Chapter 13

13

" T ake these children to Murdoch," Adrian told his driver. "Don't leave them there without his assurance that they will be properly cared for. Tell him I plan on checking."

Phelps nodded and whipped the horses into motion. Still holding Isak, Adrian turned to Samantha. "Find a hackney and bring it here."

He'd do it himself if it weren't for the boy. Seemingly aware of this, she strode off at once without asking questions.

It took a while for her to return, during which Isak's breathing grew increasingly labored, as though he struggled to bite back the pain. Not knowing what else to say or do, Adrian simply stood there, glaring at anyone bold enough to look at them with too much interest.

A group of five men who were walking along the opposite pavement were too caught up in their conversation to pay them any mind. Adrian tracked their movements, noted their clothes and mannerisms, and decided they must be working class. Most likely out for a drink after work.

Hooves finally sounded and a carriage appeared. Adrian hissed a breath of relief when the vehicle stopped and Samantha leapt from the cabin.

"Take him to St. George's Hospital," Adrian told her once he'd helped Isak into the carriage. "Ask for Doctor Moore and tell him I sent you. He'll make sure Isak receives whatever treatment he needs."

Turning, he ordered the coachman to steer clear of potholes and avoid sharp turns.

"I suppose this means I'll see you later," Samantha said, a knowing look in her eyes.

He nodded, then bent to give her a quick parting kiss before handing her up. The door closed and the carriage rolled into motion, slowly disappearing from view as it turned a corner.

The men he'd spotted earlier hadn't made it much farther. Without Murry there to help him, they might prove useful. "Oi!"

Several people turned.

Ignoring all but the group that had gained his notice, he crossed the street to where the men waited, their expressions full of interest as he approached.

"I'll give you five pounds each if you're able to get three men to the Bow Street Magistrate's Court. Another five once the job's been completed. "

It was a huge sum, at least two months' wages for a skilled tradesman. Probably more for these fellows. They stared at him.

"What's the catch?" one of them asked.

"No catch," Adrian promised. "I'm simply unable to see to the task myself. So I'm willing to pay to make sure they receive proper punishment."

"How do we know you're not trying to trick us?" another of the men inquired. "Could be you're merely attempting to rid yourself of a problem."

"They were protecting that place over there." He gestured toward The Buxom Lady Tavern. "Tried to keep me from finding the children being kept there for nefarious means. One boy was so badly battered I've sent him to the hospital just now for treatment."

"Sounds to me like Bow Street might be too good for the men in question," the first man who'd spoken said. The rest of the group concurred.

"You're probably right, but I want this done correctly. If you do as I ask, they'll get precisely what they deserve without any of us with their blood on our hands."

"All right then. Show us the way so we can get the job done."

Adrian led them back inside the tavern and up to the room where the three men were tied. Retrieving his notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket, he wrote a quick note while the men he'd hired got the thugs onto their feet. Protests were rampant, along with agonized grunts from Blade Slasher and Roy whose injuries made it nearly impossible for them to walk.

"Bloody bastard," Roy seethed as he was hauled from the room. "I'll get you for this."

Not sparing him a glance, Adrian tore the page on which he'd written from his notebook, folded it in half, and folded it once again. He added his calling card along with a promise note for twenty-five pounds, then handed the lot to the man who'd asked what the catch might be.

"The message is for Chief Constable Kendrick," Adrian told him. "He probably won't be there at this hour, so ask whoever's on duty to have it placed on his desk. The promise note is your first installment. My address is on the card." He watched as the man studied the information printed upon it. "Come by the house tomorrow. Bring a note from Bow Street with proof of delivery, and I'll give you the rest of your pay."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Croft." The man tapped the brim of his hat and went to help one of his friends with the man who'd been punched unconscious.

Adrian left them to it, the loud curses being uttered following him through the door. He glanced into the rooms he passed on the way and saw that they'd all been cleared. None of the whores or their patrons remained.

He descended the stairs to the foyer, paused near the front door, then sent a quick glance to the rooms on either side. It was hard to believe they'd been overflowing with people no more than an hour ago.

There was still one more person he wanted to find. The one who ran The Buxom Lady Tavern, and who'd not only hired those men to protect the establishment's heinous secrets, but had chosen to turn a blind eye.

With near silent footfalls, he strolled to the right. There was a good chance the woman he sought would be long gone by now, but what if she wasn't? He stopped in the middle of the room where half-full beer mugs remained abandoned, the chairs by each table pushed back as proof of their occupants' hasty departure.

A door behind the bar stood ajar, a soft light beckoning from beyond the other side. Deciding to take a closer look, Adrian rounded the bar, withdrew his dagger, and used the tip to nudge the door open.

The blast that followed splintered part of the doorframe. He instinctively ducked, flinging one arm across his face to protect it from flying debris. With a muttered curse, he extended his leg and managed to kick the door shut.

Another explosion shook the room, informing Adrian of two things. First, the person who'd fired at him was either the quickest reloader he'd ever encountered, or they wielded a double-barreled weapon. Second, they were in a panic, not waiting to get a clear shot.

Both attempts had failed to strike him, and if he was right, their weapon would now be empty. Time to act before they managed to add additional ammunition.

He pulled the door open with one sharp movement and leaned to one side – just enough to provide him with a quick assessment of what he was facing. An older woman, at least thirty years his senior, with chubby cheeks and silver hair tied into a messy knot, came into view.

The furious look she gave him suggested she'd like nothing better than to burn him alive. He pushed his way forward, snatched the pistol she tried to reload right out of her grasping hands, and tossed it aside. One second later, he had her by the throat, her back pushed into the shelves behind her so hard the bottles that stood there rattled.

The swift move of her shoulder compelled him to grab her wrist, preventing her from using the dagger she'd managed to grab. He squeezed down hard on her hand and she dropped the weapon, a dull clank sounding as it hit the floor.

Stubborn eyes fractured by venom beheld him. "You've no right getting involved in my business."

"I've every right when your business involves the maltreatment of innocent children." He pushed his hand higher along her throat, forcing her onto her tiptoes. She gasped and began panting hard through her nose. "Make no mistake. You will pay for what you've done here."

"Bastard." She spat at him, the saliva landing against his chin .

He didn't release her to wipe it away, choosing instead to tighten his hold. "You clearly don't know who I am or you wouldn't have done that."

"Mr. Croft?" It was one of the men he'd hired. "I thought you'd gone, but then I heard what sounded like shots. Looks like you might need additional help."

The woman's eyes widened. "You're Croft?"

A croak, but clear enough nonetheless.

"In the flesh." Adrian smirked, taking perverse pleasure in the fear he now saw on the bawd's face.

"Please. I'm only doing my job. Wycliff's the one who insisted on using the youngsters. Wanted the extra blunt they can bring. I didn't condone it. I…I…" She was shaking, the words she uttered turning to incoherent mutterings as she pleaded for him to release her.

"You needn't worry," he told her, his voice colder than ice. "I make it a rule not to harm women."

A breath escaped her. "Thank you. I promise I'll do much better. No one will ever work here against their will. Whate—"

"The authorities, however, have no such qualms." He shoved her away from the wall and toward the man he'd hired. "Take her with you as well. Explain her part in all of this."

"Will do." The man half-dragged, half-carried her to the door while she fought him every step of the way.

Adrian pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his chin clean with a grimace. He then picked up the pistol she'd used, reloaded it, and headed toward his next destination .

The hackney carriage refused to venture into the narrow St. Giles streets and dropped him off a few streets over instead. Spurred on by the tension the evening's events had brought, Adrian strode forward, his pace even and clipped.

The stench of wretchedness closed in around him as he moved deeper into the slum. Rare hints of light in occasional windows provided the only direction through all-encompassing darkness. A skittering sound suggested he might have disturbed a rat.

One second later, his boot came down hard on an uneven object, producing a crunch. He didn't waste time wondering what he might have stepped on as he kept walking. He reached the run-down building he sought after a few more turns and set his fist to the door, only for it to swing open beneath his touch.

Alertness had him drawing his dagger as he edged his way into Wycliff's lair. The place was eerily quiet. Not a single light burned in the entrance hall, yet a dim glow spilling from under a door guided him forward. He approached and slowly entered the same room in which he'd spoken to Wycliff last.

The light from a still-burning fire caused shadows to dance across the walls. The shabbiness he'd previously witnessed here was mostly concealed by the darkness now, affording the space an almost cozy air.

Adrian stepped forward slowly, his gaze honing in on the man who reclined in one of the armchairs. It looked as though he slept, his body sprawled at a slight angle in what could have been mistaken for slumber. Until Adrian rounded the edge of the armchair and saw Wycliff's face.

Eyes wide, the bastard stared at the ceiling, his lips slightly parted in death. A dark stain marred his chest where someone had shot him.

Adrian released a breath. Clearly Wycliff had crossed someone else and they'd gotten here first. Wrengate perhaps? A plausible option, considering what Samantha had said of the duke's interaction with him.

It might be worth looking into later when time allowed. Maybe Isak or one of the other children they'd rescued tonight could offer some insight.

At present, there were other more pressing concerns. He sheathed his dagger and found a candle. Lighting it, he winced in response to the unpleasant smell the tallow produced, then conducted a search of the house.

It was empty.

The children who'd worked for Wycliff were gone and who could blame them? They'd probably fled as soon as the person who'd shot Wycliff dead broke into the house.

With nothing left to gain by staying, Adrian snuffed out the candle and left. He'd send word to Doctor Fellowes, let him know where to find a fresh corpse in case one was needed for his studies.

The stench of rot and refuse teased his nostrils as he headed back through the narrow streets. A couple of homeless people stirred in the doorways where they'd curled up for the night.

He didn't spare them a second glance, continuing onward with purpose until he reached Piccadilly. Once there, he checked his pocket watch underneath the glow from a gaslight. Twenty to three. Nearly two hours since he'd parted ways with Samantha.

She'd probably still be at the hospital, so he chose to head there before going home. It took no more than ten minutes for him to arrive in front of the massive structure – a former mansion where the doctors consistently proved their competency.

Adrian greeted the night guards as he entered the building, his heels clicking against the foyer's marble floors. A quick sweep of the space showed it was empty, save for the nurse who sat at a desk, the oil lamp she used providing the light she needed in order to read.

She glanced up and promptly stood. "Good evening, Mr. Croft."

"Good to see you again, Mrs. Burns."

A slight tilt of the head and a studious gaze preceded her next comment. "Would you like to have that cut on your cheek cleaned?"

"Later. After I've checked on the boy my wife brought in earlier."

"Please follow me." She stepped from behind the desk. "He's been treated by Doctor Moore as requested and is currently resting. Mrs. Croft is still with him."

They proceeded through a pair of double doors and strode down a hallway until they reached a large room where several beds lined the wall, most of them occupied by sleeping patients. Adrian thanked the nurse and crossed to where Samantha sat dozing while she held Isak's hand.

Reaching her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She started, on instant alert until she saw it was he, upon which she relaxed.

"How is he?" Adrian kept his voice low, a mere whisper brushing the air.

"His arm was dislocated. Three of his ribs had been broken. A gash at the back of his head needed stitching." She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "Were you able to resolve matters?"

"Yes." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "The men we fought have been taken to Bow Street along with the woman who ran that awful establishment."

"And Wycliff?"

"He's dead, though not by my hand."

Surprise showed on her face. "Someone else got to him first?"

"Based on what you've told me, I'm thinking it might have been Wrengate."

A pensive nod was her only response. When she looked at him next, uncertainty was etched on her brow, making it clear that her thoughts had shifted. "What will we do with Isak?"

"I would suggest we leave him here for a few days until he's better. After that, we give him a couple of options to choose from."

"Maybe it's best if I stay." She returned her attention to the boy who slept, his pain briefly forgotten in slumber. "I'd hate for him to think I abandoned him."

"You need rest too, and I doubt he would have such thoughts after what you did for him tonight. But just to be sure, we'll leave a message for when he wakes." He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "Come home. Sleep. You can return in the morning to see how he's faring."

She stifled a yawn and stood. When they returned to the entry hall, Mrs. Burns was waiting with alcohol and clean linen squares. Adrian sat and she cleaned the cut on his cheek while Samantha wrote a message for Isak.

"He probably won't be able to read," she told the nurse when she handed her the message for Isak.

"If that's the case, then the nurse who relieves me later will read it to him. You mustn't worry."

They thanked her and departed. Adrian hailed a hackney, and they settled in for the short ride back to Portman Square.

"Am I a horrible person for being glad Wycliff is dead?" Samantha quietly asked, her head resting lightly on Adrian's shoulder.

"No." He caught her hand, his thumb stroking her palm. "Wycliff was a monster who got precisely what he deserved."

He felt her nod of agreement, and then she said, her voice so incredibly small, "Isak refused to tell me what happened to him in that brothel. I fear there's no coming back from what he or those other children have been through. "

"At least they're safe now."

He said nothing further about it, but the more he thought on the matter, the more convinced he became that he'd acted correctly tonight. The people who'd actively seen to those children's abuses would soon face judgement.

Wycliff, meanwhile, would rot in hell.

Try as he might, Adrian couldn't ignore the satisfaction he found in the thought. His only regret that it wasn't he who had sent him there.

Shades of pink, orange, and purple stained the sky by the time Wrengate dismounted his horse. He tossed the reins to a sleepy-eyed groom and strode toward the front steps, gravel crunching beneath his well-worn boots.

"Forgive us for being so ill-prepared for your arrival," said the butler when he took the outerwear Wrengate handed to him. "We weren't expecting you today, Your Grace."

"Of course not, Ludlow." He'd had no intention of coming here either, but after leaving St. Giles, he'd wanted to put more distance between himself and Wycliff's dead body than what his London address allowed.

Exhausted, he dismissed his butler, declined the need for a valet, and climbed the stairs in search of his bed. It had been a while since he'd last killed someone, but since those hired to do the job for him had failed, he'd been left with no choice.

If he was to keep his purpose a secret, measures had to be taken.

Like getting rid of the man who'd been tasked with smuggling priceless notes out of France on his behalf. As well as the masked individual he had shown up with when they'd last met.

It had taken him two months to piece together what happened. Information had been hard to come by, the bodies of his men long gone by the time he returned to the scene. But during the weeks that followed a picture had emerged alerting him to the fact that Wycliff's accomplice was far more dangerous than he'd imagined.

He'd have to learn their identity next, then hunt them down and ensure their silence.