by Merry Farmer
Patrick swallowed hard, shocked that the whores even knew he was there. Uneasiness slithered down his spine over being called out. He stood at attention, tugging nervously at the hem of his jacket.
Jewel met Patrick’s eyes for a moment of reassurance before facing the whores again. “So Adler isn’t here?”
“No, love. Sorry,” the first whore said. “Not for weeks.”
Jewel was visibly disappointed. Patrick’s alarm at being noticed melted into sympathy that squeezed around his heart. That burst of emotion sent a wave of anxiety through him. He had known all along they wouldn’t find Adler at the docks, but Jewel had been so full of hope that Patrick had held onto that hope as though it were his own.
“If we hear word of where Adler’s at, we’ll find a way to let you know,” the older whore said.
“Of course we will.” The ginger one continued to stroke Jewel’s arm, but with sisterly affection instead of seduction.
“Thank you, loves. You are queens among women.” Jewel took a moment to say goodbye to each of them as grandiosely as he had greeted them. Once he was done, he nodded to Patrick, and they walked on.
“I can’t say I’m surprised Adler isn’t here,” Patrick confessed as they made their way back to one of the streets where they could hail a cab.
Jewel’s shoulders slumped. “Aunt Dora might be addlepated, but she isn’t usually wrong.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” Patrick reassured him. “Those ladies said he was here until the raid on the Nightingale. That was less than a month ago.”
Jewel sent him a weak smile, as though he were trying to be grateful for the support.
“Adler is a known criminal,” Patrick went on. He checked with Jewel to make certain his guess was correct. When Jewel nodded silently, Patrick went on. “It stands to reason that Scotland Yard has some sort of record of his activity. That could include his whereabouts. All we need to do is check the files to see if anyone knows—”
Beside him, Jewel suddenly froze, his eyes wide. Every last drop of color drained from his face. Patrick’s heart stopped in his chest. He searched in front of them for whatever had caused such a drastic change in Jewel’s demeanor.
A shiny, black carriage was parked at the edge of the street, several dozen yards ahead of them. Even through the chaotic crowd on the dock, Patrick could clearly make out none other than Lord Chisolm stepping onto the curb from the carriage.
Jewel doubled over, making a choking noise that had the hair on the back of Patrick’s neck standing up and his teeth on edge. Patrick acted without thinking, sliding an arm around Jewel’s back and practically lifting him off his feet as he rushed Jewel into the ally between the warehouses beside them. Jewel vomited up half his breakfast before Patrick got him out of the street. He shook like a leaf as Patrick pressed his back against the alley wall in an attempt to steady him.
“Easy, now,” Patrick said in a low, calming voice. “Breathe.”
Jewel nodded, then thumped his head back against the wall. His eyes rolled up to the narrow strip of sky visible above the warehouse roofs, and he gasped for breath. Patrick clamped his arms, continuing to hold him against the wall for a moment before stepping away, intending to check which direction Chisolm had gone. Jewel made a strangled noise as Patrick let go of him—a sound so lost and terrified that Patrick gripped his arms once more.
“I’m just going to check which way he went,” he said, all seriousness.
Jewel met his eyes, kohl smudged from sudden tears. For a moment, they stood stock still. Patrick held Jewel’s gaze with a steadiness he didn’t know he had. The balance had flipped between them. Jewel was counting on him to be strong. Patrick knew it with every fiber of his being, and he wasn’t about to let him down.
Finally, Jewel nodded and relaxed by a fraction. Patrick took a cautious step back, only letting go of Jewel’s arms when he was confident Jewel could handle it. He shifted to the side, stepping out of the alley just enough to look for Chisolm. The black carriage was gone, and Chisolm was nowhere in sight.
“He’s gone.” Patrick returned to Jewel’s side. “His carriage isn’t there anymore, and there’s no sign of him.” He didn’t dare say Chisolm’s name. Whatever had set Jewel off, it was too raw to commit the sacrilege of speaking Chisolm’s name.
Jewel nodded tightly, shifting to stand straighter. He gulped in deep breaths, as though forcing himself back to calm. Gradually, those gulps turned into smaller gasps, then deep, regular breathing. Jewel wiped his mouth with his sleeve, grimaced, and began to pace in circles, as if shaking off the remnants of his horror.
Patrick had a fair guess what that horror was. The puzzle wasn’t that hard to put together. The things Jewel had said about his father the night before, the way he’d spoken so freely with the whores, and now his reaction at the sight of Lord Chisolm. All of it added up to a story that Patrick didn’t want to hear. It broke his heart enough without needing Jewel to spell everything out.
“I’m sorry,” Jewel whispered at last, barely glancing to Patrick before snapping his eyes away. “I wasn’t prepared. I can manage when I’m prepared. It’s just the exhaustion and the surprise and….” His face pinched as though he might weep, but he sucked in a breath, opening his eyes wide for a moment, before blinking and rolling his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
Patrick watched him, feeling as though he’d been punched in the heart. The man in front of him, struggling to pull himself together, was not the dazzling angel he thought he knew. This Jewel was far more precious. Patrick’s soul throbbed within him as he battled to find words to capture the way he felt about the Jewel he saw now.
“I’ve embarrassed you.” Jewel stopped his pacing a few feet in front of Patrick. He lifted his gaze slowly to meet Patrick’s. “I am sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.” Patrick wished he could think of something less useless to say.
Jewel’s mouth quirked into a feeble smirk, and he let out a half laugh. “I have so many things to be sorry about.” He glanced to the end of the ally as if ready to move on, but terrified Chisolm might be out there after all.
“We’ll go this way.” Patrick started past him, striding toward the far end of the ally.
Jewel fell into step beside him. Neither of them said a word, but Jewel reached for Patrick’s hand, holding it tight until they reached the other side.
Chapter 6
Everett detested the sticky, dirty feeling of humiliation. He knew the feeling all too well, but had thought it was in his past. He’d embraced arrogance, wore cockiness like a badge of honor, and thrilled at the idea of playing the prima donna whenever possible. Because it had taken him decades to fight his way beyond the degradation of humiliation he’d been thrust into as a boy.
Now, twenty years later, one unexpected glimpse of the esteemed Clarence Eccles, Lord Chisolm, and Everett was a humiliated mess all over again.
Which was why he had to behave like a perfect arse the moment he and Wrexham stepped down from the hack they’d hired at Batcliff Cross when it let them out near the main entrance to Scotland Yard. He needed to get his moxy back, and arrogance was a sure-fire way to do that.
“I’ve never been to Scotland Yard before,” he announced in an overly loud voice, sidling up too close to Wrexham’s side as they made their way to the front stairs. “An entire building filled with men in police uniforms?” He gave a dramatic shiver. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to control myself.”
Wrexham jerked his head toward him, face flushing and eyes wide with alarm at first before narrowing with caution. “Keep your voice down,” he said. “Just because you’re a celebrity doesn’t mean the Labouchere Amendment doesn’t apply to you.”
“Why, Wrexham, I’ve never heard you say anything quite so fancy as that. Labouchere Amendment,” he repeated with over-exaggerated elegance, as if speaking the name of the blasted law aloud would rob it of its power.
“You have to behave.” Wrexham’s jaw hardened as
he stepped ahead to hold the grand front door open for Everett. “Remember, I work here,” he said through clenched teeth.
There was more than just anger and frustration in Wrexham’s expression. His dark eyes still held far too much pity for Everett’s liking. Pity that turned Everett’s stomach when he thought about how it had been earned. He would so much rather have Wrexham furious with him than pitying him. If he were honest with himself, he preferred adoration from his handsome and manly copper. But it was too late for that. He’d spilled his cards all over the table, and Wrexham would never look at him the same way again.
“Of course, I will behave, love.” He patted Wrexham’s cheek as he crossed through, into the vast and busy lobby of the Scotland Yard building.
Wrexham followed, his jaw tighter than ever, his face red, and his emotions completely indecipherable. “This way,” he said, marching ahead of Everett with long, crisp steps.
As soon as Wrexham was in front of him, Everett’s cheeky smile vanished. He was cruel to play with Wrexham. The man had done absolutely nothing to deserve that sort of treatment. In fact, more than anyone Everett could think of in recent days, Wrexham had treated him with openness and friendship. Hell, the man had literally held him together when the sight of Chisolm threatened to unman him. The strength in Wrexham’s eyes as well as his body as he’d kept Everett pinned to the wall while the horrors of his past had their way with him was the only thing that had kept him from descending into madness. He would have pulled himself out of that morass eventually, but it had been nice to have someone there to shoulder the burden with him.
He wanted more of it. He wanted Wrexham with him at all times, ready to catch him when he fell. It was an entirely new thing to Everett to want a man for something more than his arse.
“Why the devil are so many people rushing about the place like it’s market day?” he asked, catching up to Wrexham’s side and plastering on a mischievous grin.
“We’re moving,” Wrexham said, turning into a side hallway and striding on to a wide set of stairs. As they started up, he went on with, “This building is too small for the current needs of the Metropolitan Police. The whole operation is being moved from here in Whitehall to a new complex on Victoria Embankment.”
“Good Lord.” Everett smirked at a passing clerk with a crate full of ledgers and paperwork. The young clerk must have recognized him. He stumbled down a step, nearly dropping his box. “Careful, darling,” Everett called down to the clerk as he and Wrexham moved around the bend in the stairs. “It would be a shame to fall and land on an arse as pretty as yours.”
The clerk gaped up at him.
“Stop it,” Wrexham muttered, sending Everett a fierce look. “You can’t tempt fate in the middle of police headquarters.”
“Of course, I can, darling.” Everett winked. He also kept his mouth shut as they strode out into a first-floor hallway, continuing along until they reached an office that was as bustling as the lobby below.
“Is Norton in his office?” Wrexham asked another, harried-looking clerk just inside the office door.
“You’ll have to wait,” the clerk said without glancing up from the papers he was compiling.
“It’s urgent,” Wrexham went on. “And it won’t take long.”
“You’ll have to wait,” the clerk repeated, snapping his head up to glare at Wrexham, as though he’d asked the man to dive to the bottom of the Thames to retrieve the keys to the city for him. As soon as the clerk saw Everett, he blinked, his eyes going wide.
Wrexham huffed a breath and paced away from the desk, deeper into the office. It bothered Everett that the clerk had dismissed Wrexham so roundly, so he refused to even acknowledge the clerk in turn, even though the man clearly knew who he was.
“Hopefully we won’t have to wait long,” Wrexham mumbled when Everett joined him in the center of the office.
“Which one are we waiting for?” Everett asked, glancing to each of the three doors at the far side of the office. They all clearly led to smaller offices which were likely occupied by the department supervisors.
“That one.” Wrexham nodded to the door at the far end.
They waited. For far too long. Everett crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, studying the inner workings of whatever division of the police force Wrexham was attached to. He’d never stopped to ask what sort of police officer Wrexham was. Clearly, he’d risen up in the ranks from common street copper to investigator of some sort. Everett didn’t have the first clue how the hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police worked. Wrexham still wore a uniform as he worked, but he wasn’t out patrolling streets.
Norton’s door opened in the middle of Everett’s speculative thoughts, and a middle-aged, balding man stepped out, holding a folder and frowning. As soon as he glanced up, Wrexham moved toward him.
“Commander Norton,” he began as Everett followed him. “If I could have a quick word, sir.”
Norton pulled his eyes up from his papers to glance at Wrexham with a look of such obvious contempt that Everett felt as though he’d been slapped. “What do you want, Wrexham?” the man grumbled.
“It’s about the investigation into the child trafficking ring, sir,” Wrexham said, his back ramrod straight, his tone respectful. He played the part of the dutiful officer addressing his superior expertly.
Norton’s lip curled in distaste. It was as far from the sort of respect Wrexham deserved for observing proper protocol as it would have been had Everett’s audience flung shit on the stage instead of roses.
“It’ll have to wait.” Norton glanced down at his papers, marching directly past Wrexham to the desk of another officer. “Are these really the dimensions of my new office?” he asked the man. “I thought I’d have more room.”
“Let me take a look, sir,” the junior officer said, glancing uneasily past Norton to Everett.
Wrexham followed Norton, like a dog intent on getting the bone he deserved. “If you please, sir. All I need is whatever we have on record as the last known address of one Barnaby Adler.”
Not only did Norton not give Wrexham the information he needed, the bastard pretended as though Wrexham hadn’t spoken at all, as if he weren’t there. “I want you to get down to Victoria Embankment at once and tell Younge that I won’t stand for an office this size. I want one of those ones on the second floor at the very least.”
Wrexham cleared his throat. “If you please, sir. Is there someone who might be able to look up Adler’s last known address for me?”
At last, Norton glanced over his shoulder at Wrexham. Everett knew enough of the world and other men to know when someone had guessed what sort of man he was dealing with. He would have staked his fortune on Norton knowing full well Wrexham was a pouf, in spite of his manly and muscular appearance, and that he was in the habit of dismissing Wrexham because of it.
“I don’t have time for your wild goose chases, Wrexham.” Norton straightened, walking toward his office without a backward glance. “You’ll have to—”
“I beg your pardon,” Everett said in his most bombastic stage voice.
Everyone and everything in the office stopped, and all eyes, including Norton’s, snapped to him. At least half of the men in the room knew who he was, and those who didn’t could guess he was out of the ordinary.
“Officer Wrexham asked you a question,” Everett went on, striding toward Norton with his shoulders thrown back and his head held high. He caught a brief glimpse of his reflection in the glass of a framed painting. His eyes looked downright ferocious with the way his kohl had smudged during his episode after spotting Chisolm, like some macabre, gothic painting. “Are you going to answer it?”
Norton flinched as Everett came to within a few feet of him. It was clear he knew who Everett was, and likely what he was, judging by the confused mix of awe and repulsion in his expression. Several awkward beats passed before Norton said, “He’ll get what he needs when someone has time to get it for him.”
“Someone will ha
ve time to get it for him now,” Everett insisted, pivoting to address the entire room. It was no different than delivering a dramatic monologue to a full theater. “Do you not realize the importance of the work Officer Wrexham is doing, sir? Children are being kidnapped and sold into slavery. They are being forced to perform unspeakable and humiliating acts for men so wicked that Satan shudders at the thought of them. Officer Wrexham has devoted his time to foiling those men and bringing them to justice. He is saving the lives and souls of innocent babes…and you do not have the time to find one single name and address for him?”
By the time he reached the end of his speech, he was shouting so loud that people passing in the hallway stopped to watch the performance. Norton evidently saw the scene as undermining his authority.
“There are dozens of highly important investigations going on right now,” he growled, attempting to regain the upper hand.
The man was a fool if he thought Everett would share the spotlight so easily. “Are you saying that the mighty Metropolitan Police cannot give their full attention to more than one investigation at a time? That their reach is so short that one, noble officer cannot be given the simple information he needs in order to bring the most atrocious sort of evil to justice?”
“I…I’m not saying…I didn’t say that,” Norton stammered.
Everett glanced around the office. He had everyone’s full attention, though Wrexham looked as though he would either flay him alive or drop to his knees and swallow Everett’s cock in thanks. That image pushed him on.
“What do you think would happen to the authority of the police if word got out that its leaders cannot enable their men on the street to do their duty? How would you expect to maintain order in this city, or gain a single shred of respect, if common criminals knew there wasn’t a lick of organization or discipline in the lot of you?”
“Now see here.” Norton took a step toward Everett.
“How do you think that would play, man?” Everett went on. “Is that what you want? To be the laughingstock of London?”
