Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4)

by Pearl Darling

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. It’s just perfect for Lady Vanderguard,” the butler said bitterly. He strode over to Lord Vanderguard and twitched the blanket that was slipping off the man’s knees higher onto the chair.

  “So you can’t or won’t tell me where she’s gone?”

  The butler sighed. “Can’t. Mr. Landigno turned up. He hasn’t called for five years. He used to be a regular here. Got Lord Vanderguard very agitated. He tried to stand up and practically fell out of his chair. Lady Vanderguard just laughed. Told the coachman to ready the horses and she was gone. I’m sure we’ll see her again. We always do.”

  “Rogers! Who is this man?” Lord Vanderguard grasped at his butler’s arm. With a muttered apology, Bill left the two men and pulled the front door back into place himself. He shook his head as he walked down the steps. It had been a sad scene inside the lord’s house, with no one to care for the man apart from his butler.

  Freddie leaned out of the carriage window. “Anything?” Bill shook his head silently. Whilst it had been interesting, they were no further in finding out where the Heracles Club was. He just hoped that George and Percy would have more luck.

  They arrived a tense five minutes after he did. “We’ve got an address, Bill,” George said triumphantly. “I held ’em down whilst Percy punched them. They sang like canaries after that.”

  Bill rolled his eyes. He could see that George had elevated his voice somewhat so that it carried into the carriage to the avidly waiting ears of Chantelle.

  “12 Hoxton Square,” Percy said proudly. “That’s where the missus went. No idea what’s there, of course. It’s the east end of London.”

  Carruthers leaned out of the carriage. “12 Hoxton Square? That’s Mr. Robertson’s establishment for paupers. Lady Colchester sends the money from her investigations there.”

  “Investigations?” Freddie raised his eyebrows.

  “Later,” Bill said. “We’ll talk about it later. The East End is over four miles away. We can’t all get there in this carriage. Freddie, Chantelle, Carruthers, can you make your own way back from here? I need Percy and George for their… muscle. I think things could become ugly.”

  “But who will look after Lady Colchester when you find her?” Chantelle cried, distressed.

  “I will,” Bill said quietly. “I will.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The candles guttered and flamed as Victoria took gasping breaths of air. The crowd of people around her had drawn back, muttering.

  “I’ve never seen opium affect the girls in this way before.” Mr. Cryne’s voice was full of doubt.

  “Haven’t you ever visited one of the smoking dens in Wapping? Opium takes people in many different ways.” Pedro strode into Victoria’s line of vision. She was too busy trying to control her breathing to concentrate on him. The swipe to her face caught her by surprise. “Shut up, woman. Go back to whatever dreamland you were in.”

  “Perhaps you should give her some more wonder tablets,” the lady in the crowd shouted. “It might take her under a bit more. Gosh, what I would give to see that woman at my mercy.”

  That was more sobering than any slap to the cheek. If Victoria were to reveal that she was compos mentis then she would definitely be administered more of the drug, even though she was securely bound. She needed to stay awake. She had an inkling of what she could do to secure her freedom, but not how she was going to do it. What a time to be thankful to her dead husband for his rules. Record and remember was going to get her out of this mess.

  “We had better start the bidding,” Mr. Cryne said nervously. “Your father might arrive at any time.”

  “I’d like to see him stop this,” Pedro sneered. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the fifteenth meet of the Heracles Club. Struit insidias lacrimis cum femina plorat!”

  “Struit insidias lacrimis cum femina plorat!” the crowd repeated with gusto around him.

  For goodness sake. This club of scoundrels even had a Latin motto. Victoria tried to work through the words in her head. When a person, no, when a woman weeps, she sets pits, no, traps with her tears. Heavens above, even the motto was topical for a group of people intent on selling girls into slavery. The name of the club must have been to give misdirection. Heracles, better known as Hercules, was one of the greatest masculine heroes of the ancient age. In some kind of twisted way did these men, and lone woman, identify with the man who seemed to win every battle that he started?

  Victoria licked her lips. Well, there was one woman who defeated Hercules and she was his third wife, Deianira. Never mind, the poisoned shirt of Nessus had turned Hercules into a full time god; at least it banished him from the mortal world. She was going to destroy the Heracles Club and all the people in it once and for all.

  She hadn’t been paying attention. Pedro was speaking, but his voice still droned on.

  “—and with the wonderful of addition of Lady Colchester exhibited before you I will also include in the price a list of names that the government would rather were not published.” Pedro clearly awaited the oohs and aahs of his audience.

  “Why not?” a dark haired gentleman asked abruptly.

  “Is it not enough that you know that they want it back?” Pedro said snidely. “Don’t bid for it, if you don’t know why.” Pedro glanced down at Victoria, his Adam’s apple bobbing jerkily. Goodness. Victoria blinked. Swallowing was a nervous man’s game. He didn’t know what the list was for. The silly man didn’t know what he had in his hands. Obviously Bertrand Lisle, the Viper, had never trusted him with his knowledge. He had been right to do so. This could be yet another spear in Victoria’s armory.

  She could see Pedro swinging his head from left to right, observing the crowd. He was obviously sensing the unrest in the audience. Only one man stood still at the back. His eyes betrayed an Asian origin, although his dress was entirely European. He cocked his head on one side and stared at Pedro intently.

  “And you will all be interested to know that I believe Lady Colchester comes with the added bonus of being untouched,” Pedro shouted desperately. Ah. Misdirection. That should have been included in the rules but was glaringly absent. Victoria let her head drop to one side. It wouldn’t do to be found to be listening too avidly. Never mind that the statement was true.

  This started the crowd chattering excitedly again. Several of the men gained lascivious gleams to their eyes.

  “No wonder she’s a bloody ice queen,” muttered the dark haired man.

  “I could thaw her down so easily,” another muttered, “if she wasn’t so valuable that I’ll need to sell her on quite quickly.”

  “I want her,” the sole lady said to the dark haired man. “I don’t care how much it costs.”

  “Are you sure you can cover it?” the dark haired man said to the lady, uncaring as to who should hear. “When I came to pick you up, the house was on its last legs. Where are you going to get the money?”

  “Oh I’ll sell another painting. Reggie won’t notice. Didn’t you see him when you arrived? He barely lifts his eyes above waist height. He’s gone I tell you. I’m just waiting for him to die.”

  “He seemed to recognize me right enough.”

  “Pooh. That’s because he lives in the past. Can’t even be tempted back to the present. He’ll die soon and then I’ll sell off everything.”

  Victoria gasped and rolled her head again as the crowd turned to examine her. The woman was a snake. At least she had never betrayed Lord Colchester in such a way, even though she had been tempted to.

  “I’ll give you a hundred guineas for her,” the woman said confidently.

  “What about the list?” Pedro asked. Only Victoria with her proximity could see him swallow again.

  “I don’t have a use for it. I want Lady Colchester.”

  “I’ll give you two hundred guineas for the girl and the list,” a well-dressed gentleman at the back shouted. “Still don’t know what the bloody list is for but given all the subterfuge it’s got to be
worth something to somebody.”

  “Three hundred guineas for Lady Colchester,” Mr. Cryne said nervously.

  Pedro glared at his companion. “Shut up, Cryne. You definitely don’t have the money. That’s what has got you into this mess. You need this money to get out of it.”

  “But she has caused me so much damage, when I marry Rosa Fanthorpe…” Mr. Cryne whined. A gust of laughter swept through the audience.

  “Listen to them.” Pedro gestured impatiently. “You’ve burned your bridges with that woman. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

  Mr. Cryne sighed. “But none that look at me as if I was the light of their world.”

  Victoria snorted. She couldn’t stop herself. The man was delusional. Miss Fanthorpe was one of the most devious and determined women that she had met. Didn’t the man know when a woman was acting?

  Catching the eyes unwittingly of several in the audience, Victoria snorted again and rolled her head. That was close. She had almost blown her cover.

  “What does she think she is?” the black haired man tittered, “a pig now?”

  “Very probably,” Pedro said curtly. “Now then, where were we? Ah yes, three hundred guineas for Lady Colchester…”

  “Four hundred guineas. That’s a good price. After all, it’s a bit like karma. That’s what she gave us to spend on the paupers here. Damn waste of money.”

  It was not enough that his place of work was being used for the meeting, but Mr. Robertson was bidding for her too? She should have listened to Mrs. Prident. She had been right all along—he was involved.

  Victoria had to think of how she was going to leave the cellar alive. Her eyes darted from person to person in the audience, sorting out who she recognized, and who she didn’t. She envisaged an invisible string that linked each member together. All she needed was to find the one strong loose piece and yank at it… and there it was.

  Standing on the front row was an older gentleman. A very rich older gentleman, with a proud gait. His hair was polished auburn and his nose long and straight.

  “—are we all finished then? Two thousand guineas for Lady Colchester from Lady Vanderguard and one hundred guineas for the list from the… man at the back.”

  Victoria opened her eyes wide, and straightened in her chair. “Lord Colthaven,” she said, looking at the older, auburn-haired gentleman directly. “Surely you might wish to bid too?”

  “Good God, she’s conscious!” the dark haired companion of Lady Vanderguard said. Victoria sighed. Mr. Landigno had never been very bright. Trust him to state the obvious.

  “Shut up woman,” Pedro screamed. He fumbled in his pocket. Victoria shuffled the chair back. It was the same pocket that he had produced that awful tablet from before. “Don’t worry, everyone, I’ll just dose her up again…”

  “No.” The voice was quiet but full of authority.

  Pedro stopped, uncertain.

  “I wish to hear what she has to say.”

  “If you speak one word I’ll kill you,” Pedro muttered, putting his face close to Victoria’s.

  She turned her head to face him nose on. “And then you will lose your two thousand guineas, won’t you, Peter Butterworth?”

  “Butterworth? I thought his name was Pedro Moreno. What a frightful name.”

  “Shut up, shut up shut up!” Pedro’s voice rose in a scream.

  “Get a hold of yourself, man,” Mr. Cryne said nervously. “We need to move this on. Your father could get here any moment.”

  “Sod my father.”

  “Hmm. That is what Lord Colthaven said when he met Lady Vanderguard’s mother,” Victoria mused. Thank God for the book. She had only read it a few times, but certain information had stuck.

  The terror on both Lord Colthaven and Lady Vanderguard’s faces was palpable.

  “But Lord Colthaven, you weren’t to know that you were Lady Vanderguard’s father, were you? After all, you would never have engaged in your affair with Lady Vanderguard under her husband’s nose should you have realized that in fact you were dallying with your natural daughter…”

  “Stop!” Lady Vanderguard screamed. Lord Colthaven took a step forward, his proud features ashen.

  “I mean, this kind of deviant behavior, the Heracles Club seems to be in the blood doesn’t it? Did you never ask yourself why Lady Vanderguard was the only woman here?”

  “Somebody stop her,” Mr. Landigno shouted, at the same time as edging away from Lady Vanderguard. “You had an affair with him?” he moaned, shaking his head at the woman.

  Victoria couldn’t stop the cackle rising up from her throat. “Oh, Mr. Landigno, if only you knew. If only she knew. I mean, whilst you were having your affair with her five years ago, her affections were engaged very much elsewhere. Isn’t that right, Count Ondaren?”

  Victoria smiled with satisfaction as the man who had bid two hundred guineas for her and the list, bit his lip. “And if Lady Vanderguard had known that you weren’t really a count, but that in fact you were the son of a shoemaker from Cheapside who became a money lender by trade, then she never would have considered you, would she? In fact—” Victoria really hammed it up now. “Nobody would really have considered you, would they? Those tickets from Lady Jersey to Almacks, the acceptance by the crowd at ton gatherings…”

  Pedro grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backwards. “That’s enough,” he sputtered. Victoria’s chair tipped backwards. Pedro produced a knife, but he didn’t point it at her, he pointed it at the advancing, angry crowd. “Stay away from me. Stay away from her. She is still valuable goods.”

  “But she needs to be killed, Butterworth.” Lord Colthaven advanced. “She knows too much. God knows what else is in that head of hers.”

  “Killing me won’t do the job, my lord,” Victoria said quietly. “You don’t think I have some insurance? Other people who know the secrets that I know?”

  Lord Colthaven shot her a look of disgust, and another at his daughter. “This can never come out,” he said, looking round the room. “I will kill you all if it does.”

  “That,” a new voice said from the only doorway to the cellar, “is the least of your worries.”

  Victoria watched interestedly as Pedro’s puce face faded into a grey. Her savior didn’t quite stand at the doorway but near enough. He was dressed in the ubiquitous enormous top hat and sported a large pistol in one hand. “Pablo Moreno, Mr. Peter Butterworth,” she said delightedly. Who cared if she was out of the frying pan and into the fire? “You are most welcome.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Percy and George wore uncharacteristically serious looks on their faces as Lord Lassiter’s carriage galloped across London. Bill cursed each time the carriage slowed to accommodate yet another winding corner. London was not a series of wide avenues but rather a mishmash of old small streets, and handsome new roads. It was a relief to hit the wide Strand, and veer off to the road along the river.

  The City of London passed in a flash, and soon they were into Shoreditch and finally Hoxton. They stopped in a handsome square that was dominated by a large inn and a church.

  “Where is it?” Bill shouted to the coachman.

  “It should be just off this square, sir,” the coachman shouted back against the stamp of the horses. “This is Hoxton Square.”

  “I see it, just,” Percy shouted, pointing out of the other side of the coach. “The large building behind the railings down that side street.”

  Bill pushed Percy out of the way. He was indeed right. In the failing light a black and gold sign glinted slightly outside, proclaiming in large letters, ‘Mr. Robertson’s Establishment for the Poor.’

  “We had better try and get in before night falls completely,” George said. “I don’t think this area is too safe for such a fancy coach to be left on the streets just guarded by two men.”

  “Hmm. Freddie wouldn’t be pleased if I came back without it,” Bill mused. “But we can’t take it in through the gates. Someone will notice.”


  “There’s rather a lot of carriages there already, Bill, Mr. Standish, I mean,” George said uncertainly.

  Bill grinned. “Bill will do, George. I think I’m coming to my senses.”

  “That’s a relief,” Percy muttered, still looking out of the window.

  “That’s Mr. Standish to you, Perce.”

  “Aww, Bill…” Percy whined, and stopped as Bill grinned widely. They all laughed. It was needed to break the tension.

  “George, Percy, I need you to stand guard. I want you to watch who comes out. You must not approach anyone. If I am not back within two hours, Percy, you must come and get me if you can.”

  “But surely you need us with you, and what about me?” George asked, perplexed.

  Bill scrubbed at his eyes. “I need someone there to make sure a message goes back to Lord Anglethorpe about his sister’s location should anything happen to me. I know that she is here. This amount of carriages is unusual at this time of night. The Heracles Club must be meeting and if so, Pedro and Victoria can’t be too far away.” Bill clenched his fist and took a deep breath. He hoped that Victoria’s melancholy hadn’t overwhelmed her. She would need all her wits about her if she was with Pedro.

  He jerked his chin up at his men, who nodded. The coachman kept the horses standing still as the three men left the carriage. “Wait round the corner for us. If only George comes back, let him in and ride like the wind to Mount Street, to Lord Anglethorpe’s residence. Do you understand?”

  The coachman nodded. “I’ve done something similar for Lord Lassiter before, sir, and Willson too. Don’t worry, I know what to do.”

  Bill frowned. The easygoing Freddie, and his lackadaisical lifestyle, were at odds with the coachman’s statement. There wasn’t time to pursue it, however. Percy and George were already halfway across the square, keeping close to the bushes and shadows. Quietly he crept after them, hearing the horses of the carriage clop away quietly into the gloom.

  The gates to the large building stood open; curfew had already started for the inmates of the poor house, so there was no need to monitor their incoming and outgoing. The short cobbled yard was crammed with sumptuous coaches that stood empty. In a corner of the yard, a brazier burned with three large logs. The coachmen and tigers stood around it warming their hands and exchanging stories. They made no move to disguise their voices.