Chapter 7

SEVEN

“Have you found her yet?”

Tommy’s voice reached John as he jabbed at the punching bag being held steady by one of the other boxers among the Bruisers crew, the enormousIrishman known only as the Devil. His flaming red hair and violent temper lent him the moniker, and he glanced over at Tommy as John shook out his arms and stepped back. Sweat beaded on his skin and he wiped a bandaged fist across his forehead before shaking his head.

“I’ve not heard a single whisper about her, Tommy – she’s disappeared, or it was never her to begin with.”

The other man contemplatedhim from outside the makeshift ring with dark, unreadable eyes as John took up a nearby towel and dragged it over the back of his neck. An uncomfortable silence descended as he looked back at Tommy. The Devil’s eyes were on him as well, curious. No doubt he, too, had been tasked with tracking down a pretty blonde whore named Violet. Finally, Tommy sighed and stepped forward.

“You sure she was called Violet?”

“I’m sure… had a cousin named Violet; it reminded me of her.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes and John looked back at him, unwavering.

“What did she look like?”

“Like I said… blonde, green eyes. Bit on the short side. Pretty thing. She seemed desperate.”

Tommy’s eyebrows lowered a fraction. “Desperate for you?”

“Desperate for money.” John’s voice was flat. “She kept offerin’ me lower – gave her a whole shillin’ to leave me ’cause I felt bad.”

Tommy was quiet again and a knot of tension began to grow in John’s chest. It didn’t show – he kept his expression carefully impassive as the Devil slowly stepped away from the punching bag. Eventually, Tommy shrugged and nodded towards the other man who immediately stepped out of the ring and disappeared through a door at the back of the room into the warehouse.

John glanced back as the door closed behind the Irishman, then slowly began to unravel the bandages from his hands as Tommy strolled forward into the square of light spilling in through the small, grimy window set high up in the wall. He said nothing as he withdrew a watch from his pocket and glanced at the time before raising his hard, implacable gaze to John, who stared back with equal indifference.

“Ready for the fight?” he asked, his voice deceptively nonchalant. John Barrow was no fool, however, and he heard the underlying threat in the other man’s voice. He took a moment before answering.

“Ready as ever.”

Tommy stepped closer. He set his large hand upon the length of rope which marked the boundary of the ring, and scrutinized John for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he wasn’t about to let any uneasiness show and continued to unwrap his hands.

“Archie’s comin’ back here under the impression that she’s in London. If he gets back and we don’t have her, he’s gonna be right pissed. Even more if she’s back to liftin’ her skirts – he wants her for himself and if he finds her with someone else, he’ll fuckin’ butcher them. Where the hell is she?”

John let out a disbelieving laugh and raised his hands. “I don’teven know the girl, Tommy. I’m just tellin’ you what I saw. She could have been anyone – there’s probably a dozen blonde whores named Violet in St. Giles alone.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change – not really – but every muscle in his face seemed to tighten as he stared at John, his dark eyes unreadable. John was very careful not to look away as the other man’s lips flattened, and he could almost hear Tommy cursing his brother for this fool’s errand. Eventually, he turned away with an obscenity hissed out under his breath and kicked at a nearby bucket. It skittered across the floor, the noise echoing off the rafters, but John didn’t flinch as the other man turned back to him.

“Keep lookin’ – bring her to me if you find her.”

“I will, Tommy. I heard she used to work at Cora’s – I can stop by and see if she’s gone back.”

The other man wasn’t listening, though, and he muttered something about bloody lightskirts as he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. John didn’t move but did continue to slowly unwrap the sparring bandages from his hands. It was going to take some world-class rubbish to convince Tommy that he was truly looking for Violet, but he was prepared for that. A few well-timed conversations with a few specific individuals – the owner at the Fox and Friar had been the first – would ensure that word would reach the Bruisers’ second-in-command that he was making a concerted effort to find the missing fiancée of Archie Neville, all before he ever set foot back on England’s shore.

Finally, John gathered up his coat and tugged it on as he stepped out into a chill drizzle that had started earlier that morning. He tugged up his collar and pulled the brim of his bowler low over his forehead before heading home, stopping just once on the way to make a very special purchase.

John was only four rounds into his fight with Billy Cahill and his skin was slick with perspiration, his muscles quivered with fatigue, and his head reeled. The other fighter was good. Very good. Tommy would be sure to want to speak to him afterwards about joining the gang. But something else drove John today, beyond his usual desire to keep whoever he could out of the ranks of the Bruisers.

Archie Neville stood at the edge of the boisterous crowd, watching the fight with almost frightening intent. Tommy stood beside him, and every so often, Archie would lean towards him and say something, with Tommy responding in kind. At one point, he nodded towards John, distracting him for a moment and allowing Billy to land a vicious blow right in the gut. John staggered back, winded, as a wild cheer went up from the crowd. Archie shook his head and John forced himself up, stepped back for a moment to collect himself and then, before Billy could even see it coming, struck out with a swift lead hook that caught his opponent in the chest and sent him sprawling upon the hard-packed dirt floor.

Another raucous cheer went up from the crowd and John coughed as he staggered back, still reeling from the blow to his stomach. He raised shaking fists, though, anticipating Billy’s retaliation, but none came, and the crowd jeered as the countdown reached ten without him standing. The cornerman stepped under the ropes surrounding the ring and hauled the other fighter off the ground before pushing him out to vicious taunts and shouts. John finally dropped his arms, resting his hands upon his knees as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. The air sawed in and out of his lungs and his knuckles were raw and bloodied, but he had prevailed – by the skin of his teeth.

A huge hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder, and he glanced up to find the leader of the Bruisers staring down at him. There was no doubt he was Tommy’s brother; both men were equally large, equally dark-haired, and equally menacing.

“You must be John Barrow.”

Shouts sounded close by and there was a flurry of activity over Archie’s shoulder as money was paid out to those who had won their bets on the fight, but John didn’t look away from the other man as he slowly rose.

“I am. You must be Archie.”

Archie’s grin was quick, calculated. His hand remained heavy on John’s shoulder.

“That I am, that I am.” He glanced over at John’s opponent, who had been pushed onto a stool and was having a wide gash on his jaw examined, then looked back. “That was one hell of a hit. Thought he had you for a minute there.”

John nodded slowly, never looking away from the dark eyes watching him back.

“He’s good. Tommy should speak with him.”

Archie nodded as though this were a fine idea and his hand finally fell from John’s shoulder. “I’m sure he will.” He now made a show of adjusting his cuffs and checking his pocket watch, before smiling again – a cold smile, one which never touched his eyes. “My brother tells me you may have run across someone we know.”

John said nothing for a moment as he began to unravel the bandages around his fists. He didn’t look to see if Tommy was in the vicinity.

“I only told him a girl followed me to Covent Garden, offerin’ a tup. She was blonde, said her name was Violet. That’s all I know.”

Archie’s gaze was sharp, suspicious, and it never wavered as John balled up the used bandages and held them in his fist, not looking away. Another uncomfortable moment passed before the other man spoke.

“Hear you’ve never lost a fight.”

John paused to dissect this new direction in the conversation before he answered carefully. “No, I haven’t.”

Archie Neville’s grin was cunning, and his big hand came up to clamp down on John’s shoulder again. He leaned in close as his fingers tightened their grip. Still, John did not look away as he kept his expression carefully impassive.

“But you haven’t fought me yet.” His grin widened and he let out a sharp bark of laughter. John knew all about Archie’s past as a bareknuckle champion – indeed, he was known to have killed men in the ring. It was one of the reasons he had become the Bruisers’ leader, and why they continued to recruit from boxing matches. John was sure that nearly eight years in Newgate hadn’t dulled his skills, but he didn’t comment on Archie’s words, just held his gaze until the other man leaned in even closer, his fingers now biting into John’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“Listen here, I came all the way back from bloody France thinkin’ Violet was found. You know why we’re lookin’ for her, eh?”

John only shook his head.

“Me and Violet was engaged before I went in the jug. She made a promise. You keep your promises, don’t you, John?”

A pause. “I do.”

“Good lad. I’m just makin’ sure that Violet keeps her promise, that’s all. I don’t know if it’s her you saw, but I do need her found.”

Archie’s words couldn’t be clearer, and his tone suggested what the results of failure would bring. John nodded. “I’ll find her.”

Archie’s smile returned and his grip finally loosened. John’s expression didn’t change. “That’s what I like to hear. She’s a mouthy little bitch, is my Violet, but she’s the prettiest thing in this shithole and she’s mine. Anyone lays a hand on her, and they’ll answer to me. And she’ll wish she’d never been born.” He paused now, and his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was low. “There’s somethin’ else I need you to do for me, John.”

John’s head cocked to one side. “What’s that?’

Archie’s expression grew dark now – the anger that had been lingering just below the surface now revealed itself and his mouth compressed into a hard line.

“I spent eight years in fuckin’ Newgate and I wanna know who put me there. Tommy’s been tryin’ to find out what bastard turned me in since the day they locked me up. Eight years, and he’s not heard a single bloody whisper. He let me down, John, but I’ve heard you’re a clever lad.” He now raised a finger and jabbed it into John’s chest, his dark eyes simmering with rage. “I’m Archie Neville and I didn’t get to where I’m at lettin’ some bastard snitch on me and get away with it. You understand?”

John held that gaze which radiated with fury and slowly nodded.

“I understand, Archie.”

The cunning grin returned just as quickly as it had disappeared. “You go on home now, rest up – my Violet won’t be easy to find.”

John’s mouth curved into a flat imitation of a smile. “I’ll do my best. A pleasure to finally meet you, Archie.”

The other man laughed, a rough, callous sound, as he stepped away and set his hat back upon his head. “The pleasure is all mine, John, all mine.” He was grinning as he turned away, but the final look he flashed was knowing as he strolled out of the ring.

John stared after him as he gestured to Tommy on his way out of the warehouse. He drew in a slow breath as they left together before tugging on his shirt and waistcoat, gathering up the overcoat he had left at the side of the ring and slipping out through the back, unseen. It was dark outside the warehouse, but not too late – she might still be awake.

John made his way up to Tower Hill and hailed a hansom cab. Once seated, he leaned back on the faded leather squab with a long, agonized groan. Everything ached. Jesus, but that other boxer had been good. Very good. He had been reckless to let Archie’s presence distract him – he was lucky to have landed that final blow. Grimacing, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it gingerly to his split lip as he closed his eyes. It was Miss Latimer he saw in his mind; it was all he seemed to see lately, and his pulse began to race as the carriage trundled past Whitehall, his place of employment, and on towards Trafalgar Square. He was not far now.

Lights still flickered in the windows of Bradford House when he arrived, but the servants’ quarters were deserted when he made his way in through the back door. He poked his head into the kitchen, but all the lights had been turned down, and so he made his way to the main hall. The parlour was dark and so he followed the corridor which led to the conservatory. A light glowed near the back of the space, and he followed it, down the narrow winding walkway, brushing the trailing tendrils of ivy from his path until he came to the little stone fountain. And there, sitting upon one of the benches, surrounded by strategically placed lanterns, sat Violet Latimer. She wore a simple wrapper of floral chintz, and her flaxen hair had been plaited and tied back with a ribbon. Most notable, however, was the easel which sat in front of her, and she observed the canvas set upon it with a frown, tapping her chin with the end of a paintbrush as she seemed to contemplate the painting before her.

So absorbed was she in her art that she had not yet noticed him standing at the end of the path and observing her. He could happily have noted the fine arch of her brow, the sensual curve of her lips, or the deft flick of her wrist as she brought brush to palette for hours. For days. But then Archie’s words came to him. She’s mine. And any and all inappropriate thoughts quickly abandoned him. He shook his head and cleared his throat and finally, she turned with a startled gasp.

Almost immediately, her whole countenance lit up in the brightest, most joyful smile he was sure he had ever witnessed. Goddammit. It was a cruel twist of fate that the woman he suddenly found he wanted to please more than any other was the one who was completely off limits. She had to be. Archie’s words, said with a threatening growl, still echoed in his head. Anyone lays a hand on her, they’ll answer to me. And she’ll wish she’d never been born. It would be in their best interest, then, to maintain a professional relationship.

She jumped up from the bench with a gasp, dropped the brush she held and raced towards him to throw her arms about his neck, pressing a quick, eager kiss to his cheek before pulling back to gaze up at him with a wide smile. And every single thought he had just had regarding her and his need to keep his distance immediately fled his mind.

“Oh, Mr. Barrow, thank you! I haven’t stopped paintin’ since Penny found me this mornin’ and told me you had sent me a package! I couldn’t believe it – you can’t know how grateful I am, truly!”

She gave his arms an enthusiastic squeeze before stepping away and gesturing to the easel at which she had been sitting. “And look! I’ve wanted to paint this fountain since I first saw it – what d’you think?”

John followed as she returned to the bench, clasping her hands in front of her with an excited grin as he stopped and took in her painting. It was not yet finished, but he could see the little cherub taking shape, its feathered wings captured with short brushstrokes, its round face expressed with a few simple lines. The amphora it held was but an outline at this stage, but he could see it all coming together and nodded his head.

“I’m no art critic, but that’s a fine painting, Miss Latimer. I’m glad I could help you.”

Her expression grew serious now and she reached out to lay her hand over his arm. He should shake her off, step back; she was entirely too familiar, even after knowing him for only a short while, and he worried this closeness would only create problems down the road. But he didn’t – that smile of hers had done something to him, deep inside. He would do anything to be the cause of that smile.

“More than help, Mr. Barrow – I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t paint. I was worried I might go mad here.” She started to smile again but must have caught the anxious tightening of his face and frowned, stepping back. It only took her a moment to realize what he was doing here and why he must look so concerned. She swallowed. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

John closed his eyes and gave a solemn nod before meeting her gaze again. “He is.”

All that joy drained out of her face, and she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth to worry at it, looking away as she seemed to contemplate this news.

“That’s good… isn’t it? You can finally get your investigation started?” She sounded unconvinced of the benefits of Archie being back in England and he offered a small smile.

“I can. I’m only involved in the boxing matches at the moment. We know they’re running brothels and some illegal bookmaking, but I haven’t been made privy to any of it yet. And if you want Archie gone for good, that won’t be enough. If he allows me access to their inner workings, I’ll be able to finally gather real evidence – enough to bring down the whole gang, not just him.”

Violet’s brows drew together, and her lips flattened into a hard line, as though she had something to say and was reluctant to say it. He raised a brow in expectation and her mouth twisted into a little grimace before she spoke.

“The docks,” she said.

“The docks?”

She gave an unwilling nod. “Archie always resented being from Seven Dials – bein’ seen as rookery scum. He’s happy to run the place, happy to make everyone there as miserable as he is, but he’s always wanted more. He’s never gonna get rich puttin’ on fights for people who’ve nothin’ to give, or runnin’ his little club. Prostitution and gamblin’ in St. Giles will never get him where he really wants to be, and I know he doesn’t want to be a gangster forever. He wants businesses that can afford to pay him big money so he can sit around in his club and have everyone fawnin’ all over him. He wants a protection racket, for all them warehouses full of expensive swag, just like Edward Brill had.”

“The leader of the Limehouse Gang,” John added, turning this new information over in his head. Whitehall knew Archie was planning to expand his territory, but it was good to have someone close to him confirm it. A protection racket – something involving multiple members of the Bruisers – especially for valuable businesses like the warehouses at the docklands, would net some very serious charges. The Limehouse Gang, which ruled most of the East End down to the docks, had made a fortune off such a scheme before their leader, Edward Brill, had turned to reform and started a multitude of businesses to serve his people.

“They almost certainly would have gone to war if Archie hadn’t been locked up. He’s been plannin’ ever since – he wants access to the docks, but Edward and his gang have always kept him out. He’d already started to move closer before he went away, settin’ up shop in Covent Garden. He wants protection money – real money. I haven’t spoken with Archie in eight years, and I’ve tried to avoid the Bruisers, but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d wager that’s his goal. Take out the Limehousers and take the docks and the whole of the East End for himself.”

John nodded slowly. This was welcome information, though she had clearly been reluctant to share it. He would press no further today.

“There is something else he wants.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, but she said nothing and looked back up at him, her eyes wide and expectant.

“He wants you found, Miss Latimer. In no uncertain terms. Says you made a promise.”

Her mouth – that lovely mouth with the sharp little cupid’s bow – flattened into a tight smile. “I did, indeed. What a fool I was.”

He couldn’t help it. He reached out and took her arms in his hands, holding her gaze.

“Don’t ever regret getting you and Lady Bradford out of going to the workhouse. You know it was the right thing to do.”

Violet looked away. “I know that… I’m more ashamed that I ever fell for him to begin with. I thought I loved—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head. “And when I saw what he really was… how could I ever trust my own mind again?” She paused and slowly lifted her face to his once more before frowning suddenly and reaching up, startling him when she touched a finger to his lip. He winced in pain, but it was nothing compared to the shock of awareness that bolted through him at that one, simple gesture.

“How’d the fight go?”

John forced out an easy laugh, stepping away from her gentle touch as he made a show of reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief.

“Still undefeated.”

The furrow between her brows deepened as she watched him press the square of linen to his mouth. “Looks like the other fella got a few knocks in himself.”

He favoured her with a devilish smile. “I’ve had much worse.”

She rolled her eyes at this and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not somethin’ I’d brag about.”

John shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know… there’s something about a black eye and a split lip that some ladies simply cannot resist.”

One fine brow arched up at this. “Is that so?”

He grinned and shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Not really.”

Miss Latimer did laugh at that, but her smile quickly faded when she caught his sober expression. “What’s wrong?’

“There’s… there’s something else he wants.”

She didn’t even have to wait for him to explain. She took one look up at him and nodded.

“He wants whoever turned him in.”

“I won’t let him find out, Miss Latimer,” John was quick to add. “He’ll die in a prison cell before he ever finds out it was you, I promise.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips before disappearing. “Let us hope.”

The sudden, distant tolling of a clock interrupted the quiet of the conservatory and John reached into his pocket to glance at his watch. When he met her gaze, those fathomless emerald eyes were wary.

“Please be careful, Mr. Barrow,” she whispered. “He’s dangerous… and he’ll get what he wants, one way or another.”

John didn’t offer her an easy smile this time – he saw the fear in her eyes, and instead, reached out to take her hand in his.

“I’ll be careful.” He paused. “I won’t be able to come back here… not for a while. Archie’ll be keeping a close eye on me, no doubt. And if what you say is true, I’ll have a great deal of work ahead of me.”

She nodded, reluctantly, and gave him a forced imitation of a smile.

“Not to worry. I have my art, now… I say it’ll keep me busy for long enough. And that bread – I haven’t given up on that just yet, either.”

John let out a soft laugh at that. He should have pulled away then – he realized he was still holding her hand – but found he could not, and he held her a trifle longer than he ought to have before she withdrew herself with a quick smile.

“Then I shall leave you to it. Good night, Miss Latimer.”

“Good night, Mr. Barrow. And thank you, again… this means the world to me,” she added, gesturing to the easel. He nodded quickly and stepped away.

“You are most welcome.”

It was with an effort he turned away from those wide, grass-green eyes and left the conservatory to make his way home, ready to face his first day with Archie Neville.