Into the Hall of Vice

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘Now this will have to do. Into the cabinet you go. I’ll be back as soon as I settle with Kent. He should arrive any time now by my invitation.’ He reversed the pistol and flicked the barrel towards the narrow broom closet at the rear of the kitchen.

  ‘What?’ Winton’s request made little sense. Cole fought for clarity, his brain daring to go black.

  ‘Into the cabinet where I can keep you contained. I can’t have you interrupting yet again and I’ll not take the chance someone will walk down the stairs and offer you aid. There’ll be time enough later to deal with you. Gemma will be mine by then. Kent will be satisfied with his ambitions and you will be nothing more than a distasteful memory.’ Winton’s voice dropped to a threatening growl. ‘Now stop wasting time I don’t have and get in the cabinet or I will render you permanently quiet.’

  Advancing on Winton would guarantee Cole a bullet in the gut especially as his ears still rung with the force of the weapon’s blow. Better to wait until he collected his thoughts and stopped the man, but to get into the narrow wooden cabinet, barely the width of his shoulders and as confining as a coffin, sent his pulse into wild rebellion. He forced a long exhale. He wouldn’t surrender to the long-ago memories and unnerving panic that inevitably ensued. He would help Maggie, save Gemma if Winton spoke the truth, and salvage Second Chances from Kent’s deluded attempt to shut it down. Still, all reason perished as he was shoved inside the dark enclosure, the point of the pistol wedged hard between his ribs.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Kent must have entered Second Chances behind them. Gemma spun from where she conversed with Sophie and Maggie Devonshire.

  ‘I should ask you the same.’ She raised her chin a notch. ‘I presumed you wouldn’t dirty your carriage wheels.’

  ‘Clever, but this is no place for the both of you. Leave, ladies, and have my driver return after he brings you to Stratton House.’ He moved further into the foyer, his face fixed in a familiar uncompromising scowl.

  ‘I’m here to help Miss Devonshire and those who seek refuge at the lodging house.’ Sophie came to stand beside her. ‘Surely you wouldn’t create additional misfortune in the lives of these people.’

  ‘I will not continue this debate, Gemma. I’ve made my opinion clear. Now I’ve extended the courtesy of my last ounce of patience. Return to the carriage and go home. The future of this establishment and others like it is not your concern.’

  He stated this as he always did, an edict which brooked no argument, but Gemma was too invested this time, too aware of all she’d learned since meeting Mr Goodworth and Miss Devonshire and from coming to realise she could improve the lives of others by opening her eyes and heart to their struggles. ‘I will not. I’m here to volunteer my time and support. I suggest you do the same.’

  ‘Have you forgotten our father died on these streets? That his last breath was of the fetid stench of poverty? Don’t you dare criticise me under the guise of righteous charity. Once again you forget your station. Every speech I’ve presented in Parliament is proven by this establishment. Charing Cross is a festering lesion that cannot be healed. It needs to be cut out for London to exist in its true glory, its pestilence removed, eliminated and not condoned.’

  ‘Not condoned, Kent, but improved.’ Might he be convinced if she pleaded the case logically?

  ‘I’ll not waste another word on it. Step aside.’ He stared down his nose and drilled her with a chilling glare. All the while Sophie and Miss Devonshire stood quietly in wait.

  ‘I cannot.’ Gemma straightened her shoulders with determination. ‘I will not stand idle while you displace innocent people. Father would be appalled by this act. Why, he was in this very area of London the night he died. Did you know that? Could he have worked for the greater good?’ Winton’s suggestion that her brother knew more than he eluded sparked to life to support her argument.

  ‘I will not be interrogated.’ Kent’s reply was incredulous. ‘I am a duke and you will show me respect.’

  ‘How am I to respect a man who seeks to turn sick children into the street?’ Her voice broke on a sob. ‘I cannot stand by while you fight this. I’m ashamed to be your sister.’

  His head jerked as if she’d slapped his cheek. ‘Be careful with your words and choices. I will not forgive you.’ He levelled a hard gaze, too familiar since her father’s death. ‘If you sever ties now, Gemma, it is for always.’

  ‘Gemma, no.’ Sophie’s voice broke across the room. ‘What about Rosalind?’

  Sophie continued to stare at her brother. How she wished she could read his mind, but he’d changed, hardened, for reasons she had no idea about, secrets he wouldn’t share.

  ‘Take her with you.’ He gave a negligible shake of his head. ‘You are the closest thing Rosalind has to a mother anyway.’

  ‘You would cast out Rosalind and everything she knows.’ Emotion hushed Gemma’s words.

  ‘I’ll expect you out before the week’s end. Rosalind will always have my support, but you will need to make your own way now, Gemma.’

  Sophie’s gasp combined with hers, the emotion in the room suffocating.

  ‘I see I’ve arrived with perfect timing. Gemma is in need of a protector. How convenient.’ Winton entered the front foyer and Sophie and Miss Devonshire drew back, startled by his intrusion from the back of the house.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Kent lashed out, his expression infuriated with the intrusion.

  ‘Preventing a problem. Solving a riddle. Perhaps absconding with the prize.’

  Winton smiled and, as before, Gemma knew he was as false as the day was long. ‘Then you are here to assist in deterring my brother’s legislation?’

  ‘Ah, Gemma, as foolish as you are pretty. What a pleasure it has been shadowing you about the city in all your noble quests. I look forward to our union. I suspect you’re a hellion in bed.’

  ‘You forget yourself, Winton.’ Kent’s anger rang across the hall. ‘You will not insult my sister’s honour.’

  ‘Forgive me, Your Grace. I assumed you were well rid of her. Indeed, I spoke too soon.’ Winton meandered across the floorboards, confident and smug as always. ‘But I’m not here to offer support of your movement. My efforts are far less benevolent. I’m securing your father’s death remains quiet and thereby conceals my indiscretion, thus to allow matters to venture into obscurity for the good of all involved.’

  ‘You’re making little sense, Winton, and my patience is depleted. Explain.’ Kent approached, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

  ‘Must I? How tedious when you already know the circumstances.’ Winton exhaled, infusing boredom into the words in a show of impatience. ‘Must we perpetuate your charade?’

  The cold stare Winton wore as he approached caused Gemma to suppress a shiver of revulsion; still, her curiosity willed the question. ‘What does Kent know?’ She pivoted her attention from one man to the other.

  ‘Tell her, Your Grace.’ The way Winton said the words were sure to ignite her brother’s temper further. ‘And you two…’ He motioned to Sophie and Maggie, and then to a bench along the wall. ‘Sit and listen.’

  ‘I’m done with conversation, Winton. Finish what you have to say and leave.’ Kent took another step.

  ‘But you offered to help me.’ Gemma turned towards Winton. ‘Why would you do so if you wished to keep the circumstances quiet?’ Her confused whisper invited his scorn.

  ‘How better to discover what you already know? You were asking too many questions and nosing around where you shouldn’t. My friendship with your father served well to gain your brother’s confidence but you continued to force the issue and then you brought Hewitt into the mix, a bastard with no scruples.’

  Gemma clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. What had happened? Why was her entire world falling apart? If only she hadn’t destroyed her bond with Cole. She might have called on him for help. Somehow
, in her heart, she knew he would have made things right no matter her decisions. Still, it all mattered little now and the biggest question remained, would he ever forgive her?

  Cole concentrated on breathing, extending inhales and exhales in an effort to appease the impending terror that threatened once the cabinet door closed and locked. No knob could be found on the inside of the panel, the narrow cupboard nothing more than a wooden box that generously resembled a coffin. Every breath reminded how cramped his shoulders were, pressed between the wooden sides as if the walls hoped to crush out life. Winton must have angled a chair or other piece of furniture under the door handle in the kitchen. It was impossible to gain force, his arms pinned to the point of near immobility, his breath shallow and short despite his best effort, the limited air in the space heated with suppressed panic.

  Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and neck, his palms gone clammy. Unable to control the path of trepidation, his mind rewound the clock and he was once again crammed inside that suffocating chimney flue, his pulse a-kilter and stomach churning with fear. He’d hidden from the threatening rage of a stranger who’d chased him through dank alleys for no reason he could discern. Crime didn’t need a purpose in Charing Cross. Yet he’d escaped the clutches of the monster only to find himself caught tight in the flue where he’d hidden, unable to wriggle free until at last he’d calmed, made pliant by exhaustion of the task. He must feign the same conditions now and deny anxiety. Maggie needed his help and, more importantly, he wanted to see Gemma with a yearning stronger than his need to draw breath.

  In an effort to calm he exhaled fully, his hot, damp breath against the wood a grim reminder time was limited, inside and out. What did Winton plan? Why had the man involved Gemma?

  Cole loved her. He would return to her embrace and convince her to love him in return. He needed her. The realisation fortified his resolve.

  Ignoring the cloying scent of cedar that drenched each breath, he leaned his weight against the cabinet door and pushed. Again. Again, and again. He’d continue to bang against the door with what little space he had, bruising his body, until he escaped and, then he’d finish Winton.

  With another shove the door gave an infinitesimal, no more. He repeated the effort and the panel bowed against the lock holding it closed. He tensed every muscle to force his weight another time when the door cracked open, Charlie on the other side.

  ‘’Scuse me, sir. What are you doing in the broom closet?’ The wide-eyed child opened the door, a ladder-back chair pushed aside along with a solid table. The lad didn’t realise he spoke to Mr Goodworth and why would he?

  ‘Thank you, Charlie. Now get yourself upstairs.’ Cole climbed out and rolled his shoulders for relief. He ruffled the boy’s mop of hair before soundlessly leaving the room. Approaching the front of the house, he skimmed the wall and listened. Gemma. He would know her voice anywhere. He heard Winton too, in argument with Kent. The scourge was armed. Cole struggled to understand the conversation.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about facts, Kent. Truth can be bent or rewritten with a few well-placed rumours. I remove the onus of decision-making by supplying a better version through suggestion. Soon no one discerns actuality from fiction. It’s a gift I share with the rest of society, the ability to create other people’s beliefs.’

  ‘Put the gun down, Winton, and let’s take this outside. There’s no reason Gemma should be involved in your irrational tantrum.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. Your sister has asked too many questions about your father’s death. I’d not be surprised if she’s overturned stones all over this city. As you know, it was a tragic accident I worked hard to bury. Nasty business venturing into Charing Cross to discard a damning little by-blow. Gossip fodder and all that. The entire situation reeked of what every entitled aristocrat fears most, bastardry and scandal. Add to that a few ruffian footpads seeking to rob what they could and your father dies for your sins. I’ll never forget the violent scene. The past needs to remain in the grave where it belongs.’

  Gemma gasped. Still, she had no idea how to intercede and Kent answered before she could collect her thoughts.

  ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Winton. You’ll hang for causing my father’s death. He was a well-respected peer with many years left in his life. Nothing else needs to come to light.’

  ‘Not so fast, albeit an ambitious attempt, Your Grace. You’re quite the liar, an actor with well-rehearsed lines.’ Winton laughed, the sound a hollow echo until Gemma’s scream rent the air. Cole swung the door wide to see Gemma thrust to the ground while Winton rushed Kent with the pistol.

  Chaos broke out as Cole entered the fray. Sophie and Maggie hurried to Gemma’s aid; though he couldn’t be sure, his path led to Winton and Kent, who struggled with the pistol. Before he could reach the duke’s side, Winton had the better of the situation, the barrel of the weapon held against Kent’s temple. Winton reversed position and faced them collectively.

  ‘Now.’ He exhaled a hard breath. ‘I’ll make the rules or you’ll lose another of your loved ones, Gemma.’ He took a step back and dragged Kent with him. ‘Not sure about this one, though. You might not be so mournful once you learn the truth.’ He jerked his head in Gemma’s direction before flicking his attention to Cole. ‘And you, another man who couldn’t stay where he should, out of others’ personal affairs.’

  ‘Put the gun away, Winton. There’s no need to raise the stakes here. No one cares about your past.’ Cole stepped closer, so slowly he thought he’d never reach the man, but caution warred with urgency. He needed to save Kent. Despite the argument preceding this moment, he knew Gemma loved her brother well and he would not allow her to suffer another loss.

  ‘My past?’ Winton scoffed with derisive laughter. ‘It wasn’t my little bastard.’ He twisted the gun, sliding it back and forth against Kent’s head in a malicious nudge. ‘Poor Gemma. So confused, aren’t you? Your dear father didn’t die because of his own indiscretion or mine. He was here in Charing Cross discarding your brother’s whelp. A mistake foisted on Kent by a greedy mistress who threatened blackmail and exposure, a tawdry indiscretion to mar the immaculate family title.’ He slanted a sarcastic grin downward. ‘You should have chosen your light skirt with the same stringent prudence you bear on your sisters. Your father took it upon himself to rid the duchy of shame, but now you’ll pay the rightful price and accept guilt of his death. Such a sad, twisted story.’ His voice expressed anything but empathy. ‘If I hadn’t accompanied your father that evening, I’d almost believe it was exaggerated for greater impact.’

  ‘Why didn’t you save him?’ Gemma walked closer to Winton, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Gemma. No.’ Cole diverted his attention. He didn’t want Winton to use the weapon, but if anyone was to receive a bullet today, dammit to hell, it wouldn’t be Gemma. ‘Winton is mad and can’t be trusted. We’ll figure this out together.’

  The last sentence gained her attention and she paused. When her heartbroken face turned towards his, he knew only one course of action.

  ‘What is it you want, Winton? Kent’s movement to abolish the slums has nothing to do with you. Gemma no longer needs to ask questions of her father’s death. What do you seek to gain with this act of violence?’ Cole had advanced within three strides, hoping by proximity he would gain an advantage. Kent remained unusually quiet, the impact of his secret come to light a humbling muzzle, as was the gun pressed to his temple. His eyes didn’t reveal fear, but the emptiness of sadness and shame.

  ‘A viscountcy is all well and good, but how much better to be directly connected to the duchy. A quick trip to the altar and then on to bed.’ He wiggled his brows in lewd suggestion. ‘Don’t be surprised, Gemma. Your father considered me a fine husband candidate until your brother’s careless mistake intruded on my well-cultivated plans. All those years wasted. It’s infuriating.’ He pressed the barrel harder into Kent’s temple. ‘Now I will have to take what
I want by force, an action unbefitting a gentleman.’ Winton spun his attention to Gemma. ‘But you’re worth it.’

  He’d barely finished the words when Cole sprang into action. He wouldn’t see Gemma harmed, even at the cost of his own life. He landed atop Winton and Kent scrambled free at the same time the front doors burst open with several ladies from the Salvation Saviours flooding the foyer. Maggie and Sophie called out a loud warning. Gemma shrieked Cole’s name as he rolled atop Winton. So much simultaneous commotion existed, at first no one realised when the gun went off.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was many hours later when everything sorted out, though no one found restful sleep. With the dawn of a new day, matters remained locked in a morose silence. Gemma sat with Nan in the drawing room, her nerves calmed albeit her mind whirled with all that had come to light in the foyer of Second Chances. There remained much more to resolve.

  Thankfully the bullet found Winton, the true villain, and not anyone undeserving. Kent summoned the constable and while Winton would face no criminal charges, able to sidestep the gaol by influence of title, he would be ostracised by the social elite and bandied about in the gossip rags. For a man who behaved as the worst climber, he would never regain reputation.

  Kent had left for their family’s country estate at first light. Gemma had not objected. The entire household in turmoil, the silence of sitting near the banked fire, a cup of tea on the table, and her maid up to her elbows in embroidery near the window, offered normalcy despite she knew it a deceitful charade.

  Her heart, while she had little use of it now, remained splintered in a thousand pieces. There would be no easy resolution come the day she saw Cole again. If she saw Cole again. He’d protected her with his life. No greater declaration of love existed, yet still she feared he would not pursue her again. No stolen kisses. No secret missives.