Hugo and the Maiden

by S. M. LaViolette

  “Dinner before eight o’clock? How savage.” Hugo smirked. “But thank you, we appreciated your thoughtfulness. You go with Butterbank,” he told Martha, “I need to have a word with Joss, but I’ll be right up.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide, as if she didn’t want to miss even a bit of the splendor surrounding them.

  Once they’d gone up the stairs, Hugo turned to Joss. “Melissa said you’d be gone by the time we arrived,” he said rudely.

  Joss gave him one of his opaque looks—the sort that had always gotten under Hugo’s skin. “I apologize for still being in my own house, Hugo. Would you like to have this conversation in the foyer or perhaps we could go to my study?”

  “Ooooh,” Hugo mocked childishly. “Your study.”

  Joss turned on his heel and strode away without speaking.

  Hugo had to trot to keep up with the towering man’s stride. “Where are we going? You have your study on the ground floor?”

  “No, but this way is faster, so we’ll take the servant stairs.”

  “You’re probably more comfortable using these, anyhow—aren’t you?” Hugo taunted as they passed through a nondescript door into a narrow, functional stairwell.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’ve not missed you,” Joss said as he climbed the steps with a grace that was unusual in a man so large.

  “When are you leaving?” Hugo asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve booked passage on a packet on Wednesday.”

  Well, that was good, at least; he’d only have to put up with the insufferable man for a few days.

  Once they reached the second floor, Joss led him down an elegant corridor. A maid came out of a room, spotted them, dropped a curtsey, and then scurried off toward the servant stairs.

  It irked Hugo how quickly and easily Joss had adjusted to a life of wealth and luxury. Not only had he married one of the richest women in London—an American heiress who was also the widow of the Earl of Selwood—but his new wife was one of the most beautiful women Hugo had ever seen. He’d met Lady Selwood when she’d come to the female side of Solange’s several years back.

  Hugo had been within moments of getting the lovely countess naked when Joss had barged in and spoiled all his fun. Hugo suspected Joss still held a bit of a grudge over that near miss.

  Joss opened a magnificent, intricately carved door and motioned Hugo into a room that took his breath away: vibrant jewel tone carpets, walls lined with books, heavy, comfortable leather furniture, and a fireplace large enough to roast an entire ox.

  “Just what is it that you study in here, Joss old man?”

  Joss ignored the question. “Something to drink?”

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “That almost tempts me to ingest poison,” Joss murmured.

  “Har har, you are as droll as ever.”

  Hugo inspected the magnificent landscape that hung over the fireplace while Joss dispensed their drinks. “What are you doing in London, anyhow?”

  “Visiting my new niece and checking on several business matters for my wife.”

  Hugo accepted the crystal glass that Joss dwarfed with his huge hand and took a sip. “Very nice. So,” he said, once they were both seated. “Have you gone to Solange’s?”

  “I did,” Joss said.

  Hugo heaved a sigh. “Are you going to make me pull the words out of you?”

  “I saw Laura. I didn’t tell her I’d heard from you—or about you, rather—I just asked her how things were.”

  “And?”

  “I could see how things were,” Joss admitted. He pinned Hugo with his disconcertingly sharp gaze. “I take it Melissa told you about Bev Davies.”

  Hugo gritted his teeth. “Yes, they’re partners.”

  “Not any longer.”

  “What?”

  “From what I could tell, she no longer owns any of it. She’s just working there. Although I doubt she has many clients; she looks ill.”

  “I don’t care if she’s on death’s bloody doorstep,” Hugo snapped. “Are you telling me she lost the whole damned place to Bev—my half and hers?”

  “It looks that way. Partnering up with the man who runs the worst gaming hells in the city isn’t a wise decision for anyone, but especially not a woman of Laura’s proclivities.”

  “She’s on the gin again?” Hugo guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “And Solange’s? The employees?”

  Joss’s expression was grim. “Nobody looked happy. I’ve not been around the place in several years, so maybe that accounts for the lack of familiar faces, but I didn’t know any of the servants. In fact, the only person I recognized was Laura.”

  There was only one reason to fire excellent servants, and that was to hire cheaper ones. Some of the servants had worked at Solange’s for more than twenty years—employees that had been with the place through four different owners.”

  “Bastard,” Hugo muttered. “That would be Davies’s doing.”

  “The place already looks … well, it’s only a few months but it looks down at heel.”

  Hugo wanted to yell. Instead, he asked a question he’d been dreading, “I know about Bev’s other houses. Please tell me he hasn’t begun to run virgins out of Solange’s?”

  “According to Laura they aren’t.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I don’t know,” Joss admitted. “What are you going to do, Hugo? You know how Davies is: he doesn’t have partners. At least not for long. Laura is lucky that she’s still among the living. I don’t know what she told him about your half of the business, but I’d wager you won’t be getting any money out of him.”

  Hugo swallowed down the bile that threatened to choke him. He knew Joss was right; now that Bev controlled the place, he would never let it go. He’d kill Hugo before giving up even a penny.

  He turned his glass in his hand, gazing abstractedly at the liquid. Like every other Welshman in the city, Hugo had known Bev Davies all his life. Bev had started off as a pimp in St. Giles, quickly expanding his operations into the rest of the city over the next forty years. He now owned over a dozen brothels, gambling hells, and gin houses. If it was illegal, then Bev had a hand in it.

  “What are you going to do?” Joss asked again.

  “I’m not going to rush into anything. Right now I have an advantage in that Laura doesn’t know I’m back—neither of them do.”

  Joss nodded. “Well, tell me if you need any help.”

  That offer surprised him. “Thank you.” The words almost choked him. “I figure it will take some time to unravel this mess before I decide.”

  “You don’t want to simply confront Laura?”

  “The woman is a liar.”

  “She’s in a bad way, now. Bev has put her to work—a full schedule.”

  Hugo wanted to feel malicious pleasure at the news that Laura was once again on her back, but all he felt was anger; the woman was too old to be doing such work. Not only would it be hard on her physically, but she wouldn’t make much money: it was a sad but undeniable truth that most men didn’t want old whores.

  Hugo knew, without a doubt, that Bev would kick her out and she’d be working back alleys within a year or two.

  He forbade himself from pitying her because all this mess was all her bloody fault.

  “Do you need money?” Joss said the words quickly, as if he thought Hugo would be offended.

  Instead, Hugo was oddly touched by the other man’s generosity. “I have some tucked away unless Laura managed to get into my bank account.” He’d left more hidden in his suite of rooms at Solange’s, but he doubted Laura had left that.

  “Well, you can stay here as long as you want. Alicia wanted you to know you would be doing us a favor since an empty house always seems to fall apart faster.”

  “Please thank her for me,” he said, for once managing to keep any snideness from his tone. The woman didn’t even know him but seemed determined to show him kindness.
<
br />   “She keeps a skeleton staff here no matter whether the place is empty or occupied, but please feel free to engage more servants if you need any.”

  “Even though she doesn’t visit?”

  “I suspect that she keeps it staffed just for my infrequent visits to see my sister and brothers. She hates England and will probably never come back.” His lips quirked into a wry smile. “She claims she doesn’t want to sell it because the current market is a poor one.” He shrugged. “I don’t argue since she’s far smarter and more knowledgeable on such topics.”

  Hugo could hear the pride in Joss’s voice as he boasted about his clever wife.

  “I take it your wife knows nothing of what your plans are?” Joss asked.

  “Neither of them do,” he said sharply. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

  Joss gave a disbelieving laugh. “Good God, Hugo. How can you keep such a thing from her? Don’t you think she will—”

  “If I recall correctly, Joss, you weren’t exactly in a big hurry to tell your wife about your past as a whore, either?”

  “The situations couldn’t be more different. First, I didn’t marry Alicia without telling her the truth. Second, we weren’t married while I worked at Solange’s so I wasn’t still doing that sort of work.”

  “I don’t plan to do that sort of work, either,” Hugo shot back.

  Joss cocked his head, his expression quizzical.

  “What?” Hugo demanded, even though he hadn’t said anything. “You don’t think I can just manage the place?” He snorted. “That’s assuming I can even get back in the door without Bev killing me.”

  “I’m just wondering if your clients will allow you to just manage.”

  “They can hardly force me to fuck them, can they, Joss?”

  “What will you do if a particular”—Joss coughed the words royal duke—“returns and demands your services?”

  Hugo gritted his teeth. “I shall explain I have retired.”

  “And you think he will take no for an answer?”

  “He will have to.”

  “That will be an interesting conversation.”

  The royal duke in question was a long-time client of Hugo’s. The man didn’t visit Hugo more than a few times a year, but when he did, he expected Hugo to drop everything—including his breeches—and obey his summons.

  It had been a good six months since he’d last heard from his royal highness; the newspapers claimed he was somewhere on the Continent. Hopefully he would stay there. Maybe Hugo would be fortunate and could sort out this problem with throwing royalty into the mix.

  He snorted, and then realized Joss was staring at him. “What now?”

  “Even if you don’t take clients, you’ll still be—”

  Hugo scowled. “It’s none of your affair, Joss.”

  “I don’t like you very much, Hugo—and I know you don’t like me much either—”

  “Something less than much and rapidly diminishing the more you pontificate.”

  “I’m not pontificating. I’m just pointing out that such a deception won’t come without a cost. She seems an intelligent and lovely young woman and—”

  “And you know nothing about her.” Hugo set his glass down with a thump. “She’s not a sophisticate like your wife—this sort of thing would … well, it would crush her. Her father was a bloody vicar for Christ’s sake!”

  “And Mel’s husband was a curate.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.” Hugo stood. “I appreciate you allowing us the use of your house, but if it comes with your advice attached, I’ll summon a hackney and we can move to a hotel right bloody now.”

  Joss raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t fly into a pucker, Hugo. Of course I won’t say a word. But what if they ask me where it was that we worked together?”

  “Cailean won’t ask you a thing—the lad doesn’t speak much. As for Martha, you can tell her that we met through Exchange business.”

  Joss laughed. “I don’t know a thing about buying and selling stocks.”

  “Either does she, so she won’t ask specifics.”

  “Do you plan on lying to her for the rest of your life?”

  “If need be.”

  Joss sighed. “Fine, Hugo. Whatever you want. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  So did Hugo.

  Chapter 26

  “Hello, Laura.”

  Laura’s shriek was the most satisfying sound Hugo had heard in months.

  She squirmed in Hugo’s arms, but he held her easily while he shoved a rag into her mouth. He was shocked by how much weight she’d lost; holding her was like clutching an armload of hangers.

  Once her cheeks were bulging with cloth Hugo grabbed both her wrists, lifted her arms, and then nodded to Kenny, who was standing nearby with a thick cloak.

  They rolled her up like a rug and Hugo carried her into the decrepit old coach he’d hired. He lowered her onto the seat and sat beside her, holding her propped upright.

  Kenny shut the door, climbed on back, and the wheels started rolling.

  Hugo peeled back the cloak just enough so that he could see Laura’s wide, red-rimmed gaze.

  He clucked his tongue and carefully tucked some of her brittle blonde hair behind her ears. “Didn’t expect to see me back here, did you?” Hugo smirked when she tried to speak around the mouthful of rag. “No, no, you don’t need to talk just yet. There will be plenty of time for that shortly.” He chuckled. “Someday—not tonight, of course—I will have to tell you about the lovely journey that I took thanks to you. But for now, just rest assured that I am back and going nowhere. You, however—but I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I’ve been watching you these past days and nights, darling, because I wanted to see the state of things at Solange’s before we had our little chat.”

  Laura’s eyes widened and she began making noises.

  “What I learned surprised me—and not a pleasant surprise, either. It appears you’ve gambled away not only your half of the business, but also managed to transfer my half to Bev Davies—a man whose hobbies include torturing and killing people. It seems like the only way I’ll ever work at Solange’s again will be on my bloody back.”

  Two fat tears slid down her cheeks, which only infuriated Hugo more.

  “Fifteen years of hard work gone without a trace. Well done, you sodding bitch.” Hugo shoved her away. He’d never struck a woman before and he’d be damned if he allowed Laura to drag him down any further.

  They rode for a while in silence while Hugo glared out the window into the London night and struggled to get himself under control.

  When the carriage slid to a halt a quarter of an hour later, he was almost calm. He turned back to Laura, who was quietly sobbing behind her gag.

  Hugo experienced a pang of remorse.

  And then instantly wanted to punch himself in the face.

  How dare you feel sorry for this gin-soaked, card-obsessed, duplicitous slattern? he demanded of himself, giving vent to a muffled growl of fury before he flung open the carriage door.

  The air stank of rotting fish and the eye-watering stench of the Thames at low tide.

  “Carry her inside,” Hugo told Kenny as he navigated the buckled cobblestone, passing below a tattered wooden sign proclaiming: Drunken Duck Tavern, Est. 1687.

  The front door swung open before Hugo reached it, exposing an almost painfully handsome young man named Daniel Charters. Like Kenny, he’d also worked at Solange’s before Laura had sacked him and a dozen other servants in her quest to save money.

  “Everything is ready, Mr. Hugo.”

  “Thank you, Daniel.”

  The inn had been one of the busier hostelries on the water for decades but had closed when the silt made this part of the river inaccessible to big ships. The owner had been pitifully grateful to rent the derelict building to Hugo for a few nights, no questions asked.

  Only one of the inn rooms on the second floor was lighted and Hugo went inside, pleased to see tha
t Daniel had covered the window as he’d asked.

  Hugo had been tempted to throw Laura into Newgate—naked, as she’d done to him—and let her kick her heels in some true squalor and misery, but the deciding factor had been his aversion to visiting the rancid jail in order to speak to her.

  “Put her on the pallet,” he told Kenny.

  The moment the giant man put Laura down she began to thrash. Hugo leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and waited for her to free herself from the cloak.

  Once she’d done so she pulled the rag out of her mouth and pressed her back against the wall, her blood-shot eyes darting from Hugo to Kenny to Daniel like a cornered animal.

  “If not for me you’d be dead,” she said, her voice hoarse from screaming into the gag. “He wanted—”

  “Shut up,” he said, more than a little surprised when she obeyed. He jerked his head at Daniel. “Daniel had some very interesting things to tell me.”

  She scowled at the gorgeous young footman. Hugo knew for a fact that Daniel didn’t swing toward the ladies so that must have doomed him as far as Laura was concerned.

  “You can’t believe him, Hugo. He’s just angry I fired him.”

  “Because you sold the bloody place to a bastard too cheap to pay a decent wage, you gin-soaked, worn-out slattern,” Daniel shot back.

  Laura opened her mouth to argue.

  “Shut up, Laura,” Hugo said again. “You should be grateful that you’re here in this filthy little room and not floating in the Thames, locked in Newgate, or currently headed toward warmer climes” He narrowed his eyes. “Now, tell me how much? How much did it cost for Bev to get his hands on my bloody business?”

  Laura caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I don’t know exactly—”

  “An estimate.”

  Laura named an amount.

  “Holy fuck!” Hugo yelled. He felt as if every nightmare he’d experienced in his entire life had returned all at once. “Are you bloody mad? How in the name of hell did you manage to lose so much?”

  Tears slid down her ravaged cheeks. “He let me punt on tick, didn’t he? And before I knew it …” Her shoulders sagged. “At first he just said he’d take payments. But there was interest, too. I gave him almost everything and it still wasn’t enough. And … and—”