by Stella Riley
Lydia swallowed and concentrated on keeping her voice steady.
‘You think you can abduct me and no one will come looking, Lord Northcote?’
‘Meaning that troublesome Colonel you married this morning?’
Even though he’d had her snatched from her own wedding party, it still gave her a jolt that he knew. ‘Yes. He got me out of the cellar, after all.’
‘The fellows being paid to keep the two of you under lock and key on that occasion were lax. Colonel Maxwell should not count on it happening again – or indeed, on finding you at all.’
‘He’ll come,’ said Lydia stubbornly. ‘He will.’
His mouth curled slightly in a chilly smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Perhaps. But perhaps you should neither wish nor wait for his arrival. I’m sure you’d sooner not be a widow before you’ve been a wife.’
Ice slid through her veins but she said, ‘Actually, I was waiting for something quite different.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I was waiting for you to explain your extraordinary behaviour.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that, by now, it would need explaining.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Of course you do. You have something of mine … and I want it back without further prevarication or delay.’
Lydia stared at him for a moment and then said doubtfully, ‘Are you … can you be talking about the letters?’
His expression – or rather the lack of it – didn’t change but somehow she had the feeling she’d surprised him. He said, ‘What else might I mean? The letters my lamentably indiscreet mother wrote to your late husband and the conclusions, if any, he drew from them. I know you have them. You must always have had them – despite the inability of my employees to wrest them from you.’
‘Your employees? But I thought --’ She stopped abruptly and then added bitterly. ‘Of course I should have guessed.’
‘Guessed what, Madam?’
She took her time about answering. So long, in fact, that Northcote was eventually prompted to say, ‘Well?’
‘When I finally found the letters, my first thought was that they were the ones your brother asked me about.’
‘They were. Did he tell you why he wanted them?’
‘No – and I didn’t ask. I just assumed his reasons were sentimental.’ She managed an acid-edged smile. ‘Yours, I take it, are not.’
‘Neither, as it happens, are his.’ He continued to regard her with a complete absence of expression. ‘Have you shown them to him?’
‘No. I – I might have done. But since I rejected his proposal of marriage – not, I should add because of anything you said – relations between us have become less cordial.’
‘Naturally. However … you were saying?’
‘What?’ For a moment, she couldn’t remember what she had been saying. ‘Oh – yes. Well later, when I realised the letters were responsible for the attacks on myself and my people, I assumed the man Quinn had been acting on his own initiative and for his own purposes. I thought he intended to use them against your family in some way – probably to extort money.’ Lydia paused again, hoping she wasn’t making a complete mess of this. ‘If you hadn’t abducted me today, I’d still think that.’
‘Ah.’ His lordship folded his arms. ‘But now you know better.’
‘Clearly, he’s your lackey,’ she shrugged. ‘But had you waited a day or two more, this could have been avoided. I’d planned to write to you offering to give you the thrice-blasted letters.’
‘Had you indeed?’ The cold eyes narrowed. ‘And what would your heroic Colonel have had to say about that, I wonder?’
Lydia bent her head and fiddled with her new and very beautiful wedding band.
‘I know exactly what he’d say – which is why I’d no intention of telling him. I just wanted to be rid of the wretched things and it didn’t matter who had them so long as I didn’t. The few that I read are either completely uninteresting or make no sense whatsoever. And they’ve been nothing but trouble.’
‘If that is so, why hold on to them until now?’
‘Because – and purely thanks to the damage Mr Quinn and his bullies did to my lorinery – I’ve only recently found them.’
‘Explain.’
‘They virtually dismantled the upper floor. It was while putting everything to rights that a concealed space was found behind an old cupboard which Quinn’s men had all but destroyed. Your precious letters were in it. Until then, I had no idea that they even existed.’
Lord Northcote regarded her silently for a long, unnerving minute. Eventually he said softly, ‘Where are the letters now?’
She almost told him and then, with a sickening lurch, realised that she couldn’t. He would immediately send a search party to Cheapside and if Alice or anyone else had gone back there … she shuddered at the thought of what might happen. She said, ‘It would be very stupid of me to tell you that, wouldn’t it?’
‘It will be extraordinarily stupid of you not to,’ he replied in the same cool, level tone he’d conducted the entire conversation. ‘Do you seriously believe I will hesitate to have my men hurt you?’
‘No.’ She licked her dry lips and tried not to sound as frightened as she felt. ‘I’ve encountered your Mr Quinn before and I know how dangerous he is. But if I tell you what you want to know, you’ll have no further use for me, will you? And I’d quite like to have some chance of surviving the night.’
* * *
As soon as Eden realised how much help was on hand, the fog that had been clouding his brain lifted and he wasted no time changing his orders. Up to this point, he’d withheld the information contained in Stephen Neville’s boxes from Lydia’s work-force; partly because he didn’t want to share his discoveries with more people than was necessary but also because he’d thought it was safer. But the latter was no longer true. Safety now lay in spreading that information far and wide. Quinn might murder two or three people but even he couldn’t kill fifty and expect to get away with it.
And so, deciding it was time to lay his cards upon the table, he said crisply, ‘The situation is this. We are hunting two men. One is a criminal named Quinn and the other, Lord Northcote, is the man who is paying him. Amongst other things, Quinn is a murderer … and Northcote has an arsenal of dirty secrets which I now share. One of those secrets is ownership of a house catering to every known perversion on the corner of Seething Lane and Crutched Friars – and that, I believe, is where Quinn will be holding Lydia.’ He glanced round at nearly two score attentive faces. ‘Since Ned, Aubrey and I are already armed, we’ll take half a dozen of the fittest men from the lorinery, armed with whatever knives and cudgels this inn can supply and head directly for the brothel.’
Tobias scowled. ‘I’m coming as well.’
‘Not immediately, Toby. First you’ll go to Cheapside. Take Trooper Collis, Mr Potter, Henry, Peter and Alice with you. Gather up every blade, pistol and all the powder and shot – along with my translation of Stephen’s coded page – then follow me to the brothel. One of the men should stay at home with Alice and make the house secure. It will be our command-centre through which messages can be passed at need.’
‘Allow me,’ volunteered Henry promptly.
Too preoccupied to smile, Eden merely nodded.
‘Nicholas. Take Trooper Hayes, half a dozen of his colleagues and some of the women and see what the situation is in Duck Lane. If you think Quinn or any of his men are there, do not go in. Surround the place as best you can and send word. But if there’s no sign of activity, gather up anything that might be used as a weapon and join the rest of us in Seething Lane.’ He looked round at his assembled troops. ‘Those who have doubts about involving themselves should either return to their homes or join Alice and Henry in Cheapside. Now … does anyone have any questions?’
No one did.
‘Good. One last thing. I’d ask you all to be careful. Lydia won’t th
ank me for rescuing her at the cost of one of you – and I’d sooner not begin my married life by having my ears boxed.’ He won a scattering of laughter which he hoped put some heart into them but which did nothing for the lump of ice in his own chest. ‘It’s boot and saddle, then. Let’s go.’
Out in the street with everyone going their separate ways, Eden grasped Ned Moulton’s arm and said quietly, ‘Get four or five of our own fellows from the Tower.’
The Major’s brows rose. ‘Officially?’
‘Preferably not – but however you can do it. This time Quinn won’t take any risks, so I can’t either. If Lydia doesn’t give him what he wants right away, he’ll hurt her. And if he hurts her, I’ll kill him. Slowly.’
Ned quickened his pace to cover the short distance past Seething Lane to the Tower. Eden delivered a few low-voiced orders to Trooper Buxton and the others, then turned to Aubrey and said bluntly, ‘Are you capable of guarding my back?’
‘Yes. Do you really think they’ve brought Lyd to a damned brothel?’
‘It’s the most logical place – so I hope so. At any rate, we’ll soon know.’
Eden was glad he’d previously made a point of strolling past the Painted Angel. Now he was able to gather his little troop on the opposite corner and say, ‘There it is. As you can see, it’s a big, sprawling building. The door leading off Seething Lane leads to what appears to be an ordinary tavern. I think the door on Crutched Friars with no lights showing leads to the brothel. Somewhere inside, however, there will be a way of getting from one side to the other. Buxton … leave one of your fellows out here to point the way to our friends when they arrive and take the rest of them into the tavern. Find the connecting door and get through it without attracting attention.’
Buxton could see difficulties with this. He said, ‘And if we can’t?’
‘Find a way. Create a diversion. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Aubrey … you and I are going to bribe our way in upstairs. Let’s go.’
Crossing the road into Crutched Friars, Eden walked straight up to the brothel door and hammered on it with his fist. After a minute, a grille slid back and a pair of eyes peered out at them.
‘Open up, man!’ demanded Colonel Maxwell peremptorily, simultaneously flashing a gold coin in his fingers. ‘You think this is a place we want to be seen?’
There was a second of hesitation, then the bolts slid back and the door opened just wide enough for Eden and Aubrey to slip into the darkened passage-way.
Tossing the coin to the door-keeper, Eden said casually, ‘Is Quinn in tonight?’
‘Might be,’ came the unhelpful reply, ‘or might not. You gentlemen been ’ere before?’
‘Might have – might not,’ retorted Eden, heading up the stairs. ‘And you shouldn’t be asking.’
Aubrey clattered up in Eden’s wake, pausing on the turn to check that the man below wasn’t following them. He hissed, ‘Shouldn’t we knock that fellow out?’
‘No. Nothing to tie him up with and if he came round and raised the alarm, we’d be finished. Now stop talking and leave the thinking to me.’ Lanterns were lit on the first landing, from which the stairs carried on upwards. Light and voices came from rooms to their right but Eden focussed his attention on a bolted door at the far end of the passage-way. Pointing to it, he said softly, ‘Unbar that. With luck it links to the tavern.’ And when it was done, ‘Good. Now let’s find out what we’re dealing with.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘No idea. Yet.’
Eden pushed open the nearest door and sauntered in, rapidly assessing the scene before him. Comfortably furnished, the large room was occupied by seven or eight semi-clad courtesans, none of whom were currently occupied. Plainly, the main trade of the evening had yet to begin. Three of the girls were playing cards, two were dressing each other’s hair and the rest merely reclined in comfortable indolence. As soon as he and Aubrey appeared, a well-endowed red-head rather more respectably dressed than her fellows, undulated towards them, smiling.
‘Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Mistress Clarinda and it’s my pleasure to see to yours. We cater to all tastes here … so what would be your preference this evening?’
‘We are both open to suggestion,’ returned Eden smoothly. ‘But first we have business with Quinn. Where might we find him?’
The practiced smile faded.
‘Quinn doesn’t receive visitors without an appointment, sir.’
‘He’ll receive me. Where is he?’
Clarinda’s eyes strayed to the far side of the room. Instantly one of the whores opened the door to an adjoining room and summoned its occupants with a jerk of her head. Two burly servants stepped into view. One of them was the fellow Eden had last seen in Duck Lane, standing behind Lydia with a knife in his hand.
His hand gripping his sword-hilt, Eden said, ‘Ah. Chaff, isn’t it?’
‘What you doing ’ere?’
‘I want to see Quinn. Preferably without hurting people and ruining the furniture – though I will if I have to.’
Chaff growled and rushed Eden, his knife appearing as if by magic. Eden half-drew his sword, side-stepped and felled his would-be attacker with a blow to the underside of the jaw using his sword-hilt. Chaff went down as if pole-axed, taking the card-table with him and making the courtesans sitting around it dive out of the way, squealing.
‘Damn it, Stoner!’ yelled Mistress Clarinda to the other servant. ‘What’re you waiting for?’
With a roar, Stoner stormed towards Eden, fists raised like a man who knew what to do with them. Eden twisted, extended one foot and, as his assailant stumbled, delivered two rapid punches that sent him down on one knee. An unkind but well-placed kick ended Stoner’s resistance and left him curled up on the floor, howling.
Unfortunately, at this precise moment, a third servant appeared in the doorway.
Eden swore and at the same time heard footsteps in the corridor and what sounded like Buxton’s voice. He snapped, ‘Step to it, Aubrey! I didn’t bring you just to watch!’ And whirled out of the room to collide with the loriners head-on.
‘That was quick. Well done.’
‘Thank Cooper. He’s running the Three Card Trick. Penny a go to win a half-crown.’
‘Christ. Remind me to pay him back. Meanwhile, some of you go and help sodding useless Aubrey and the rest follow me.’
Buxton snorted and set off in Eden’s wake.
‘Cooper won’t lose, Colonel. Where d’you think he got the half-crown?’
Eden barely heard him. There were eight closed doors spread to either side of the passage-way. He said, ‘Check all these. If they’re locked, kick them in.’
The first room was empty. The second was occupied by a naked fellow with a pot-belly and three whores – all of whom were completely oblivious thanks to the clouds of opium fumes filling the air. And in the third, two men – one of whom Eden recognised – lay entwined on the bed. Stepping back, he slammed the door shut behind him and moved on. On the other side of the corridor, Buxton and his team had disturbed other, more conventional couples and backed out with a bawdy remark or two. Meanwhile, Eden reached the last door on his side and found it locked.
It took two violent kicks to send the door flying inwards with enough force to bring it bouncing back off the wall. Eden stilled it with one hand, time seeming to freeze as he took in the tableau in front of him.
Naked but for the torn chemise lying tangled about her hips, a girl was curled up on the bed, half-hidden amidst a torrent of black hair. Her back was criss-crossed with savage wheals and her whole body was shaking with sobs, the sounds of which she was trying to stifle with her hands. And beside her stood a muscular man wearing only his breeches, his arm poised to deliver another blow with the whip in his hand.
Eden bit out a curse and was across the floor without conscious thought. He’d wanted to hit someone ever since he’d learned of Lydia’s abduction; an urge the two servants in the antechamber had failed to sati
sfy – but that battering this bastard might.
He wrenched the whip from the momentarily slackened grip and hurled it aside. Then he smashed one fist into fellow’s jaw and the other into his stomach. His opponent staggered but kept his balance and fought back, landing a blow on Eden’s shoulder and a second on his ribs. Eden was scarcely aware of either. Fuelled by white-hot anger and his bottled-up fear for Lydia, he fought on furiously, wanting nothing but to pummel this pervert into a pulp.
Somewhere behind him, a voice said sharply, ‘Colonel – stop!’ But he didn’t heed it and would have gone on grappling had not his opponent suddenly dropped like a stone.
Breathing heavily, Eden frowned up at the half-naked girl now standing on the bed clutching the handle of a heavy stone-ware pitcher … the rest of which lay in pieces on the floor about her defunct torturer.
Ned Moulton strode across to grasp his shoulder.
‘Come away. Rob Trotter and four others are outside. Toby has arrived with the arms and Nicholas says all’s quiet in Duck Lane. Have you found Quinn?’
Eden shook his head to clear it. ‘No. Not yet.’
‘He’s got rooms above,’ said a woman’s voice from the door.
Eden looked across at one of the courtesans from the antechamber.
‘Is he there?’
‘Don’t reckon so – or he’d be down here by now.’ She walked over to put her arms about the shaking, sobbing girl who Eden thought looked about fifteen. ‘Dunno what you want with ’im. But if you want to really ’elp … the worst of it’s in the attics.’
‘The worst of what?’
‘What goes on ’ere.’
‘Jesus, Eden,’ muttered Major Moulton. ‘It’s a mad-house below here and chaos in the bloody street. If Quinn’s not here --’
‘Take a couple of men and check the next floor. I’m for the attic,’ said Eden grimly. Then, yelling for Trooper Buxton, he charged up the stairs.
The attic was locked from the outside. Eden rammed the bolt aside and opened the door.
The gloom was such that it was several moments before he could distinguish the shapes within. But gradually his eyes made out the forms of three little girls, wraith-thin and none older than ten, huddled together against the far wall.