Chapter 9

Hortensia Investigations

A fter the theatre, Briana ventured to her place of business in London's West End. Situated behind Polding Mr. Mason, the butler whose bad knee cost him his barrel man position; and Renwick, a former almost-baronet turned footman, whose severe seasickness had ended his sailing career. Then there was Serena, the former galley cook who'd nearly burned down a ship in a drunken mishap. Her cooking remained simple but rustic, though her experimental combinations and heavy hand with liquor could prove alarming—her fermented fruit and offal pie's fumes alone inspired caution.

Yet Briana cherished her peculiar crew. Captain James Walsh, after her mother's death, had raised her haphazardly aboard ship—teaching her to shoot, hiring a governess for "proper" speech, then abandoning her altogether. But he had inadvertently given her useful skills: quick hands for pilfering and a fearlessness off heights. When abandoned, one creates their own family.

Together with one butler, one footman, a general maid, and a cook, Briana ran a sprawling household on a shoestring budget and pretense. Most of the house was closed off; they entertained mainly in one drawing room and callers were scarce.

Little did Briana know all that was about to change.

St James, London

JUST BEFORE 11 A.M , Victor paced his study while waiting for his footman, Tom, to bring news of Briana Walsh. He had spent a restless night investigating the robbery at the theatre. Over the past few months, Victor had pieced together his own set of extensive notes about Agent X from interviewing residents and witnesses in the surrounding areas of each heist and murder. It was dangerous work, and he loved every minute of it—the exhilaration, the risk, figuring things out, piecing clues together. Closing cases. It was becoming a favorite pastime prowling the streets at night on the hunt for criminals and clues.

Agent X had indeed left a card at the theatre and was responsible for stealing priceless treasures, including a sea captain’s diary. Though Victor couldn't make head nor tail of why.

Victor anticipated there would be news of a body soon.

Eventually, Tom arrived with news—or rather, a lack of it.

"What do you mean you lost her? Did you not just follow her home?" Victor asked.

"That's the thing, my lord. She did not go straight home. She stopped at a place on the West End for some time, then traveled to Fleet Prison. She spoke to an officer there, and he let her inside. Then afterward, she moved on passed Newgate."

Victor felt his entire body going rigid. What the devil was she doing in Newgate of all places? "Go on," he said.

"The carriage continued down Amen Court. She got out, and I followed her on foot down Warwick Lane and into an old coaching inn called Oxford Arms."

"What the blasted hell was she doing at a coaching inn at that time of night?" Victor practically shouted, resuming his pacing.

"I followed behind her until she entered a small taproom. Only one door went in and out, so I waited outside. But as the night wore on, she never came back out."

"How is that possible?"

"When I checked the room, it was empty except for an open window."

Victor stopped pacing and frowned. "Good grief, what is wrong with that woman?"

"I am sorry, my lord. I know I've failed in my duty. I searched the surrounding area until sunrise but could not find any sign of her, and her carriage was also nowhere to be seen. No one I asked knew of her home residence."

"You haven't failed, Tom. I hadn't realized I was sending you off on a wild goose chase across the whole of England. I'll find out what I can today. Go get some rest."

Tom nodded and thanked him, looking dead on his feet. Victor knew it wasn't Tom's fault, but damn if it didn't light a fire inside him to find the woman and shake some bloody sense into her. No wonder she had a short pistol strapped to her garter. He would not rest until he knew she was safe. Victor grabbed his cane, ready to head out and track the woman down himself, when he was interrupted.

"My lord, there is an Officer Maxwell here to see you," his butler said.

Victor frowned. It was rare for Maxwell to visit him at his home, especially this early in the day, which meant whatever it was, it was important. "Thank you. Send him in and please ask Cook to prepare some refreshments. Oh, and Tom is off duty for the remainder of the day. Have another footman run the errands."

"Understood, my lord."

Victor then directed his attention solely toward Maxwell.

"THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER dead body," Maxwell said.

"Let me guess—somewhere in the West End near Drury Lane?"

"Precisely. But this one is different."

"How so?"

"It wasn't a pamphlet found in the pocket, but a picture of a tombstone with the Prince Regent's name on it."

"Good grief. What the devil is going on?"

"Something nefarious, that is certain. But I came here to share some information I received after questioning the neighbors."

"Go on."

"It seems after each murder, there has been a sighting of a young lad the night before."

"A young lad? What does he look like?"

Maxwell went on to describe the exact same lad Victor had chased down the alleyway and toward the tavern several weeks ago.

"Good gods, man, I have seen this lad! I even chased him down an alleyway."

"I think if we find this lad, he will lead us to X."

Victor pulled out his notes. The tavern was called The Cheshire Cheese where he had last seen the lad. He decided then and there that this was something he would investigate that very night. It had been remiss of him not to follow up sooner, but then again, his mother had thrown a bomb into the works by requiring all the Cambridge men to attend so many blasted balls he had become distracted.

Mentally, he made a checklist. He would first find Briana Walsh's address and pay an unexpected visit, then he would go on the hunt.

Victor and Maxwell continued exchanging notes as they were served light refreshments.

"You looked ready to move out when I arrived. I should not hold you up any longer," Maxwell said, ready to take his leave, but Victor stopped him.

"A moment, if you please. I wonder if you could possibly help me. I am making inquiries about a woman."

"A woman, sir?"

"Yes. Tell me, do you know anything about a Miss Briana Walsh?"

Maxwell stiffened immediately then asked, "What is the nature of your enquiry, my lord? Had she been causing trouble?”

Victor noted the change in demeanour then replied, “Not at all. I met her at a ball last night and was hoping to call on her this morn, to ensure she is well.”

Maxwell hesitated a moment then replied, “Yes, actually, I have had several dealings with her this past year."

"Oh? How so? I hope she is not criminally inclined?" Victor asked with a smirk.

"No, not exactly. She is the daughter of a shipping captain turned merchant who spent time in the Fleet."

"What happened?"

"'Tis common knowledge, but she is very vocal about the harsh treatment of inmates at Fleet Prison. Somewhat of a one-woman crusader for the rights of women and children in prisons."

"Sounds ominous, but one could understand a woman of means championing a cause that directly affected her father."

"Not just her father, my lord."

Victor paused. "What do you mean?"

"She spent time in there herself and has an affinity with some of the inmates."

Victor frowned, thinking about beautiful Briana Walsh languishing in an awful prison. "The devil you say. Why was she in there?"

"Her father was in debt up to his eyeballs, and she was his only heir. Captain James Walsh was a fine captain—one of the best. He could get himself and his cargo out of any treacherous water. Unfortunately, he was a total lackwit as a father." Victor noted how Maxwell’s tone became harsher.

"What happened to the captain?"

"Because of his skills, the navy requested Captain Walsh chase down some notorious pirate—I know not the details. In exchange, his debts would be cleared and he would receive clemency if he could bring said pirate back to English shores. In the interim, he was to leave Briana as collateral, so to speak. If he did not return, she would serve out his sentence instead."

"How is that possible? She had done nothing wrong!" Victor growled, now pacing the length of his study.

"What is more telling is Captain Walsh willingly agreed. He promised he'd be back in no time and left with nary a glance."

"Let me guess—he did not return."

Maxwell nodded. "His ship was attacked a month after leaving port. All crew were declared dead."

"So, they incarcerated Miss Walsh in that hellhole," Victor whispered to himself. He could already feel his blood boil at the thought. "How is it she is roaming free now?"

"Last year, an anonymous patron cleared the entire debt. Obviously, a wealthy benefactor. But despite gaining her freedom, she has been running about London investigating one matter or another relating to what she perceives as corruption of the prison system. Often that entails harassing my officers.”

"I assume this crusade she embarks upon is dangerous."

"Extremely," Maxwell replied. "I cautioned her to tread carefully. The wardens in these places can be very territorial."

Victor stiffened. He knew too well that territorial meant violent, and they would not appreciate a woman sticking her nose into their matters. "You wouldn't happen to have an address for Miss Walsh?"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you planning on joining her crusade?"

Victor shook his head. "More like putting a stop to it. But first, I just want to make sure she is hale."

Maxwell eyed him with curiosity and suspicion. "If you please, I mean no disrespect, but Miss Walsh has become somewhat of a... friend, and I feel a sense of protectiveness toward her. She is stubborn as a mule, but her heart is pure. I would ask what your intentions are?”

Victor was taken aback for a moment. He had never seen Maxwell speak out of turn, and part of him was slightly angry because he knew when a man was warning him off. But he reined in his retort. He had to remain rational. Maxwell was a good man, a good officer, and he was merely looking out for a young woman who had had a rough start in life. Instead, Victor decided to respond calmly.

"I think it speaks volumes of Miss Walsh's character that she has you to champion her. But I promise, I mean her no harm. I only wish to call upon her and ensure she is well. Perhaps caution her a little. I saw her at the theatre last night and hoped she returned home safely this morn."

"Very well, if you can talk some sense into her then why not," Maxwell replied and gave him Briana's address.