“And the way he is looking at you whilst you look at the table is very telling.”
Victoria frowned. She had always thought that Colchester had been looking at the skull which had been placed just to the right of the bible. The painter had kept juggling the items around as he sketched, citing ‘balance and composition’ much to Colchester’s irritation. But with the weak light streaming in from the front door, it seemed as if Colchester’s chin was cast a little higher, and his pupils were angled towards the side of her face.
“Perhaps Bill had it wrong,” Henry muttered.
Victoria flushed. Bill? What had he to do with it? She examined the white hair of her dead husband. Oh no. “Bill was the one that asked you why I had married a seventy-year-old?”
Henry’s normally inscrutable face twisted slightly. “I ah… well. I’ve asked you everything that I need to. I had better get back to my wife. Don’t want to leave her alone too long in the carriage.” He strode to the open front door and gave a backwards wave with his hand.
Victoria didn’t bother to stop him. She had her answer in the way he had run away so quickly. At least he hadn’t asked any difficult questions about Mr. Durnish.
CHAPTER 24
There was little to no sound coming from Pedro’s tent. Cautiously Bill pulled back the flaps tent and slipped inside.
There were no home comforts. Three cots were laid out in a row at the far edge of the tent, butting up against a desk and a larger unmade bed. Each cot held a reclining figure. Bill turned hastily to leave. Even so, something pulled him back. He tiptoed through the center of the tent and froze as his eyes were caught by another’s.
The woman, nay a girl, in the third cot next to the desk lay on her back, her arms flung outwards. She stared at him hazily, without moving her body, just her eyeballs tracking his movement down the row of cots.
“Have you brought me some more?” she slurred. Bill stopped, one foot off the floor. Gently he eased it back down to the tarpaulin covered ground.
“Some more what?” he whispered.
The girl closed her eyes and opened them again. Her gaze stared right through him. “The food that makes you float away as if on wings,” she said dreamily.
Bill shook his head, but she ignored him. “Mostly I drink it all up.” She struggled slightly to pull herself up on her elbow. “I’m a good girl, you know.” She nodded earnestly. “I’ve done everything they’ve told me. And soon I’ll go back to where I came from like the others.”
Bill dropped to his knees beside the woman. Her eyes fixed on his in a dull fashion. “Oh. You’re not him,” she said, falling back on the cot.
“Where have you come from? What is your name?” Bill said urgently.
The girl groaned.
Bill tugged at her arm, but she flinched away. After several seconds she mumbled something. He got to his knees and leant over the cot. She was singing to herself.
“Dumb dumb dunbar, dumb little Tessa Dunbar, Dumb dumb dunbar…”
“Is that your name?” Bill asked again. But the woman turned away from him and was silent.
Suddenly Bill dropped to the floor. As the woman had turned away from him, he had notice the tent lightening. Someone else was coming into the tent, and as all the cots were eerily but silently full, it wouldn’t have been one of the women. He looked down his body, as a booted foot appear at the entrance to the tent. If the person stepped in any further then he would be discovered.
The lightweight of the woman made hardly a dent on the low cot. As quietly as he could, Bill slid himself sideways and under her makeshift bed. The bed was only just as wide as his shoulders, and half a foot shorter than his height. He tucked his head into his body and held his breath.
The owner of the booted foot walked silently up and down the row of silent cots and giggled. “Oh, my lovely chickens. I have a new life in store for you. Something unimaginable to you all, floating away on your sea of opium.”
Bill lifted his head cautiously. It should have been obvious. Even Freddie had spoken to him about it, the use of opium, the way it made people crave more, the way they became dead in the eyes. The girl in the bed above him, in her comatose state, exhibited all the same symptoms and he hadn’t noticed. Bill tucked his head in as the silent visitor began to giggle again.
“Poor dumb Tessa Dunbar. You see, she was the first one of you. I know that you remember her. ‘Dumb dumb Tessa Dunbar’,” the voice sang through the darkness. “She didn’t quite make it to the Heracles Club, but you all will. Who shall we have next tonight?”
Gods. Tessa Dunbar. The name was familiar. Where had Bill heard that name?
This time the light touch of the visitor’s boot on the tarpaulin floor was more audible as he stood and peered into each of the cots.
“Oh ho. Maisie. Lazy Maisie. You might be a late addition to my little stable of poor ponies, but you are easily one of the most untouched. You’ll do nicely for what I have in mind tonight.” A rustle and a moan filled the tent. Bill turned his head to the side. Two cots along he could see the shadowy figure bend down and lift the sedated woman off the bed and over his shoulders.
Another manic giggle resounded. “If only Bertrand Lisle could see me now. He would be proud of me, I know he would.” The figure put a free hand to its lips and pirouetted around. Bill hastily tucked his head back in under the cot but it didn’t stop him hearing what the figure said next.
“Just don’t tell Father. I wouldn’t want to spoil his other activities or his good opinion of me. Good night chickens. Happy dreams.”
As the figure opened the flap for a second time to leave, Bill risked rolling out from beneath the cot. The full light of the moon fell on Pedro Moreno’s grinning face as he effortlessly lifted his charge from the tent and through to the outside. But suddenly he turned.
Cursing violently in his head, Bill rolled back under the cot and tucked his head under again. He listened as Pedro stepped heavily beneath Maisie’s weight towards the desk. Bill, heart in his mouth, watched his feet coming closer.
“You, Maisie, almost made me forget,” Pedro said in a light voice. “It’s nearly time to auction off that list. Even if that doesn’t work I’ve found a very good buyer indeed. Just don’t tell Father. He would be very surprised.”
Bill grimaced as a drawer opened and paper rustled. He shouldn’t have stopped to examine the cots. He should have gone straight to the desk and found the list. And now he was on a timeline. Pedro was going to auction the list and he didn’t know when or where. He couldn’t grab Pedro now, firstly because he wasn’t sure if Pedro would best him again, and secondly because the lives of the girls would be put in jeopardy.
As the flap fell back down behind Pedro Moreno, Bill wriggled on his shoulder blades out from under the cot. Gods, where had he heard that name Tessa Dunbar? It niggled at him. He had just brought himself up to sitting position when a tight claw-like hand gripped his shoulder. As he turned his head, he came nose to nose with the girl who had asked him for ‘more’ earlier.
This time her eyes were less dead. They were frightened, the pupils whirled, growing bigger and smaller. “I’m Rosie, help us please,” she whispered. “Stop them.”
“Where are they taking you?” Bill whispered back urgently. “Help me so that I can help you.”
But the moment of lucidity had gone. The clarity slid from the woman’s eyes, and she fell back on her cot. “Dumb dumb Dunbar,” she sang off key.
It was so frustrating. Bill got to his feet, wincing. Every night after his act his muscles ached. Normally a long sleep would cure all the pains, but with the accumulation of his effort, the aches were taking longer to go away. His act was much tougher than general smithing. If he wasn’t careful, soon he would not be able to do either.
None of the other women stirred as Bill slipped from the tent. He padded silently across the peaceful encampment back to his own cart. However, it was not in the darkness with which he had left it. A lantern hung above the entranc
e to his sleeping quarters, and a shadow sat on the bed beyond.
Bill smiled. He should have known that she would come back for more. He stopped suddenly. That’s where he had heard the name, Tessa Dunbar. Victoria had mentioned her in connection with the disappearance of young girls from the pauper establishment. And if Pedro had got her. Bill did not want to think about her fate. Or the fate of the other girls. Especially not after hearing about the way Dana had been found in a ditch.
Bill crept up the steps and burst into the tent.
Pablo Moreno sat on the straw bed, circling his hands around his top hat. He stared at Bill and back at his top hat.
Bill turned and pulled the flap down on his sleeping quarters. He swiveled back to find that Pablo Moreno had silently got off the bed and was now only three inches behind him, holding a large hunting knife to Bill’s lower torso. Pablo Moreno raised his eyebrows at Bill’s expression.
“The strongman is afraid of a small knife?” he jeered quietly. “Surely you could just lift me up and throw me out, eh?”
What the man said was true, but Bill did not want to blow his cover. He hadn’t found out everything he needed to know yet. What was the Heracles Club? Where was it? Where had Pedro taken the list of secrets and just what were Pablo Moreno’s other activities if he wasn’t aware of what his son was doing?
“What is your connection to Lady Colchester?” Pablo Moreno jabbed at Bill’s stomach with the knife. It made a small rip in the linen chemise that Bill had thrust on hurriedly earlier. Bill sucked in his stomach. He cocked his head on one side. What did the man want with Victoria?
“Lady Colchester?” he said with his best Brambridge burr. “Sounds like quality. Ain’t she the one that the dwarf makes fun of in that cart?”
Pablo Moreno jabbed his knife at Bill again, this time cutting a small half inch slice into Bill’s belly. “She is. I’ll be having words with them about that. It does her an injustice.”
“Ain’t got no connection to her. Fed the dwarf’s pig though once.” Bill said brightly, his fingers itching to soothe away the sting in his belly.
“You’ve got more than that. You were seen taking out her hair pins and kissing her all over in front of a hundred people this evening.”
It wasn’t hard to feign his shock—that he had been seen. “That was Lady Colchester?”
Pablo Moreno narrowed his eyes and drew the knife away from Bill slightly. Bill let out a breath. “Cor she’s a prime un. Great kisser too.”
“Do not say that!” Pablo Moreno shouted. His knife jabbed back at Bill, who sucked his stomach in just in time. “You are not to touch her again. She is mine, you hear. Mine.”
Bill swallowed. Pablo Moreno clearly was as mad as his son. “I’m as sorry, sir,” he said his lips trembling. “Might you tell me why she is yours so that I don’t offend Master Moreno again?”
Damn but he had probably overdone it with the simple act this time. He couldn’t remember whether he had acted the same when he had performed in front of Pablo Moreno the first time. He hoped that the man would put it down to nerves. Certainly he was finding it hard to think straight as the offending knife dug deeper into chemise again.
“You may not. Suffice it to say it is family business.” Bill sighed again as Pablo Moreno took a step back and drew the knife with him. “I don’t expect men of your ilk to understand. However this woman is mine by birthright. Only I am allowed to create havoc in her life. Not low born strongmen like yourself.”
If Bill was lowborn what did that make Pablo Moreno? The King of bloody Sweden? Something was not quite right. Family business seemed rather fishy to him.
“Of course, sir,” Bill said, bowing his head. He shuffled to the side as Pablo picked up his top hat and shoved the knife down the side of his boot.
“If she comes tries to meet you again, you send her to me. Do you hear?”
Bill nodded his head, turned away from Pablo. He tensed, knowing what was coming. He wasn’t disappointed. Pablo grunted as his fist connected with Bill’s hard stomach muscles. It wouldn’t have hurt normally given the excellent condition that Bill was in, but he had been reminded earlier how much his body was suffering. The overused stomach muscles collapsed in one go and Bill slid to the floor with an ‘oof’.
Damn damn damn. They always did that, the bullies. They had one last go when they knew that they had the upper hand, knowing that it was unlikely there would be any come back.
Well, he would be unlikely to be sending Lady Colchester to see Pablo Moreno, as he didn’t think she was returning. She had been rather final in her goodbye. Although that didn’t mean to say he wasn’t going to protect her. Someone had to warn her that Pablo Moreno was after her, and seemed to be under the impression that it was of the nature of family business.
CHAPTER 25
Victoria heard the front door knocker slam and voices in the hall as she sat in the full sunlight of her bedroom. Knowing that Carruthers would deal with it, she closed her eyes and let the gentle warmth caress her skin. Its touch reminded her of the way Bill had kissed her, held her hand, and run his tongue over her palm.
No. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t done that. At least not yet. She opened her eyes and glanced downwards. Brutus’ melting eyes gazed at her along with the brighter ones of Ponzi. Brutus’ tongue lolled out of his mouth and another drip of saliva fell onto her hand again.
“Bleugh! Brutus!” Really she would be glad when the walking mat was returned to his rightful owner. Victoria tried to get up, but Brutus laid his head on her lap and leaned. “Brutus, get off,” she tried again, but the dog had once again developed a mind of his own. “Brutus, I need to see who is in the hallway.”
Brutus blinked lazily at her and, whilst still leaning, bared his teeth. A very low rumble sounded in his throat. Was he growling? It was the first time Victoria had heard him do so. She drew her chin back into her neck. “Brutus, I didn’t ask you to come here so don’t growl at me. Ponzi, please persuade him to get off.”
Ponzi laid her head on her paws and howled. Another exhibition of out of character behavior. Ponzi never howled. Tentatively Victoria pushed at Brutus’ head. It was like trying to move stone.
“I’ll send Ponzi away if you keep this up,” she threatened. Brutus turned his head sharply. He really was the most intelligent animal, despite his great appearance. As if with great reluctance, he climbed to his feet and stood by her side.
Victoria narrowed her eyes at the two dogs. Something was up. Admonishing them to stay in the bedroom, she trotted into the hall. An out of breath Carruthers met her on the landing.
“Paul Butterworth is here to see you, my lady. He won’t take no for an answer. He seems agitated.”
Carruthers jumped as a low growl emanated through the hall. Brutus appeared from the shadows, his tail low and his head forward. Carruthers plastered himself against the wall as the great dog approached. But Brutus paid Carruthers no attention and clattered down the stairs, his nails clipping at the stone steps. Ponzi streaked past like a maelstrom, following her companion.
A great shout resounded from the drawing room. “Oh my goodness,” exclaimed Carruthers, his habitual calm broken. “That’s where I put Mr. Butterworth.”
With little regard for propriety, Victoria pulled up the full skirts of her dress and ran down the mansion steps two at a time. Carruthers followed her, wheezing as he went. She did not stop when she entered the downstairs hall but pushed straight into the drawing room. Ponzi and Brutus stood, their hackles raised in the center of the room, growling loudly. Two of Victoria’s spindly chairs lay smashed on the floor. From above their wreckage, a top hat rose, and the tip of a very long knife.
“If you weren’t such a big animal I would have gutted and skinned you by now,” said the voice under the top hat. “I’ll get you at some point. I always do.”
“I’ll thank you not to speak to my dogs like that,” The tips of Victoria’s fingers tingled. She wanted to tear the top hat off the bastard�
��s head. “Brutus, Ponzi, as much as I regret asking this, please go into the hall. Now.”
Victoria slapped her hand against her thigh. Brutus swung his head to look at her. His brown melting eyes were now as hard as steel. Oh, he reminded her of someone else indeed. But that man wasn’t here at the moment. Even if she wished he was.
“I said now.” Victoria summoned every ounce of ice in her soul. Brutus’ tail dropped and he backed away to the doorway of the drawing room. Ponzi followed, stood on her hind legs and licked the great dog under the jaw. His throat rumbled again.
When Victoria judged that he was far enough away, she turned back to the broken chairs. “You may come out now, Mr. Butterworth.”
The outsize top hat rose from the jumble of furniture to reveal Mr. Butterworth, still clutching his knife in his hands.
“I would thank you to drop the knife,” Victoria warned. “Otherwise I will ask Brutus to return to the center of the room.”
Mr. Butterworth bared his teeth and dropped the large knife on the desk. It was of an unusual Indian design with ornate carvings of elephants on the handle.
“Would you care for some tea?” Victoria hoped that the normality would calm the man down.
“Tea? You ask for tea at a time like this?”
“Mr. Butterworth.” Victoria stopped. “I’m sorry, what should I call you? Durnish, Butterworth, Moreno?”
“So it was you at the Last Act.”
Victoria blinked. Third rule, third rule. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Blast. She had made a mistake.
“I always knew my brother went for ladies of dubious virtue but you showed us up with your behavior.”
“I beg your pardon. Us?” His brother? What had his brother got to do with her kissing Bill? And in terms of her showing Moreno up with her behavior—
“I’ll take some tea. And you can call me Moreno, or better yet Pablo since we are related. Haven’t answered to Butterworth or Durnish for years.”
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