by Rebecca King
“You have no idea where you are,” Rupert Smidgley snorted.
Oliver squinted at him. He sighed. “Well, let me see now. Where would a liar, a fraudster, a thief, and a charlatan who hides behind brainless thugs take someone whose life they had just stolen? Where would they then stash them while they issued a ridiculous warning they couldn’t hope to bring to fruition? Why would you bother dimming the lights and blacking out a rather large and airy room like this if it wasn’t in your miserable hovel of a house called Smidgley Hall? I don’t doubt if I got out of this chair and left through that door, I would find myself in the servant’s quarters somewhere, or in one of the disused parts of the house you emptied – sorry, sold the contents of – several months back when money became tight.”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” Ernest snarled.
“I don’t think so,” Oliver countered almost conversationally.
When the thug took another step forward and lifted a fist to strike him for a third time, Oliver stood up and in one smooth motion, threw the rope around the thug’s neck. Using the man’s brawn as leverage, Oliver jumped up and kicked out, planting his booted feet squarely in Ernest’s narrow chest. The considerably lighter man was propelled off his feet and into the darkness he had hidden in. The crashing of something he landed against shattered the silence within the room, which was interspersed with the frantic grunts of the thug who was struggling to break free of the tight rope around his neck.
Oliver lifted the rope as high as he could and slammed one, two, three punches against the man’s jaw, cheek, and head. To add to the onslaught, he stepped back and kicked the thug in the crotch. The thug slid to his knees with a heartfelt groan and didn’t even see Oliver’s boot which kicked him squarely between the eyes. The thug slammed face first onto the floor with a heavy thud. Sensing movement behind him, Oliver braced himself for another attack. The second thug was taller yet no more of a threat. Before he could launch an assault, Oliver used the shadows his opponents had so thoroughly enjoyed and waited.
“Where?” the thug demanded.
He watched Rupert lifted his hands palms up as if to say that he had no idea. The thug edged toward the darkness Oliver was in. He side-stepped to try to find the shadows himself only for a heavy boot to stop him. The crunch of bones breaking in the man’s knee Oliver kicked was loud and accompanied by a yowl of pain from the man who fell heavily to the floor. Once he was down and clutching his wounded limb, Oliver rammed another boot into the side of the thug’s head and watched him fall lifelessly to the floor. Before Rupert could launch an attack, Oliver raced for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Don’t let him leave the house,” Rupert bellowed as he charged after Oliver.
Oliver ducked when a large boom broke the silence and the plasterwork on the wall beside him exploded into powdery dust, but he didn’t break his stride.
Rupert, his voice laden with panic, continued to shout. “We know how to find you, and that woman. She will die, just like her sister.”
Oliver slammed to a stop. His chest heaved from the exertion of the last few moments, and the effort it had taken to shake off the lingering effects of the chloroform.
“Caroline Elkins is dead. You killed her, Smidgley.” Oliver glared malevolently at the criminal. “Or else how would you know about her? Her death hasn’t hit the broadsheets yet.”
Smidgley’s lip curled. “I am not talking about Caroline. I am talking about that prettier sister of hers. She is of much more use to us than that wastrel whore she was related to,” Rupert snarled.
“You were using them for the services they could provide your friends.” Oliver spoke the words he thought. They tumbled out of his mouth as more of a wild guess than anything founded in any truthful certainty, but he knew without doubt that he was right. “You were actually snatching innocent young women off the street and forcing them to provide your sordid little friends with services.”
Rupert shrugged unconcernedly. “You have no idea how much some of these aristocrats will pay to use the services of a virgin, especially one who puts up a fight.”
“Jesus, you soulless bastard,” Oliver hissed, disgusted at the callous brutality of the thug.
Rupert smirked. “You have no idea who our clients are. They pay a pretty penny, even when we don’t provide the most innocent. They pay whatever we ask of them because there is nothing that they won’t do to preserve their reputations. If there is one thing you must remember about our kind, it is that our family names and reputations matter. There is nothing us aristocrats won’t do to protect each other. I have many men in high places whose marriages, indeed lives, would be ruined if it ever came out that they paid for the services of whores; especially kidnapped ones, and they know it.”
“You are blackmailing the men who pay to use them,” Oliver whispered. “You really think you can blackmail them into paying you whatever you ask of them and use their reputations to force them to keep coughing up money. If they refuse you can use their activities to force them.”
“A little whispered word in a shell-like ear will destroy any good marriage,” Smidgley smiled. “And a few reputations to go with it. You see, these men see each other at every social outing they go to. They have to look their – associates – in the eye, well aware that others know what they have been up to when their wives’ backs are turned. They all must keep their mouths shut or they will all topple like dominoes. It has worked for us for a while now and has been incredibly lucrative. So, you see, our friends and connections have a lot to lose and most certainly will never allow your pathetic Sir Hugo to destroy so many fine, upstanding gentlemen.”
Oliver stared at him as he absorbed the magnitude of what the Star Elite had to conquer. It was troubling enough to realise that, for the first time in his entire career with the War Office, Oliver truly doubted the Star Elite could ever successfully make arrests in this investigation. If Smidgley was telling the truth, and many influential men were involved, it was going to be damned impossible to prove it. Getting one to talk would mean destroying not just another man’s life, family, name, reputation and that of his family, but many others would be destroyed as well. Nobody was going to willingly talk.
If we did get anybody to talk, the bastard who named names would be better off dead. By the time ton had done with him, he would be as good as dead anyway.
“It never occurred to you that you could fail, did it?” Smidgley murmured around an arrogant smirk. “You are welcome to join us, you know.”
Oliver’s thoughts immediately turned to Emmeline. The thought of the kind of ordeal she might face was enough to make him feel sick. He hated to even think of her being snatched and the terror she would feel. If he was honest, he had been scared being snatched and he was used to a life fighting for the Star Elite.
God only knows how Emmeline would cope.
He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “No criminal is infallible. Even the most careful bandits must face justice, you know that, Smidgley. What makes you think the Star Elite won’t topple a hundred aristocrats if we need to? What makes you think that even the supposed highest in society are going to remain untouchable? Because they are all guilty of raping kidnap victims? That is how the law will see it, you know. They can’t be considered high society of they behave like common criminals. Those women have had their lives stolen and are being forced into prostitution. It doesn’t matter who their clients are. Rape is rape and kidnap is kidnap. You will not evade justice, and neither will your clientele. God, you are one sick bastard, Smidgley.” Oliver shook his head and was about to turn around when Ernest stumbled into the hallway behind his brother. He was bent over at the waist, holding a palm against the wet patch of blood on his shirt. Whatever he had crashed into had left him battered and bloody and stumbling around as if dumbstruck. All he could do was glare at Oliver in a way that left Oliver in little doubt that if he had been capable, Ernest would have given him a sound thrashing.
“We are going to keep your little friend as collateral,” Rupert informed him smoothly. In contrast to his dishevelled brother behind him, Rupert, still as dapper as ever, tugged on his sleeves and straightened his jacket as if just concluding a business meeting. “You know, just until we get Sir Hugo out of his job and are free to go about our business.”
“Stealing lives of innocent women,” Oliver finished for him. “Rape, kidnap, blackmail, coercion, theft, intimidation. Need I go on? Oh, and by the way, I know you cannot touch Caroline’s sister because she is under our protection. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. I think it is time we in the Star Elite started at the top of your little social ladder and began to make our way down to little grunts like you. You will keep, Smidgley, for now, but I warn you that your little empire is going to crumble, no matter how many men you have working for you, who your contacts are, or how much you try to threaten those around you to stay quiet. The Star Elite are not going to be blackmailed or defeated by any ignorant, thieving, manipulative little scroat like you. Besides, how do you know that one of your – customers – won’t spill the beans on you just to stop having to pay you?”
Oliver saw Rupert’s eyes flash with temper, and smirked. It was quite clear that Rupert hadn’t thought of that.
“You are extorting large sums of money out of weak-minded bastards. One of them will talk just to keep their money in their purses,” Oliver warned.
He didn’t wait for Rupert to issue any more threats or insults. Oliver slammed a fist into the guard who appeared in his path and made his way down the corridor and through the kitchen at the back of the house. Seconds later, he stepped, relatively unchallenged, out into the night air. A part of him half expected to hear a gunshot and feel pain in his backside. But it was eerily quiet behind him, and that was almost more disturbing than if he had been accosted by yet more thugs.
Once outside, he sauntered casually down the centre of the main driveway. He knew his colleagues were on watch somewhere, but most probably had only seen the carriage arrive at the back door with no idea who was inside it. He suspected they wouldn’t have seen him being dragged into the building given how dark it was. Oliver hoped not in any case because he didn’t want his colleagues trying to break him free right now. Not until the Star Elite had sat down and planned what they were going to do next.
“First, I have to get Emmeline out of that house, and fast, before Smidgley follows through with his threat.” What Oliver hated more than anything else was the thought that Smidgley might already have snatched Emmeline as easily as he had snatched him. “At least we know how they do it now.”
Despite desperation clawing at him, Oliver kept his pace at a steady amble all the way down the drive. It was only when he turned out of sight of the main house that he broke into a run.
“Miss, you have to come with us,” the man insisted, his voice gruff laden with annoyance.
Emmeline frowned at him. “I am sorry, but I am going nowhere with you. Now get out of my house.”
She glared at the man and eyed the coat-rack beside the door, more importantly the walking sticks her father used to use that were tucked inside it. She wished she was close enough to be able to lift one out of the holder, but if she stepped toward it, she would be uncomfortably close to the buffoon who was insisting that she leave the house with him.
“I am not going anywhere. Where is Oliver? Why has he not come to see me himself?”
Emmeline didn’t know why, but there was something about her latest guest that was decidedly different to Oliver and the two men who had appeared at her door this morning. Oliver and his friends had been polite and courteous toward her. This thug was harsh and cruel and didn’t seem to know what manners meant. Gut instinct warned her that she shouldn’t leave the house with him, no matter what he said or who he claimed to be.
“He is busy right now,” the man muttered with little interest in anything other than getting her out of the house whether she wanted to go or not. “He said you were to go to him. He wants to see you.”
The huge, thick set man pointed a stubby finger at a large black carriage sitting at the end of her gate. Emmeline eyed it with little enthusiasm. To her, it looked sinister, like something that would bring about her doom. Because of it, she glared dismissively at her unwanted intruder.
The way he practically barged into the house is something I know neither Oliver nor his friends would do. They had waited to be invited in, or at least asked before they stepped into the house. This man barges, pushes, and wouldn’t have any qualms about manhandling me out of the house if he needs to.
Emmeline hoped he wasn’t with them any case because if this thug was connected to the War Office, she was going to seriously reconsider her association with Oliver and could only see his failure to return to see her as a blessing in disguise.
I was a fool to agree so readily in the first place, and all because he kissed me.
“You have to come with me,” the man insisted angrily. “You have a choice, you can either walk or I am going to carry you, but you are coming whether you like it or not.”
While the man made a credible attempt to try to sound posher than he really was, there was a faint hint of London’s East End in his tone that made the small hairs on the back of Emmeline’s neck stand on end.
“Who sent you again?” Emmeline wracked her brain for the names of the men who had arrived this morning looking for Oliver. “Oscar, did you say?” She knew it was a lie and watched the man hesitate.
“Aye, that’s the one.”
“Oscar?”
“Yes. Him. Me. That’s my name.”
Emmeline nodded and went cold inside. She knew then that this man was linked to Caroline or, rather, the people who had killed her. The thought made her feel slightly sick, and incredibly vulnerable, yet more determined than ever to stand her ground and do whatever she had to do to stay alive.
“You are to come with me, I tell you,” the man snarled, all pretence of civility gone.
Emmeline gasped and jumped back when he made a grab for her. She swatted at him and continued to back away when he lunged toward her once more. Being lighter and smaller in stature, Emmeline was able to move considerably faster than the great oaf who blundered about, bouncing into the walls of her hallway before stumbling into the narrow hall table at his hip.
“Get out of my house. I said no,” Emmeline cried loudly. She eyed the front garden visible over his shoulder but knew that would provide no refuge given the carriage was waiting for her at the end of it. The only chance she had of evading the buffoon was by going through the back door.
Twirling around on one booted heel, Emmeline bolted for the back door. She paused, but only to slam the door behind her. She barely made it to the back door when the hallway door burst open, and the thug stumbled into the kitchen. Emmeline’s escape was thwarted but not by the thug, but by her own efforts to keep her safe. She wasn’t fast enough to slide the bolt back and turn the key in the lock before the oaf lunged toward her.
Emmeline screamed when his fingers tugged the skirt of her dress. She whirled away and put the length of the kitchen table between them. Swiftly, she slid open the drawer in the end of the table and removed a large knife, which she held aloft.
“Come anywhere near me and you are going to be wearing this. I mean it,” she snarled coldly waving her weapon in a shaking hand. The man ignored her and began to edge around the table. “Stay away from me. I am not afraid to use it. Get out of my house. Whatever you want you are not going to get it from me.”
“I am not here to hurt you, missy, but you are going to come with me,” the man huffed.
“Go to Hell,” she snarled. “I am not going anywhere with you. I have seen what you have done to my sister.”
“She weren’t anything to do with me,” the man growled.
“But you know all about her, don’t you? You know what happened to her and why, don’t you? Your friends know exactly what happened to her because t
hey were the ones who did it. They were the ones who killed her in cold blood and left her body in the gutter like she was worthless.” Emmeline knew she was making her present situation, and most probably her immediate future, considerably worse but once the words started to flow, she couldn’t stop them. She shook. Everything within her shivered with the force of the emotion that she couldn’t control. She refused to be silenced. Instinctively, she knew that to remain mute would condemn her and she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.
Noise. I need noise and plenty of it. Mrs Wattling will have seen the carriage outside by now. I have to alert her to the fact that this thug is trying to kidnap me.
Emmeline started to feel weak at the realisation that this is what was really happening. This thug was trying to steal her out of her house and thieve her life right out from under her as surely as he had robbed Caroline of her life.
“Go to Hell,” Emmeline snarled with so much violent ferociousness that the man paused and blinked at her.
To her consternation, he suddenly grinned toothily at her as if he found it incredibly funny. Outside, a horse whinnied in protest, most probably at having to wait so long to be on its way. As far as Emmeline was concerned, it could howl at the moon because she wasn’t going to hasten its journey.
“My, aren’t you a feisty one? The boss likes them to put up a fight,” the man smirked.
“Well, he can go and find someone else because I am not going to play your silly little games. Get out of this house. I am going to report you to the magistrate. Just who in the Hell do you think you are to barge in here like this?”
“He is working with the kidnappers,” Oliver panted from the doorway.
Emmeline gasped and, thug temporarily forgotten, whirled to face Oliver. The knife she held was still aloft as she blinked at her savour, but Oliver who didn’t give her anything more than a cursory look because his gaze was locked on his opponent.
