Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

John all but ran up those steps, down the corridor past Archie’s empty office, and out into the brisk morning air. He stopped outside the club’s door to draw a deep, shaking breath into his lungs before he hurried down the steps and across the street, narrowly avoiding a cart and horse heading his way. His heart was drumming painfully against his ribs as he made his way down a narrow alley and through to the building where he rented rooms. The halls were mercifully empty, and he locked his door behind him before crossing to the washbasin on the far side of the bedchamber and plunging his hands into the water before bringing them up to douse his head. The water had been sitting since the night before and was frigid, forcing a sharp gasp from him, but he welcomed the shock to his senses and thrust his hands into the water again. Again, and again, until the raging erection in his trousers finally eased and his heart slowed its painful rhythm before he slowly stepped away to reach for a nearby towel.

He was panting as he dried his hair before he growled in frustration and pushed his palms into his eyes, so hard he saw white, trying to erase the image of her from his mind. Of the pleading in her eyes, of those words whispered to him: You could have more… if you wanted. John, you can have all of me – but, worst of all, the disappointment. No, not disappointment. It was a wounding, a hurt in her expression when he told her he could not take what she offered. Not that he didn’t want to. Indeed, it had taken everything in him not to unbutton his trousers and pull her onto his cock to plunder her sweet, slick core, but he had gone into that room with the image of Henry, crumpled and bloody, replaying in his mind, and the words Archie had spoken to him afterwards ringing in his ears . Fuckin’ bastard, darin’ to lay a single finger on my woman – shoulda just killed him.

John had fully intended to maintain a polite distance between himself and Violet – as he should have done from the moment she whispered his name in the cellar of the Fox and Friar – but then he had spotted her little sketchbook under the bed and plucked it up to return to her with the admonishment that she must not let Archie find it. It had fallen open as he had snagged the leather cover and revealed pages of… him. Not just drawings, but something more. John hardly knew one end of a paintbrush from the other, but he knew when he saw affection. Intimacy. Perhaps… no. He dared not even think the word. She had become far too close.

And she had seen right through that wall he had tried to erect, repeating to himself that they never should have gone as far as they did, that his only duty lay in getting her safely out of this place, away from the rookery she hated, and back to France. That if Archie had so much as an inkling that there was anything between them, he would not hesitate to end them both. But the moment she had looked up at him with tears in her eyes and asked him to give her something – anything – that would ease the terror of being locked in that tiny room by a man she hated, in a city she loathed, that bloody wall had crumbled like dust.

John cursed into the quiet of his tidy little bedchamber as he reached for the bottle of whisky he kept in the cabinet by the bed and, not bothering with a glass, took a quick gulp to wash the taste of her, torturous in its delectability, from his mouth. He hated that he had to tell her no, that he couldn’t take what she offered, but he had the means to defend himself if Archie turned on him. Violet had none, and he could not risk her safety just for a taste of what he imagined to be pure heaven. No matter how much he wanted to.

With the cold water and the burn of the whisky in his belly, he felt suitably focused, and John took a deep breath before leaving to make his way to the warehouse where the Devil and Alexander were just starting their sparring match. The two Neville brothers stood in the shadows, observing them silently. John paused near the door to watch the boxers for a moment before making his way over to Tommy and Archie, nodding towards the ring as he stopped beside them.

“The Devil’s lookin’ good.”

Archie spoke without looking at him. “I told him he needed to work on his hook – he’s too slow on his feet goin’ into one.”

John inclined his head in silent agreement as they watched the match for a few minutes before Archie turned to them.

“Come on, then – I need a bloody drink.”

They followed him through to the office at the back of the warehouse, where Archie snatched up the bottle of whisky and poured three glasses before taking a seat behind the desk. Tommy sat opposite him, but John remained in the doorway. The older Neville brother gestured to him with his glass before taking a quick swig.

“She still bein’ a stubborn little bitch?” Archie’s voice was low, irritated, and Tommy let out a huff of laughter. The corner of John’s mouth lifted in reply, and he paused to raise his own glass to his mouth before he spoke.

“I think she’ll come round. I can be very persuasive.” This was said with a cunning grin as he flexed his free hand and Archie nodded absently, as though he hadn’t heard the words.

“No doubt, no doubt. I’ve waited this long for her; suppose I can wait a little longer.” His expression darkened suddenly as he stared down into his glass of whisky, swirling it contemplatively. “Just wish that bastard Potts hadn’t got away with snitchin’ on me.”

Tommy shrugged and downed his drink. “Don’t matter no more since he’s dead, does it?”

And this was when the air grew chill in the room and Archie turned a slow glare upon his younger brother.

“Are you bleedin’ dense?” he hissed. “Eight years I was away, and I’ll never get the chance to kill him myself like I shoulda done.” His glare turned into a sneer as he inched forward in his seat to fix a scowl upon Tommy as John took a careful and quiet step back. “Eight years you had to find him yourself. And I had to hear it from bloody Violet – if Barrow here hadn’t tracked her down like you were meant to, I’d have never fuckin’ known.”

A tense silence settled upon the room as Tommy slid a dark look over to John before rising slowly from his seat to stare down at his brother.

“No, I didn’t find her – I was too busy runnin’ this gang ’cause you were stupid enough to get caught.”

John took another small step back as Archie planted his palms on the desktop and stood, so his gaze was level with Tommy’s.

“Then allow me to relieve you of your burden, Tommy. You go on back to the ring with Barrow and I’ll handle runnin’ things.” His voice was edged with mocking concern and Tommy’s jaw tightened in response as John’s gaze slid from one brother to the other. The air crackled with tension between the two, but finally, Tommy relented – loyal little lapdog to the last – and turned with a sniff to push past John and out to the warehouse. There was a moment of silence before the warehouse door slammed shut and John turned back to Archie, who picked up his glass and drained the last of his whisky.

“I think my brother got a little too big for his britches while I was away, thinkin’ he was in charge of my gang.” He raised his gaze to John, who was careful to keep his expression blank. “I got us Covent Garden, didn’t I? We was just petty criminals in Seven Dials before I started the boxin’ matches. Got us to the top with my fightin’ and he thinks he can run this gang without me. I’m expandin’ our territory – what’s he bloody done?”

John shrugged but made no reply as he took a slow sip from his whisky. Archie scoffed as he poured himself another glass, speaking as though to himself.

“It’s time for us to move south. Move beyond bareknuckle boxin’. Limehousers have held their territory long enough and we’re gonna take it.” He finally looked up at John and tipped his glass towards him. “And I want Violet with me when we do. She was the first one what ever showed me a bit o’ kindness, you know? Me and Tommy was too busy survivin’ and she showed up one day after I was scrappin’ with another lad, patched me right up. Asked if I could help her and her friend get outta that shithole orphanage.” He scowled down at his drink. “Promised her the world before I went away, and the bitch threatens to poison me.” He let out a sharp laugh and swallowed the rest of his drink. “Give her a good wallop, she’ll come round. I’d do it meself but I don’t want her hatin’ me even more.” He laughed as John considered that it was not humanly possible for Violet to hate him anymore than she already did. Archie gestured towards the warehouse. “Come on, the boys’ll be waitin’ for you.”

The sound of the bolt on the door sliding open was beginning to sear through Violet, right down to her bones, and this time was no exception. She sprang to her feet the moment the door squealed open, refusing to be caught sitting again, forced to look up at her captor, and drew in a deep breath as Archie sauntered into the room, thumbs hooked in his pockets. And, behind him once more… Violet only allowed the very briefest of glances towards John who, for his part, kept his own impassive gaze firmly fixed on Archie’s back. Her heart was drumming against her ribs as he came to stand before her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile.

“Evenin’, Violet, my love.”

She said nothing. The open door was behind him, but John Barrow stood in it, arms crossed over his chest, observing the scene before him with an indifferent, almost bored expression. Archie grinned down at her, though she would not give him the satisfaction of showing her fear.

“So… you ready to get out of here?”

Her gaze slid up, though she moved not another muscle. Archie smiled again.

“Just say the words, Violet, and you’ll be free to go.”

Her teeth clamped together as she glared up at him. Liar. She would never be free if she said the words he wanted to hear. But he would need to hear something soon, even if it wasn’t quite that she would agree to be his wife, or he would lose his patience. And Archie possessed very little of that particular quality.

“Take me back to Paris.”

There. That wiped the smug smile from his face.

“Paris?” he finally said, then let out a short, derisive laugh. “You ain’t leavin’ this room lest it’s as my woman.”

She drew in a long breath, feeling the weight of John’s stare on her from where he stood behind Archie. She could still feel his mouth on hers; she had dreamed about it, along with the ache of him drawing away when she had offered more. Why would he want more from you? the small voice hissed at her. Who would ever want more from you, a common trollop? Violet swallowed and dismissed the thoughts as she turned her attention back to Archie.

“I had a whole life there, Archie. I can’t just leave it behind. I must make arrangements, let my patrons know I’m leavin’, collect my things.”

And at these words, Archie let out a low, mocking chuckle.

“What things?” He leaned in closer. “Your things are gone. You know that.”

She did. She did know that; she’d told John as much. She could almost imagine the glee with which Archie had smashed up all her paints and easels and canvases. Maybe he had taken them outside and burned them all. It didn’t stop the sharp ache twisting her insides, nor the tears which pricked at her eyes. She furiously blinked them away, refusing to let him see how devastating his words were to her, swallowed back the sob rising in her throat, and met his eyes, summoning a look of disdain as she did so.

“Then you can go. I’ve nothin’ else to say to you.”

His gaze darkened as he stared down at her, his fists clenching at his sides, and it took every ounce of control she possessed not to flinch when he stepped closer and bent so his mouth was next to her ear.

“I said you were a smart girl, Violet, and you are… but don’t do somethin’ stupid ’cause you’re stubborn, as well.”

When he pulled back, she was glaring at him, once more with the implied threat towards Della and her new baby hanging in the air. She couldn’t help it; she was spitting out the words before she could even think.

“If you lay so much as one finger on Della, I swear?—”

Archie’s hand came up, so fast Violet did flinch this time and instinctively recoiled, squeezing her eyes shut – and then opening them once more when the blow never came, only to see that Mr. Barrow had Archie’s arm, raised up over his head as he had prepared to strike, in his firm grasp. He smirked and let out a soft tut of disapproval.

“Easy there, Archie,” he drawled, glancing towards Violet. “You’ll damage the goods.”

Archie cut a swift glare at Violet before Mr. Barrow released him and he let out a sudden, sharp laugh.

“Suppose her looks are the best thing she’s got goin’ for her.” He glanced back at her with a sneer. “But do not mistake me, Violet. I’ll have you, one way or another.”

She was about to deliver a scathing retort, but the sudden squeal of the door at the top of the stairs drew Archie’s attention and he turned as the Devil – Violet didn’t remember what his real name was, she only knew he had been a cracksman in his youth and fought his way to the top of the Bruisers – came jogging down the steps. He said not a word as he stepped into the tiny room, and she kept her gaze on the floor as the Irishman wordlessly handed over a crumpled envelope.

“What’s this?” Archie asked, but clearly expected no answer as he tore open the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. She could feel John’s gaze upon her but dared not look up at him as he spoke to Archie.

“What is it?”

Archie also had no reply as he handed John the paper. When Violet finally dared a glance up, she saw the triumphant sneer upon Archie’s face. John was the first to speak, with not a single hint in his tone that he knew exactly what this letter was and who it was from.

“Edward Brill wants to meet with you?” he said, astonished, as he held up the letter in question. Archie was already grinning and rubbing his hands together in anticipation before he gestured to his two men.

“Come on, lads – got to prepare for our guest.” The thread of menace was unmistakable in his voice, and Violet watched with no small amount of relief as Archie, seeming to forget she even existed, turned and left the room, with the Devil trailing in his wake. John, facing away from her, did not turn to look back before he, too, followed, but not before reaching back and pressing something into her hand before he left. The door closed behind him, and the lock squealed into place as Violet looked down and opened her clenched fingers to reveal a small square of paper. She glanced up at the door to be certain she was alone before quickly unfolding the note and immediately recognizing Della’s neat, slanted writing. Her heart soared and her chest tightened with some unnamed emotion as she scanned the words.

Dearest Violet,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know you must be getting anxious now with nowhere to go, and forced to stay at Bradford House, but I do hope that you’re at least able to pass the time with your art. How I wish I could be there with you, but I know you are made of stern stuff, and you will make it through this just as we made it through the orphanage.

Violet paused in her reading as hot tears began to scald at the corners of her eyes, sadness and fear welling up in her chest until it ached. Never had she been more aware of the four walls surrounding her than now, with Della’s words to remind her of what she had given up to be here. A shuddering sob escaped her as she read on.

I have been reading the papers – the news from the rookery has been so frightening. I had forgotten what it was like with Archie running things, how he had managed to make that terrible place even worse. And I had to write to you, Violet, because I was so worried you would blame yourself for all this violence. Please believe me when I say that I owe you my life; that if you had not been brave enough to make that promise to Archie, that we would surely have perished in the workhouse. And please also believe me that you were right to turn him in, though I know how you felt for him.

Violet was weeping now, tears dripping down onto the page, blurring Della’s words, the same words John had told her in his attempt to assuage her guilt over the fact that people had died for her actions so many years ago.

I only wish they could have put him in prison for good eight years ago. I remain confident, however, that Detective Inspector Barrow will succeed where others failed last time, and Archie and the Bruisers will soon be but a bad memory.

I have also thought on the question in your last letter – had I ever considered going back to Seven Dials? Truthfully, I had also forgotten about those talks we had, back when we had promise and dreams. We became so hard, living on our own, I don’t think I let anything like kindness or empathy in for fear that any sign of weakness would make it impossible to survive. I, too, was happy to leave that place and never look back. However, it has come to my attention that Detective Inspector Barrow has been using his position within Scotland Yard to improve matters there. For a long time – far too long, I’m ashamed to admit – I thought him quite mad. Why would anyone ever want to return to that terrible place?

Of course, it was my dearest Cole who made me aware of his good deeds. Cole has been trying for several months to introduce legislation in the House of Lords that might lift the people of the rookeries out of poverty. Of course, this is easier said than done, as so many would rather pretend we don’t exist and never did. Do you remember when we dared to venture to Bond Street that one Christmas, after saving up for a bit of silk? One would have sworn we were invisible.

So, in answer to your question, yes, I have thought of going back. We did always say if we had the power to make changes one day we would, and now I do. Even so, it is a challenge to bring about reform, even for the Earl and Countess of Bradford. When you are able to leave Bradford House, I should like to show you what we’ve been doing. Maybe it’s time we both went back – together, this time.

Please be well, for I have not yet forgotten our plans for Paris! I look forward to seeing you again when this is all over.

Your friend,

Della

Violet could not stop the tears which streamed down her cheeks now, thinking of Della and all they had fought for, and how all it had done was get her tangled again with Archie Neville, and taken her back to the one place to which she had sworn never to return. A great, shuddering sob ripped out of her as she folded the letter back up with trembling fingers and slid it deep into her pocket. She neither gasped nor started, numb to everything now, when she heard the scrape of that damned bolt. She didn’t look up when the door squealed open, staring down at the floor instead, hugging herself with tears blurring her vision. Footsteps came closer, but she felt nothing. That was, until John Barrow’s arms came around her and pulled her into him, and she clung to him, certain now that she would never be able to let go.