Love Unbidden: Tales of the Bedford Street Brigade

by Landon, Laura

  “Is that lady going to bring some more of those cakes I had t’other day?”

  Betsy smiled. “Yes, Willie. I believe she is.”

  A smile broke out on Willie’s face. “Them were good.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

  “Do you ’spose I could take some back with me? The blokes didn’t believe me when I told them ’bout how good they was.”

  Betsy laughed. “I ’spose that could be arranged.”

  Just then, Mrs. Beasley entered with a plate piled high with a variety of cakes. Willie had one in his mouth almost before Mrs. Beasley had them set on the table.

  “Now, Willie,” Harry said. “Perhaps you could tell us what you found out.”

  Harry wasn’t sure he could wait much longer. Since yesterday, more and more names and faces popped into his mind. The more he remembered, the more he was certain that Cora wasn’t his wife. That he didn’t have a wife. Cora was someone he liked. Not someone he loved.

  And two more names had come into his head. Mack and Briggs. They belonged with the other names he remembered: Mack, Briggs, Hugh, Quinn, and Roarke. They were important to him. And so was Cora. They made up his past. His life.

  “Have you discovered any more about Cutter, and why his men tried to kill that man?”

  Willie looked around the room as if checking to make sure no one was there who might overhear what he said. When he spoke, he lowered his voice, just in case. “The man Cutter wanted killed was snooping into his business.”

  “What business would that be?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Harry knew Willie was being careful. He hadn’t lived on the streets Cutter controlled this long by talking when he should keep quiet. But Harry was desperate for information. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the coins he’d borrowed from Nick. He placed it on the table in front of Willie.

  Willie stared at the coin for several long seconds. Finally he picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Cutter sells protection.”

  A frown covered Betsy’s forehead. “I don’t understand.”

  Harry sat back in his chair. Something about this information was familiar, as if he already knew this but needed to be reminded. “You and I wouldn’t call it protection, Miss Thomas. In our world it’s called extortion.”

  “Is that what you folks call it?” Willie asked. “That sure is a fancy name for what everybody knows is forcin’ people to pay ta leave you alone.”

  “Yes, it is, Willie,” Harry said.

  Harry waited until Willie finished the next bite of cake he’d popped into his mouth before he asked his next question. “What can you tell me about the man Cutter wants dead?”

  Willie took a swallow of the fruit punch Betsy had for him. “I can tell you he wasn’t from here, and he was snoopin’ where he didn’t belong. I can tell you that Cutter’s not going to rest until he’s dead.”

  “Do you have any idea who the man is?”

  Willie slowly placed the piece of cake he was reaching for back on the plate. “I can’t say, sir.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “Nobody talks about Cutter’s business and lives long. It’s best not to know too much of what Cutter’s doing.”

  Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out another coin. He placed it on the table in front of Willie.

  Willie stared at this coin even longer than he’d stared at the first coin. For a few moments, Harry didn’t think Willie was going to take it. Then, very slowly, he reached out.

  “I can’t give you a name. All I can tell you is that maybe he was sent here by someone else.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Could be ’cause Cutter’s moved his business beyond this part a Lundun. Could be ’cause it’s rumored he’s offering his protection services to businesses past Shoreditch and Bishopsgate Street.”

  Snippets of conversations crashed through Harry’s memory. Names and places flashed before him. Harry clutched his hands to the side of his face and pressed hard. He was afraid if he didn’t, his head might explode and he’d lose everything he was remembering.

  Harry rose from where he sat and stumbled to the window.

  “Harry, are you all right?”

  Betsy was beside him, holding onto him the same as she’d held him when he first tried to stand on his own. When he’d first regained enough strength to try to get out of bed.

  “Number 33 Bedford Street,” he said, pressing harder against the sides of his head. He turned to face Willie. “Can you find Bedford Street, Willie?”

  “I can find my way anywhere in Lundun,” he said with a proud lift of his chin.

  Harry walked over to the desk and reached for a paper and pen. “I need you to deliver a message to Number 33 Bedford Street.”

  “That’s a long ways from here.”

  “You’ll be paid well.”

  “How well?”

  “Would it be worth five pounds to you?”

  Willie rose from the sofa and walked to the desk.

  Harry looked at the few words he’d written.

  Need help!

  Jack

  Give the boy five pounds.

  When he finished, he folded the paper and handed it to Willie. “Give this to a man named Mack, then bring him back here. Do you understand?”

  Willie nodded, then his eyes opened wider. “You’re him, ain’t you? You’re the one Cutter’s looking for. One of them Bedford guys.”

  Harry nodded. Except he wasn’t Harry. His name was Jack. Jack Conway.

  “Blarmy! Wait ’til I tell ’em I met one of them Bedford guys.”

  Jack stood behind the desk and rose to his full height. “You can’t tell anyone, Willie. We’ll both be dead if you do.”

  Willie’s expression sobered. “I won’t. I won’t say nuffin ’til you take care of Cutter.”

  “Be sure you don’t. Now hurry. This is important.”

  Without waiting for anyone to show him to the door, Willie ran out of the house. When he was gone, Jack turned to face Betsy.

  She hadn’t moved from her place on the sofa. She looked the same as she had when they’d first come into the room. But she looked different.

  Her back was stiff and straight. Her hands clenched in her lap as if they were locked in an iron-clasped grip. Her face was as white as the puffy clouds floating past the window. And one tear after another trickled down her cheeks.

  “You know who you are?”

  He nodded. “My name’s Jack. Jack Conway.”

  “Jack,” she whispered. “Yes, Jack.” She locked her gaze with his. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “Mostly names. Not faces yet.

  “The faces will come.”

  He walked to the sofa and sat beside her. “Then why are you crying?”

  She swiped at the tears as if she hadn’t realized they were there. “I’m just being silly,” she said, trying to laugh, and failing. “And selfish.”

  “Selfish?”

  She nodded. “A part of me didn’t want this day to come.”

  “Why?”

  “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Jack reached out and gathered her in his arms. He held her close and let her rest her cheek against his chest.

  “Just because I remember who I am doesn’t mean we have to say goodbye.”

  Betsy lifted her head and looked up at him. Her hand rose and she tenderly placed her palm against his cheek. “We’re from two different worlds, Har…” She hesitated, then used his real name. “Jack. You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”

  “Are you worried about Cora?”

  Betsy got to her feet and slowly walked across the room. She stared into the lifeless fireplace. “It’s not just Cora.” She turned. “You have to be able to walk away from here a free man. You can’t return to your old life feeling an obligation to anyone you met when you didn’t know who
you were. It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to me.”

  “But what if when I return home, there’s no one waiting for me.”

  Betsy smiled. “I can’t believe that. There has to be someone waiting for you.”

  Jack took several steps toward her. “You think I’m that great a catch, Miss Thomas?”

  Jack followed his statement with a teasing glint, then placed his hands on her upper arms and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

  He intended to lighten the mood between them, but Betsy didn’t follow his lead. Her expression remained serious. Her eyes filled with despair.

  “Yes, Mr. Conway. I think you’re that great a catch. I can’t imagine that you don’t have a wife worried sick over you.” She slipped out of his grasp. “I need to help Mrs. Beasley prepare for our guests.”

  She turned, but he couldn’t let her leave. “Our discussion isn’t finished, Betsy. I refuse to let it be.”

  The corners of Betsy’s mouth lifted in an effort to put a smile on her face. But she failed. Without a word to give him hope, she turned.

  “You’ll be here when they come, won’t you?” he said.

  She turned back. “Do you want me to?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. He was suddenly afraid of meeting the men he’d sent Willie to get. What if they weren’t as close as he thought they were? What if they weren’t as anxious to see him as he was to see them?”

  “Yes. I need you to be with me.”

  She gave one sharp nod. “I’ll be here. You won’t be alone.”

  Jack watched her walk away and felt an overwhelming sense of loss. The idea of not having Betsy at his side terrified him. The thought of going through tomorrow and the next day and the next without her to talk to, to hold, to kiss…to love, didn’t just frighten him, it petrified him. Without her, he knew what true loneliness was. Not knowing who he was, or where he belonged wasn’t as unsettling as facing a future without Betsy in it. Having her in his life gave his existence purpose.

  She might be worried there was another woman in his life, but he knew there wasn’t. He’d know if he’d ever felt about anyone like he felt about her.

  He knew he hadn’t.

  . . .

  Jack stood at the window and watched the five men dismount from two carriages. He’d hoped that when he saw them, his memory would automatically return and he’d know which face to put with which name. But he didn’t.

  Betsy’s hand reached for his and she nestled her palm in his as she’d done so often when he first regained consciousness and didn’t know who he was. “Do you recognize them?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Give yourself time. It won’t come all at once.”

  The knock on the front door came before he was ready. He breathed in a shaky breath.

  Betsy gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze and left him to answer it.

  “I brung ’em,” Willie announced, leading the way into the room.

  “Jack!” the five men greeted as they crowded toward him.

  Jack took a defensive step back.

  His reaction wasn’t what they anticipated. The man standing in the middle of the line of strangers held up his hand. The four men flanking him stopped.

  For several moments Jack stared at them, struggling for any hint as to who each man was. Betsy came to his rescue, as she had so often before.

  She turned to Willie. “Willie, why don’t you go the kitchen? Mrs. Beasley has a plate of gingerbread cookies still warm from the oven.”

  Willie took off before the words were barely out of her mouth. When he was gone, Betsy turned back to Jack’s friends. “Gentlemen, please. Won’t you come in?”

  The five men entered cautiously.

  When they were closer, Jack let his gaze move from one man to the next. His focus rested on the man who’d given the order for the men to move more slowly. He was obviously the leader.

  “Mack?” Jack questioned.

  “Are you all right?” Mack asked.

  There was concern in his voice. Genuine concern that Jack recognized and that touched him. “I’m fine now. Thanks to Betsy and her brother.”

  Jack reached for Betsy’s hand and she stepped closer.

  “Gentlemen, please be seated.” Betsy said. “I know you have a lot of questions. And Jack does too.”

  The five men took the empty chairs Betsy had arranged so they all faced each other while they talked.

  “You don’t recognize us, do you?” one of the men asked. He was darker than the others, as if he might have a bit of Romany in him.

  Jack shook his head. “Things are starting to come back in flashes. I know we’re Bedford Street investigators, and our headquarters is on Bedford Street.”

  “That’s where I live with my wife Cora,” the man who introduced himself as Mack said.

  Jack’s gaze darted to meet Betsy’s and there was a hint of humor—and relief—in her eyes.

  “I know that one of you is called Quinn.”

  A hand went up.

  “One of you Roarke…”

  The man with the dark features raised his hand.

  “One of you Hugh.”

  Another hand lifted.

  “And Briggs.”

  “That’s me,” the last man said.

  “I know we’re friends,” Jack offered, then amended his statement. “At least I think we’re friends.”

  “As close as brothers,” the man called Briggs said.

  Jack couldn’t explain the pull on his heart when the five men facing him nodded to confirm Briggs’s statement.

  “What happened to you?” Mack asked. “Do you remember?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not much. I’ve pieced together some of the details, some from Betsy. She and her brother rescued me.” Jack gave Betsy’s fingers a gentle squeeze. That’s when he realized he hadn’t released her hand yet.

  “She found me on Old Nichol Street. A gang of men were pounding the life out of me. She and her brother Nick brought me here. Otherwise I’d be dead.”

  “Then we owe you a debt of thanks, Betsy,” the man called Quinn said.

  “What were you doing at Old Nichol Street? Does this have anything to do with the case the Metropolitan Police wanted you to look into?”

  “I’m not sure. It must. The men who attacked me work for a man called Cutter.”

  Five pair of eyebrows lifted.

  “Have you heard of him?” Jack asked.

  Mack answered for the group. “Everyone in law enforcement has. He’s become one of the most dangerous criminals in London’s East End.”

  “Except he’s expanding his territory further west,” Jack added.

  “Do you know what business he’s in?” Quinn asked.

  “Extortion. He concentrates on providing protection for businesses.”

  “Let me guess,” Hugh said. “Terrible things happen when people don’t pay for his protection.”

  Jack raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. If not for the lad Willie who brought you here, I wouldn’t even know that much. I don’t have proof that’s what he’s doing.”

  “Then maybe I can be of some help,” Betsy’s brother Nick said from the open doorway. “Cutter’s men just paid me a visit. For the meager sum of one hundred pounds a month, they guarantee that Thomas and Son’s Tobacco Shop is immune from the rash of break-ins happening along High Holborn.”

  Betsy rushed to her brother’s side. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “Not this time. But they hinted that they wouldn’t be so polite the next time they came.”

  Jack rose. “Men, this is Nickolas Thomas, Betsy’s brother. He owns a tobacco shop on High Holborn.”

  Jack introduced the men one by one. When he finished, Nick sat with them and explained every detail of the visit Cutter’s men paid him.

  “Did they say when they would return for the first payment?”

  “Tomorrow,” Nick said.

  The lo
oks the five investigators exchanged indicated the close bond the Bedford Street investigators had.

  “We’ll be ready for them,” Mack said.

  “I certainly hope so,” Nick added. “Cutter needs to be stopped. Word on the street is that he’s offering a substantial sum of money for information that will lead him to a Bedford Street investigator who matches Jack’s description.”

  . . .

  Betsy sat with Jack in the moonlight. After making plans for how they would handle Cutter’s men when they visited Nick again, they left to go to their own homes. All except one.

  She wasn’t sure which investigator finally won the argument—they all wanted to be the one who got to stay to protect Jack—but they decided that someone needed to stand guard outside the house. Just in case Cutter discovered where Jack was.

  Betsy thought what it must be like to have so many friends that concerned about you. She had friends. Several, in fact. But none so close that they would go to such lengths to protect her. Only Phoebe would have done that. Only Phoebe had been that close.

  After Phoebe was gone, Betsy didn’t allow anyone to get that close to her again. Losing someone that special hurt too much. And this time she doubted she could survive the loss.

  “You’re terribly quiet tonight,” Jack said from beside her.

  “Just thinking.”

  “Thinking? Or worrying?”

  Betsy smiled in the moonlight. “Phoebe always said that every family needed a worrier. She gave me that honor.”

  “I won’t ask what you’re worried about because I think I know. But there’s no need to worry. Our plan is perfect. When Cutter’s men pay your brother a visit tomorrow, we’ll be waiting. Your brother will insist that he speaks to Cutter personally before he agrees to anything. He’ll set up a meeting with Cutter for the following day.”

  “What if Cutter doesn’t agree to come?”

  “He will. There’s nothing for him to lose by refusing.”

  “Then what?” Betsy asked.

  “When Cutter comes, he’ll explain the terms of his protection plan: How much his protection fee is.” He paused. “The danger if Nick refuses his offer.”

  He turned to look her in the eyes. “Once we overhear him threaten your brother, we can make an arrest. The authorities are ready to proceed from there.”