Chapter 2

TWO

Violet staredout at the passingcountryside, rocking in her seat as the steam train lumbered along the tracks. She was cold – no, not cold, hollow – and her eyes ached with exhaustion, but she did not sleep. She leaned her chin upon a fist as clear morning sunlight slanted across a field full of sheep and closed her eyes against the immense loss. Everything would be gone by now – all those sketches, the canvases she had worked so diligently upon, her paints, her brushes, her easels – undoubtedly smashedto pieces as punishment for her transgression, and a tear crept down her cheek. She had worked so hard for that little flat, so hard to be recognized as a gifted artist, to make a life for herself in a new country where her past mattered naught, just her future.

But here she was, back home, where she was nothing but a fallen woman, born in the lowest of circumstances. She had managed to crawl out of that hole and Archie had returnedto knock her back in. Her throat grew tight with rising anger and despair as she remembered herself, all of seventeen, desperate for her and Della, her dearest and only friend in those dark days, to get out of the orphanage they had been raised in; to avoid the workhouse they would inevitably be sent to once they grew too old for the home.

Archie had been the answer; a tough, swaggering brute, rising quickly through the ranks of the Bruisers, he had promised a new life for them if only she agreed to one thing when the time came – that she would marry him. And why wouldn’t she? He was big and handsome, fearless, and confident. She had fallen for him and for the promises he made, and he had loved her back with a passion she had been flattered by at the time, thinking, in her youthful naiveté, that his fierce devotion to her was a result of their hardscrabble upraising, and that she had likely been the first person to ever show him kindness. And she might have been happy with that, had the real Archie not long after begun to reveal himself to her in ways she found far too frightening to dismiss as simple overprotectiveness. She had known she had to escape… and if he ever found out how, she was as good as dead.

Violet sighed as the train let out a piercing whistle and the station came into view, surrounded by a small, picturesque village. She gathered up her single suitcase and waited until they came to a jerking halt before she stood. Desperate, she had been then, to avoid marriage to Archie once she saw who he really was, desperate enough that she had risked her life. What a fool she had been to think he had forgotten her during those long years in Newgate.

As one of the porters held out a hand for her to step down to the platform, she risked a glance backwards, sure she would see his face in the window looking back at her. Nothing. She let out a breath and nodded at the porter before heading into the station, bag in hand. It was a short walk to her destination and the morning was fine, the air scented with grass and hay, recently cut for the harvest, and so she set out on foot.

Though it was quiet on the hard-packed dirt road that cut through stubbled fields and stands of spindly birch trees swaying in the breeze, she paused to look back every so often. Fear would grip her each time she turned, but the road remained quiet and only the occasional farmer or field hand would wave to her as she passed.

Finally, after about an hour’s walk, she reached her destination. The manor lay at the end of a winding drive, lined with massive Lebanon cedars. A pond sparkled at the bottom of a hill, surrounded by willows, their delicate tendrils dipping in the clear water. Violet’s boots crunched upon the gravel drive, and she sighed with relief as she reached the massive stone portico at the front of the manor and unceremoniously dropped her bag upon the ground before the grand arched doors. A trio of knocks brought the butler to the door, and he peered curiously at her as she stood before him, no doubt red with exhaustion, her hat askew and her brow damp with sweat.

“Miss Latimer?” he asked, uncertain, and she nodded.

“Yes, Harris – it’s been some time. Is Del— Lady Bradford at home?”

The butler’s expression grew puzzled. “She is in the village today. Was Lady Bradford expecting you? I’m afraid she did not inform me…”

Violet’s shoulders sagged. “No… no, she wasn’t expectin’ me. It’s a… bit of a surprise visit, actually.” She paused, not knowing how to proceed. Harris must have seen the uncertainty on her face, for he gave a small, sympathetic smile and gestured to her bag.

“If I may, Lady Bradford shall be returning for dinner. I can have a bath drawn for you in the meantime, and a room prepared – have you walked here from the train station?” He said it kindly, but Violet flushed, knowing she was no doubt a tired, dusty mess. Unconsciously, she put a hand to her ribboned straw hat.

“I did. That would be very kind of you, Harris.”

He nodded. “It would be my pleasure. May I announceyou to his lordship?”

“He’s home?”

“Yes. The countess is attending a meeting with the Ladies Village Improvement Society and his lordship is attending to some matters regarding the estate.”

Violet’s heart leapt into her throat. “Yes, please.”

He nodded as she bent to pick up her bag before following him into what had once been the great hall of the Tudor-era manor. It was quiet here; only the ticking of the intricate grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs broke the silence. Violet had been here only once, just before she left for Paris. Della had just married the Earl of Bradford, who had hired her for her pickpocketing skills when he had been an operative for the Home Office. She had gone on to take the examinations at Oxford, part of her lifelong dream of becoming a scholar, and had given birth to their first child only a few months ago. At least Violet would finally be able to meet little Clara Winthrop.

The butler motioned to her bag, and she handed it to him with a distracted nod. “I shall be but a moment, Miss Latimer.”

He disappeared down a corridor behind the massive oak staircase and returned a few, agonizing minutes later to gesture towards her. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Violet inclined her head, her heart in her throat as she followed him across the vast black-and-white checkerboard floor, down a narrow hall paneled in rich, dark oak and through the doorway at the end. Her fingers tightened in her skirts as he led her into what appeared to be a study. Della’s husband had always been kind to her, and she had not stopped since she had fled Archie at le Chat Noir, barely sleeping, and not pausing to rest until she had reached England’s familiar shores and Headingly Hall, the ancestral seat of the Earl of Bradford. She had come here with a singular purpose; to get the only man of the law she knew and trusted to get Archie out of her life. Permanently. She fairly quivered with fatigue as she entered the elegantly appointed chamber just as Della’s husband rose from where he sat behind a massive mahogany desk.

His smile was warm as he came around the piece of furniture, and it was all she could do to remain standing before him, exhausted as she was.

“Miss Latimer, this is an unexpected pleasure! Della did not tell me you would be visiting,” he said as he took her hand into his own larger one. He frowned when she shook her head.

“She’s not expectin’ me. And I didn’t come to see her… not really.” His frown deepened, but he must have seen the anguish in her eyes, for he gestured to one of the two green velvet-upholstered armchairs which flanked the desk. She took one with a grateful nod as he returned to his seat at the desk to face her before drawing in a deep breath to slow her racing heart and meeting his bemused gaze. “It was you I came to see.” She swallowed and he wordlessly pushed the glass and pitcher full of water upon his desk towards her. She poured a splash with shaking fingers and took a deep, satisfying sip.

“And what have you come to see me about, Miss Latimer?”

She managed a weary chuckle. “Don’t you think we’re beyond those formalities, milord?”

He grinned back at her. “I suppose so, Violet. Perhaps you might call me Cole?”

Her nod of agreement was brief, and her smile faded quickly. “I need your help.”

His expression remained unreadable, but he gestured for her to continue. It was now that Violet grew uncertain, and her fingers twisted together in her lap as she cast about for how to explain. If only Della was here. She knew just what Archie was, just what sort of danger Violet had fled, and she would have been able to explain everything to her husband, whom Violet had assisted briefly three years ago to save her dear friend’s life.

“There’s this… man. Me and Della knew him from back when we were still in the orphanage. He got us out of that place, got us trained up as pickpockets, kept us out of trouble as we made our way out into the world.” Cole nodded but said nothing. Violet took another sip of water to wash away the dust of the road from her throat.

“I promised I would marry him…” She closed her eyes and breathed in, hating herself for having ever made such a promise after coming to know exactly who and what Archie Neville was. But she had been so desperate to get out, to take Della with her so they wouldn’t end up in the workhouse, that she would have promised her soul to the devil himself. That she had ever loved him at all made her ashamed to her very soul. She met Cole’s sympathetic gaze and continued in a whisper, unable to bring herself to reveal what she had done, as though to speak of it aloud would bring Archie here to this room, the dark specter of her past come back to haunt her. “He was a bad man. He’s been in Newgate for the last eight years and I thought he had just forgotten about me – I hoped he had, anyway. Cole, he found me.” Her throat tightened as she spoke, and her fists were clenched so hard her nails were digging into her palms. The same terror she had felt when she turned around in the bar to find him standing behind her burst in her chest now and she leaned forward to speak, her throat so tight she was sure she would choke. “He found me in Paris, in a bar. He found me, and he wants me to keep my promise. I can’t marry him, Cole, I can’t. But he won’t ever let me go. I need him gone. For good.” Her breath shuddered out, but she still couldn’t bear to tell him that, even worse than Archie wanting to marry her, her very life was in danger if he found out what she had done. She grasped the edge of his desk with shaking fingers and leaned closer. “I need your help.”

There was a long, agonizing moment where Cole said nothing before he closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. Violet’s heart sank.

“Miss Latimer… Violet… you are my wife’s dearest friend and you helped save her life, and you know I will do everything in my power to keep you safe… but I cannot help you.” His tone was full of regret and Violet knew it must be difficult for him to tell her this. It didn’t stop the dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared at him in horror. “I am retired. I don’t work for the Home Office any longer, and everyone knows I worked for them, anyway. I can hardly maintain a low profile. And I promised Della that I would not go back. That I had escaped with my life and that would be the end of it.”

She shook her head, disbelieving. “You were the only one I could think of to go to. I came all this way for your help; I thought you’d know how to get him out of my life. What am I to do? If he found me in a bar in Paris, he can find me anywhere.”

“You are, of course, free to stay here with us. I can assure you that you will be safe.”

She shook her head again, angry now at the futility of her escape from France. But he had promised Della, and she could hardly blame her friend for holding him to it. “I have a life there now, Cole. A career. Friends. I’m not Violet Latimer, Seven Dials whore… I’m an artist.”

His expression faltered and he looked back at her with regret. “I’m so sorry, Violet, if there was something I could do…” He paused and furrowed his brow as though in thought before he reached down and pulled open one of the desk drawers. He snatched out a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, nodding now. She looked on in confusion as he scrawled something on the paper. “I cannot help you, but there is someone who might be able to.” He looked up and pushed the paper towards her. “You remember my valet, Mr. Barrow?”

She nodded slowly, confused. She had briefly met the valet three years ago during Della’s operation with Cole. He had seemed polite if a bit guarded. A former resident of the rookery, just as she and Della had been. But what could a valet do for her? “Well, he is no longer my valet – he left us shortly after your departure to France to pursue a different career.” He gave her a small smile of encouragement. “He had ambitions beyond a life of service, and I could hardly hold him back. He’s working with the Metropolitan Police – he’s Detective Inspector Barrow, now, though I imagine he won’t be going by that name given his current position. I’m certain he would be more than happy to assist you.”

A spark of hope came to life in her chest, but she dared not feed it, and when she glanced at the address the earl had written, it nearly died. She raised a horrified gaze to him. “He’s in Seven Dials?”

The corner of Cole’s mouth went up as if he sensed her unease. “Undercover, as I understand it, to aid the Home Office. I do believe he’s assisting in infiltrating the gangs working out of that area.” His expression softened. “I gather you had planned on never returning?”

She frowned. “Not there, that’s for certain.”

He smiled. “Then we must find you more suitable accommodations. Bradford House is currently unoccupied, of course.”

Violet shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. I can find somewhere myself?—”

“Violet.” His tone was stern, but there was a sparkle in his amber-hued eyes as he sat up straighter in his chair, exuding all the authority of the Earl of Bradford. “I’m afraid I must insist. I rather think if I allow you to seek other accommodation, the lady of the household shall have my neck.”

At this, Violet laughed. “I do believe she would. Then I must accept.”

Cole put on a look of mock relief as he rose from his chair. “Thank goodness. She is as fierce as ever, you know.”

Violet gave him a sly grin as she rose from her seat and followed his gesture for them to leave the room. “I would expect nothin’ less.”

Cole waved his arm for her to go ahead of him before falling into step beside her as they made their way back down the hall. “She and Clara will be home shortly. I hope I shan’t need to convince you to stay for the night?”

“Not at all.”

“Very good. And Violet…”

She turned to face him and saw his gaze was full of concern as he put a hand out and touched her arm, halting her. “Barrow is a fine detective. I have no doubt he will be able to help you – and keep you safe.”

And though Violet knew Archie would be on the warpath, stopping at nothing to find her, to force her to keep the promise she had made, Cole’s earnest words made the tension in her chest release, just a little, and she offered him a small smile.

“Thank you, Cole. I’m glad Della has someone like you, someone to watch out for her.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re quite mistaken,” he said, glancing over at her with a smile as they made their way back to the great hall. “It is she who watches out for me.”