by Rebecca King
Emmeline paled as her concern grew. “Where is he? What has happened to him? He said he was going to speak to the magistrate about the discovery of the young woman in the graveyard yesterday. Did he not?”
“Yes,” Rhys replied. “But then he came back to the – us – and left again. He didn’t tell our colleague where he was going. We just assumed he had returned here.”
“We are sorry to bother you, miss,” Harry offered, back-stepping to the door. “If he does appear, can you tell him to come and see us as quickly as he can, please?”
“Why? Has something else happened?” Emmeline asked. She waved a random hand wildly around the hallway. “Of course, I will tell him you wish to see him, but why is he not where you expect him to be? Do you think something has happened?”
It was startling to realise just how rattled she was by that prospect. It was unnerving, and deeply upsetting to think that something had happened to a man like Oliver. Yesterday, he had been so solid and strong, so vibrantly alive, that he had seemed invincible.
“No. This happens quite often in the course of our investigations, miss. It is nothing to worry about. It is just a miscommunication, that’s all,” Harry assured her. “Think nothing of it. If he does appear then please, tell him to come and speak with us, preferably before he goes off anywhere else?”
Before Emmeline could ask him anything else, Harry yanked the door open and stepped outside.
“Wait!” Emmeline called when his friend joined him. “Do you still need my help with your investigation?”
Rhys and Harry looked at each other. “That is something you will have to speak to Oliver about. It is his responsibility.”
They both eyed their horses.
“Sorry for the intrusion, miss,” Rhys offered. “Good day.”
Emmeline opened her mouth to call after them but there was nothing more she could say. They clearly had no idea where Oliver was, or what he was doing, and as such couldn’t offer her the assurances she needed.
“Now I have to spend another day waiting and worrying.” Emmeline sighed and stepped back into the house and closed the door to the sound of retreating horses.
She was really starting to hate the silence that immediately engulfed her.
Oliver prised his eyes open and did his best to ignore the churning of his stomach. The stench of chloroform still clung to his nostrils, threatening to render him unconscious again. He tried hard not to breathe too deeply not least because he suspected he was going to throw up if he did. There was nothing he could do about the low groan that escaped him, though.
“Ah, you join us at last,” a somewhat sarcastic voice drawled.
Oliver eyed the room he was in but couldn’t see anything. The solitary candle on the floor before him encased him in faint light but did little to deter the darkest of shadows that still clung to the corners of the room. Oliver didn’t speak. With nothing more than a flexing of his muscles, he tried to move his arms, but was too tightly restrained to even twist them.
“What do you want with me?” he growled.
“Why do you think you are here?” the man asked by way of answer.
Oliver sighed in disgust. “If I knew I wouldn’t bloody ask, would I?”
“I hear you have been involving yourself in matters in Rigley Row in London,” the man began.
“Really? What makes you say that? Unless we have met before in Rigley Row?” Oliver countered.
“You are here to pass a message on to your boss, Sir Hugo.”
Oliver snorted. “Give him the damned message yourself. I am not your bloody messenger boy.”
“But I want you to take the message for me but tell your colleagues as well. Although the message I am about to give you is for your employer, Sir Hugo, it involves all of the men who work for the Star Elite.”
Oliver took the time to ensure that he didn’t even blink when he heard the name of the clandestine organisation in the War Office only a few people knew existed.
Sir Hugo certainly wasn’t lying when he said the hierarchy were corrupt.
“Make sure he is conscious enough to pass the message on,” that deep masculine voice suddenly rapped with brisk efficiency.
Oliver only briefly caught sight of a flash of movement to his right. He turned his head and watched a door open seconds before a burly man slid through it and promptly disappeared into the shadows within the room. Oliver found out soon enough who the man was when a large fist slammed into the side of his head. Stars immediately danced behind his eyes. He hissed a breath as pain exploded in his head but forced his eyes open so he could glare malevolently at the thug who yanked his head back until it was tilted at a cruel angle.
“Leave him,” the boss ordered.
The thug immediately released Oliver, who clenched his teeth and stared pointedly at the floor. He refused to give his attacker the advantage by searching the shadows for him.
“We need him to be able to pass a message on to Sir Hugo.”
“Like I have already said, go and tell him yourself, or are you scared of him? Why don’t you go and tell him what you want him to know directly? Are you afraid that he is going to put you behind bars?” Oliver challenged.
“Silence!”
Oliver snorted but dutifully did as instructed. He sensed movement behind him but didn’t bother to look over his shoulder. Because he knew he was being watched, he was unable to try to loosen the tight rope around his wrists. All he could do for now was sit still and wait for this to be over.
“Tell Sir Hugo that we have had enough of him getting involved in our – organisation. We know all about this Star Elite, and if he, or you, think you are going to thwart us then remember we have friends in high places. Friends who are, let me say, considerably higher than anybody Sir Hugo knows.”
Oliver snorted again. He lifted an arrogant brow. “Are you telling me that you think there is someone higher than the King of England? Sir Hugo has the King’s ear, don’t forget, or should I ignore that just so you can feel a braver coward?”
Oliver tensed when the thug stepped out of the shadows again. This time, though, he didn’t slam another heavy fist in his face. He hovered menacingly nearby, effectively issuing a threat as real as any other Oliver might receive.
“There are people who are far more influential than the King of England,” the voice replied.
“Really.” Oliver did his best to sound as bored as possible. “Well, I hope your friend is very influential because he is going to have to pay a lot of people a lot of money to keep you out of gaol. Do you really think that I am not expendable? Do you really think that Sir Hugo will allow you to kill any of his men, or hurt them, and not do anything and everything possible to ensure that justice is served? Do you really think that you can snatch innocent women off the streets and not face justice for it, or their deaths? Don’t lie to me, Smidgley, we all know it is you and that brother of yours. This stupid shenanigan is nothing but a silly game designed to make you feel braver when you challenge me.”
“We are not going to kill you,” another voice drawled from the opposite corner of the room.
Oliver realised then that the brothers were most definitely rattled. “If you are as well connected as you claim, and your friend can get you off the hook so easily, what is this all about? Why do you feel the need to warn Sir Hugo off? Why not just go about your business and get on with your lot, comfortable in the knowledge that nobody is able to do anything to stop you?”
A heavy silence fell over the room. He suspected the brothers were motioning to each other and that neither of them had truly thought the implications of what they were doing through properly.
“You know nothing about us.” This time, the voice didn’t sound so sure of himself.
“You may expect me to forget our little altercation in a warehouse yard in London, several weeks ago now, but I most certainly haven’t, Rupert Smidgley, or maybe you are Ernest. Either way, we know exactly who you are, and who your contacts are who
you seem to rely on to keep you out of gaol. Unfortunately for you, those contacts are going to feel the sharp end of the law before much longer, no matter who they think their friends are. If there is one thing even you should know, Smidgley, it is that there is no honour amongst the criminal fraternity.”
Oliver twisted his fingers around until they hooked around the knot on the rope. He took a moment to rub his chin on his shoulder as though he had an itch that he was incapable of scratching because of his bound hands. While he did so, he noted the darkness and the whereabouts of the thug standing within it. Given the gloom, it would be difficult for the thug to be able to see what he was doing with his hands. Oliver knew he had a choice, he could either continue to try to work the knot free with his fingers and take a chance the thug couldn’t see him, or he could remain where he was and wait for the thug to strike him again. There could be little doubt that another ‘warning’ would be issued before he was allowed free to pass his message on to Sir Hugo.
“Tell your boss to stop sticking his nose into our business and we won’t kill any more,” Rupert Smidgley offered.
“How do you plan to give us any assurances on that? Sir Hugo won’t just take the word of a criminal,” Oliver demanded.
“Sir Hugo is just going to have to take us at our word and wait for more bodies to turn up to know we mean what we say,” Ernest Smidgley snapped.
“How do we know you haven’t killed all the women anyway and buried their bodies in places we cannot find them?” Oliver asked. He lifted his brows and kept his gaze on the floor.
Rupert Smidgley stepped out of the gloom and squinted at him. “Sir Hugo and the Star Elite will just have to accept our word for it. If you can’t then you are going to get another warning, and another and another.”
“You really have no choice. Sir Hugo isn’t going to be in his position for much longer.”
Oliver shook his head and sighed heavily. “Do you really think that anybody can bribe his way into corrupting the upper echelons of the War Office? If that was possible, we wouldn’t have won the sodding war!”
He paused for a moment to allow that to settle into the thoughts of what he suspected were two brainless buffoons.
“The War Office is not going to surrender to corruption from within. Use your bloody brain, man. If it were possible, we would be run by the bloody French because many a good spy tried and failed miserably. Sir Hugo has powerful friends and makes an extremely powerful enemy. Remember that before you decide to throw ridiculous challenges around. Your – contact – is nothing more than an ill-bred fop who has turned to a life of crime. He is going to be ousted, believe me. Sir Hugo has a fine, upstanding reputation for being one of the best lawmen in London for a reason, you know.” Oliver huffed a sarcastic laugh. “It will be almost amusing to watch your friend try to damage him. There are people in high places who will work to protect Sir Hugo, no matter what you bloody think.”
“Sir Hugo will never be allowed anywhere near the War Office when we have finished with him. He is nothing but a fraudster who uses his men to do his dirty work for him,” Rupert snapped.
“A little like you then, eh?” Oliver turned a pointed gaze on the thug who had punched him and lifted a sardonic brow at Rupert.
“Whatever Sir Hugo thinks he can thwart, he isn’t prepared for our contact’s abilities,” Ernest warned.
“Really? Then how come Sir Hugo knows all about your contact and what he is up to?” Oliver asked.
“What does he know?” Rupert demanded.
“Do you really think I would tell you that? Like I said, go and speak to Sir Hugo yourself if you dare, but I know you aren’t that bold. What I will tell you is that your associate is going to be flushed out of the woodwork. He is already being watched, and isn’t as clever as he thinks. You, Smidgley, are nothing more than a greedy, malicious little runt who has used and abused everything you have ever touched. Your life of entitlement has given you a yen for malice the likes of which deserves to be behind bars. I mean, why steal a woman’s life? What in the Hell do you hope to achieve, except make yourselves look sad and pathetic little men? Killing your victims to stop them reporting you, and what you have done, just makes you a killer and increases the need for you to be removed from society. That is all it achieves because no matter how worthless you think someone’s life is, the victim is still a person and has not been created to give you something to violate.”
Oliver fell silent when he saw Rupert’s face harden. Encased in shadows as it was, he looked so malevolently evil that Oliver wouldn’t have been surprised to see him smile and reveal fangs or something. It was odd that someone’s face could turn so cruel in the space of a heartbeat and without even batting an eyelid of protest. He knew then that Rupert was most probably the killer. There was a malicious spite in the man’s eye that was ruthless and cruel enough.
His suspicions were confirmed when Rupert motioned to the thug, who immediately stepped forward and slammed another fist into Oliver’s jaw. The heavy punch landed against his face with such force that Oliver immediately tasted blood, but apart from the rhythmic tic of a muscle in his jaw, not a hint of emotion showed on his face. Instead, Oliver glared at his tormentor with a cold calculation that made the thug stare warily at him.
While he had had the thug’s attention on his face, Oliver’s fingers had been working frantically on loosening the bonds that kept him confined. Thankfully, while tight, whoever had tied the rope hadn’t been all that careful about securing the knot and hadn’t tugged it so tight that Oliver couldn’t loosen it. It didn’t take too much effort for Oliver to release the ropes. He tried hard not to allow the rope to fall to the floor and make any sound once it released its coarse hold on his wrists. Instead, he held it tightly in his fingers and began to plan his escape.
“Is that it? This stage show is all about telling Sir Hugo to stop investigating your sordid little organisation, most of which we have already stopped by the way, or should I not mention Rigley Row in case you get all petulant again?”
“You have done nothing of the sort,” Ernest snapped. “Our organisation continues.”
“Really? So why are you seeking to warn Sir Hugo off? Why are you killing the victims if you know the Star Elite aren’t closing in on you? Why are you trying to rid yourself of the evidence that would condemn you all?” Oliver threw a dismissive glance at the thug beside him when the oaf shifted from one foot to the other in preparation to hit him again. He watched the thug look enquiringly at his boss, but Rupert shook his head. Not this time. “We are getting too close, which is why you are warning Sir Hugo, sorry, me, to back off. It is that simple, Rupert. Don’t try to lie about it. Your actions speak louder than words. I will give you this warning from the Star Elite. You may cut one of us down in cold blood, but it will only increase the determination of the men to ensure you face justice for killing a lawman. If there is one thing the Star Elite do it is stick together. You can think what you like about Sir Hugo’s vulnerabilities but he already knows about your – contact’s – schemes, and has already put plans into action to thwart it should your idiot – sorry, contact – attempt to make good on his – sorry, your – threat – to try to oust him. People trust Sir Hugo, you see? He has been doing his job for many years and has a fine reputation for getting results. People who are cleverer and have far more contacts in both high and low places have been brought to justice by Sir Hugo and the men who work with him. You are nothing but a small fly in the War Office’s ointment. They will get rid of you. You and your – contact – are, after all, taking on the might of the War Office who has just won a war against an entire country. Don’t ever forget that, Smidgley, or that you are just as human as the rest of us and are bound by the same laws in the same country run by the same people.”
Oliver fell silent. While he had been talking, he had mentally counted the steps he would need to take to reach the door. The tension within the room had increased tenfold with his cold dismissal of the Smidgley�
�s warnings. He knew that they weren’t averse to beating him to a pulp if need be if only to issue a very physical warning that the Star Elite were liable to be attacked at any given moment.
“Might I remind you that we are perfectly capable of snatching people out of their lives? They disappear without a trace you know,” Ernest Smidgley drawled. “We got you without any issue.”
Oliver mentally cursed. “Do you not think it might have been a good idea to ensure I wasn’t followed? Do you not think it might have been a good idea not to bring me back to your lair? I can take what I have seen, heard, and learnt today and ensure everything is reported to my colleagues. The information is going to be invaluable.”
“Do you really think anybody is going to believe you when we have done with you? You are going to be nonsensical and have no proof to support any of your wild stories that you were here,” Rupert Smidgley snarled. “We aren’t going to be made your scapegoats. You are a liar, just like Sir Hugo.”
“That is the story you are going to put out about me, and that is what you will stick to,” Oliver said. It wasn’t a question and didn’t need either of the Smidgley brothers to confirm that they were going to deny having kidnapped him and brought him to their home to threaten and beat to death. “But you forget, gentlemen, I have a sterling reputation for being a reliable operative of the Star Elite. It is a very stupid thing to do to try to condemn me. Anybody who knows me, and there are many in the Star Elite and War Office who do, knows I am no liar, not apt to flights of fancy, or delusions, and I most certainly would not pass on any information to anybody if I wasn’t certain about its accuracy.”