Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

After Lady Bradford had left the room, leaving John with the unsettling sensation that she knew far more than he was willing to admit, he went to find Violet so he might introduce her to his superintendent. She was standing beneath a massive portrait of a lady clad in garb from centuries past, staring up with an expression of wonder. She didn’t look at him as he approached her.

“He’s got a bloody Holbein,” she said, speaking loudly to be heard over the nearby strains of the quartet and the growing din of voices as more guests entered the room. John recognized many of them as friends and peers of the earl – dukes and viscounts and barons. Even a politician or two. He looked back at Violet who had finally torn her gaze away and was watching him with a smile.

“Ready to go make some money?”

He chuckled and offered his arm once more, spotting his superior entering the room.

“Come along, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said, as she laid her hand upon his and followed him through the gathering throngs to the superintendent, who noticed him as they approached and waved him over.

“Ah, detective inspector, there you are! Quite splendid, isn’t it?” he remarked, gesturing widely to the room with its lofty ceilings of moulded plaster and walls of watered silk. John nodded.

“It was very kind of Mr. Brill to give us the use of it for the evening.”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “They’ll have to make you detective chief inspector now, won’t they?”

John managed a polite smile. “If the board sees fit, then I should be honoured,” he said, before gesturing to Violet, whose fingers were digging into his arm. “May I introduce Miss Violet Latimer, without whose assistance we would surely not be here in this room tonight.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Latimer,” Culpepper said, offering Violet the smallest tilt of his head. His reply was utterly benign, and yet there was a coolness in his gaze, a disdainful lift of his chin, as he observed her. Violet smiled dutifully in response, but John could see the tightening of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes as she took in his superior officer’s unmistakable contempt.

“And you, as well, superintendent. Detective Inspector Barrow has told me a great deal about you.” She made no attempt to elaborate upon this as she turned a winning smile upon John. “I’m terribly parched – I think I’ll go find the refreshment room so you two may talk business.”

John could hardly call out Culpepper’s derision for the woman who had undoubtedly helped him with his decade-long ambition to remove the gangs from the rookery, so he gave her a quick, sympathetic look before nodding.

“Of course, Miss Latimer.”

Violet had turned away before he had even finished speaking and it was with an effort that John turned back to his superior with a tight smile. Culpepper was watching as Violet crossed the room before giving the smallest of shrugs.

“A pretty thing, I suppose,” he said before turning back to John. “I have had word from our sergeant that the men will be arriving outside Covent Garden shortly. All we need do is sit back and celebrate with some champagne.” He smiled, but John struggled to return the expression, knowing that Violet was off somewhere, fuming and embarrassed at Culpepper’s treatment. He should have been thrilled at that moment – the months of dedication were finally going to pay off – but all he could do was nod.

“Marvelous,” he said, wishing it were so. Culpepper gave him a curious look.

“Is something amiss, Barrow? We have finally succeeded – you will surely be detective chief inspector once this operation concludes.”

John sighed and let his gaze drift out over the other guests. “Yes, and I am most grateful for the opportunity.”

Culpepper tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as John looked back at him. “I expected you might be a little more enthusiastic. You’ve been undercover for months now – time to return to real life and set about rising up the ranks, eh?” He tried for an encouraging smile, but all John could think of was Violet and the angry flush in her cheeks, and how all night that heavy weight had been sitting upon his chest – he had wanted to confess he loved her when they had been upstairs, to ask her to stay, but he hadn’t because he didn’t dare stand in the way of her dreams.

“Yes, of course,” he murmured absently, his gaze once more drawn to the ballroom, seeking out that gown of emerald silk. When Culpepper loudly cleared his throat, he finally forced his attention back to his superior and found him frowning.

“Detective inspector, I do hope that you maintained a… professional relationship with Miss Latimer, during your time with her.”

John blinked; had he been so transparent? He was quick to shake his head.

“Certainly. We do have a past acquaintance through the Countess of Bradford, and so she is familiar to me, of course.”

Culpepper looked relieved. “Quite so. I know women with her… experience… can cause some men to make questionable decisions.”

John’s eyes narrowed. The weight lifted, replaced by a terrible, cold fury. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he had to swallow back the words he wanted to say, none of which were appropriate for a high-society event, and instead reply, “I assure you, superintendent, that Miss Latimer’s experience has no bearing on how I view her. Please do excuse me.” He turned without another word to go find Violet.

He spotted her in the shadows of a small alcove, gripping a glass of champagne and he sighed as he came up to her.

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Violet – he treated me no better when we first met. He has always been supportive in my becoming a detective, but I know my past has always troubled him. Anyone raised in the rookery, whatever they make of themselves, must be, at heart, always a criminal.”

“Or a whore,” Violet said, her voice raw with anger. John’s chest grew tight, hating that anyone would dare make her feel so low, this wonderful woman who possessed more beauty and talent and bravery than Lloyd Culpepper could ever dream of. He touched a finger to her chin, and she looked up at him, her eyes blazing.

“You are an artist, Violet Latimer. And you always have been.”

Her expression softened, just a little, when they were interrupted by someone coughing loudly. They turned to find Edward Brill watching them with a raised brow.

“If I’m throwin’ this whole party just to get you some promotion, then you’d best get out there and start hobnobbin’ with these toffs. Miss Latimer,” he added, turning his gaze to Violet. “Since you’re the expert on these things, I’ve a new paintin’ my solicitor insisted I purchase as an investment, but I think he was tryin’ to fob it off on me. Perhaps you’d have a look, tell me if it’s worth what I paid?”

Violet glanced at John, then back to Edward and nodded.

“Of course, Mr. Brill. Lead the way.”

She left without another word, and John sighed. It was, indeed, time to start hobnobbing. After all, if Violet could withstand the pointed looks and disdainful sniffs of his superintendent, then he could certainly handle mingling with a viscount or two.

Violet was finally beginning to enjoy the evening. The music was lively, the art was impressive, the champagne was flowing, and there were no more scathing looks sent in her direction. Della had finally calmed down after the surprise of the letter and the fear that Archie must have taken out a terrible revenge upon her, and they laughed and chatted just as they had in the old days, marveling at how far they had come from living in a brothel in Seven Dials. They were already planning their visit to Paris when Della spotted John Barrow across the room, speaking with her husband. She let out a small huff of laughter.

“I’m sure they’re discussin’ the particulars of Archie’s case.” Her expression grew serious as she met Violet’s gaze. “Cole really is very sorry he wasn’t able to help you, Vi. You mustn’t blame him… I made him promise he would stay out of the business of spyin’.”

Violet shrugged as she snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “It all worked out in the end.”

Della’s gaze was assessing as she took a sip from her own glass. “Yes, Detective Inspector Barrow has informed me that you were paramount in his success.” She paused. “I know you didn’t choose to go to Archie because you wanted to help. What on earth made you go back to that place? Why would you take that risk?” Della asked, placing a beseeching hand upon Violet’s arm, and her heart twisted painfully, seeing the concern in her friend’s eyes. She managed a brave smile and placed her hand over Della’s.

“He was never gonna stop, Della – you know that. He was killin’ people tryin’ to find me. He murdered a fella I knew from Cora’s… and that was the last straw.”

Della’s jaw dropped in shock, but after a moment, she nodded, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. An awful guilt crept through Violet, knowing how worried her friend had been for her.

“I do know, Vi… but if he ever found out…”

Violet gave her head a vehement shake. “Don’t even think it, Della. It won’t matter after tonight. I’ll be back in Paris before the end of the week and Archie will be rottin’ away in a prison cell where he belongs.”

Della put on a haughty expression. “Good riddance. We shan’t give him another thought. But I expect a grand tour when Clara and I arrive. A celebration of your return,” she added with a smile, tugging on Violet’s arm so they might stroll around the perimeter of the room, outsiders to the last, even with the benefit of Della’s title. No one looked askance at them, but neither did anyone approach them and Violet grinned.

“We’ll drink champagne until we burst and stuff ourselves with croissants. D’you know there’s a lovely little French patisserie right around the corner from here? Detective Inspector Barrow took me there a few weeks ago and it was just like being back in Montmartre.”

Della’s brow went up. “Did he?”

Violet narrowed her eyes at her friend. “What?”

Della lifted one shoulder and sipped her champagne. “Seems you two have become rather close. I believe I caught him starin’ at you earlier.”

Violet managed a scoff but couldn’t find the will to meet Della’s inquisitive gaze. “We helped each other out of a tight spot. He’ll get what he wants, and I’ll get my life back.”

Della was silent for a moment, her gaze moving over the crowded ballroom. When she looked back at Violet, she was smiling.

“He’s a fine man, and there is no one more deserving of that promotion.” She took another sip of her champagne before giving her a nonchalant glance. “I don’t suppose there is some handsome Frenchman waiting for you back in Paris?”

Violet chuckled. “There are a lot of handsome Frenchmen, but none waitin’ for me.”

“Pity. I’ve heard they make excellent lovers,” Della said with a wicked glint in her eye, and Violet let out an amused sniff before she looked away with a sigh.

“If you must know the truth, Del, there was no man in France. Not once in two years.”

Della turned to her now with a sympathetic look. “I suspected as much. Not once in any letter did you mention someone… it can be so hard to let go of our pasts.”

Violet drew in a breath. There was no fear in telling Della the truth; they had shared the highest highs and the lowest lows together and had never felt the need to conceal uncomfortable truths from one another.

“I didn’t come home intendin’ to change anythin’ about that. I was very happy on my own. But then I was spendin’ all that time with Detective Inspector Barrow – John – and somethin’s grown between us.” She let out a small laugh. “We were… together… upstairs before this very party.”

Della grinned, her brows rising. “So, he is a very fine man, indeed.” The smile faded as she contemplated her friend. “But he’s not coming with you to Paris, is he?”

Violet slowly shook her head. “I wouldn’t even ask. And I’m not stayin’ here for him.”

“Well, that is a bit of a problem. Unless… this was a mere liaison?”

Violet took a moment to glance towards the ballroom, not wanting to be overheard before meeting her friend’s curious gaze once more.

“I don’t know. Della, I think… I think I may love him. Isn’t that silly?”

“Why would it be silly for you to love him?”

Violet scoffed. “I was a whore, Della. I fucked men for money. And never once did I see the use in lovin’ any of them.”

To this, Della only gave a sad smile. “And at one time, neither did I.” She glanced over Violet’s shoulder, then back to her, touching a hand to her arm. “I’m gonna go find my husband. You should go find Detective Inspector Barrow.”

And without another word, Della stepped past her and disappeared into the crowds. Violet watched her go as a heavy weight settled upon her chest. She was not even certain if it was love she felt for John – so how could she tell him she loved him? And even if she did… they were on two different paths, in two different countries, with an expanse of sea between them. All she would end up doing was breaking her heart again, and she had no intention of letting that happen. Sighing, she swallowed back the last of her champagne, deciding that if she had to be stuck at this party with a bunch of haughty aristocrats, she might as well get good and scammered. She was scanning the crowd for another footman when Edward Brill materialized, nodding when he recognized her. He came to stand beside her, saying nothing as they both looked out over a sea of silk and jewels and feathers. After a moment, he spoke, leaning in close so she could hear him over the din.

“You hidin’ from all these toffs, as well?”

Violet gave a wry smile. “Maybe. But this evenin’ isn’t for me. It’s for Detective Inspector Barrow. I’m just meant to be hidin’ out while the police do their work at Archie’s club.”

He nodded. “Very good of you to do this for him, considerin’ what they think of us.”

Violet shrugged and looked up at Edward. “It’s what he really wants. And he helped me when I needed it, so this is how I’m helpin’ him.”

Edward nodded again. The string quartet had struck up another lilting tune and the din of the crowd rose and fell before he spoke again. “I suppose you’re headin’ straight back to Paris after tonight?”

Violet was staring out at the ballroom, all the people blending into a kaleidoscope of colour as tears pricked at her eyes. She couldn’t see John, though if she had, she might have begun weeping at the thought of never seeing him again. She swallowed back the rising ache in her throat and inclined her head.

“Yes. I’ll stay at Bradford House tonight and travel to the train station tomorrow afternoon.”

“Then I’ll give this to you now, in case we don’t see each other again tonight,” he said, and Violet turned to see him holding out a sealed envelope. She gave him a quizzical look.

“What is it?”

Edward smiled as she took it. “A proposal.”

She frowned down at the envelope, and when she looked back up again, he had already turned and was heading out of the room. Shrugging, she slipped it into her pocket and forced herself to wade into the throngs. Her head was beginning to spin from the effects of too much champagne, and she needed to eat something. The refreshment room was just on the other side of that massive foyer, and so she made her way through the guests. She was just rounding a corner when she bumped into a gentleman who turned immediately to face her.

“Oh, superintendent, I do apologize,” she said, an angry flush rising up her chest as she recalled his disdainful appraisal of her. She refused to let it show, reminding herself that she was here to get John his promotion, and so plastered a dazzling smile upon her face.

“Ah, Miss Latimer, I had hoped to see you again. I do believe I was remiss in not thanking you earlier. Your assistance in the capture of the Neville brothers cannot go unremarked upon. Detective Inspector Barrow is most grateful for your help.”

The tightness in Violet’s chest abated at these words, and her smile softened.

“Why, thank you. It was a difficult time, but I’m glad it worked out.”

He gave a slow nod and seemed to be considering her before he spoke again. “I take it you shall be returning to Paris posthaste?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I’ll be catchin’ the afternoon train to Dover tomorrow.”

Culpepper looked relieved, finally smiling at her. “Very good. I should hate for Barrow to become distracted.”

“Distracted?”

He chuckled and took a sip of his champagne. “You’re a very pretty girl, Miss Latimer, and I worried you had become close in your time together. He is quite set on this promotion, but no man rises to become detective chief inspector if he’s involved with, well… a woman of your… experience…” He trailed off now, giving her an embarrassed smile.

Violet might have smiled in return. She didn’t know. She was frozen to the spot, people swirling around her as she stared back at the superintendent, with his greying hair, clipped neatly, and his immaculately tailored suit. She seemed to recall the hollow feeling she had on the train to Headingly Hall after Archie had found her in Paris. She felt the same now, only worse. Much worse. My god, how could she have been so stupid? How could she have let herself fall for another man who was wrong? He was wrong. Wrong .

She couldn’t breathe, and the room was beginning to spin around her. He could have loved her back or not, but it didn’t matter in the end because he was never going to be with a whore. He was never going to go with her. Because she was unlovable, and she should have known it from the start.

Violet mumbled an excuse of some sort and turned on her heel, tears scalding at the backs of her eyes as she pushed through the crowds to the card room. She had to get out. She had to get out of this place. She would get on a train tonight; she couldn’t wait. A sob was burning in her throat as she found the door, the one which took her to the kitchens, to the way out. A footman said something as she passed; she didn’t hear him. Pots and pans banged, and the cook shouted as she stumbled through the kitchen, but she was insensate at this point; she couldn’t hold the sob back any longer, and just as she made it outside, it burst from her. Her chest heaved as she buried her face in her hands, letting the tears fall, letting the cold night air wash over her. She should have been angry; she should have raged and screamed and cursed, but all she could do was weep uncontrollably at the knowledge that all her worst fears had been confirmed. Violet Latimer was a whore, and she always would be. No one would love her, and she was wrong to love anyone in return.