Falling for the Viscount_Book VI of The Seven Curses of London Series

by Lana Williams

  The idea made Charlie smile. He’d seen a few of them in action, and it always proved entertaining. Then again, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of the visit. “Oh? One willing to hand over some money to aid the poor wretches living in your establishment?”

  Stephens scoffed. “This one had more suggestions than money.”

  “Thought you were being too hard on the girls?”

  “Thought I should offer a wider variety of skills to retrain the women.” He shook his head. “Even worse, she thought the appearance and cleanliness of the place needed improvement. Can you believe that?”

  Charlie smirked. He knew the place was awful. But that was to Charlie’s benefit. If the home was comfortable and welcoming, his girls would be flocking to the place. That would never do. “How rude.”

  “She is putting together a list of recommendations and intends to come by again to review them with me.” Stephens appeared agitated over the woman’s visit. “Who does such things?”

  “Why not just send her packing?”

  “Because where there is one do-gooder, there are more. If I’m overly harsh with this one, she’ll gather others and descend upon the place like locusts.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I would welcome any suggestions, of course. What else could I say?” He shook his head again. “I knew from the way she looked around from the start that she’d be nothing but trouble.”

  “Surely one woman can’t cause too many problems.” The more Stephens spoke, the less Charlie liked the sound of this woman.

  “Humph. Mark my words, this one will be difficult. My only hope is to placate her until some new cause captures her interest.”

  “Did she talk to any of the girls?”

  “The girls know better than to say anything in front of me.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting to meet Charlie’s. “Though Kate was the one who showed her in.”

  Charlie nearly groaned. Kate had been a thorn in his side for the past two months. He’d have a conversation with her and she’d agree to his suggestions and not two days later, she’d return to the home, having decided working in a brothel wasn’t for her.

  That wouldn’t be so terrible if she’d keep her mouth shut. Instead, she disregarded his warnings and shared her opinion with the other girls. Pretty soon, she had them all riled up, refusing to do as he ordered.

  If she’d spoken with this visitor, who knew what she might’ve told her. The last thing Charlie wanted was to bring more attention—or improvements—to the homes. Not when his contacts were steadily sending him girls. That would undermine his plan completely.

  “Do you know if Kate said anything?”

  “She denies doing so, but I’ve never known that girl to keep her mouth shut.”

  “True.” Charlie debated his options, wondering what he could do to make certain the situation didn’t go awry. “Did you get her name?”

  “Yes, Miss Fairchild.”

  “When she visits again, have someone follow her home. It would be to our advantage to know more about her.”

  Stephens appeared relieved at his suggestion. “How should I respond to her ideas for improvement?”

  “Give her the speech about how tight funds are.”

  “Funny how an outstretched hand requesting a donation often sends them on their way.”

  “Add in how if she could help do some of the work herself, it would set a fine example for the girls.”

  Stephens chortled. “I almost hope she does return so I can see her reaction. No doubt she’ll keep her silence as she won’t want any of her friends to know she wasn’t willing to put in her own time or money to fix the place.”

  “Exactly,” Charlie agreed. “I think we’ve solved the problem before it began, don’t you?”

  “I’m certain you have the right of it. What about Kate?”

  “I’ll deal with her. She won’t be botherin’ you.” If she’d stirred up the girls again, he had no choice but to make an example of her. Her attitude after he spoke with her would determine her punishment. He needed to know what she’d told the woman who’d met with Stephens and what she’d said to the other girls. He considered himself fair and reasonable. But if she had overstepped herself again, then he’d have to do away with her.

  He hoped she cooperated and the hassle of dealing with a dead body wouldn’t be necessary. Finding a place to dump bodies was never simple. Probably best to drop it into the Thames again if it came to that, though the last one had washed to shore far too quickly. She’d still been recognizable. He’d have to make certain to lash the ropes tighter this time.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Sometimes, if a girl gets into a bad house, and is as yet too new to the horrible business to conform without remonstrance to the scandalous extortions practised by the brothel-keeper, she is ‘broken down and brought to it’ by design and scheming.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Dalia stepped onto the walk after having toured her third home for fallen women. Each one seemed worse than the last.

  “What did you think of that one, Jack?”

  The footman shook his head. “Quite depressing. Who’d want to live in such a place, even temporarily?”

  She’d come to value his opinions as he followed along on these visits. He tended to notice different things than she did.

  Spencer had made her promise not to return to the first place to which she’d gone. Though she dearly wanted to present her list of ideas to Mr. Stephens, she respected Spencer’s request. Or rather, his order. The idea of confessing to him later that she hadn’t followed his demand was what prevented her from going. She’d thought about it a full day before coming to the realization that he was probably right. If she’d felt uneasy about Mr. Stephen’s behavior during the first visit, surely it would be worse if she returned. The chances of the man listening, let alone implementing her suggestions, were nil.

  Yet she couldn’t get the image of Kate, Molly, and the other girls out of her mind. The worry that additional women faced the same problem gave her the idea of visiting a few more homes. To her dismay, the ones she’d seen were equally bad in most respects.

  Perhaps she couldn’t reach the women in brothels or working the streets, but helping those who had taken the first step to change their lives would be a way to aid women in addition to Ruth. Dalia had shared some of the information she’d discovered, but the maid had no interest in coming along on these visits.

  She’d written a report on each home with the idea of sending them to Spencer. But once again, she hesitated. What purpose would it serve? He had no knowledge of these things, nor would he be pleased with her activities. She was pressed between two impossible choices. The reports did no good if she didn’t share them with someone. But alerting Spencer to her visits might put an end to them.

  The only option was to tour a few more homes then share her reports with Spencer. That way, when he ordered her to halt, and she knew he would, she could agree without regret.

  With each visit, it became increasingly difficult to hold her tongue about the terrible conditions she witnessed. But there was no one other than Jack with whom she could speak. She didn’t want to concern Lettie, therefore couldn’t tell her. Luckily, she hadn’t seen Spencer so hadn’t been tempted to talk to him. And since she still hoped to go to another home or two, she was avoiding him. She didn’t trust herself to see him and not share her worries over the poor women who resided within those walls. The very homes that were supposed to protect them also confined them, rarely in a pleasant manner. How could they have hope for a new life while living in such a place?

  “Did you see the filthy sheets on the beds?” she asked.

  “I don’t think there was even one clean dish or pot in the kitchen,” Jack added.

  “Several of the women seemed frightened, but I couldn’t tell if that was because my questions alarmed them or if they were scared to be there.”

  She led the way down the walk towa
rd where they could catch a hansom cab with Jack directly behind her when a man stepped forward to block her path.

  “Well, well, who do we have here?” The tweed jacket and brown bowler hat were hardly the type of clothing that would be seen in Mayfair or Park Lane but better than most worn in this neighborhood.

  “Excuse me.” Dalia didn’t know the forward man. Surely he’d mistaken her for someone else.

  “You wouldn’t be Miss Fairchild, would you?”

  Dalia’s heart skittered in alarm. How could he possibly know her identity? Aware of Jack’s solid presence behind her, she decided to ignore him and stepped around him.

  “Is that any way to act?” The man shifted in front of her again. “Mighty rude.”

  “I do not know you, nor have we been properly introduced. Therefore, I am not required to speak to you.” She gave him the iciest glare she could muster. “Step aside.”

  He smiled in response but didn’t move. He was tall and thin with a mean gleam in his eyes. That gleam reminded her of a cousin who’d gone out of his way to terrorize her and her sisters when they were young. How she’d hated him. This man seemed of the same ilk.

  She raised her chin. “Step aside,” she repeated.

  “Not until I’ve had a word with you.”

  Before she could ask for Jack’s assistance, the footman moved forward, forcing the man back. “The lady asked you to step aside.”

  With the smug smile still in place, the man raised his hands, palms out, as if to show he meant no harm. Dalia didn’t believe him for a moment. “I only want a word.”

  She hesitated. If he hadn’t addressed her by name, she would’ve kept walking. But the idea that he somehow knew who she was bothered her even more than his forwardness. “What is it?”

  The man leaned closer, his smile gone in an instant. “People who stick their noses where it don’t belong pay a price.”

  “Is that some sort of threat?” She was outraged at the thought. Here she was, trying to help others, and this was the treatment she received?

  “Miss,” Jack said. “We should be on our way.”

  She glanced at him, noting the worried glint in his eyes. She didn’t want to place the footman in a situation that caused him concern. Once again, she attempted to step around the man only to have him block her.

  “You stay in your neighborhood, and we’ll stay in ours.”

  Fear set her heart pounding. Did he know where she lived? The idea that she might have brought danger to her family terrified her.

  She held her silence but continued to glare, afraid her voice might come out in a squeak.

  Jack took another step, his larger body deliberately bumping the other man’s. “You’ve had your word, now off with you. You ain’t fit to talk to the lady.”

  The man chuckled as he eased back, his gaze holding Dalia’s. “Maybe the reason you’re so curious about the girls is because you want to spend a night in their shoes.” He patted his chest. “Come and see Charlie if you want to give it a try. You might find walking the streets suits you.”

  Dalia strode past him, shocked at the confrontation and frightened that he knew who she was. She could think of only one person with whom to discuss this, regardless of how angry he’d be at her activities.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.” Barnes greeted Spencer as he opened the door of his home. “You have a visitor.”

  Spencer frowned. Visitors were a rare occurrence. “Oh?”

  “A young lady. She insisted on waiting for your return.”

  Spencer shook his head even as anticipation poured through him. He could hazard a guess as to who it was. What other young ladies would call upon him?

  A glance over his shoulder at the street didn’t reveal a carriage. At least she’d had the forethought to avoid announcing to all who passed by that she’d called upon him. “Is she alone?”

  “Her footman accompanied her.”

  “Humph. Must be the new one.”

  “Excuse me, my lord?”

  “Nothing.” He’d have thought by now that the new footman the Fairchilds hired would’ve been trained to alert someone if Dalia wanted to do something foolhardy. Apparently not. “Where is she?”

  “The drawing room.”

  Barnes moved forward to open the door, revealing Dalia pacing before the tall windows while Jack stood nearby, hands folded before him.

  She turned at the sound of the door opening. “Oh good. You’re here.”

  He denied the warmth that crept through him at her words, reminding himself that her pleasure had nothing to do with him but rather how he could aid her. “What’s wrong?”

  She halted, her brow raised. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “Why else would you call upon me?”

  “Yes. Why else?” The odd tone of her voice caused him to frown.

  Had his words somehow hurt her feelings? He didn’t see how when he spoke the truth.

  “Jack and I happened to be near another home for fallen women today—”

  “Happened to be?” Already a sense of dread filled him. He knew he wasn’t going to like what she was going to tell him.

  “Well, yes—”

  “The same one as before?”

  “Of course not.” Those blue eyes met his. “You asked me not to visit that one again.”

  “So instead you visited another?” He should’ve guessed she’d twist his request to suit her own purpose. He could hardly work up the energy to be angry with her. “That seems unwise.”

  “After much thought, I determined it would be helpful to have something against which to compare my findings. What better way to do so than to tour another home?”

  “How many?”

  She raised a brow as though surprised he’d caught on to her plan so quickly. If he hadn’t been so busy with his own work, he might’ve anticipated what she was up to.

  “Three thus far. Jack accompanied me to each and every one.”

  Spencer sent a glare at the footman. “Jack should know better than to allow a young lady to visit such places whether or not he is with her.”

  The servant had the good sense to nod in agreement, a sheepish look on his face. “She’s most persuasive, my lord.”

  “True, but you must insist. Her safety is more important.”

  “I’m standing right here, you know,” Dalia added. “No need to speak as though I’m not.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” How could he possibly ignore her presence when she was in his home? “Now then, you were about to tell me what occurred.” He gestured for Dalia to take a seat, but she shook her head and turned to pace toward the window and back as she began her tale.

  Based on her nervousness alone, he knew he truly wasn’t going to like this one.

  “We stepped onto the walk after touring the House of Hope on Gray’s Inn Road.” She paused in her pacing to face him. “The conditions were the worst by far. Filthy sleeping area. Dirty kitchen where a terrible gruel is prepared each morning by a—”

  “Perhaps you should tell me the part that brought you to visit me today,” Spencer interrupted before she got carried away with the details.

  “Of course. As I said, we’d just left when a man stepped into my path on the walk.”

  Already, Spencer felt his temper rising when he thought of what could’ve happened. “I believe we discussed that very situation as one of the many reasons why you should avoid such areas.”

  “That isn’t the worst of it.” She paused before him again, blinking at him. Was that a glimmer of concern in her eyes? “He knew my name.”

  “Your full name?”

  “He called me Miss Fairchild.”

  “Did you give your name when you called on these homes?”

  “Yes.”

  He did his best to hold back his frustration that she placed herself in such danger. “Then why does it surprise you this man knew you? No doubt one of the homes you visited made note of it.” He didn’t bother to ask
why she’d given her real name. What she’d done couldn’t be undone.

  She scowled. “But how did he know it was me?”

  “I would venture to say you’re being followed.” The idea concerned him more than he could say. “You might have even been followed here.”

  By the blank expression on Dalia’s face, she hadn’t considered the possibility.

  He glanced at Jack with a raised brow.

  The servant appeared nonplussed. “I don’t believe so, my lord.”

  Spencer didn’t feel reassured in the least. Not when neither of them had any experience in such matters. He turned back to Dalia. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He insinuated he knew where I lived.” She swallowed hard at the thought. Obviously, the idea disturbed her, as it should. It disturbed him as well.

  “You’ve never seen the man before?”

  “No. He called himself Charlie.”

  Spencer’s nerves drew taut. “Charlie Pruett?”

  “He only said Charlie. He—he suggested that I must be interested in becoming a prostitute since I had so much curiosity about them. He said that if I decided to do so, I should see him. Charlie.”

  He had to look away as he considered the idea that Pruett had spoken to Dalia. Granted, Charlie was a fairly common name. Jumping to conclusions was never encouraged in his line of work. But something about this situation told him of an unwelcome connection, especially because of the common subject—fallen women.

  This had nearly been a disaster.

  The idea of Dalia anywhere near the criminal made him sick to his stomach. Even worse was the idea that Dalia had come to Pruett’s notice to the extent that he knew where she lived. Despite Dalia standing before him safe and sound, the threat of Pruett continued. Who knew what the man might do?

  How could he keep Dalia safe when she refused to stay out of the situation?

  Dalia watched a myriad of expressions cross Spencer’s face, subtle though they were. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she might have missed the odd mix. Then a shutter closed over his face, hiding his thoughts from her before she could interpret them.