

“He’s not here to hurt you,” she explained in a low voice. Edward stared down at her, breathing heavily, as a gentle but firm hand moved down his arm to touch the handle of the knife he held. He scowled at her and tugged away, tossing the knife back in the drawer as he made his way back around the desk and laid his palms upon the top, fixing the lady with a glare. He jerked his head in the direction of her companion, who was cautiously lowering his fists.

“What’s he here for, then?”

She sighed and gestured for Barrow to come forward again.

“As I was sayin’, this is John Barrow. He’s a detective inspector for Scotland Yard, and he’s been undercover with the Bruisers for the last three months. He’s tryin’ to stop Archie.”

Edward raised a skeptical brow as his gaze slid from the boxer, who stared at him with an unnervingly unreadable expression, back to Miss Latimer.

“And what are you here for?”

That determined expression of hers faltered a fraction and she drew in another deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting his gaze once more. Edward noted with interest when Barrow’s hand came up and gently touched hers, as though to encourage her. There was a moment of heavy, expectant silence before she finally spoke in a rush.

“I turned in Archie.”

In the silence, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. The anger returned, coiling down through Edward’s chest as he scowled across his desk at the lady. Barrow stood behind her, still as a statue, but Edward could see the veins flexing in his hands, the tremble of muscles held in check as though he were anticipating another attack.

“So,” he began, slowly, as Miss Latimer raised her chin a notch in a gesture of defiance. “You’re why two of my men got cut up in Covent Garden.”

Her chin went up again, but he saw the quiver of her lip.

“Yes. And that’s why I’m here. I’ll not have any more blood on my hands. I knew Joseph. He was a good—” Her voice cracked then, and she shook her head as she looked away towards the windows, her eyes shining. Edward frowned at her as he pushed himself away from the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

“He was a good man. So, if you’re the one what turned in Archie, why’s he goin’ after my men?”

She swallowed and Barrow touched another encouraging hand to the small of her back before she turned a reluctant gaze back to him.

“He doesn’t know it was me. I was… I was gonna marry him. Until I saw what he was doin’ in Seven Dials, and what kind of person he really was, and I knew I wasn’t gonna get away from him so… I turned him in. I was in Paris when he found me and I… I ran off and came home.”

Edward’s frown deepened. “Then go tell him what you done so he don’t kill any more of my men.”

Those emerald eyes widened. “You know what happens to me if I do that.”

He shrugged. “Better you than my people… it ain’t fair they should die for you.”

Her lips flattened into a hard line, and she closed her eyes, as though to compose herself, before she glanced up at him once more.

“No, it’s not fair. Look, I didn’t want this… I did what I had to do to get out of marryin’ him, and everyone was better off when he was in Newgate. And I could have hid away till Mr. Barrow here got whatever he needed for the police to put him away for good, but I wasn’t gonna let any more people get hurt because of me. I’m here to make a proposal.”

Edward staredat the woman acrossthe desk, sparing only a glance for Barrow before he returned his attention to her.

“What sort of proposal? You don’t have anythin’ I want, not unless you can bring back those men.”

Once again, her eyes welled with tears, and her voice was raw and strained when she spoke. “Look, I’m tryin’ to stop any more blood bein’ shed. I know you’re a decent man, Mr. Brill. I know what you do here to help your people. And I can help you with that. But first weneed to stop Archie.”

“Mr. Brill.” John Barrow finally spoke, stepping forward to stand abreast of Miss Latimer. Edward’s gaze went to him. “The Metropolitan Police, with assistance from the Home Office, have been building a case against Archie Neville and the Bruisers for some time now. I was brought in to gather evidence of the illegitimate businesses they run. The police can continue to arrest individual members for petty crimes but to put a stop to them for good, they need more. I must become a trusted member of Archie’s inner circle.”

Edward narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“And what’s in this for you, eh? Why should I help the bleedin’ coppers?”

That copper – detective inspector, Edward corrected himself with a sneer – now drew himself up to his full height.

“I shouldn’t like to lie to you, Mr. Brill. There is a promotion available at Whitehall – detective chief inspector. And should this operation go well, I might be considered for it.”

Edward let out a huff of laughter at this.

“A promotion? I’m to risk my life so you can rise up the ranks?”

Barrow let out a long breath. “If I were to become detective chief inspector, I would have the power to do a great deal more to help the people living in the rookeries.”

Edward sniffed at this. “When have the police ever done any good for people like us?”

The other man’s expression changed at this remark – not growing angrier, only sadder. “I want to help in any way I can. I grew up in Seven Dials, Mr. Brill, and I know what it is to struggle. I know what it is to lose someone to that place. And if this goes well, I can try to stop that from happening again.”

Edward did not miss the little frown Violet Latimer directed to Barrow at these words, and finally shrugged.

“So, what’s your plan to gain Archie’s trust? He ain’t exactly the trustin’ sort, is he?”

“Detective Inspector Barrow is gonna return me to Archie.” Miss Latimer spoke solemnly, and Edward caught her companion’s flinch, as though her words pained him. “If Archie is to trust him enough to allow him access to these businesses, then he needs to give him what he wants. And that’s me.”

Edward took a moment to observe the pair, his arms still crossed over his chest. “And what have I to do with any of this? Apart from losing my men to that lunatic?”

“We need your help.” Barrow spoke again in a low voice, glancing down at the lady. “What does Archie want even more than Miss Latimer?”

Edward said nothing but raised an expectant brow.

“He wants what you had – a protection racket that will guarantee him the wealth and power he’s always been after. He’s going to come for you and your territory whatever the case, and we are simply going to… remove the impediment. Thus, the police get what they want – insider knowledge of his crimes and everyone involved, and you will not have a war on your hands, which I assure you, Mr. Neville is very prepared to wage.” He looked down at Miss Latimer once more, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze before turning back to Edward. “Scotland Yard would like to arrange a meeting between you and Mr. Neville. At your behest.”

“No.” The words came out before Barrow had even finished speaking. “Get out.” He thrust a finger towards the door. Meet with Archie Neville? If he was meeting for any reason with that bastard, it would be to kill him.

“Mr. Brill, please,” Miss Latimer spoke urgently, holding up a hand as he came around the desk to push them towards the door. “Please, listen…”

“You’re outta your bloody minds if you think I’m meetin’ with Archie Neville.” He had almost got them through the doorway, ignoring Barrow’s urgent pleas to listen when the lady planted herself firmly in place and glared up at him, pointing a finger at his chest.

“Do you wanna help the folks livin’ in Limehouse or not?”

Edward just laughed. “I’m already helpin’ the folks livin’ in Limehouse, Miss Latimer.”

“But you can’t get the people who can really help on your side, can you?”

He paused in the middle of trying to close the door on them and met her determined gaze. “What are you on about?”

She lowered her voice now and leaned into him as though to impart a great secret.

“I know you want more, Mr. Brill. You want the attention of the people who can really get things done. That’s why you opened your club. You want all them toffs to know about Limehouse and the rest of the East End, because they have the real influence. Money. House of Lords. They can make the real changes. But they ignore you, ’cause you’re just rookery scum. Like me. Like Detective Inspector Barrow. You were an extortionist. And they won’t associate with you, no matter how much money you have now or how fancy your club is.”

Edward sneered. “And what are you gonna do to help? They’re not gonna listen to a Seven Dials whore any more than they’ll listen to a gangster.”

Her eyes were fairly snapping with anger as she took the edge of the door he had been about to close on her and pushed it back open.

“No, but they will listen to the Earl and Countess of Bradford. You know about Della, don’t you? The thief who became a lady – she has influence now. And she has friends. Marquesses. Viscounts. Dukes. And that’s who you want at your club, isn’t it?”

Edward’s hand was on the doorknob, but he paused, and her eyes narrowed on him, assessing.

“You meet with Archie Neville. You tell him if he leaves your people alone, you’ll give him the docks, and all the businesses who once gave you money. Let him think he’s won. You’ll be in Society, hobnobbin’ with all the toffs, gettin’ their money and their laws to really make changes. A protection racket will get the Bruisers’ put away for good. As long as we have someone on the inside.” She glanced up now at Barrow, who nodded in agreement. Edward stared at them both for a minute, half ready to shove them both out of his office and half ready to grudgingly pull the door open. He shook his head.

“Archie thinks I snitched on him – he’s as likely to shoot me dead the moment he sees me as he is to sit down and have a meetin’.”

For the first time since she had entered the office, a hint of a smile began to play about Miss Latimer’s mouth. “We’ve taken all that into account. There was a lad who used to dive for the Bruisers – he got stabbed in a brothel in Whitechapel a few years back. Had no family, and he was a shifty little bugger. We’re gonna tell Archie that it was him who ratted. That should stop the violence against your gang for long enough to get this racket business sorted.”

Edward’s jaw clenched and he looked down, once again torn between telling them to get the hell out and actually entertaining this bloody nonsense. As though he had any desire to entangle himself with Archie Neville or any of his gang. Still… He glanced out those big windows overlooking the dockyard, grey and damp under a sunless sky, and saw the tiny figures moving below: crates swinging beneath cranes, smokestacks, and sails as far as the eye could see under the drizzle. It was home and he loved it… but it could be better. He wanted better. Safer. Easier. The world passed through these docks but went right by its people. He sighed.

“You ran off from Archie, eh?”

Her eyebrows drew together briefly at his words, and he let out a short huff of laughter. “How are you gonna help me if you’re dead?”

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed on him. Barrow was the first to speak.

“He’s not tearing apart the rookery to find her just so he can kill her.”

Edward chuckled and leaned against the door. “Is that what you think?”

Miss Latimer glowered at him beneath her dainty crimson hat.

“You leave Archie to me, Mr. Brill. If he kills me, you can do whatever you want to him, but it won’t stop the violence and it won’t help your people. Detective Inspector Barrow will be in touch once we’re ready to arrange a meetin’. You just be ready to give Archie whatever he wants.”

Edward finally straightened with a muttered curse and met Barrow’s gaze. “And what about the coppers? They gonna be pokin’ around in my business? What’s to stop them puttin’ me away for extortion as well?”

Barrow drew his broad shoulders back and fixed Edward with an unwavering stare.

“At the moment, Scotland Yard is far more concerned with the increase in violence since Archie’s return to St. Giles than a man who now runs legitimate businesses and has become a public face for reform. The government’s giving money to local authorities to clear out the rookeries, buying up the land so they can rebuild, but they’re not going to go in while Archie’s running things, threatening any work they do. They don’t want reformers and journalists getting the word out about him, about how the gangs run the rookeries and that the police haven’t been able to stop them.”

Edward smirked. “And you’re gonna be the one to stop him, are you?”

Barrow’s gaze never wavered. “If you’ll help us.”

Edward cursed again and looked down at Miss Latimer, who gazed back at him with pleading in her eyes. Again, the urge to push them out the door warred with the very real opportunity to accomplish everything he had ever hoped for the people of the East End, and he sighed, stepping away to let them back into the office.

“Come on, then. Tell me what needs to be done.”