IfHe’sSinful

by Desconocido

  Penelope gasped as he thrust himself deep inside her. She clung to him, rising to meet his fierce movements. He muttered things against her neck as they both grabbed greedily for the pleasure they could give each other. Penelope wished she understood what he said, but her mind was too clouded with rising desire. And then the bliss she had so ached for swept over with a force that had her crying out his name. She clung to him as her body shuddered with the force of it and he plunged deep inside her to find his own.

  Ashton came to his senses with his face still pressed against Penelope’s full breasts. And such fine breasts they are, he thought with a grin, and kissed each nipple. She wriggled with pleasure beneath him and he grew hard.

  Just as he was about to begin the dance all over again, he heard a noise and tensed. He wanted to tell himself it was his imagination but he was certain the sound he had heard was that of a heavy foot vainly trying to creep up the stairs. Since the footmen had left for the night, as had Septimus, he was the only one in the house with a heavy foot. When Penelope opened her mouth, he pressed a finger against it and cocked his head in a listening poise. He was pleased to see her eyes open wide with understanding a heartbeat later.

  Ashton had just finished securing his breeches when Penelope handed him the iron from the fireplace. He glanced over at her standing next to him dressed only in her shift with the ash shovel in her hand and could not help but grin. Just as the latch to their door started to move, he heard a crash from downstairs. Not thieves, he decided and swung hard at the man who stepped into the room.

  To his astonishment the big man only swayed, then straightened and glared at him. Ashton winced when Penelope swung her little iron shovel and hit the man in the back of the head. The man fell to his knees and Penelope nimbly leapt over him, pausing in the doorway to look back at Ashton.

  “The children,” she explained even as more crashes sounded from downstairs.

  “Go.”

  When the big man started to stagger to his feet, Ashton hit him again, and then ran past him to try and see what was happening downstairs. It sounded as if someone was doing his best to destroy Penelope’s home. That enraged Ashton and he started down the stairs. As he touched his foot on the bottom step, all the boys came racing down, armed with whatever they could grab. The last clear thought Ashton had was that he was glad the older boys had returned from their spying and then he headed straight into what quickly became a melee.

  Penelope held Paul and Juno by the hand and cautiously made her way down the stairs. It had been quiet for a little while and she was certain she had heard some men run out of the house. She knew for a fact the one who had tried to sneak into her bedchamber had fled. When she reached the door of her parlor, she did not know whether to weep or laugh.

  Ashton was sprawled on the floor with his back against one of her overturned settees, her brothers flanking him. The other boys sat on the floor facing him and it was obvious that they were discussing the battle that had wrecked her parlor. A wide assortment of sticks, bats, and fireplace utensils were scattered around the floor.

  “I assume you won,” she said as she stepped into the room.

  Ashton looked around the room and grimaced. “We will clean it up.”

  “No need to do so tonight. Any injuries?” They all shook their heads even though she could see bruises and scrapes on every one of them. She looked at Ashton. “Do you know who they were? Not thieves.”

  “No, not thieves. Just another warning from Mrs. Cratchitt.” He stood up and put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring Paul’s muttering about being squished. “There will be no more after tomorrow.”

  Penelope turned her attention to getting everyone back to bed, all the while praying he was right. Next time the enemy could well arrive to give a warning with pistols and knives.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Little of the afternoon sun penetrated the narrow, filthy alleys around Mrs. Cratchitt’s brothel. Penelope shivered. It was as if a dark cloud of evil blanketed the place. The memories of her short sojourn in the place did not help her to look at it with anything but dread. There were eight armed men lurking in the shadows of the alley with her but that did nothing to still her lingering fear of the brothel and its owner.

  “Do you see anything?” whispered Whitney as he moved to stand beside her.

  Penelope smiled faintly. She knew he meant ghosts. It was amusing how Ashton and his friends always wanted to talk about the many gifts the Wherlockes and the Vaughns had yet still claimed that they did not really believe in them. She wondered if they had yet realized how often they acted like believers. Nevertheless, she supposed curiosity was much better than fear.

  “Aye,” she said as she watched Faith try to touch Brant and the man shivered, glancing around in puzzlement for the source of the sudden chill he felt. “Six by my counting.”

  “Stap me. There are six bodies in there?”

  “Could be more. Not every spirit lingers, not even ones who have been murdered. After all, if life has been naught but a misery, why stay?”

  “The one you saw first, the one called Faith. Is she—”

  “Aye, she is, but it is too late to pull Brant away from here.”

  Whitney cursed, muttered an apology, and then stared at his friend. “This will kill him. He thought her a faithless jade.”

  “I know. She came to me because she wanted him to know the truth. And truly, who would not believe what a vicar told him?” She patted Whitney on the arm. “You will all need to stand by him until the worst is past.”

  “It is an ugly business.”

  “Oh, I very much fear, as concerns Faith, it is going to get very ugly indeed.” The more she had thought about Faith, the more Penelope had decided a sweet, innocent vicar’s daughter did not run off with a soldier. Someone had taken, or sent, Faith away from home and lied to Brant. “There they go,” she said, effectively diverting Whitney from asking any more questions about Faith.

  Penelope could sense the tension in the men standing behind her. Victor and Cornell stood tensed and ready alongside five big, rough men from the Bow Street Office. The cooperation of such men had not been all that hard to get for they had already been keeping a very close eye on Mrs. Cratchitt. There were also rewards offered for finding people who had gone missing and she suspected the men from Bow Street hoped to find a few of those people inside the brothel. She knew the girl Tucker’s son had courted was there and had heard that the merchants had gathered a reward together for finding her. The Bow Street men would not go home empty-handed.

  A part of her wished to flee back to her house, to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head. There was going to be so much sadness and anger soon. Penelope stiffened her backbone. This was why she had been given such a gift. It was her duty to see that the lost souls haunting Mrs. Cratchitt’s found some peace.

  It was only a few moments after the men took the kegs of wine inside when Artemis and Stefan ran out and signaled them to join them. Penelope halted the men and handed them heavily scented cloths they could tie around their noses and mouths if needed. Instinct told her that they would indeed be needing them.

  They all trotted off toward the brothel and Penelope followed at a much slower pace. She silently ordered Artemis and Stefan to the wagons with one sharp jab of her finger. She was not surprised when they obeyed with no argument. Their white faces had told her that what she was about to walk into was far more than they could bear and she thanked God that she had insisted that Darius never even set foot in the place today. She tied the scented cloth around her face and followed Whitney, who had kindly slowed his pace so that she could catch up.

  Ashton kept his cap pulled low as he followed Tucker and his son into the brothel. Penelope’s two brothers did their best to keep Mrs. Cratchitt and her two thick-necked men from reaching them too soon. Tucker also kept up a constant stream of chatter in an attempt to drown out Mrs. Cratchitt’s demands that they stop as they wove their way through the
kitchens and into a large pantry. They had just reached the door Tucker said led to where the wine was usually stored when Mrs. Cratchitt’s men finally shoved the boys out of their way. Before she could put herself between them and the door to the cellars, Tucker’s son darted forward and opened it.

  The smell was all that was needed to confirm everyone’s suspicions. The man from Bow Street who had posed as Tucker’s worker moved quickly, grabbing Mrs. Cratchitt and holding a pistol to her head. Ashton set down the keg he had been carrying and pulled out the small sack Penelope had stuffed with heavily scented cloths. He did not want to know how she had known that they might need such things. Thoughts of her facing the stench of rotting bodies, seeing such things, were too horrible to contemplate for long. He ordered the white-faced boys to go and call the others in as he handed the scented rags to the other men. He then tied one around the nose and mouth of the man holding Mrs. Cratchitt.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched. “I told you to leave the kegs in the kitchens. The cellars have something rotting in them. The stench would spoil the wine.”

  “Aye, and we know what be rotting down there,” growled the man holding her. “Got yourself a new one buried down there, eh? Shoulda buried it deeper, ye foul besom. Then the stench would not be giving away your crimes.”

  “I have done nothing! If there is something down there, it is not my doing, not my business at all. I thought it was the cess in the streets acreeping in there, is all. Can you not give me one of those cloths?” she asked piteously.

  “Nay. Take yourself a deep breath. Smell a hempen necklace, do ye?” He looked at Ashton and the others. “You lot go on down there if you can stomach it. Soon’s my men get here, I will be tying this bitch up and joining you.”

  One glance at Mrs. Cratchitt’s men told Ashton they would do nothing. Tucker, his son, and Brant started down the narrow wooden steps. Ashton was about to follow them when the other men arrived. They quickly helped the first Bow Street man tie up Mrs. Cratchitt and her men, all loudly protesting their innocence until they were roughly gagged. Then he saw Penelope enter behind Whitney. He shook his head at her as two of the Bow Street men pushed past him to hurry down the steps, leaving two others to watch the prisoners and two more to go and guard the two doors so no others could flee the place. Cornell and Victor hesitated a moment and then went down the stairs. Ashton tried to stop Penelope as she made to follow them.

  “Nay, Ashton, I have to go,” she said.

  “It will not be pretty,” he said even though he could tell by the determined look in her eyes that she would not heed him. “It is already worse than I ever imagined it would be.”

  “I know and I fear it is going to be hardest on your friend Brant. ’Tis his Faith.”

  “Ah, Christ, no.”

  Whitney slipped by him and nodded. “Damned if I know what is true or false now, but if she says it is so, that I do believe.” He hurried down the stairs.

  “Penelope, you do not have to go down there,” Ashton said, not surprised by the hint of desperation in his voice.

  “I do. This is what my gift asks of me. There are restless souls down there, Ashton. They need me to help them find the peace they deserve.” She took him by the hand and led him down the stairs, pausing only to get out of the way of Cornell, who raced back up the stairs muttering something about more shovels and blankets. “Go help him, Ashton.”

  “Penelope—”

  “Nay. I will not be swayed in this.”

  He pressed his cloth-covered mouth to her forehead and then hurried after Cornell. Penelope slowly walked down into what she could only call hell on earth. The smell came from a young woman hanging in chains on a far wall. She could not have been dead for many days but the vermin so common in the dark alleys and the places lining them had done their gruesome work. What horrified Penelope the most was that the keys to the girl’s chains hung near but just out of reach. The cruelty of such a thing was beyond her understanding. Next to the body the Bow Street men were taking down was the woman’s spirit but what caused tears to sting Penelope’s eyes was the spirit of a small boy who stood beside her.

  Help him. He has found me.

  Recognizing Faith’s voice, Penelope spun around to see an ashen-faced Brant staring into the grave he had dug open. The shovel slipped from his hands as he fell to his knees. Penelope quickly moved to his side and placed her hand on his hair. Even as she wondered how he could tell it was his Faith, he removed a small ring from the finger of the corpse. When he looked up at Penelope, tears running freely down his cheeks, her heart broke at the depth of the grief she could read in his eyes.

  “How?” he asked. “Did her lover desert her?”

  Penelope saw Faith shake her head. “There was no lover, Brant.”

  My father lied. My father threw me into hell for a pouch of gold.

  “Ah, nay.” It just kept getting worse, Penelope thought and wondered how much more any of them could endure. “Truly, there was never anyone else.”

  “Is she here?” he whispered and looked around. “Can she tell you what happened to her?”

  “She says her father lied to you, that he gave her away for a pouch of gold.”

  “Her own father sold her to a brothel? A vicar?”

  Lady Mallam paid. Warn them.

  “Warn who?”

  My brothers and sisters. Warn them.

  “I will see to it. So will Brant.”

  “What does she want?” Brant asked. “Anything. I will do anything to make up for what I did. I believed her father. I failed her. I should have believed in her and no one else. I should have searched for her.”

  “Brant, the man is a vicar with a sterling reputation. Of course you believed what he said. Faith wants us to tell her brothers and sisters what was done to her. I think she fears they are in danger. They must be warned in case their father has an idea to make some more coin on any of his other children.” She watched as Ashton and Cornell moved to Faith’s graveside and began the grim task of putting her body in a large blanket and wrapping it up tightly.

  No blame lies with him.

  “If I had but looked for her,” Brant said.

  “Nay, she does not blame you.” Penelope rubbed Brant’s back as Faith whispered the whole ugly tale of her fate into her mind.

  A harsh cry distracted Penelope from watching Faith watch Brant. She looked around and found Tucker’s son clutching something and knew he had found the girl he had been courting. “I must help the others,” she told Brant as she stood up. “They need to find peace.”

  Brant grabbed her by the hand. “Despite all I thought, I never stopped loving her, never stopped hoping she would return to me and explain it all.”

  “She knows. But you must let go of her now, Brant. She needs peace.”

  Penelope began to make her way from spirit to spirit, getting what little information she could from them, and helping them to finally let go. She ignored the looks of the men who continued the grim work of uncovering the bodies. Finally, only Faith was left. Her spirit lingered near Brant, who no longer wept but clutched the little ring and stared blindly at the blanket-shrouded remains of his lover.

  “Brant,” she said, pulling his gaze to hers. “Let her go. This is not the place for her but she cannot leave it unless you let her go. She needs to move on.”

  Tell him to find love again. He must not let grief and betrayal bind his heart.

  “I will,” she whispered. She watched Brant stand up. Finger by finger he loosed his tight grip on the ring.

  “Farewell, love,” he whispered, kissed the little ring, pocketed it, and moved to help the other men.

  Just as a smiling Faith disappeared, one of the Bow Street men joined Penelope and said, “Got the sight, eh?”

  Penelope nodded toward Brant. “It was his fiancée who started this search.” She looked around and counted ten holes. “So many.” She frowned for she suddenly realized she had seen more than ten ghosts.

 
“’Spect there be more.” He nodded when Penelope paled. “That woman has had a brothel here for nigh to ten years. I sent Tom off to get more men. There be a lot more ground to search. Cellar runs to a large room on either side of this one. Funny them leaving things like rings and bracelets with the dead.”

  “Burying all proof that these poor souls were ever here.”

  He nodded. “Got the right of it.” He sighed heavily. “The little lad was the hardest.”

  “His name was Tim.”

  “Aye,” said Tucker as he stepped up to them. “Butcher’s son. Recognized his wee cap. His mam made it for him and he was that proud of it. Disappeared three years ago.”

  “You got more names?” the Bow Street man asked Penelope and quickly pulled out a bit of paper and lead to write down the ones she gave him, all seventeen of them.

  “It might be difficult to explain how you got those names,” Penelope said when she was done.

  “I will think of a fine lie, no worry there. No more ghosts?”

  “Nay.”

  “Was hoping you could help us see if there were others buried here. This list implies there are at least seven more. Save some time and sweat if we could know where they all are.”

  “I can do that. ’Tis not only the spirit I see. I can sense where the dead are buried. Get me something to mark the places and I will walk through the rest of this hell.”

  “We will be taking Meggie and Tim home to their folk,” said Tucker. “They will send the rewards round to Bow Street. The butcher had gathered one, too.” Tucker looked at Ashton and his friends. “Good men. Not many of their sort would do this.”

  Penelope managed a small smile. “They are very good men. Not one of them was certain I had seen a ghost but they still worked hard to find the truth. I am sorry for your son’s loss.”

  Tucker nodded. “He be grieving, but knowing is always better than not knowing.” He walked away.