by Candace Camp
“I understand.”
“Sorry to interrupt your threats of violence, Theo, but we’re here.” Reed nodded toward the window.
The carriage had stopped before a gray stone building. “An orphanage? Your expert in criminals works in an orphanage?”
“No. He’s a resident.” Reed opened the carriage door and climbed out.
Theo, seeing Desmond’s surprise, said, “Mother’s not the only one trying to save the world. Tom Quick’s a pickpocket who made the mistake of trying to nab Reed’s wallet one day. Lad’s quick, not just with his hands, so Reed decided to put him in Mother’s orphanage and send him to school.”
“Instead of sending him to jail.”
Theo nodded. “As I said, Reed’s a soft touch.”
From what Desmond had seen of the Morelands, there wasn’t a one of them who wasn’t a soft touch. Except the dowager duchess, of course.
As soon as he walked into the building, Desmond realized that this orphanage was not like any other he’d ever seen. The walls were not a drab gray, but a pleasant light blue, and there were no pervasive scents of ammonia, gruel or sweat.
A woman bustled forward to greet them, exclaiming, “Lord Raine. Lord Moreland. What a delight to see you. Is the duchess with you today?”
“No, just us, Mrs. Wadley. I wanted to visit Tom Quick. Is he in class?”
“Classes are done for the day. He’s doing his chores, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to be pulled away.”
She settled them in a small room and went off at her same quick pace. Desmond was curious to see the boy Reed had befriended. He supposed he must adjust his view of the Moreland men again.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Wadley returned with a lad whom Desmond deemed to be no more than eight or nine years old. He was dressed in neat, fresh clothes, his blond hair combed; he would have looked like any child the same age if it had not been for his blue eyes, which were watchful and calculating. He wore a cocky expression, but Desmond could see the wariness behind it.
“Sir.” His eyes went first to Reed, then over to Theo and Desmond.
“Go on, Tom, make your bow, the way Mrs. Timmons taught you,” Mrs. Wadley urged.
The boy’s chin jutted out for a moment, but he executed a neat bow.
“There! Very good.” Mrs. Wadley’s voice rang with delight.
“If we could speak with Tom alone, Mrs. Wadley...”
“Yes, yes, of course.” The woman whipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“How are you doing, Tom?” Reed asked. “You want to sit?” He gestured toward an ottoman.
This offer seemed to relax the boy, for he plopped down on the round leather seat, the defiant tilt to his chin dropping. “I’m a’right. Mrs. Timmons’s got me in the next year’s grammar. Says I’m a helluva reader. Better wif numbers, though.”
Tom had a curious accent, his words slipping into deep cockney now and then, while others were carefully correct. Learning to speak like a gentleman, Desmond thought, as he himself had.
“Somehow I doubt those were Mrs. Timmons’s exact words,” Reid commented. “But I’m glad you’re progressing.”
“I figure I can get more skimmin’ from the till than liftin’ wallets.”
A pained expression crossed Reed’s face. “The goal was for you to get an education so that you could make a better living legally.”
The boy grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “Just jokin’ with you, guv’nor. I’m not lookin’ to wind up wif...with my neck stretched.” He looked over at Desmond curiously. “’Oo... I mean, who’s he?” He expelled his h’s forcefully. “Not a nob like you.”
“Mr. Harrison is a friend of my sister’s. He’s trying to find someone, and I thought you might be able to help us.”
“Yeah? How’s that?” Tom’s attention was fully caught now, his eyes bright with intelligence.
“A fellow came by to threaten him,” Reed explained.
“What for?”
“It’s a far too long and complicated story,” Reed told him. “I’m not sure I understand it entirely myself. But the thing is we want to locate the ruffian who threatened him. I thought this might be within your area of expertise.”
“Expertise,” Tom repeated. Desmond could almost see him rolling the word over in his mind and storing it away. “Something I’d know, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Sure. I know ’em all. The O’Tooles and the Cooper lot, those Scots boys—you don’t wanna be dealing with them, I’ll tell you.”
“He didn’t sound Scottish,” Desmond said. “In fact, now that I think of it, he didn’t have much of an accent.”
“A toff?” Tom asked.
“No. But I’d say not someone from Seven Dials, either. He wore a suit rather like mine and a bowler—he didn’t look like a ruffian. Blond hair, light-colored eyes, blue or gray, I’m not sure. Tall.”
“Tall as you?”
“No. Not that tall—nor as tall as, um...” Desmond gestured toward Theo. He didn’t know the man’s title—what had Mrs. Wadley called him? He went on hastily, “More like Lord Moreland, perhaps a bit shorter. But wider.” He held out his hands to indicate the man’s girth. “Not fat, either, just big.”
“A punisher, sounds like,” Tom said knowledgeably, nodding.
“I believe he works for Mr. Zachary Wallace.”
“What owns the warehouses? I mean, who owns the warehouses.”
“I don’t know,” Desmond said, surprised. “It’s odd—I’ve never really thought about how he makes his money.” He thought. “I believe Carson once said Wallace was in shipping.”
“Aye, that’d be them. They’re down at the docks.”
“Is his business involved in something illegal?” Theo asked.
“I don’t know, sir. But he ’ires big blokes to guard them. Everybody knows to leave ’em alone.”
Desmond glanced at the other two men. “It sounds fairly likely.”
“Can you think of anyone else it could be, Tom?” Reed asked.
“Well...there’s Gentleman Jack.” Tom frowned. “But you don’t want to muck about with that one, guv. He kills folks. Kills ’em and makes it look like it weren’t murder. But he don’t dress like him.” Tom pointed at Desmond. “He’s fancy, like. Dresses like you, sir, only flashier. Top hat and cane and all that. Not that big, neither. No.” He shook his head decisively. “It ain’t him. You orter stay away.”
“We won’t go near him, no need to worry,” Reed assured him.
“I ain’t worried. It’s just... Stick a fork in you, and I’ll be tossed out then, won’t I?” He flashed his cocksure grin again, but Desmond thought he looked a trifle pale underneath.
“Can you recall anything else about the warehouses or their owner, Tom?”
He shook his head. “It had writin’ on it, like. Only I couldn’t read it back then. Oh! Next to the writing, there’s a drawing of a pig.”
“A pig?”
Tom nodded. “Big hog. Only he has these horns going out like this.” He shot his fingers out from beside his mouth. “Mean-looking.”
“Tusks,” Theo said. “It’s a wild boar.”
“Was it red?” Desmond asked, his voice rising in excitement, and Tom nodded in reply. “Wallace has a coat of arms hanging above his fireplace. I doubt it’s real. But it features a red boar.”
“That’s it, then.” A slow smile crept across Reed’s face, and for the first time, Desmond thought that Reed could be as intimidating as his brother. “We’ve got him.”
“Not quite,” Desmond reminded him. “We still don’t know where to find him.”
“That’d be down by the docks,” Tom said confidently. “Those blokes hang about the Double Roses or that tavern beneath a bawdy house—it’s called, um, well, I’m not sure it has a name. It’s
’neath Madam Tansy’s place. Then there’s the Bell and Anchor.”
Reed raised an eyebrow. “They must drink a good deal.”
Tom shrugged. “Sometimes they get tossed out of one or the other. Anyway, they’re all pretty close to each other. I’ll show you.” He jumped to his feet.
“I am not taking you on a tour of seedy taverns,” Reed said drily.
“But how else are you going to find them?” Tom protested. “I know how to stay out of trouble.” His tone indicated his doubts that the same could be said for the three of them. “You need me. I know folks like them. He’ll do.” He nodded toward Desmond. “But you two?” He shook his head. “You’ll never get anywhere dressed like that. And soon as you open your mouths, they’ll know you don’t belong.”
Reed sighed. “Just what do you propose we do?”
“I can get you fixed up so’s your own mum won’t know you. I used to fix up the beggars, didn’t I? I can do the talking while you keep quiet. Maybe him—” He swung toward Desmond. “Can you talk different? More like a regular chap?”
“I can’t talk like you.” Desmond’s voice slipped into the tones of his youth. “But I can be a bloke up from Dorset, now.”
“Righto.” Tom grinned. “He’ll do well enough. But he still ain’t a local.”
“You don’t think a child will be noticeable in a tavern?” Theo asked.
“Not me. They’ll just figure I’m practicing my trade.” He wiggled his fingers. “I could pretend to pick your pocket and—”
“Let’s just keep it simple, shall we?” Theo looked over at his brother. “Where’s the harm? It’s nothing Tom hasn’t seen before—it won’t shock him or shake his moral foundation.”
“No reason to put him back into the life,” Reed protested.
“I won’t run away, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Tom added. “It’s not so bad here.”
“Oh, for...” Reed sighed. “Very well. But you’ll stay in the carriage. I’m not putting you in danger, whatever you say.”
Under Tom’s guidance, they visited a vendor’s cart piled high with articles of clothing, coming away with rough jackets, trousers and caps to replace their own. Even Desmond’s plain serge jacket had to be exchanged for something with a patched sleeve.
The shopping spree was followed by a meal at an inn, where Tom put away an astonishing amount of food for a lad his size, keeping up his impertinent chatter all the while. Then, finally, fed and dressed in their worst, they took their carriage to the docks, stopping at some distance from their first two destinations, which stood across the road from each other. Hands in pockets, heads down in the cold, they tromped along the street to the Bell and Anchor. Its sign was barely visible in the evening gloom, all the paint having long worn off it, but after missing it once, they turned into the tavern on a second try. Small, dark and cramped, the room was not the most pleasing of prospects, but at least it was half-empty, the evening’s drinking having barely begun.
The ale Desmond ordered for them turned out to be barely drinkable, and as the evening wore on, they managed to pour as much into a nearby spittoon as they drank themselves. Gradually the place filled up. It was annoyingly dark and smoke hazed the air, making it difficult to distinguish the features of the other customers. More than once Desmond made his way to the tap so that he could get a closer look at a face.
“How long do you think we should wait before we try one of the others?” Reed asked.
“Feels like we’ve already been here half the night.”
“A little over an hour,” Desmond countered, keeping his gaze on the door. It opened and a small form slipped in. “Um, your lad just came in.”
“What?” Reed turned to look and saw Tom making his way toward them. “Damn.”
“Guv.” The boy tipped his hat.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait in the carriage?”
“Aye, but I thought you’d want to know I saw three of them warehouse blokes going into the Double Roses. There was another big man with them, only he wasn’t wearing the uniform. He took off his bowler, and I saw his hair in the light. It’s blond.”
“Let’s go.” Theo stood up. “Much more of this swill, and my stomach will revolt.”
Tom led them along the street and through the door of the tavern. It was larger than the other one and noisier, though equally filled with smoke. Tom sidled up to Desmond and whispered, “That’s them against that wall.” He nodded discreetly toward a table where several men sat. Three were dressed in dark uniforms. “Those lumps in their pockets are cudgels.”
Desmond nodded and wound his way through the crowd, not looking toward the table in question as he circled it at a distance. Behind him, Reed and Theo separated, closing in on the same spot from different directions. Desmond moved closer. The man’s face was turned away—he was talking to one of his companions. He laughed and turned back, his gaze falling on Desmond.
The man stiffened, recognizing Desmond at the same instant Desmond identified him. Desmond started forward. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Morelands do the same. With a roar, their quarry jumped up, overturning the table and sending mugs and ale flying, and ran for the door. Desmond started after him, but the man’s companions had all surged to their feet, as well. They were cursing, and looking around, blocking his way.
But as Desmond shoved his way through the men, Theo stepped into the fleeing man’s path and knocked him down. The man Desmond had thrust aside turned with a snarl and swung at him. Desmond ducked and came up to hit him in the gut. Reed charged into the fray, and Tom jumped onto a chair to break a glass of ale over another guard’s head.
In an instant the room plunged into chaos.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THISBE PACED UP and down in front of the fireplace. Aside from her father and great-uncle, all the men she loved were in danger, and as the evening wore on, she cursed her decision not to accompany them. Desmond had tricked her into it with logic—which only went to show how wily the man was. She wasn’t sure that she could trust Desmond, but she knew that her heart would break if anything happened to him.
Thisbe did not care to examine that whole line of thinking. It was confusing and irrational. However, she was certain that in moments like these, she should go with her heart rather than her head.
“It’s been hours. Where could they be?”
“I’m sure they’re having a grand time chasing this fellow all around the East End. What they will accomplish is another matter entirely,” her grandmother replied witheringly. She was seated on one of the many uncomfortable chairs in the formal drawing room, back ramrod straight and cane planted on the floor in front of her, her hands wrapped around its neck. She reminded Thisbe of a knight resting on his sword.
It would not have been Thisbe’s preference to have her grandmother’s company as she waited for the men to come home, but she had to admit that the dowager duchess’s indomitable confidence helped to steady her own frayed nerves.
“Perhaps we should—” Thisbe began, breaking off at the sudden clatter in the entryway, followed by a footman’s startled exclamation.
She started forward, but before she could reach the door, her brothers and Desmond reeled through the door, followed by a disheveled boy. Thisbe gasped at their appearance, and her grandmother said, “Well, you are a sorry sight indeed.”
The duchess was right. Reed was limping, half-supported by Theo, and Desmond swayed as he stood. Their rough, ill-fitting clothes—which they had not been wearing when they left the house this afternoon—were ripped and covered in grime, and their hair was equally disordered and dirty. Dried blood ran down the side of Theo’s face and his hair was matted with it; Reed’s cheek was red and one eye was beginning to swell; and Desmond had a lump on his forehead and a cut on his swollen jaw. All of them sported scrapes and the beginnings of bruises, and they reeked of ale.
>
“Desmond!” Thisbe cried out and started toward him, then stopped. Drawing a deep breath, she went on more calmly, “What happened to you?”
“And how did you manage to acquire a street urchin?” Cornelia raised her lorgnette and focused her gaze on the boy.
“That’s Tom Quick, Grandmother,” Reed said, his words a trifle slurred. “I am sending him to school.”
“Mmm. I would have thought the aim would have been to improve him.”
“Yes, well...” Reed swung toward the boy, and his sudden movement made both him and Theo stagger.
“You’re drunk!” Thisbe exclaimed.
“No, not drunk.” Theo dismissed her words with an airy wave of his hand. “We had to blend in, you see.”
“You smell like the inside of a barrel.”
“Oh, that.” Desmond lifted the lapel of his jacket and sniffed. “Someone tried to crown me with a mug, and it spilled all over me.”
“Master Theo!” Smeggars rushed through the door, and in his agitation he slipped back to their childhood names. “And Master Reed. What have you done now?”
As he fussed over them, a maid entered with a basket of supplies, followed by another with a pitcher and a washbowl, with the twins’ nurse bringing up the rear.
“Hallo, Katie,” Desmond said cheerfully.
“Hallo, yourself.” She looked over the men with an assessing eye. “Ah, well, not so bad.” She turned to Thisbe. “No need to worry, miss. I’ll fix ’em up, right as rain. Used to patch up my own boys often enough, didn’t I?”
“That should stand you in good stead with Alex and Con,” the dowager duchess commented.
“Aye, my lady. They’re going to be corkers, right enough.” Katie grinned at Cornelia. “Best sit down, gentlemen. This may take a bit.”
