“Are we going to start collecting girls again?” Thomas asked.
“Virgins for the brothels?” At Thomas’s nod, Jasper shook his head. “Not for a while. That business needs to calm before we become involved again. There are still groups of church ladies parading around in front of several of the brothels. That’s cut back on customers for certain. No well-paying ones want to be seen going in or out.”
“Church ladies,” Thomas repeated with a snort. “Ain’t that a fine one? How did the brothels come to their notice?”
Jasper scowled. “I have a good idea who was behind it.” Captain Nathaniel Hawke was becoming nearly as much of a problem as McCarthy. “Eventually, those women will find a new cause to wave the flag about. Then we’ll return to that business.”
“Makes sense, though it hasn’t stopped McCarthy from handling them.”
“Damn McCarthy.” How dare the man not take care? His greed put all who ran prostitutes at risk. Something needed to be done about him.
“So our focus will be this for now?” Thomas nodded toward the boxes and barrels filling the room as more goods were carted in.
“For now.”
“Ye still have that fancy book, don’t you?” Thomas asked warily.
Jasper frowned, surprised the man had raised the subject. “Of course.”
“Good.” Thomas nodded. “Just wanted to be sure the coppers didn’t get a hold of it. Wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“No, we wouldn’t.” The Book of Secrets, a medieval text Jasper had come across in a box of items shipped to London by an archaeologist, was one of his few possessions not easily replaced. Though he’d shown it to some of his men, he kept a close watch over it. Most couldn’t read more than the signs on the street let alone Latin, so there was little risk of them discovering any secrets, but Jasper wasn’t taking any chances.
“Why don’t ye use it on some of those policemen who keep nosing around the other warehouses?” Thomas asked. “Surely something more could be done about them.”
Jasper allowed himself a smile. He was proud of what he’d done with the book. The title alone had appealed to him, but when he’d read the warning message inside, brilliant ideas had come to mind.
The education his mother had insisted on that had been an annoyance to his father had paid off in spades. She’d forced him to attend a ragged school, one of the free schools run by a local church. He’d developed an affinity for learning and had done so at every opportunity.
One of the priests had recognized his ability to pick up languages easily and taught Jasper Latin and French. He even knew a smattering of Italian.
One thing he hadn’t needed to attend school to learn was how incredibly superstitious people were. Even he had a few beliefs that he’d rather not admit to but still did his best to avoid. For one, he was always careful to cover his mouth when he yawned—no need to risk his spirit leaving or the devil entering.
He’d used the book to play upon his men’s fears, convincing them he had power.
Dark power.
Amazing what a few rocks and weeds could accomplish. Hold them, say a few Latin words, and the men were believers. Granted, he’d followed through by killing one or two non-believers. Or had it been three? He forgot.
He looked forward to the day when the book was no longer necessary—when men were frightened enough of him, including his rival, without the book. With fear came control, something he wanted more of.
“If the police knew the true power of the book, they’d be knocking on our door at this very minute,” Jasper responded at last. “We can’t risk that.”
“No. I suppose not,” Thomas agreed, shifting on his feet as though the conversation was making him uncomfortable.
Good. That meant the book was still working. For now, that was enough. But what could be done about Hawke and McCarthy?
CHAPTER FOUR
“It ceases to be a wonder how constantly vacancies in the ranks of crime are filled when we reflect on the flimsy partition that screens so many seemingly honest men, and the accidental rending of which would disclose a thief long practised, and cool, and bold through impunity.”
~The Seven Curses of London
The next afternoon, Oliver alighted from the carriage with barely a pause. Never mind his pounding heart and damp palms. Surely he could ignore those symptoms when they hadn’t prevented him from leaving home for the third day in a row.
What was his world coming to?
“I shall be remaining home on the morrow, Tubbs,” he informed his footman. “We shall do some boxing come morning.”
Physical activity helped calm his worries and keep his focus. Tubbs had sparred with him during their time in the Navy, and several times each week they boxed in an area Oliver had set aside in the basement. Tubbs seemed to enjoy it as much as Oliver did.
“Very well, my lord. I look forward to it. Shall we wait or return for you?”
“Return in thirty minutes’ time.” He’d be lucky if he could bear this visit for that long. With a deep breath, he walked up the steps to the men’s club on St. James Street to which he’d belonged since he’d come of age. He was certain his father was still a member as well, though his parents remained in the country. They preferred a quiet life rather than the chaos of London. Oliver enjoyed the country, but it provided limited access to new books. He’d created his own version of peace in the city by remaining home.
Except for these past few days.
But this task had to be done. Hawke had declared himself unwilling to take it on as he was involved in other work. He’d told Oliver that, since this was his idea, he needed to see it through.
Oliver didn’t think Hawke enjoyed visiting the club any more than he did.
The door opened before he could reach for it.
“Good day, my lord,” the porter greeted him.
With a nod, Oliver stepped through the portal, at once struck by the smell of cigars, leather, and strong spirits. This time of the afternoon was one of the most popular. Men had finished their business for the day and were not yet involved in social engagements for the evening. What better place to mingle than the club?
Oliver’s goal today was to let it be known among several particular lords that if they happened to have a taste in prostitutes involving young girls, they had better find a different way of gaining pleasure. The availability of virgins was drawing to an end. While the police had raided the brothel and removed several girls from it over a week ago, they’d done little else since then to bring an end to Smithby’s ventures.
He knew his plan today wouldn’t truly stop those who had odd sexual behaviors. He’d seen far too many unusual proclivities during his time in the service to believe that. Such men would find other ways to answer their sexual preferences. But they damned well wouldn’t be able to deflower a nine-year-old girl in a brothel within a ten-mile radius of Oliver’s home.
This was just one more way to discourage the practice. If he could find a way to bring an end to such criminal acts, he would. But for today, this would have to do.
Though he only knew of two men rumored to prefer young girls, he was certain there were more. He hoped by having a few words with some of the lords who relished discussing such things, he could spread the word that brothels were now being watched and their visitors noted.
He paused inside the main room, searching for his targets, spotting several familiar faces, but no one with whom he cared to speak. Trying to be patient, he found a small table that gave him a good view of both new arrivals and those departing.
“Lord Jonston,” he greeted the latest arrival who was well known as a gossip. Exactly the sort of person who would benefit Oliver’s cause. Though Oliver hadn’t mingled in society for years, some things never changed.
“Frost. Haven’t seen much of you of late.”
“I’ve been quite busy. How have you been?”
“Excellent.” Jonston gestured for a servant. “Do you have t
ime for a drink?”
They passed several minutes in conversation when one of his targets, Lord Malverson, joined them. Oliver couldn’t have been more pleased as he knew the man had unusual tastes from their time at University together. They chatted for several minutes, the brief conversation confirming to Oliver that he still didn’t care for Malverson. The man was a brute who thought himself superior to everyone. Being rich only made him think he could get away with it. Unfortunately, most of the time, he did.
Oliver downed the rest of his scotch to help ease the anger slowly filling him as Malverson shared exploits of his recent trip to Rome. The sooner this outing was over, the better.
“Did you hear about the brothel in Chelsea?” he asked when the conversation paused.
“Never heard of the place,” Malverson said.
Oliver dearly wanted to declare the man a liar but restrained himself.
“Is that the one catering to unusual tastes?” Jonston asked his brow raised in question.
“As well as providing virgins,” Oliver added. “Apparently the madam kept a list of customers. Rumor has it that she’s sold it to The Times.”
Both men appeared shocked at the news. The muscle flexing in Malverson’s jaw told of his displeasure.
Oliver continued, “It seems many of the brothels in London are being watched. Those customers who have particular tastes are being noted, and their families are being sent anonymous letters sharing the details of their relative’s proclivities.”
“That’s outrageous,” Jonston declared with wide eyes, clearly delighting in the news.
“Indeed,” Oliver agreed, keeping the small smile on his face as though all of this amused him to no end when in truth it sickened him.
“I heard groups of ladies active in churches have banded together to protest in front of some brothels,” Jonston added as he gave a mock shudder. “Women should find better ways to spend their time. Where are their husbands to allow such behavior?”
Oliver knew Jonston had married and wondered if he had any idea how his wife spent her time. Malverson, who remained silent with a grim expression, was still a bachelor.
Deciding he’d done all he could with these two, Oliver finished his drink and bid them goodbye, having spotted another target with whom he could share the same news.
Then as he debated whether he’d done enough and could leave, a familiar person passed by. “Adair?”
The Earl of Adair, Hawke’s older brother, turned to look at him. “Frost. Haven’t seen you in an age,” he greeted as he reached out to shake Oliver’s hand.
Oliver didn’t know the man well. He had an air of reserve that made him seem unapproachable, though Oliver thought the reserve more watchful than cold. That was something to which he could relate.
“Your brother paid me a visit last week.” Oliver was curious as to whether Hawke had shared his recent activities with his older brother. Somehow he doubted it. From what little he knew, the two weren’t close.
“Then you know of his betrothal.” At Oliver’s nod, Adair continued, “Have you met Miss Fairchild?” The barest smile touched his lips, making Oliver smile in return at the thought of Hawke’s plucky fiancé.
“I have. She is strangely perfect for him.”
“I would have to agree. Marriage suits some. I thought you preferred your books over people. What brings you to the club?”
“A little work on one of your brother’s projects.”
“Let me guess. Does it have anything to do with the Seven Curses?”
“Yes, it does.” Oliver was surprised he knew of the book.
“Have you read it?”
“Yes. You?”
Adair nodded. “Such disturbing information. I admire my brother for attempting to take action on any of the fronts noted within its pages.”
“I confess that while I was vaguely aware of some of the issues occurring in the city, I had no idea of the extent of it.”
“Nor I.” Adair frowned. “I suppose I thought it limited to certain areas of London, but the problems are growing. Something has to be done.”
“Perhaps you’d be willing to offer some minor assistance here at the club?” Oliver hesitated, wondering if he’d overstepped the bounds of their limited acquaintance.
“How so?” The earl appeared cautious.
“By helping to share some rumors.”
“Gossiping? I thought you above that,” Adair said with a smile.
“Allow us to call it dissuasion.” At Adair’s raised brow, Oliver explained his idea to share information with certain individuals known to have visited some of the more questionable brothels or those who enjoyed spreading news.
“Clever,” Adair admitted. “Discourages those who pay for certain services, which should make a financial impact, eh?”
“Exactly my thought. If you could see fit to mention the rumors to one or two who you think could be effective in aiding us, it would be much appreciated.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Oliver bid the earl goodbye and headed toward the door, more than ready to return home. He dearly hoped their endeavors would make a difference. With continued effort and some luck, Smithby would have less of a reason to force young girls into a life of prostitution.
Now if they could only put an end to his ring of professional thieves, Oliver would be able to return to the peace and quiet of his books.
~*~
Julia searched the throng of people at the ball that evening, hoping she might speak with Lettie Fairchild. Aunt Matilda was visiting with one of her many friends near the refreshment table, leaving Julia free to wander. She dearly wanted to know how well Lettie knew Viscount Frost, and if he needed that book as desperately as he insisted.
Heaven knew she’d had no luck convincing her father to give up on the book or the project. On the contrary, he seemed obsessed with it. He’d spent hours taking copious notes of what he’d found, muttering as he’d read and re-read pages he thought held significance.
Julia had even attempted to convince her aunt that studying the text was too much for her father, but Aunt Matilda had stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” had been her only response. She thought it delightful that her brother had found a fellow scholar to discuss “those old, dusty books with” who was “young and handsome rather than on his deathbed.”
It hadn’t taken long for Julia to give up attempting to gain her assistance.
After further consideration, she’d decided it would make sense to know more about the viscount if possible, hence her search for Lettie now.
Odds were slim that Lettie would be here this evening as neither Lettie nor Julia attended many events. Julia disliked leaving her father, and Lettie had never really enjoyed social activities, but now attending parties gave her the opportunity to spend time with her betrothed. Julia feared that once the couple was married, she’d rarely see Lettie.
Moving slowly through the crowd, she spoke with several people she knew.
“Lady Julia, you look beautiful this evening,” Lord Malverson greeted her. “May I request the honor of this dance?”
“That would be lovely,” she reluctantly agreed. The lord was not one she particularly liked although she didn’t know him well. She didn’t want to encourage him, nor did she want to be rude. Perhaps dancing with him would both fulfill her social obligation and allow her to spot Lettie more easily.
“Quite the crush, eh?” he asked as they made their way to the dance floor.
“Indeed.” She could think of no other topic of conversation. Luckily the music began, and the movements of the dance prevented them from speaking further.
The warmth of the June day had not faded with the setting sun. Added to that were the crowd of people and the exertion of the dance, and soon, Julia felt almost faint from the heat and crush.
When the music came to an end, she smiled at the lord. “Thank you for the dance.”
“You appear quite warm,” he said a
s his gaze raked over her face before dipping lower. “Why don’t we step outside for a breath of fresh air?”
As she drew a breath, she realized she truly did need some fresh air if she wanted to avoid making a fool of herself. Either that or a chair, but none were in sight.
He didn’t wait for her agreement but tucked her gloved hand under his arm and moved toward the garden doors. “I don’t know why they don’t simply leave open the doors.”
Julia concentrated on breathing slowly, her corset preventing her from drawing a proper breath. She hadn’t thought it was so tight earlier. Surely once she cooled off, she’d feel better.
Her anxiety eased when the night air swept over her, yet still the light-headedness continued.
“Come this way,” the lord suggested, his voice sounding muffled. “It will be cooler along the rear garden wall.”
She didn’t think to question his logic as she was desperate to cool down.
The shadows were deeper here, and the sounds of the ballroom faded. She drew her hand away from Lord Malverson as he seemed to radiate heat at an alarming rate. His presence wasn’t helping in the least, especially when he turned toward her, standing far too close.
She drew back a step, wanting only to breathe.
“Lady Julia, you are such an attractive woman. You must know by now that I find you most appealing.” He reached out as his whispered words settled through her clouded mind, his finger trailing along her cheek. “Your skin is like alabaster.”
With alarm, she realized the precarious situation in which she’d placed herself. How stupid of her. She knew better than to come outside with a man, especially one like Lord Malverson. She didn’t trust him—not that she knew him. But her instincts for self-preservation were normally sound.
If she’d been feeling like her normal self, none of this would’ve happened.
“I’m terribly sorry if I’ve misled you in any way,” she began as she realized how very alone they were.
“You’ve lead me in more ways than I can count.” In the dim shadows, she could just make out his smile. “Allow me to show you.”
Before she knew what he was about, he’d taken her into his arms and pulled her tight against him. She put her hands before her to prevent him from coming any closer. “No need, my lord. As I said, I believe you misunderstood. It’s just that I wasn’t feeling well—”
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