She hadn’t realized how often he hid his emotions until this moment. The idea was unsettling, making her acknowledge once again that she didn’t know him as well as she thought.
“Can you describe the man?” Spencer asked.
Still uncertain as to what he might be thinking, she complied, with Jack adding a few comments when prompted by Spencer.
“Why?” she asked.
The moment’s hesitation gave him away. “Just curious.” She knew he lied. “I trust you won’t be touring any more homes for fallen women?”
“No. I don’t believe so.”
He stared out the window, making her wonder if he’d heard what she’d just said. “I will share this information with my friend who is looking into Stephens and his facility.”
“Has he discovered anything as of yet?”
Spencer’s blank gaze swung back to her, making her wonder if he even remembered about what they were speaking.
“Not that he’s shared with me, but he was quite interested in your observations.”
That made her feel a little better. She hated to think Stephens would be able to continue his management of the home when so many things were amiss.
“Jack, we should be going. Will you wait for me in the foyer?” Perhaps his presence was keeping Spencer from telling her what was truly going on.
With a nod, he exited the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
She drew near, watching Spencer, hoping he would speak frankly.
“Thank you for coming by.” She found the politeness and note of dismissal in his words extremely annoying.
“Do you know this Charlie?” she asked.
“How would I?” he asked, his face expressionless.
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t think of any reason he might. She took another step closer, running a gloved hand along the lapel of his jacket. “I feel as though there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Hmm. I must say I often feel the same way when I speak to you.” He held her gaze for a long moment.
Guilt wiggled through her, causing her to look away. “I’ve hardly seen you of late. I haven’t had a chance to tell you anything.”
He curled a finger under her chin, capturing her gaze once more. Desire spiraled through her. She wanted to lay her head against his shoulder, to have him draw her into his embrace and reassure her that nothing was amiss. Hope curled inside her as she looked at him.
“Dalia, you must take care.”
“What are you not telling me?” She could see something in the depth of his hazel eyes.
He moved his finger to trail along her cheek, and her breath caught in the back of her throat. “I’m telling you that I care about you. This Charlie is dangerous. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
A tightness filled her chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to me either.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up at her words and with a sigh, he captured her lips with his. He felt so good. Tasted even better. His solid, reliable albeit unsettling presence in her life meant more than she could possibly say—or was willing to say.
Then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, and she realized this was exactly what she needed. Having him hold her as though she mattered was glorious. There was no one else she’d rather have comfort her, even if he lectured her while he did it.
At last he eased back, still holding her in the circle of his arms. “You are special. Precious. I don’t want you to forget that in your quest to help others. Your safety is paramount above all else. Do you understand?”
Paramount to you? she wanted to ask. But she couldn’t force out the question, too afraid of his response. For now, the intensity in his eyes was enough.
For now.
“You should go,” he murmured as he loosened his hold. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the St. Vincent’s musicale this evening.”
“That would be...lovely.”
She took her leave, unable to shrug off the feeling of discontent. How she detested the sensation, especially with regards to Spencer. She wanted him to—
With a shuddering breath, she stopped herself. She no longer knew what she wanted when it came to Spencer. Only that she wanted more than this.
Chapter Thirteen
“It would soften the hearts of many, and hold the hands of those who would break down the bridge behind the sinner, could they know the awful misery that frequently attends the life of a fallen woman.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Spencer found Benjamin Atkins, one of his associates, easily enough not far from Miss Petrie’s Home for the Rescue of Fallen Women as dusk settled along the horizon that evening.
After learning that Pruett had approached Dalia, Spencer was determined to find out what the connection was between him and Stephens. Worry seemed to be his constant companion of late, much of it settled around Dalia.
He alternately wanted to throttle her for continually taking risks and hold her tight with gratitude that she was all right. His feelings included admiration for her wish to help others, but it was his desire that was of concern. That had grown exponentially. What to do about it was another matter entirely.
The thought of Pruett anywhere near her made him want to punch something. Or find a way to put Pruett in jail as quickly as possible.
Atkins had been watching the home and noting Stephens’ movements for the past two days at Spencer’s request. The agent had been with the Intelligence Office for more than ten years, having spent many of those on foreign shores. Though Spencer didn’t know him well, he trusted him.
“Anything interesting?” Spencer asked as he leaned against the lodging house next to Atkins. The home was across the street and several doors down.
“A few details from people more than willing to share tales about Stephens.”
“Excellent. If we can obtain evidence of criminal activity on Stephens’ part, I’d be pleased.”
“Immoral, yes. Criminal, not yet. That might take more time.” Atkins sported a moustache, mutton chops, and narrow wire-rimmed glasses. His nondescript, clerkish appearance made him the perfect person to post on watch as no one noticed him. He twisted the end of one side of his grey moustache while he shook his head. “Truth be told, I’m in no hurry. I’m enjoying working in London for a change.”
Spencer smiled. “Travel might sound exciting, but it’s anything but after you’ve done it for a time.” While he’d traveled abroad numerous times on behalf of the Intelligence Office, it didn’t compare to how frequently Atkins was gone.
“Nothing like sleeping in your own bed. But I understand time is becoming short in this particular case. Stephens has a sketchy past. His father was a reverend, the fanatical kind if you know what I mean. Brimstone and fire. Apparently, he attempted to drive the evil out of his son on more than one occasion.”
“With his fists?” Spencer asked.
“Unfortunately. His mother died when he was young. As a lad, Stephens was rarely in trouble until after her death. His father began to beat him severely, according to a woman who attended their church not far from this neighborhood.”
Spencer shook his head. How Atkins managed to dig up that much information in such a short time was a mystery. One day soon, he intended to buy the man a drink or two and see if he’d share some of his methods.
“The father was eventually driven out of the church, and his son placed in an orphanage. Stephens disappeared for a long time only to resurface two years ago. How he managed to convince the founders of Miss Petrie’s that he was qualified to run the home remains a mystery.
“Stephens visits prisons and workhouses, as well as the streets, to find girls to bring in. I located a woman who served as housekeeper for a time. Seems she quit as she didn’t care for Stephens’ methods. According to her, his success rate for converting them to honest work is next to nil.”
“To be fair, not many of the homes have much success,” Spencer pointed out. H
e well knew how frustrated the prime minister was by that statistic.
“So I’m given to understand, but his is worst than most. The housekeeper expressed concern that the girls were actually encouraged to return to whoring but for someone in particular.”
“Jack McCarthy?” Spencer offered.
“Why, yes. Do you know of him?” Atkins raised his brows as though impressed Spencer knew.
“He runs the largest criminal organization in London, including a profitable prostitution ring and is the reason for my current mission. His second-in-command, a man named Charlie Pruett, manages that side of the business. Have you heard his name mentioned?”
“Not yet.” Atkins shook his head. “Clever way to recruit women, eh? Lure them into an atmosphere where they begin to believe that prostitution is better than what they currently have.”
“Evil of this sort should no longer come as a surprise I suppose, but it does.” Spencer shook his head, disturbed by the realization of how low criminals would stoop.
“It still does to me as well.” Atkins patted his shoulder. “If you become so jaded that such behavior isn’t a shock then it’s time to leave this business, wouldn’t you agree?”
Spencer nodded. Aberland had told him much the same thing. If one no longer believed most people were good, then what was the point of trying to save them? In the end, that was the purpose of the Intelligence Office—saving lives.
“One of the girls I came across was willing to talk,” Atkins continued. “Of course, one must consider discrediting her tale as her opinion may have been biased.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or her version of the situation could be spot on. Difficult to say. In any event, she says Stephens confuses the women. When they first arrive, he praises them for the choice they’ve made and treats them well. Then after a few days, he has counseling sessions with them where he asks inappropriate questions about what they did, how they did it, and what part they liked.”
Spencer frowned. “Does the man find pleasure in hearing such things?”
Atkins’ glasses glinted in the fading light of day. “That’s my impression. A sort of voyeur. Eventually he moves on to suggestions of how it wasn’t so bad and how good the money can be if a woman works in the right place.”
“Unbelievable.”
Atkins nodded. “According to this woman. It all starts to make an odd sort of sense after a while.”
“How many more Stephens are out there, managing other homes?”
“We can hope the ones like this are the exception. There are several legitimate homes for these women that have modest success. Saint Mary Magdalene Institute is a fine example. They have spacious grounds in Highgate. Sir William Wood is one of the trustees.”
“You have an impressive knowledge of the topic, considering you only became involved in this two days past.”
Atkins grinned. “Always good to stay abreast of whatever the prime minister is interested in, don’t you think? Gives us something other than work to visit about when I see him.”
“Wise, indeed.” Spencer studied the dingy exterior of the home. “The individual who brought Stephens to my attention has been threatened by Pruett. She might be in danger. The sooner we tie all this up into a neat package, including evidence, the better.”
“Understood. I’ll talk to a few more of the women and see what else I can discover. Stephens appears to be a slippery character. We’ll have to make sure we have enough details on him so that he can’t escape.”
“I want him, Charlie Pruett, and Jack McCarthy.” Determination filled Spencer as he thought about the harm the three men had caused, the lives they’d wrecked. “All three must be stopped.”
“Won’t be easy, but it can be done.”
“I’d appreciate you letting me know if you have any further updates.”
“I look forward to it.”
Spencer left Atkins, his concern for Dalia’s welfare deepening now that he knew how tight of a connection there was between McCarthy, Pruett, and the home for fallen women.
While Dalia had appeared truly concerned at Pruett’s threat—and Spencer no longer had doubt that it had to have been him who’d spoken to her—Spencer couldn’t trust her promise to stay out of trouble. Her wish to make a difference was both a blessing and a curse and put her in danger. One of the reasons he cared for her was also the reason she made him mad.
“Kate.” Charlie smiled at the young woman he’d been searching for high and low. She’d left Miss Petrie’s and disappeared for several days. Blast her hide. He’d tried looking for her on this street a few times already without success. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” She dropped her gaze, her expression solemn, obviously realizing his smile was anything but friendly.
The last thing he needed was another woman causing him trouble.
When he’d confronted the Fairchild woman who’d been visiting several of the homes, he thought she looked familiar. Her wide blue eyes had rambled around in his head until it finally came to him earlier today. She was the same woman who’d been dressed as a lad at Cremorne Gardens.
Unease had coiled through him at the revelation. He’d already realized he’d seen the man she’d been with at the gardens as well. What they were up to remained a mystery. Though he’d kept an eye out for the man, he hadn’t made another appearance.
Knowing Miss Fairchild was lurking in places she shouldn’t be concerned him as well. It concerned him a great deal. Added to that was the fact that Kate might’ve shared her discontent with her. If she had, the entire situation was more worrisome.
“I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you,” Charlie told her, doing his best to keep his tone civil when what he really wanted to do was shake her.
She looked up at him, her expression wary. “What about?”
“Stephens told me you talked to a woman the other day at the home.”
“So?”
“So I want to know what you told her.” He dropped the smile.
Fear crept into the back of her eyes. “Nothin’ important.” She lifted a thin shoulder. “We spoke of the weather.”
“The weather? Sure, you did.” He stepped closer. “Did you open your big mouth again, Kate? You’re always spoutin’ off about how terrible your life is, but we pay you a decent wage for your services.”
“I’m done with that life, Charlie. I’m findin’ me honest work from now on.”
“You’ve said that before yet here you are, workin’ the street again.”
“Not fer long. Stephens stole the money I saved. I just need to work long enough to get it back. Then I’m done with this.” She shifted to let several people pass by on the walk.
“I’ve no problem with that, Kate. You’ve always been free to leave whenever you wish. All I want with you is to know what you spoke to that woman about. I don’t want her botherin’ the other girls.”
Kate studied him, as though trying to determine if he spoke the truth. “Truly?”
Charlie nodded, mustering as much sincerity into his expression as possible. But his fingers were crossed at his side.
She debated another moment—almost long enough for him to give in to the urge to reach for her neck in his impatience—before responding. “She didn’t mean any harm. She just wanted to know what it was like.”
“What?”
“The business.” The corner of her mouth tilted up in a sad smile. “‘The life of a fallen woman’ she called it.”
“Surely she asked questions about the home.”
“Of course. She talked to Mr. Stephens as well.”
“I know what she asked him. I’m askin’ about your chat with her.”
“I told ye already.” She shifted uneasily, telling him she lied.
“I know you meant no harm. I just need to know what you said.” The cajoling note in his voice did the trick.
When she told him the extent of the conversation, that Stephens mistreated them, he lost his temper.
“Come with
me.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her down the street. She’d created problems he didn’t need. He had to solve them before McCarthy found out.
As he dragged her along, he glared at the other women who stepped out of his path, noting how they avoided looking at them. He hoped they recognized his treatment of Kate for the warning it was not to repeat Kate’s mistakes.
“Ye said ye only wanted to know. I told ye,” she argued as she tried to tug free.
“Loyalty is a cherished trait. You’ve never understood that.”
“Let go, Charlie,” she cried. “Ye’re hurtin’ me.”
He kept his hold firm and continued dragging her down the street. “You don’t yet know the meanin’ of pain, but you’re goin’ to.”
Allowing the women to speak to outsiders was not a wise notion. They got ideas beyond themselves.
“I didn’t say nothin’ that wasn’t true, Charlie. Leave off!” Her breath came in quick gasps of fear.
The sound quickened his pulse. He reminded himself this was all her fault. If she hadn’t overstepped, he wouldn’t be forced to take action.
“You leave me no choice but to make an example out of you, Kate. No choice at all.”
Chapter Fourteen
“She is but one of a thousand walking the streets of London, the most cruelly used and oppressed of all the great family to which they own relationship. They are bound hand and foot to the harpies who are their keepers.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Dalia perused the gowns in her wardrobe, trying to determine which to wear to the Havertons’ ball that evening. With luck, Ruth would soon come along and help her decide.
If it hadn’t been for the knowledge that Spencer would be at the ball, Dalia would’ve considering staying home. She’d caught herself staring out at the street several times throughout the day, worried she’d find Charlie Pruett watching. But remaining home while her family stepped out wouldn’t protect anyone. And she refused to allow him or her fear to change her routine.
Falling for the Viscount_Book VI of The Seven Curses of London Series Page 14