Chapter 12

TWELVE

Violet’s heart was near to bursting as Mr. Barrow took one of the lanterns off the wall and swung it around, filling the void at the bottom of the stone stairs with a sickly, wavering light. This was what they had planned, this was what she had reluctantly suggested, but every part of her screamed to get out, to beg Mr. Barrow to take her back to Bradford Hall. Why in God’s name had she ever agreed to help with this operation? Following him down those steps into the darkness seemed so final – and if their plan with Edward Brill failed, then she feared she would never leave and be left to Archie’s mercy. And just the idea of that made her heart stutter inside her chest and her throat grow tight.

But when Mr. Barrow, standing at the top of the stairs, turned back to her and offered a hand, she swallowed back the rising, clawing fear and took it, comforted for the moment by the warmth of his fingers laced with hers.

The shadows bent and lurched with the swinging of the lantern, and the air grew cold and musty as they descended into the earth until they reached the bottom of the stairs and were met with another door. Mr. Barrow reached up to a rusting bolt and pulled it back with a deafening squeal to swing the door open. Once again, they were met with shadows and silence and Violet paused, terrified of what the light would reveal beyond the threshold.

Mr. Barrow turned to her now, his eyes velvet black in the dim light.

“Wait here,” he whispered before entering the room, followed by rustling and the hiss of another lamp being lit before he returned to where she remained outside, her heart hammering away inside her chest, her hands clammy inside her gloves. He leaned against the doorjamb to contemplate her, his dark eyes unreadable, before he reached out and touched a finger to her chin.

Awareness bolted though her at this one, soft touch and a shiver raced down from her chest to between her thighs as she thought of their kiss in the conservatory and how conflicted she had been afterwards. She had almost wanted more at the time; she had wanted to remember what it was like to have someone bring her pleasure. If it hadn’t been so long… if she didn’t still harbour so many doubts about opening herself back up in that way, she might have let him keep going. But now, in this moment of doubt and fear, she would give anything for him to kiss her again, to distract her from the dread roiling in her stomach. Her lips parted in anticipation of another kiss as he gazed down at her, and she trembled with the primal urge to turn and run, that she must not enter that room; if she did, she wouldn’t come out.

“Did he hurt you?’ came his soft whisper, instead, and Violet had to close her eyes against the unexpected sting of disappointment.

“I’m fine.”

His hand touched hers once more and she opened her eyes to find him watching her with a faint smile.

“I’ve half a mind to go upstairs and lay him out again.”

Violet tried to return the expression, but she was in danger of coming apart before him and so could only lift the corner of her mouth. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

His smile faded and he sighed, tilting his head in the direction of the room beyond. “Come on, then.”

Shaking now, she followed him into the mysteriously named box, certain that she would be met with little more than bare stone walls; a dungeon for Archie’s enemies and the room where he would break her.

It was, indeed, a dungeon, but not so medieval as she had feared. The bare stone walls had been plastered and limewashed, and rough wooden boards covered the floor. There was even a small window up near the low ceiling; the promise of daylight come morning. John turned to her as she observed the small brass bed in the corner, covered in threadbare linen and a coverlet of dubious warmth, and the small, worn table beside it upon which sat the additional lamp.

And that was it. There was no rug to warm the floor, no frame nor mirror upon the walls to break up the bare expanse, no chair to sit in. It was a room designed for a single purpose – to hold those who had crossed Archie until he could mete out whatever punishment he deemed worthy. Her punishment would be to stay here, alone, until she would marry him just to get out. She looked up at John, who watched her with brows drawn together in consternation and felt something crack inside her. Not break – she would not let Archie break her – but the very idea of spending the foreseeable future in this spartan room, alone, made the fear surge inside her once more and she had to hold back a strangled sob.

“It’s… not as bad as I expected,” she said, her voice strained, but the furrow between Mr. Barrow’s brows only deepened.

“He’s going to be down here first thing in the morning.”

Her breath stuttered as she glanced up at the small window. “I know.”

Mr. Barrow paused. “It won’t be for long.”

She nodded slowly. Her hands were shaking, and she tightened them into fists to stop them.

“I’ll come as often as I can.” He paused again before reaching for something tucked inside his overcoat. The corner of his mouth turned up, just slightly. “I managed to sneak in a little something for you… to pass the time.”

Violet’s heart, unused to kindly gestures, soared as he handed her the little leather-bound sketchbook she had been using at Bradford House before he reached into another pocket for a narrow, rectangular tin in which she found several lead pencils. Clutching them to her chest, she glanced up at him, her chest swelling with some emotion she could not quite name.

“You really are too kind, Mr. Barrow.” On an impulse, she stood on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, but he turned his head at the last moment and her mouth touched the corner of his, instead. And she should have pulled away then, smiled awkwardly, and sent him on his way, but she stopped there, her mouth hovering above his. For a moment, nothing happened as his breath rasped against her cheek, before she turned her head, slowly, so slowly, until her mouth was aligned with his and she was gazing up into eyes of velvet brown.

Violet had hated kissing most men for as long as she could remember; hated their wet, demanding mouths, their beer-soaked breath, their darting tongues. But when John Barrow leaned down to close that gap between them and press his lips to hers, the fear knotted in her chest dissolved and pleasure spiked through her, prickling along the back of her neck, down her spine, and settling between her thighs. This time, however, the sensation of being overwhelmed, of realizing that she was not yet ready for the intimacy of his kiss, did not come flooding through her as it had when they had been in the conservatory. Perhaps, this time, she was ready for… more.

The sketchbook and tin fell to the ground, forgotten, when his hands moved to her back, fingers digging into her, moving down, down, until he was bending, squeezing her buttocks, lifting her against him with a low, dangerous growl. The sound reverberated through her, setting all her nerve endings alight, and she dug her fingers into his chest, tempted – oh so tempted – to pull him back against the wall, let him lift her skirts… but then it was back, bubbling up inside her. The fear. Fear of this prison. Fear of letting him close. And it won out in the end, rising up her throat, choking her, until she pulled away with a gasp.

He was breathing heavily as his eyes searched hers before he reached for her, taking her hand in his.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, but she couldn’t be sure if he was talking about the kiss or her being locked in this room. Neither scenario brought her much comfort, but she dared not speak on her fears, and so gave a quick, determined nod. He hesitated before speaking.

“I won’t be far, and I’ll come back as soon as I can. Have courage, Miss Latimer… this is all part of the plan.”

And his hand gently squeezing hers did give Violet a small measure of courage, enough to offer him a little smile before he spoke, his voice hesitant.

“I should be going, before someone comes looking for me.”

Violet’s stomach clenched at these words, and she was only able to reply in the barest of whispers.

“Yes, of course.” Her throat was tightening, and she nodded again, fighting the desperate urge to grab him and cling to him. She had been at peace with being locked away, to be Archie’s prisoner until their plan came to fruition, but now that he was leaving, she was terrified. Terrified of this small room, of the uncertainty, of what Archie might do to her. Her eyes were stinging now, and she forced another smile onto her face. “I’ll be fine. You just make sure that no one else gets hurt.”

“I will.” He paused and the silence fell, heavy between them before he drew back, his jaw set. “Goodnight, Miss Latimer. And… thank you,” was his hoarse whisper. She didn’t reach for him but did quickly bob her head in acknowledgement.

“You’re welcome.”

He hesitated for a moment before turning and leaving, closing the door slowly behind him. There was a moment of silence before she heard the squeal of the bolt being slid back into place. And that was it. She was a prisoner, and a heavy weight settled upon her chest as she slowly lowered herself onto the narrow bed and pulled her knees to her chest to stare at the blank wall opposite her. After a moment, her gaze wandered down to the sketchbook and tin she had dropped when he had held her and kissed her with such passion that she had actually contemplated letting him take her there against the bare plaster walls.

Slowly, she bent and plucked up the book and tin from the floor before kneeling beside the narrow bed. She lifted a corner of the mattress and slipped the items beneath it before stripping down to her chemise and stockings. Violet couldn’t face any more of this day. She was tired and heartsick, and she didn’t want to think. And so, she turned back the edge of the threadbare blankets, settled herself onto the hard mattress, turned down the lantern and closed her eyes. Sleep was a welcome relief when it came.

There was no knock on the door the next morning, just the squeal of the bolt being pulled back and the creak of the hinges. Violet was already awake and had been for some time. Dawn had only recently begun to show through the dingy film covering the one tiny window up high on the ceiling, but she was ready; waiting for Archie and whatever terrible torture he had planned for her. She pushed herself up from the tiny bed, already dressed for the day. The bold crimson gown was her armour, and she drew her shoulders back, raising her chin in what she hoped was a gesture of defiance as the door opened to reveal, not Archie as she had expected, or even Mr. Barrow, but one of the Bruisers’ thugs… Henry, as far as she could remember. She had always done her best to avoid him back when she had been living with Archie, finding his intensity not a little off-putting and his temper a little too quick. It was no wonder to her that he was often employed as an enforcer for the gang.

Her shoulders fell a little as he stepped inside, his huge frame filling the doorway, balancing a covered tray on one hand. A wisp of fear flickered through her chest as he very deliberately put his shoulder to the edge of the door and pushed it closed behind him before facing her with a dark, impenetrable gaze. Violet drew in a small breath as he watched her, not daring to look away as his eyes narrowed.

“It’s really you,” he finally said, his gaze now traveling down the length of her. The corner of his mouth turned up and he nodded, as though in approval.

“You should have never got found, Violet. He’s turned this city upside down lookin’ for you.”

Violet said nothing, though a lump had begun to form in her throat. Henry let out a small huff of laughter at her lack of response and pushed past her to set the tray down on the bed before stepping back and nodding towards her.

“Glad to see all that whorin’ you was doin’ after you left us didn’t spoil you. You were always a pretty thing.”

Violet’s heart seized as he reached out and brushed a finger across her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You know I always did like you, Violet.”

His hand was suddenly upon her breast, and she immediately recoiled, reaching to slap him away with a snarl, but he caught her arm in his huge hand, pulling her towards him as she jerked away.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me!” she shouted, clawing at his fingers where they held her in an iron grip. He only laughed, the sound harsh against her cheek as his free hand closed over her breast once more.

“What’s the matter, Vi? Need a few bob to give it up?”

Violet’s heart was slamming against her ribs now as she pried at his fingers, her whole body shaking with rage as she grunted with the effort to wrench herself away from him, but he held firm, laughing the whole time until the sound of the door opening behind them made Henry push her away with a growl and whip around to find Archie standing in the doorway. Violet gasped as she fell back on the narrow bed and time seemed to slow as Archie came into the room, his face contorted with rage, and laid into Henry with a roar that seemed to echo off the stone walls. She could only watch, frozen in horror, as her captor took Henry by the head and slammed him into the wall. His body began to crumple to the floor, but Archie was already raining down punches and Violet was so aghast that it took a moment for her to register that Mr. Barrow had followed and was standing in the doorway, unable to conceal his shock as he watched Archie beat Henry until he was lying, insensate, in the corner of the room. Archie then slowly straightened, absently wiping his bloodied fists on his coat.

He turned after a moment to face Mr. Barrow, whose expression had shifted, as though by magic, into one of complete indifference. Archie was calmly adjusting his cuffs as he nodded towards Henry.

“Have some of the fellas take him east, leave him for the Bethnal Boys. He ever shows his face in my territory again, I’ll fuckin’ finish the job.”

Mr. Barrow gave a short nod and stepped forward to take Henry by the wrists, dragging him from the room as Violet looked on, her hands pressed to her mouth as she tried to slow her racing heart, swallowing back the rising bile. A long, tense silence followed during which Archie stared out into the corridor, his eyes narrowed until Mr. Barrow returned. He stopped in the doorway, his feet braced a shoulder-width apart, his arms crossed over his chest, undoubtedly returning to ensure she didn’t try to escape. Violet didn’t dare look at him, but kept her gaze trained on Archie as he slowly turned and came to stand where she still sat at the edge of the bed. She wanted to stand, but he was too close, and she felt small, terrified of his sudden violence, as she tilted her chin to look up at him. His hands were in his pockets – she had always hated that about him: his casual disdain, his glib menace. How quickly he had brushed off his rage. It threw her off balance, and she hated that, too.

“Good mornin’, Violet, my love. Apologies for that… some of the fellas don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves,” he said, nodding down at her, speaking as though he hadn’t just beaten a man nearly to death. She glared up at him and said nothing, though her heart was still pounding inside her chest. Mr. Barrow’s presence was very much at the front of her consciousness, and she could feel his eyes, not upon her, but upon Archie, watching, wary.

“Sleep well?” were Archie’s next words, spoken in a slickly threatening tone. Again, she said nothing. She knew it needled him when he couldn’t get a response from her. It was a small gesture of defiance, but all she was willing to display when trapped in this small space with him, especially after seeing him mete out such brutal punishment. His hands flexed inside his pockets and the corner of her mouth curved up, just the smallest amount, at this tiny victory over his self control.

Archie’s nostrils flared but he didn’t move – he knew his size alone was intimidating. He certainly didn’t need to raise his voice or even lift a hand to strike fear into thosewho crossed him. He knew she feared him. He simply edged closer, his legs now brushing her skirts, forcing her chin up even furtherto meet his gaze.

“We’re at a bit of an impasse, aren’t we?”

She finally looked away, not towards Mr. Barrow where he stood silently in the doorway, but to the opposite wall. The sun was up now; a beam of light shone through the small window and the noise of the street filtered through the stone walls – cartwheels rattling, costermongers shouting. She slowly shook her head.

“What are you gonna do, Archie? Beat me as well? Keep me locked down here till I finally go mad and marry you just to get out?” She raised a defiant gaze to him once more. “Why d’you even wanna marry me? You haven’t seen me in eight years.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’d poison you the first chance I got, and you know it.” Her voice was low, edged with frost, but inside, she was quaking as she glanced at his bloody knuckles. To her shock, he simply gave a small huff of laughter.

“You hear that, Johnny?” he asked the figure in the doorway without looking away from her. “She’s gonna poison me. You heard it from her own lips – if I keel over, you’ll know who to blame.” The sly smile faded, and he now glared at her, bending down, and speaking in a low tone, forcing her to lean back. “You just fuckin’ try it, Violet. You thought you were safe in France? You try anythin’ and there’s no corner of this earth where my men won’t find you.”

It took everything in Violet to bite back her scathing retort – how could he be so sure that his men would care to track her down if she killed him? – and instead, look suitably humbled, even a little frightened as he finally stepped away, allowing her to drop her chin and draw in a shallow breath.

Violet wanted desperately to look over at Mr. Barrow; to get some indication from him of where Archie was going with this but dared not. The smile returned to Archie’s mouth as he slipped his hands back into his pockets.

“Now, you’re a business-minded woman, Violet. Sellin’ all them paintin’sand little drawin’s of yours.” His gaze slid down her body, leering in a way only he could manage. “You’ll sell anythin’ for a few bob, won’t you?”

Violet was biting the inside of her cheek now to keep the roar of rage from erupting from her.

“And I like to think that anyone can be persuaded to do almost anythin’ for the right price.”

A cold chill sparked to life in her chest as she awaited his next words. “I hear our Della’s had herself a wee babe. Little girl named after her mum.”

Violet froze as the implicit threat hung in the air between them. She was only partly aware of the scream echoing in the room – no, she hadn’t made the noise out loud, it was in her head, filling it until she thought she might explode. Her fingers were clenched so hard on the edge of the mattress her knuckles were turning white. If she had a weapon, she wouldn’t hesitate at this moment to use it. If he so much as breathed in Della’s direction…

She recoiled as he squatted suddenly before her, so his eyeline was level with hers, and held her gaze. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. His voice was the lowest of whispers when he spoke again, and it moved over her skin like a winter’s chill.

“You are gonna marry me, Violet, ’cause you’re a smart girl.” He reached out and put a hand on her knee. She immediately jerked away, but his fingers bit into her, holding her there as his gaze bored into her. “You’re a smart girl,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “But you were stupid to let anyone find you.” The corner of his mouth hitched up and he jerked his head in Mr. Barrow’s direction, never looking away from her. “Johnny here knows what it is to keep a promise. And he’s gonna make sure you keep yours. Ain’t that right, Johnny?” Archie finally looked away from her to direct an unsettling half-smile to the man who still stood in the doorway. Violet finally allowed herself to look over at him, but his expression remained stony, and he only spared a glance for Archie. He gave a short nod.

“That’s right, Archie.”

And if Violet didn’t know Mr. Barrow as she did, she would have wholeheartedly believed in that moment, from the low tone of his voice and the chilling calm of his expression, that he fully intended to do whatever it took to make her marry Archie. She almost – almost – smiled at the thought. If the police didn’t give him that promotion after this, then they were fools.

When Archie returned his attention to her, Violet was careful to keep her gaze fixed on him, letting nothing show on her face that would give away any of what she was feeling.

“I have plans for us, Violet – big plans,” Archie continued, a hint of a devious smile playing about his lips. “I’m gettin’ us out of St. Giles. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”

She wanted to push his hand off her knee but settled for a pointed look and a low hiss. “I was out of St. Giles, Archie – you’re the one that brought me back.”

Undeterred, his grin widened. “Ah, Violet, you don’t wanna be hangin’ about with bloody Frogs. I’m gettin’ us the docks. The wholeworld is there.” His eyes narrowed. “And Edward bloody Brill is there, thinkin’ he’s safe from me.” His tone grew dangerous, and his fingers tightened their grip on her knee, making her wince. “And I’m gonna put his head on a fuckin’ spike for gettin’ me locked up in Newgate for eight years.” The corners of his mouth turned up, just a little, and Violet felt a chill. “Just think – all the docks’ll be ours, the whole of the East End. The warehouses, the shops – even his fancy little club, the one he thinks will make him a toff. It’ll be all ours. I’ll dress you in silks and velvets and you’ll be drippin’ in jewels. You just have to say yes.”

Violet’s composure finally snapped as she shoved his hand away from her, sneering. “Edward Brill didn’t turn you in, you fool. It was that sneaky little beggar Arthur Potts and he’s dead. And I don’t want silks or jewels, especially not from you.”

Archie’s expression froze as he stared at her and a terrible, uneasy tension filled the tiny room. Violet was aware of Mr. Barrow’s gaze upon her but dared not look away from Archie as cold rage filled his face.

“What did you say?”

“I said,’’ she spat out the word, “it was Arthur Potts that turned you in ’cause they were gonna arrest him for beatin’ his woman nearly half to death. He gave you up to save his filthy little hide before he got himself stabbed to death in a Whitechapel brothel. And there is nothin’ you could give me that would make me wanna marry you. Go get your docks and your club and whatever else you think will make you important, but it won’t be with me.”

Violet flinched when Archie rose suddenly, his face red with fury, and turned without another word to storm from the room. Mr. Barrow jumped to the side just in time to avoid being pushed out of the way as Archie made his way back upstairs, slamming the door on the landing behind him.

Mr. Barrow now turned to Violet with wide eyes.

“Are you alright?” was his first question, and she nodded slowly as she became aware of the drumming of her heart. She eased up from the bed as Mr. Barrow watched her from the doorway before making her way over to him and peering up into the shadows of the landing at the top of the stairs where Archie had disappeared.

“I think he bought it,” she remarked as he reached out and touched her cheek. She turned to face him, almost absently, and was met with concerned eyes.

“Are you alright?” he repeated, and she narrowed her eyes at him, fury now rising through her after the shock of Archie’s abrupt departure.

“Don’t you dare let him get near Della and her baby,” she whispered, the anger straining her voice, and the concern immediately fell away from Mr. Barrow’s expression to be replaced with something darker – something dangerous.

“He won’t set foot withina mile of the countess, that I can promise you. I’ve already sent word to Lord Bradford.”

Violet closed her eyes and released a small breath of relief. Della’s husband would let no harm come to his wife or their daughter, that she was certain of, and it gave her a small measure of comfort.

“Good,” she replied, almost to herself, before starting when his other hand came up to cup her face, forcing her eyes open and her gaze onto his.

“But are you alright? Did Henry…?” The raw anger in his voice made Violet close her eyes, and she shook her head, fighting the urge to lean her cheek into the warm caress of his hand.

“He only hurt my wrist. I’m fine. I’m fine as long as Della and Clara are safe, Mr. Barrow, truly.”

And though her words sounded sure, inside she was anything but. Archie’s transparent threat against Della and her daughter still rang in Violet’s ears and Archie’s sudden assault on Henry still had her nerves on edge, so much so that it took her a moment to reflect on what Mr. Barrow had said to her. She looked up at him as he dropped his hands and pulled away, seeming unconvinced by her assurance.

“Does this mean Archie actually told you what his plans are?”

His smile was grim as he leaned back against the door frame, glancing quickly towards the door at the top of the stairs to confirm that no one was coming back before looking at her.

“You were right, of course. Give him what he wants. Don’t question him. He told me everything this morning and I managed to get a message to Whitehall to be passed on to the earl.”

Violet scoffed. “I suppose you’ll be his favourite now – the man who caught Violet Latimer, his errant fiancée.”

His smile faded. “I know you wanted no part of this, Miss Latimer, and I’m sorry—” He paused, clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry for what just happened. After all that” – he glanced towards the smear of blood Henry’s face had left on the wall – “Archie’ll be on edge for a while. Give me some time to show him I can be trusted.”

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, peering back into that tiny, bare space in which she had spent the night, thinking of another day, another week… or longer, spent within its four walls, and a quiver of anger shook her. If this was what it would take to get her back to Paris, back to her painting and her studio and her life, she would endure this little room and Archie’s threats with as much courage as she could muster.

She returned her attention to the man oppositeher, but did not look up into his eyes, certain she would only see concern, making it that much harder to tell herself she could endure this imprisonment. Instead, she observed the hands at his sides, saw the slightly off-kilter angle of the pinky finger on his right hand, no doubt the result of a previously broken bone, saw the reddened, raw skin over his knuckles – had he fought again last night? – and tried to bring to mind, instead, the sensation of his mouth on hers, how he had pulled her into his hard body, how he had smelled of clean linen and soap, and how, just for a moment, she had found herself wanting him; something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

When he finally cleared his throat and she raised her gaze to his, he said, without looking away, “I doubt he’ll be back. He’ll go to Tommy to see if they can find out if it’s true.”

And she wanted to say, with every fibre of her being, Come in. Shut the door. Please don’t leave me here in this room alone. I’m so scared. But what if he says no? the voice in her head whispered. So instead, she swallowed back those words and inclined her head towards the stairs.

“You should go withhim. It’ll look good.”

His expression never changed, but he did give a small nod. “Yes… He’ll need someone to keep him in check.”

She reached out then and took one of his hands in hers, giving it an imploring squeeze. “Don’t let him hurt anyone else.”

A pause. “I won’t.”

He hesitated; she still held his hand and when he began to draw away, she reluctantly let go.

“I’ll try to come back tonight – see if Archie will put me on guard duty.”

At those words, an unbidden flash of memory came to her; their last time alone in this room together, and her inner muscles clenched, sending a spark of heat up her belly. The sensation only served to frustrate her – did she want him or not? Was she ready for more or was she too afraid of him judging her? If she could not even bring herself to kiss him – even though he was, without a doubt, a very talented kisser – then perhaps she might never be ready for intimacy again. And the thought of that saddened her a little.

But there was work to be done now, and she blinked, the confused thoughts dissolving as she narrowed her eyes on him.

“Do not let him near Della, Mr. Barrow. I mean that… you keep her and that baby safe.”

He held her gaze, something dark gathering in his expression and he gave the briefest of nods. “You have my word.”

And on that assurance, she finally took a step back, into the room. “Go on, then. Don’t let him leave without you.”

His hesitation lasted only a moment before he stepped into the corridor beyond and closed the door without another word.