by Merry Farmer
Malcolm was in no mood for their youthful high spirits. “We should have sent the lot of you to finishing school,” he grumbled. “In Argentina.”
“We?” Cece asked, batting her eyelashes.
“Rupert, take the girls somewhere for tea,” Katya ordered, clearly at the end of her patience.
“Yes, Mama,” Rupert said with a nod, facing Cece and his sisters. “Right, you lot. In there.” He pointed to a café a few doors down.
The young people went one way and Katya marched on in the opposite direction. Malcolm sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and hurried after her. He could practically feel the heat of anger rippling off of her. The words “I’m sorry” hung on his lips, but pride wouldn’t let them come out.
“Inspector Craig said he’d meet us in that café there,” he said instead, pointing across the street.
Katya didn’t say a word, didn’t even acknowledge him. She paused at the corner only long enough to let the bustling traffic thin, and then marched across the street. Malcolm was nearly mowed down by a speeding wagon in his efforts to keep up with her.
“I’m not insulting you,” he said when he finally caught up with her. “I’m merely stating fact. I thought you were proud of the number of conquests you’ve made.”
Again, she whirled to a stop and glared at him. “Proud? Like a man would be proud of all the women he’s bedded?”
Malcolm blinked. “Yes?”
She made a disgusted sound and marched on, yanking the café door open so hard he was surprised it didn’t fly off its hinges.
“If you want to know why we’re not married, Malcolm, look no further than your own arrogance,” she said, dodging between tables and heading to the back of the café.
“I’m not the only arrogant one.”
It was the last shot he was able to get in before a man in a simple suit stood from a table near the back to greet them. Malcolm’s brow went up. Inspector Craig was as young as Rupert had said he was, and yet there was a distinct weariness in his dark eyes and a touch of premature grey at his temples. His appearance was at odds with the curt way he greeted Malcolm and Katya as they reached his table.
“Lord Campbell and Lady Stanhope, I presume,” he said in a strange accent, like someone who had been raised on the streets attempting to speak in posh tones but failing.
“How do you do.” Katya held out a hand, turning on all her charms. But there was still a hint of smoldering fury in her smile.
Craig took her hand and bowed as though he weren’t used to the formality, then gestured for her to sit. As she did, he quickly shook Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm sat as well, but Craig’s gaze returned to Katya.
“I understand you have a matter you’d like me to investigate,” he said.
Malcolm sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. A tiny bit of his nose was out of joint that Craig would assume Katya was driving their inquiry, but the fact that the man had sensed in an instant to whom he should speak, regardless of the fact Katya was a woman, raised Malcolm’s opinion of him.
“The Black Strap Club,” Katya said, getting straight to the point. “Have you heard of it?”
“Yes,” Craig answered with a grim nod. It was hard to tell just how much Craig had heard.
“We want to bring it down,” Katya went on.
“More specifically, we want to bring down its owner, Lord Theodore Shayles,” Malcolm added.
“Viscount Shayles.” Craig nodded. “Scotland Yard is aware of him.”
Malcolm clenched his jaw. Clearly Craig was a harder nut to crack than Katya. “We believe he’s been protected in the past by the man you’ve replaced and by several others in the Metropolitan Police.”
Craig merely stared at him, his face implacable.
“The activities of The Black Strap Club are disgusting and abusive,” Katya went on. “I’ve had contacts working inside for years, girls whose sole purpose has been to protect the innocent as much as they can, get them out when possible, and record the atrocities they’ve been forced to endure. Women have died there.”
For the first time, Craig’s expression showed emotion. “You have records?”
“My contacts do,” Katya confirmed with a nod. “I’m sure I can find a way to get them to you.”
“Do that,” Craig said, then paused. His expression darkened. “The evidence of women won’t be enough for my colleagues to act on.”
Malcolm saw fury flash through Katya’s expression out of the corner of his eye. He shared that fury, but knew Craig was right. “What will it take, then?”
Craig glanced to him. “Solid information. Testimony from someone the courts are likely to respect. Not just the courts. Lord Shayles is a peer, and if he is indicted, he will be tried in the House of Lords. I need someone on that level to provide evidence.”
“A man,” Katya said, her jaw tight.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Craig turned back to her. “Though anything your insiders can provide will be helpful. Their testimony can be valuable, but you and I both know that, as much as we would have it otherwise, the law finds it too easy to throw out accusations made against men, particularly noblemen, by lower-class women. Particularly if they can label those women as whores.”
Malcolm’s brow shot up. Few people he knew would speak so freely and use such language in public. Craig watched Katya as if to see how she would react. When she showed nothing but determination, the corner of Craig’s mouth tweaked in what could have been a smile. More importantly, a firm sort of confidence came to his eyes.
“So you’re saying you need one of Shayles’s clients to come forward with rock-solid evidence,” Katya said.
“I am.” Craig nodded.
Katya turned to Malcolm, one dark brow raised. Malcolm felt the implication of her look down to his core. Prickling heat filled him.
“My association with Shayles’s club was nearly two decades ago,” he said, “when I was newly returned from the Crimea and…troubled.”
“I need someone who currently patronizes the club to come forward,” Craig said, his expression holding no judgment for what Malcolm had just confessed. “Without that sort of testimony, I could have the club raided, but the chances of Lord Shayles being arrested would be slim.”
All three of them were silent in thought for a moment. Ghosts of Malcolm’s past knocked at the doors in his soul where he’d shut them away. He wasn’t the man now who he had been after the war. Tessa had changed him, and, if he were honest with himself, so had Katya. Perhaps even more than Tessa. But Tessa was the one he fought for, even though she’d lost her battle eighteen years ago.
“What if we send someone into the club with the expressed mission of finding evidence that could bring Shayles down?” Katya asked at length.
“What, a mole?” Malcolm blinked at her.
“Yes.” For the first time since their earlier argument, she looked at him, the light of determination in her eyes. “Someone new, someone whom Shayles doesn’t already have under his thumb and whom he wouldn’t be able to blackmail.”
“Is there such a person?” Malcolm asked.
“I think there could be.” The excitement in Katya’s expression grew.
“I’m willing to listen to whatever ideas you have,” Craig said.
Katya broke into a smile. “Sir Christopher Dowland.”
Malcolm’s gut clenched with jealousy. “What, that idiot you were flirting with yesterday?”
Katya let out an impatient sigh and glared at him before turning to Craig. “Sir Christopher Dowland is newly elected to Parliament. He hasn’t been in London long. We’ve only just met ourselves, but that will work to our advantage. Shayles wouldn’t know there was a connection between us.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Dowland is a fool.”
“Dowland looks like a fool,” Katya corrected him. She turned to Craig. “He has the kind of face that makes you think he’s a harmless buffoon, but, in fact, from everything I’ve heard, he’s brilliant.”
/> “Where have you heard this?” Malcolm asked.
“From Peter,” she told him. “Dowland’s estate is near Starcross Castle.”
All Malcolm could do in response was hum. If Peter thought well of the man, then perhaps he’d misjudged him. And if he had….
“A new lord in London who is smarter than he appears to be,” Craig said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin. “One Lord Shayles doesn’t know is associated with you.”
“He’s not associated with us,” Malcolm said. Suspicion itched down his back, and he narrowed his eyes at Katya. “Unless you’re more associated with him than you’ve let on.”
“Now is not the time,” Katya seethed.
“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” Craig said, holding up his hands to stop whatever scrap Malcolm and Katya could have gotten into. “Coleman was taking a lot of bribes from a lot of people. I have my hands full with cleaning up his messes. I wasn’t an obvious choice to replace him, and I have a lot to prove. My job is on the line. The only reason I’m willing to consider acting against Lord Shayles and his club is because I have a personal interest in bringing pimps to justice.” The sudden burst of unadulterated menace in the man’s eyes was enough to convince Malcolm that Craig had a painfully specific interest. “If this Dowland friend of yours is willing to infiltrate the club and find evidence we can use to arrest Lord Shayles and close the club for good, I’ll help you pursue that. But we would need to act fast and be discreet.”
“Understood,” Katya said. “I’m sure I can convince Sir Christopher to help us.”
Malcolm wanted to ask how she was sure, but he wasn’t a big enough fool to let his jealousy get in the way of what might have been their best chance in two decades to bring Shayles to justice.
“Fine.” Craig nodded and stood. “Speak to your friend, then let me know the outcome. I’ll be waiting.”
Malcolm and Katya stood as well. They hadn’t had a chance to order tea, so there was nothing to keep them from heading for the door and back onto the busy sidewalk, where they were greeted immediately by Cece and Rupert, Bianca and Natalia.
“Mama, really. Tell Rupert that he must give me a few pounds at least.” Natalia accosted Katya right away. “I might not be the one coming out on Friday, but I still need new clothes.”
“Oh, hello,” Bianca said, but not to Malcolm or to her mother. Her eyes were fixed firmly on Inspector Craig, and they were filled with stars.
“Good morning,” Craig nodded to her. He kept moving, but didn’t seem to be able to pry his eyes away from Bianca in spite of his momentum. His expressionless face twitched into a devilish smile over his shoulder, and before he turned forward, he winked.
“For Pete’s sake,” Malcolm grumbled. Craig was exactly the sort of rough, dangerous man girls like Bianca Marlowe found attractive. He shot a warning look to Katya.
Katya was miles ahead of him. “No,” she told Bianca, grabbing her arm and turning her away from Craig.
“Mama, who is that?” Bianca whispered, a pink flush coming to her face.
“No one you need to know,” Katya replied.
“Oh, but Mama, you’re wrong,” Bianca said, twisting to glance at Craig’s retreating back, even as Katya pushed her on. “I very much need to know him.”
“No,” Katya repeated.
“I’ll make my debut next year,” Bianca went on. “And then you won’t be able to stop me from knowing whatever man I want to.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow, wondering if Bianca knew how her words could be taken and if Katya had had the same attitude when she was that age.
“I’ll be able to stop you,” Katya replied with a grim smile. “Don’t give me a reason to.”
Bianca huffed in frustration and broke away from Katya to walk on with Natalia. Malcolm picked up his pace until he was at Katya’s side once more.
“Do you really think you can convince Dowland to stick his hand in a viper’s pit to help us?” he asked.
“What other choice do we have?” she asked, a darker edge to her frustration than before the meeting. “The girls I have positioned in that hell of a club are depending on us.”
Malcolm nodded. “We have to bring Shayles’s villainy to an end.”
“Then you have to trust me,” she said, stopping.
The children were in front of them and continued walking, giving Malcolm and Katya space.
“I do trust you,” Malcolm said, though it felt like a lie.
Katya saw right through him. She shook her head. “You see only what you want to see, Malcolm, and that doesn’t reflect well on either of us.”
“You’re going to seduce him to get him to help us.”
She pursed her lips so hard they turned white around the edges. Her eyes were like steel. “It always comes down to seduction with you, doesn’t it?”
“It’s what we have in common,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“There are other ways to live, Malcolm,” she said, a surprising burst of exhaustion in her voice that hinted at her experience. “There are other ways to interact with people and to win them to your side.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, beginning to feel weary and ancient himself. “But it is a rare man who is willing to put himself into danger without getting something in return.”
To his surprise, Katya laughed. “And you claim not to know why I haven’t accepted your offer of marriage.”
His frown darkened. “What does me wanting to marry you have to do with it?”
She shook her head. “If you knew that, we could stop having this argument. We could stop having every argument.”
He was too baffled by her statement to answer.
“Mama, are you coming?” Rupert called from halfway down the sidewalk.
“I am,” Katya called back to him. She turned, shaking her head sadly at Malcolm, then walked on.
Malcolm stood where he was, watching her retreating back and wondering how, after all these years, she could still leave him feeling like a confused amateur.
Chapter 5
If she had been born a man, Katya was fairly certain she would have stopped at nothing to get Inspector Craig’s job. If she hadn’t already been serving in Parliament. Then again, the boredom of an early marriage to a husband who viewed her with indifference was what had led her to take an interest in the lives of those around her in the first place. That interest had evolved past gossip into the need to figure out what was truly behind the odd behavior of the aristocracy. That had, in turn, spurred her to find ways to covertly help the innocent and punish the wicked behind the scenes.
So in a way, if she’d never been palmed off on Robert in the constricting bonds of matrimony, she wouldn’t have been strolling through Hyde Park in an expensive walking dress the day after her and Malcolm’s meeting with Inspector Craig, pretending that she was merely there to chaperone her girls and Cece, and not seeking out a clandestine meeting with Sir Christopher Dowland.
Christopher was there, wandering aimlessly along the banks of the Serpentine. Katya had made eye-contact with him a few times, but couldn’t tell if he had the first clue that she was signaling for him to approach. That was the beauty and fun of enlisting the seemingly bumbling man’s help. No one would have suspected him of subterfuge. No one would have expected him to make it across the park without tripping over his own feet. And if she were honest, she wasn’t entirely certain he’d live up to her expectations.
Katya paused to purchase a cup of tea from a man with a pushcart. The girls would appreciate them giving her a bit of space, and she needed an excuse to stay still long enough for Christopher to approach her. As she sipped the warm liquid, she watched her girls.
They clustered together near the edge of the water, tossing the leftover crumbs from breakfast that they’d brought with them at the ducks and swans. A grin tweaked the corner of Katya’s mouth. The dear things were convinced they were grown, but to her, they looked as much like children as ever when they giggled and squ
ealed as a particularly hungry swan chased after them. One could have argued that Katya should have scolded them and reminded them they were in public, where decorum was demanded, but she was loath to bring their innocent, halcyon days to an end the way hers had ended.
Her mind wandered back to her own, destroyed youth. The only thing that had made those confusing, miserable days bright was Malcolm’s explosive arrival in her life. Even though their introduction had involved him quite literally falling at her feet in a drunken stupor at one of Robert’s lascivious house parties. He had been different than the other pleasure-seekers. He had been in mourning for Tessa, Katya had been grieving the loss of her innocence, but somehow, together they were ridiculously happy. She still wondered where that happiness went.
“Good morning, Lady Stanhope.”
Christopher’s stilted greeting snapped Katya out of her thoughts. She turned to smile at him as he inched closer to her, holding a steaming cup of tea.
“Good morning, Sir Christopher. What a joy to see you here this morning,” she said, taking a sip of her now cold tea.
For a moment, Christopher’s already laughable face pinched in confusion. “I thought we were—” He stopped and let out a breath, his shoulders dropping. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as though inwardly scolding himself. “Sorry,” he said when he opened his eyes. “I’m not used to London society.”
The emphasis he put on the last two words convinced Katya he knew what he was doing after all.
“It’s not that complicated.” She grinned, sipping the last of her tea, then moving to hand the cup back to the vendor. “It’s all just a muddle of greetings and partings with inconsequential conversation in the middle.”
“All the same,” Christopher replied, finishing his tea in one large gulp, then handing the cup to the vendor, “I’m not very good at it.”
“Why do you say that?” Katya asked, holding out her arm in an invitation for him to escort her.
He picked up on that much, jumping to offer his elbow. Katya took it, and they strolled away from the Serpentine toward Rotten Row.