Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

John was smiling and nodding politely to a man whose name he couldn’t remember – he might be a baron but, quite frankly, he didn’t care. He had barely heard what the man had said, anyway. He had been determined to let Violet go, to never reveal what he really felt for her, so that there was nothing holding her back when she returned to Paris. Why, then, was he so angry? Why was his stomach twisting in knots as he nodded inanely and muttered monosyllabic replies? Culpepper’s words would not stop ringing in his head, telling him that the woman he loved – he knew that now – was unworthy of it. The implication was undeniably meant to let him know that he should not involve himself with Violet. It shouldn’t matter, then, if she was leaving anyway. But it did. It did matter that she had been deemed unworthy by his superior, despite the fact that she had, without question, saved this operation for them. That she had helped them remove one of the worst gangs in London from the streets.

His future with the Metropolitan Police suddenly seemed so… pointless. If Violet had no value to them, how would he ever have it? His beginnings were just as low; his background just as spotty. Violet Latimer was unworthy of love, according to Lloyd Culpepper. So, what of John Barrow?

The room suddenly seemed too crowded; too hot, too noisy. Violet had been kind enough to arrange this event just for him, but now he couldn’t wait to get out and have a moment of peace to think about what it all meant and if, after two years of hard work, nearly getting himself beaten to death on a weekly basis just to maintain his cover and doing the same to others… it had been worth it.

The baron was asking something about police procedure, but John was already turning, muttering his excuses as he sought a moment to think. The card room would still be empty, and he pushed his way through the guests, only to hear someone calling his name. The voice was familiar, and he turned to see, much to his shock, Bess, of all people, weaving her way between the clusters of partygoers, with a footman trailing in her wake and calling after her.

“Mr. Barrow!” she called again, gasping as she finally reached him. The footman came up behind her and took her by the arm, sending John an apologetic look.

“Very sorry, sir, but she said it was urgent and barged in before I could come and find you.”

Bess glared at the young man and snatched her arm back as John waved him off. “It’s alright, I know her.”

She stared the footman down as he gave her one last, suspicious glance.

“Very good, sir,” he said, and turned to leave them in the middle of the busy ballroom.

John tried to steer her towards a quiet corner so he might find out how she had found him and what matter was so urgent that she was gasping for air, as though she had run all the way here from Covent Garden. She immediately tugged her arm back and when he turned to her with a puzzled expression, she clapped a hand down on his shoulder and pulled him towards her.

“He knows,” she hissed into his ear, and he drew back to look down at her, confused.

“What are you talking about? Bess, what are you doing here? How did you find?—”

“He knows!” she said, louder, and John’s heart began to race as the unspoken implication dawned upon him. He stared at her, his chest growing cold as her fingers dug into his shoulder, urgent. Someone bumped into him, but he barely noticed as Bess’s face turned white and her eyes grew wide.

“Archie knows it was Miss Latimer who turned him in!”

The noise fell away. He was no longer hot; he shivered as a chill crept through him. He was hardly aware of anyone around them as he stared at Bess, mouth agape. Her eyes were wide with terror, and after a moment where he was only aware of the blood rushing at his temples, he finally blinked, immediately straightening to search the room. He was looking for only one thing: a rich emerald gown and a crown of golden hair. His heart was threatening to burst from his chest and his hands had started shaking. He couldn’t see her. He whipped around to face Bess.

“How does he know? Tell me everything.” He was speaking as he took her by the arm again and led her through the crowds so they might have somewhere private to speak before he went to find Violet.

“It were Tommy,” she was gasping as she followed him out into the foyer. “We was in the club, gettin’ ready to open for the fight, and he come in – he was furious, Mr. Barrow, he was shoutin’ for Archie, sayin’ that bitch turned him in, askin’ where she was.”

They finally reached a deserted corner in the card room, and John turned once more to Bess, whose face had grown even more ashen as she spoke. She swallowed.

“I knew she’d gone off with you, but he was sayin’ you weren’t at the warehouse. I know you’re not really one o’ them,” she added in a low voice, looking up at him, and he frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not like the other fellas… you’re a good fighter, but I could always see you didn’t want to be fightin’. And I ain’t stupid like they think I am. We girls see things, we hear things, and I know you and Violet were together.”

John leaned back, shaken, but there wasn’t time to parse that bit of information.

“Where are they now, Bess? Are they looking for her?”

She nodded. “Aye, like I said, they was lookin’ for her at the warehouse, and now they’ve got men all over the rookeries tryin’ to find you both. And I knew I had to find you before they did. I saw the papers; I saw Mr. Brill was hostin’ a big party tonight and I know you was workin’ with him, so… I came here.”

“Shit,” he muttered, knowing that if Archie and Tommy had left the club to go looking for Violet, the raid was going to fail. It was all for naught, and even if this party was an enormous success… his promotion was lost. He shook his head; no time to think about that now, because if the Neville brothers found Violet, she was as good as dead.

“Thank you, Bess. You’d best stay here until we know it’s safe to go back to Covent Garden – Mr. Brill can find you somewhere to rest. I have to go and find Miss Latimer to warn her.”

He was gone before Bess could reply, darting through the crowds, cursing them for their impedance as he frantically searched for that distinctive green gown. He checked the ballroom, the dining room, the corridors back to the kitchen. He even bounded up the stairs to search the office where they had made love. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here . He was gasping now as fear choked him, and he had to pause at the top of the stairs with his hand on the newel post to try to breathe. Lady Bradford! She would know where to find Violet. He tore down the stairs, seeking out a head of raven-black hair and a gown of shimmering silver, his frustration mounting as he failed to find her, as well. He was frantic now, ready to begin roaring at the people around him to find her, to demand if they had seen a woman in a gown of green. He had made a second search of the ballroom when he turned to find himself face to face with Culpepper once more.

“Ah, there you are, detective inspector, I was looking for you. I wanted to?—”

“Have you seen Miss Latimer?” John cut him off, taking his superior officer by the shoulders and staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. The older man frowned in confusion.

“Well, she must be here somewhere. I spoke with her not twenty minutes ago.”

“Spoke with her?” John shook his head. “What about?”

Culpepper shrugged, confused as John released his grip on the other man’s shoulders. “I only wished to thank her for her contribution to our operation and enquire if she was returning to France.”

“Returning to France?” John blinked, confused. Why would Culpepper care what she did after tonight? The older man shrugged again.

“Yes. I was rather beginning to worry that she was becoming a distraction to you, Barrow. You two seemed awfully intimate earlier and I simply let it be known to her that any involvement you might have with a former… prostitute” – Culpepper lowered his voice to say the word – “would be looked down upon within the department. I wouldn’t want you to lose your promotion over that… woman.”

In the midst of his panic, it took a moment for the words to register with John, but when they did, his vision clouded with rage.

“ What ?”

Culpepper at least had the good grace to look embarrassed before he replied, “She left in quite a hurry after that, no doubt to seek out her friend the countess.”

Fuck! John wanted to scream at the man, and his fists were curling at his sides, but he managed to draw in a sharp breath. When he spoke, his voice was taut with anger. “You have to send word to the sergeant; the Neville brothers are not at the club – they must delay the raid. Tell him now!”

He turned without waiting for Culpepper’s response. Violet was gone and she was in danger. And it was all his fault.

The tears dried up just as Violet reached Piccadilly, and she was beginning to regret having left the party in such a hurry, for her expensive slippers were now ruined and her feet positively ached. She realized, belatedly, that she must be a sight, wandering without purpose down the street, her cheeks stained with tears, wearing an evening gown with neither coat nor shawl to cover her bare arms from the deepening chill, and so she hailed a passing hansom cab.

Now that she had nothing left to cry, all she could do was sit and stew and hate herself for her foolishness, for thinking that John Barrow would ever want to be with her, for falling for him in the first place. She understood now, all too clearly, why he had never so much as said he cared for her or asked her to stay.

He got what he wanted, though, didn’t he? Violet let out a shuddering breath and buried her face in her hands as the voice, the one she thought she had finally silenced, began to whisper at her again. He was never going to be with you because you are a liability. He was never going to choose you over his career. He got his bit of fun. Violet pressed her palms into her eyes with a strangled cry, trying to erase the image of his face from her mind; of John smiling down at her, of falling into his arms during their boxing lesson, of the feeling of his hips wedged between her thighs, bringing her pleasure she had not thought herself worthy of feeling again. Not until he came along and made neither judgement nor comment on her past.

The tears sprang forth once more at that thought, her heart wrenching inside her chest, a sensation so painful that she let out a low, keening moan. He had made her feel valuable; he had made her feel loved, even though he had never said the words. And it was all a lie – he would get his precious promotion on the back of her imprisonment, and what had she? Just another broken heart and the renewed determination that she would never love again.

That bitter resolve brought her all the way into Belgravia and the high brick wall surrounding Bradford House. At least she could hide away in her room, let the darkness consume her, and steal away at dawn to return to the one place where her past wasn’t known, and thus did not matter.

Once the driver handed her out and drove on, she looked up at the high limestone walls of the house. All the windows were dark, and she sighed, relieved that at least she would not have to face the concerned looks or questions of the staff. She would rid herself of this gown, along with the memory of John Barrow and his touch, so gentle for a man accustomed to such violence, and his smile and his stupid beautiful eyes. Jaw set with angry determination, she slipped through the gate and strode through moonlit paths and the shadowed outlines of trees and shrubs, to reach the back door.

Violet was just rounding the corner, her steps quick and quiet, when she heard whispered voices, followed by a small, mewling cry. She paused, mid-stride, frowning, but not before she came around the corner to find two dark shapes leaving the house. They stepped into the light of the lantern hanging from the wall outside, and she froze. Tommy and the Devil. And in Tommy’s arms – little baby Clara. Violet’s heart lurched into her throat as she was torn between the instinct to run and getting Della’s daughter away from these men. In the end, the decision was never made as the Devil looked up and spotted her peering around the corner before taking a few quick strides towards her and closing his hand around her wrist. He then hauled her into the light of the lantern and pushed her towards Tommy, who was now grinning as he looked her up and down.

“Oh, Violet… why do you keep gettin’ caught?”

She gasped as the Devil threw her to the ground at Tommy’s feet before raising a pleading gaze to him.

“Put her back, Tommy – I know you only came here for bait. Well, I’m here now. You can take me to Archie. You don’t need the baby anymore.”

Tommy chuckled, low and dark, and prodded her to rise with the toe of his boot. He was shaking his head as she stood on trembling legs.

“Baby? I wouldn’t be worried about some fuckin’ brat when you got much worse comin’ your way.” He took a step closer and leaned down, so his face was just inches from hers. Violet’s breath caught. “You turned in my brother, didn’tcha?”

Violet’s stomach plummeted and she could only stare back at Tommy, her mouth agape as the terrible realization sunk in. He sneered and looked over at the Devil.

“Come on, Archie’ll want to know she’s found.”

Run , the voice whispered at her, but she followed without protest, numb with shock, as the Devil took her by the arm. How could she run when they had Della’s daughter? Who knew what they would do to her if she ran?

A carriage waited for them a block away, and Violet was unceremoniously shoved inside. The Devil took the driver’s seat and Tommy followed her inside, carrying the baby, miraculously still sleeping. Violet pushed herself as far into the corner as she could, keeping her gaze fixed on Della’s daughter.

“Why don’t you let me hold her, Tommy?”

His smile was dark in the sallow light of the cab’s lanterns. “No.”

She let out a small, shuddering breath and turned her gaze out the window to watch them make the familiar journey back to Covent Garden. In the midst of the shock of finding Tommy and the Devil absconding with Della’s daughter, Violet had quite forgotten the events of the night, for she now knew only a deep, dreadful fear. It was rising up through her, chilling her insides, and though she did her best not to let it take hold, her hands were shaking as they crossed into Covent Garden. She was careful to peer down the alleys and side streets, hoping to see the police wagons which should be here for the raid, but the streets remained empty as they drew closer to the club. After a stretch of unbearable silence, Tommy finally spoke.

“Suppose you thought we’d never find out, eh?”

Violet said nothing. What could she say? He sniffed.

“It was Arthur’s woman – the one he nearly beat to death. Found her in a brothel in Shoreditch. Went lookin’ for her meself ’cause I never believed a word you said.” Tommy’s lip curled as he glared over at her, and her stomach clenched. “I never trusted you. And I never trusted that Barrow bastard.” He paused. “Where is he, anyway?”

Violet swallowed and tried to make her voice strong when she spoke, but feared it came out as more of a choked rasp when she replied.

“I gave him the slip at the warehouse. I don’t know where he went, and I don’t care.”

Tommy eyed her suspiciously before he spoke again. “I asked Arthur’s girl what happened when he was arrested, and she said he never ratted on nobody.” He paused again, his eyes practically gleaming with vicious delight. “She did say she saw you with a copper a few days later; thought he was just hasslin’ you for solicitation. It didn’t take much effort to add up that you was the one what turned in my brother, Violet.”

The air grew chill in the cab and Clara murmured in her sleep. Violet’s throat was so tight now she could barely force the words out.

“He wouldn’t let me leave, Tommy.”

Tommy remained unmoved, his gaze narrowing on her. “You said you loved him. And he loved you – don’t fuckin’ understand it meself, but he woulda given you anythin’.”

Violet shook her head as a shaft of light from a streetlamp slid over the interior of the cab. “I stopped lovin’ him. I stopped when I saw what he really was.”

“And what was that?”

A moment of silence. “A monster.” Violet’s voice was the barest whisper, but Tommy made no reply, his gaze sliding away from her to face forward. Little baby Clara still slept in his massive arms.

Violet let out a shaking breath. She was going to die tonight. None of the rest seemed to matter… John or Paris or her art. What did it matter when she knew Archie would kill her tonight? He knew now that she was responsible for his eight-year incarceration, and he was going to kill her for it. Tears were stinging at her eyes once more, but she blinked them away, determined that she would not allow her fear to show. If she was going to die tonight, it would be with dignity and defiance, not mewling and begging for mercy. She straightened her shoulders as the carriage slowed and they drew upon the Devil’s Den. There was no one outside – undoubtedly everyone was in the cellars for the fight if it had proceeded as planned. She swallowed as Tommy opened the door and stepped out of the carriage without so much as looking at her and disappeared into the club with the baby. Violet pushed herself off the seat and leapt out of the cab, determined not to let Clara out of her sight for as long as she could, but the Devil was there, snatching her wrist before she could take even one step towards the club.

Fighting the urge to resist him, knowing it would gain her nothing and fearful of his retaliation, she gritted her teeth and allowed him to drag her inside. When she realized they were heading back down that corridor and into the dreaded box, she couldn’t help digging her heels in and trying to pull her arm back. Unfortunately, it was very much like trying to beat back the tide, and his merciless grip remained steady as he pulled her down the hall and to the stairs. Her heart was beating so hard now her chest ached and the shadows at the bottom of the stairs seemed so much more ominous than before. That same fear she had going down them for the first time – that if she went into those shadows and let the door close behind her, she would never come out – had returned, but this time she knew it was true.

The Devil did not light the lantern for her as John had, though she wouldn’t have expected him to. He pushed her inside and closed the door behind him, and it was the squeal of the bolt sliding home that finally tipped Violet into the despair she had been battling so hard to resist. The darkness closed around her as she pressed her palms flat upon the door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. And though she was sure she had nothing left to cry, she wept. Great, shuddering sobs wracked her body as she finally saw the end, wishing, despite everything she had learned tonight, that John was here with her now.