From the puzzled look on Violet’s face, she seemed to think her sister addled.
Spencer was impressed. Though he wasn’t clear on the entire message, if she continued in this vein, he might have a good idea of what urgent information had arisen. “What else does one hear?” he asked.
Mrs. Fairchild frowned at him. Apparently she didn’t care to have Dalia’s odd conversation encouraged.
“Such a person might have quite the story to tell.” Dalia nodded as if agreeing with herself.
Spencer would’ve been highly amused by this entire visit if it weren’t for the topic. Did Molly know something about Atkins’ death?
“After living in the East End, you mean?” Violet asked.
“And working there. Can you imagine what she might have seen?” Dalia held Spencer’s gaze for a long moment.
It was all he could do to remain in his seat. Molly had witnessed Atkins’ murder. His heart thundered at the thought. If Dalia knew where he could find Molly, she could provide the evidence they needed to arrest Pruett.
He drew a slow breath, trying to match Dalia’s cleverness and think of a way to ask where Molly was or how Dalia had come to know what the girl had seen. “It would be difficult to live in the East End and feel safe.”
Dalia nodded enthusiastically as though he were on the right track. “I certainly wouldn’t feel safe there.”
“Perhaps it would be best if one left that neighborhood and found a better place to live. I wonder where that might be?” He directed his question to Mrs. Fairchild as though expecting her to provide an answer. Anything to keep her from ordering her daughter to change the topic.
She blinked at him, obviously uncertain how to respond. No doubt she didn’t want to offend him by suggesting they speak of something else, nor did she have an answer. “I feel our street is quite safe,” she responded at last.
The smile that lit Dalia’s face nearly made Spencer grin. “It is indeed. Even our alley is safe.” She raised a brow at him. “One couldn’t ask for more than that.”
Did she mean that Molly was in the alley? That he should retrieve her when he left?
Violet looked at each of them, including her mother, as though they’d all lost their minds.
“Though one never knows what is hiding behind a bush,” Dalia said as she glanced out the window.
He could only surmise Molly was hidden behind a bush in the alley behind the Fairchild’s home. He waited a few minutes longer only to realize Dalia’s glares at him were becoming increasingly impatient. Obviously, it was past time for him to take his leave. He stood abruptly. “I’m afraid I must be going.”
Dalia gave a slight nod of approval as she stood as well. “So kind of you to call on us.”
Mrs. Fairchild rose. “You’re leaving already?” She frowned once more at Dalia. “I must apologize for my daughter’s conversation. Or lack thereof. I fear she’s a bit...under the weather.”
“I found the conversation quite enlightening.” He smiled at the woman, pleased to defend Dalia to her. “It so often is with Dalia.”
A delicate rose flushed Dalia’s cheeks. “Perhaps we’ll see you at the Finnian’s ball this evening,” she said, a hopeful note in her tone.
“Perhaps.” It depended on what Molly had to say. He hurried out the door.
A quick word to the driver had him departing from the Fairchilds’ residence only to circle back to the alley. He stepped out of the carriage, searching for the girl, hoping no one watched.
A study of the bushes didn’t reveal anything. “Molly? Are you here? Miss Fairchild sent me to take you to safety. I assisted Kate as well.”
Still nothing. Had he completely misunderstood the conversation with Dalia? He’d been so certain—
A rustle behind a large conifer beside the Fairchild’s rear garden entrance caught his eye. Molly stepped into view, her eyes wide, fear etched on her face. Her entire body trembled. “My lord?”
“I’m Viscount Rutland. I believe Miss Fairchild told you to expect me.” Her skittishness suggested it would only take one wrong move on his part to cause her to flee.
“Yes, my lord.” She clenched her hands tightly before her.
“I understand you need somewhere safe to go. I’m happy to provide you with the same help I gave Kate.”
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, biting her lower lip. But she took a small step forward then another. “I’d like that.”
He gestured toward the carriage. “Will you come with me? I’d very much like to hear what you saw last night.”
She halted at his reference to the murder, her face pale, her fear palpable as she blinked back tears.
He couldn’t blame her, but he needed her help. “You see, the man you saw murdered was a friend of mine.”
Molly’s eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry to hear that, my lord.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to do. How to stop Charlie. He’s a bad man. A very bad man.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done without placing yourself in danger.” Heaven forbid Pruett realize that not only had someone witnessed his act, but she was sharing what she’d seen with the authorities. “If you could tell me what you saw, it would mean a great deal. We could put Pruett in prison for the rest of his life.”
She drew a shuddery breath, nodded, then walked beside him toward the carriage. He couldn’t help but sigh with relief. This was exactly the break in the case they needed. He studied the surrounding area. Surely if anyone had followed Molly to Dalia’s home, the guards would’ve taken note.
Before he stepped into the carriage, he glanced up at the Fairchild’s residence. Did Dalia have any idea of the gift she’d just handed him? He hoped that very soon he’d have the chance to tell her, along with how much she meant to him.
~*~
Charlie entered McCarthy’s office building, attempting to hide his worry. Ever since he’d killed that man the previous night, things had gone to hell.
He’d allowed his temper to get the better of him. But every time he turned around, people were sticking their noses in his business and ruining his plans. The Fairchild woman, the lord who was often with her, both of whom had gotten Kate and several of the other girls riled up. He’d had enough of it. He was wasting his time dealing with them when he could be expanding the business.
As he’d snuck up to the bloke, he’d gotten angrier, thinking about how he stood between Charlie and his rising position in McCarthy’s organization. The people who continually interfered were making him look bad as if he couldn’t handle his job.
Before he’d thought twice, he knocked a rock alongside the man’s head and dragged him into the mouth of an alley. He’d attempted to question him, but the blasted man refused to answer. What choice did he have but to stab him each time he held his silence? He’d been surprised by how much of a fight the man had given, and Charlie had the bruises to prove it. That had only enraged him further.
None of that would’ve been so bad except for that blasted Molly. Her gasp had given her away. She’d stared at him from the mouth of the alley as though he were some sort of monster. Then she’d turned and fled so quickly into the thick fog that he couldn’t find her. More pressing than locating her had been dumping the body. She’d show up sooner or later.
Later still hadn’t come. Molly was nowhere to be found, despite the people he had searching for her. The only place he could think she might’ve gone was to that blasted Fairchild woman, who’d helped Kate disappear as well.
It wouldn’t pay to share any of those details with McCarthy. He didn’t know how long he could hide the truth though. Word on the street was that there was a price on his head, and people were searching for him. He’d had more than one man tell him so. Obviously, the man Charlie had killed had been more important than he’d anticipated.
Just his luck.
Fortunately, he knew Molly didn’t have the bollocks to tell anyone what she’d seen.
Ignoring the kernel
of doubt that gnawed at him at the thought, he greeted several other men he knew as he made his way to the back of the building where McCarthy reigned his kingdom.
Without waiting for an invitation, he entered his boss’s office and took the chair before McCarthy’s desk, acting as nonchalant as possible.
McCarthy looked up from the paper he’d been studying only to toss it aside when he saw Charlie, a terrible light burning in his eyes. “What the hell have you done?”
Charlie’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Let your temper get the better of you, didn’t you?”
He decided against saying anything until he knew what McCarthy had heard.
McCarthy leaned forward, his face going red, a sure sign of his anger. “The man you murdered worked for the Intelligence Office.”
Hadn’t that been exactly what he’d suspected? “All the more reason to send a clear message to them to mind their own business. They need to know we’re not to be messed with.”
McCarthy only glared at him until Charlie couldn’t bear to sit still any longer.
“What was he doing nosin’ around our girls anyway?” Charlie demanded. “Shouldn’t he have been in France or somethin’?”
“Let’s just say that if we now have the attention of the prime minister, it will be your fault.” McCarthy sat back in his chair, running a finger over his upper lip as he continued to stare at him.
Charlie felt his eyes bulge at the mention of the prime minister. While he’d heard a rumor that Gladstone tried to encourage prostitutes to reform, he’d thought that merely a way for him to hide an appetite for them.
“You better get this mess cleaned up,” McCarthy demanded. “If that man’s murder can be tied to you, your days are numbered. Do I make myself clear?”
The image of Molly burned into his mind even as he nodded and lurched to his feet, a cold sweat chilling his back. He had to find that blasted girl and quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Undoubtedly there are thousands of debased and wanton wretches for whom the doors of such houses of reform and refuge, did they exist in plenty, might in vain stand open.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Dalia paced the length of her room and back again the next afternoon, her agitation increasing with each minute that passed by. While she knew Spencer was no doubt busy assisting Molly, she’d hoped for some word of what was happening. He hadn’t attended the ball last evening, much to her disappointment, nor had she received a reply to the message she’d sent earlier in the day.
Molly was safe in his protection. Spencer couldn’t possibly be in danger from protecting the girl. So what was causing this terrible sense of foreboding?
A knock sounded on her door then Ruth opened it. “Miss? Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” Dalia had tried to keep from harping on the maid about the dangers of a life of prostitution. At this point, the decision was up to her. But that didn’t mean Dalia was willing to give up her fight to prevent Ruth from doing it.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve decided to keep my position here with your family.”
“Oh!” Dalia moved to Ruth to take her hands. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear this.”
“When Betty first told me how much fun she was having, I thought it might be a good idea. Fine gentlemen. Better pay.” She shook her head. “But the man I met only seemed to be interested in one thing, not me in particular.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ruth lifted a shoulder even as she swallowed hard. “Another man will come along. One who wants a wife, not a quick toss.” She glanced at Dalia in alarm. “Forgive me for being so blunt, miss.”
Dalia waved a hand to dismiss her concern. “I have no doubt the right one will soon make an appearance.”
“Thank you for worrying over me, miss. I may not have shown it, but it’s nice to know you care. You’ve already had my work lightened, and I appreciate that.” The maid released Dalia’s hands and took a step back. “Between you and me, Jack has caught my eye. But please don’t tell your mother.”
Dalia chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me.”
With another smile, Ruth went on about her duties, leaving Dalia to resume her pacing.
Her mother, Violet, and Holly had left earlier to attend a garden party, but Dalia had claimed illness to remain home. Her father was at his office, overseeing his shipping ventures. Yet she couldn’t enjoy this rare time alone.
With a sigh, she glanced at her desk. Should she send another message to Spencer in case he hadn’t received the first? Or did he think that not responding would somehow keep her safe?
Pruett was no doubt angry that Molly had escaped and would be searching for her. What of the other women who knew Molly? Were they in harm’s way? The girl was well liked, almost as if she were everyone’s younger sister. It only made sense that Pruett would ask her friends first. Perhaps he’d return to Miss Petrie’s Home to question the women there. They should be warned.
Her heart raced at the thought. If she explained her fears to Spencer, he’d know what to do. Why she’d ever questioned his ability to deal with the entire situation, including Pruett, was no longer clear. As she’d discovered at the Duke of Burbridge’s party, she would trust Spencer with her very soul.
She grabbed her cloak and hurried toward the door, aware it was inappropriate for her to call upon Spencer, but desperate times called for action.
Unfortunately, her family had taken the carriage, which left her hurrying out the front door with Jack in tow toward the nearest hansom cab stand, not far from the end of her street.
“Miss, are ye certain this is a wise notion?” Jack asked as he quickened his pace to remain directly behind her. “I thought last time we visited the viscount’s ye said we wouldn’t be doing so again.”
Dalia scowled, not appreciating the reminder. “Circumstances have changed and dictate another visit.” Her unease increased as they walked along the empty street. She glanced about to reassure herself that Pruett wasn’t waiting to pounce on her.
Silly to think that. He had no reason to seek out her. If someone had realized Molly came to see her, they would’ve come looking for her yesterday.
Then why did her breath hitch with each step as they walked toward the cab stand? Surely this feeling was due to her fear for the women who might be subject to Pruett’s wrath rather than her own safety.
She was rather proud of herself for choosing to speak with Spencer about her concerns rather than rushing off to Miss Petrie’s to warn the women there herself as she would’ve done a few weeks ago. Now she thought before she acted, and she had Spencer to thank for it.
They’d walked nearly to the end of her street when a muffled thump sounded behind her. Alarmed, she spun to see Jack lying in a heap on the walk. Charlie Pruett smiled grimly at her. Her breath caught in shock as her gaze darted between her injured footman and her nightmare.
Pruett grabbed her arm before she’d done more than gasp. “Where’s Molly?”
“I don’t know of what you’re speaking. Release me.” Dalia jerked her arm free. Or rather tried to. Charlie held fast then yanked her forward.
“Release me,” she demanded again with little hope that he’d comply.
“Tell me where Molly is, and I’d be happy to.”
She swallowed hard. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“I think you do. Until you tell me, you’re coming with me.”
Her stomach tightened with fright at the wild look in his eyes. If she had to guess, she’d say things weren’t going well for him. Dark shadows marked his eyes, which darted to and fro as though searching for danger. Apparently committing murder didn’t agree with him.
“Where is she?”
“Who?” She could think of nothing but to pretend she had no idea to whom he referred. She glanced back at Jack, praying Charlie hadn’t killed him too. The footman still hadn’t moved.
&nb
sp; “Molly.” He jerked her hard as if to punish her for her lack of understanding.
“I don’t know who you’re speaking about.” Her mind raced, trying to think of a way to free herself. She glanced about, hoping to see someone, anyone, who might aid her.
No one was on the street. The houses sat back from the lane. How could she gain anyone’s notice? Perhaps screaming was her only option.
“Don’t even think of it,” Charlie warned as though reading her mind. He withdrew a knife with his free hand, the blade as long as her hand. She stilled. Was that the knife he’d used to commit the murder Molly had witnessed?
“I’ve already taken care of the guards your man posted.”
Spencer had placed guards on her street? She’d had no idea.
“You need only tell me where she is, and I’ll let you go.”
“I told you I don’t know.” She hated the whimper in her voice and drew a trembling breath, trying to find her grit. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I truly don’t know.” She could say it with complete honesty, for she was certain the girl was no longer at Spencer’s home.
The crazed look in his eyes sharpened. “Then you’ll come with me until I find her. Perhaps I can trade you for her.”
He pulled her forward again, causing her to stumble.
She cried out when her ankle twisted.
Pruett raised the knife threateningly once again. “Quiet, else I’ll stab ye here and now and leave ye for dead.”
Now, when she most needed to think to determine her best chance of survival, her thoughts were blank, gripped by fear. Fear for Jack. Fear for herself.
Part of her wanted to run even though she knew she couldn’t free her arm from Charlie, let alone hope to outrun him. What could she do but go along with him and watch for a chance to escape?
Spencer. She whispered his name like a prayer, hoping he could somehow hear her and come to her rescue once again.
~*~
Spencer strode toward the exit of the Intelligence Office, a sense of satisfaction coursing through him. Prime Minister Gladstone had been thrilled at the news that Charlie Pruett would soon be removed from the streets.
Falling For The Viscount (The Seven Curses of London Book 6) Page 25