Mr. Crow frowned and motioned for two workers to open the doors.
There were animals inside. Exotic horses. Caged birds. A hundred different reasons the warehouse could smell the way it did, but Clive knew the true reeking did not come from the animals.
“Open a trunk,” Irene said.
“My lady—”
Irene’s swift jerk toward her man of business silenced him. “Mr. Crow, I’m quite through with your insistence to speak after me. Either you can assist me silently or you can leave.”
Mr. Crow looked stunned.
Clive wore his grin proudly. He enjoyed the way Irene stood up for herself.
Mr. Crow motioned for one of the workers to open a box close to the front of the room.
“Not that one,” Irene said. “That one.” She pointed to a long one that lined a wall.
“No,” Mr. Crow said.
The workers stopped at his command.
“Yes,” Irene said. “I’m paying the lot of you. You will listen to me.”
Still, the workers hesitated.
Clive moved forward, grabbed the crowbar, and moved to the chest. He put his stave down and pressed the crowbar to the edge of the chest’s lock.
“No!” Mr. Crow cried. “Stop him.”
“Clive!”
He turned with his stave and quickly sent it flying across the room.
It struck the head of one dockworker, and he crumbled to the ground without a sound. The other looked at his companion with bewilderment and then at Clive.
Clive spun the crowbar in his hand. “This isn’t made of wood, mate, and my aim is always true.”
The other worker backed away and started to leave.
“Call for the constable!” Clive shouted before he turned back to the box, broke the lock, and opened it.
Two blonde women rested on a bed of hay. Their breathing was shallow, but he was glad they were alive, not only because he wanted them to live, but in the next second, Irene was at his side. She knelt and gazed at the girls.
“Oh!” Her outcry made him cringe.
The girls were dirty. Their clothes were little more than rags but based on their style, he thought them English. Part of the building’s smell was coming from them.
One of the girls opened her eyes. They were a pale brown, pronounced further by the dirt that covered her young face. She couldn’t be older than twelve.
She looked at Clive, and tears began to gather in her eyes.
Irene moved closer. Her weeping was now loud. “It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
The girl looked at Irene and the tears stopped, but her wary expression didn’t go away.
It didn’t stop Irene from forcing the girl from the box and onto her lap and rocking her as she wept. The girl was rigid but took a deep breath. Then she buried her face in Irene’s dress. Her shoulders relaxed, and she fisted Irene’s dress to her nose. Irene had to smell a hundred times better than anything else in this warehouse.
Clive turned to where Mr. Crow had been standing moments ago. He was gone.
∫ ∫ ∫
1 5
* * *
“Open the trunks,” Irene said.
Clive did just that. He worked tirelessly, taking the boxes off one another and breaking their seals. He was only slightly aware of when the police came. They found boys and girls. Some of the boxes held two or three children. There were fifty in total.
“What do you think he was going to do with all these children?” one of the officers asked.
Clive said nothing. There were few things one could do with young people. Work them or trade them for sex. Clive thought the children had likely been destined for a life of both. He found a paper that announced a buyer in another country.
“Who’s in charge here?” the constable, Mr. Hull, asked. He was a giant man with a large stomach and a bald head. He looked menacing. Clive and the other men knew him fairly well. Marley enjoyed popping into the man’s office on occasion and harassing him, and in return, Hull had gone to Marley’s wedding to arrest him for fighting, but Marley’s wife, Lady Selena, had it all sorted out in the end.
“This warehouse belongs to Lady Irene,” Clive said. “She is the daughter of the deceased Duke of Van Dero. He left it to her when he passed. Her brother had died just two months before. She was his only heir.”
“I recall the duke’s death. Tragedy.” Hull looked over where Irene had gathered all the children who’d woken up. Her dress and hair were ruined. The dress was stained, and thick waves masses of dark hair trailed down her back. He noted the flowers in her hair were gone and instead stuck out of the filthy heads of some of the girls. Her face was red from her weeping, but she tried to brave a smile as she told the children all would be well for them from here on out. Clive wondered if that would be true. He wondered if the children had parents or if Mr. Crow’s men had been wise enough to steal orphans.
“Never thought I’d see the day English children were treated this way,” Hull said.
“Slavery is a sickness,” Clive said. “Man was not meant to treat some people one way and others another. Kind sometimes. Malicious on other occasions. Eventually, the two characters will blend, and evil has a way of winning in the end. It also has a way of showing itself in ways you never imagined.”
“Do you own any slaves?” Hull asked.
“Neither me nor my friends own slaves,” Clive said. How could they after what they’d been through?
Hull nodded. “Well, it’s clear Lady Irene had nothing to do with this. Do you think it was her man of business? Is there any evidence that her father started this before he died?”
“You’ll have to speak to Mr. Crow, but he’s vanished,” Clive said, knowing it was the best answer he could give at the moment.
“Lady Irene might know.”
“Yes, but don’t question her today. Not today.” She had enough to deal with.
“Tomorrow,” Hull said.
Clive went to stand by Irene. He had his own questions he wanted to ask, but those would wait until tomorrow as well.
She turned to him. “I need hacks, as many as you can find.”
“All right.”
“I’m taking them home.”
Clive blinked. “All of them?”
“Their parents can come for them there.” She started to turn back to the children, but Clive placed a hand on her arm to still her.
She looked up at him again. Her face was dirty, and she smelled. Her expression was impatient and all of it together almost made Clive smile.
“What will you do with the ones who don’t have parents?” he asked.
“Take them to the orphanage. Eventually.”
Clive had a feeling that some of these children may be from that very orphanage.
“I’m firing the entire staff,” Irene said as though reading this thoughts. “I recognize some of these children.” Her lower lip began to tremble, but she shut her lip before it could become pronounced. “I need help, Clive.”
He took her hand. “Whatever you need, I am here.”
She squeezed his fingers before turning to the children and giving them instruction.
Clive released his hold on her and walked away. He didn’t dare look at the children again. They reminded him far too much of his past. He’d hadn’t looked or smelled much better during his youth. Only when Lord Edmund presented him to his mother was Clive allowed to bathe. Otherwise, he was on the streets, gathering food and coin, befriending beggars and learning their ways.
By the time the children were all loaded into the hacks, it was late, and Clive was tired, but he couldn’t imagine how Irene felt. She’d been pouring her heart out to the children since she’d discovered them and there was still Mr. Crow to find and deal with.
Irene rode with the first group of children and Clive took his own carriage. When they arrived at Irene’s home with the fifty children, the staff was ready, as were Clive’s friends.
Lady Sel
ena, the Duchess of Astlen; Lady Kimberly, the Marchioness of Denhallow; Lady Lucy, the Countess of Ganden; and Lady Honora, the Viscountess of Coalwater, had all gathered, bringing with them blankets and clothing they were willing to donate.
Clive had written ahead to the house and his friends. Food had been prepared, enough meat and bread for the children to feast on before their baths. The clothing the women had brought had been enough. The smaller children huddled on the beds while the oldest took positions close to the fire.
When all was settled, Irene pulled Clive to the side. “Thank you. I would have never gotten through this without you.”
“Yes, you would have,” he said in the silent hall. Children slept in the rooms on both sides, so he kept his voice quiet. “If anyone is capable of such a thing, it is you.”
She hadn’t taken her own bath, and he wondered if she would take care of herself once he left.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
She had to think about it. Then she shook her head. “There was no time.” She looked so tired. “I’ll eat tomorrow.”
“You will eat right now.”
She gathered enough energy to glare at him. “I can vary well eat in the morning.”
“You can very well eat right now.”
“You don’t control me.”
He frowned and took a step toward her. “You either get to the kitchen on your own or I carry you there.”
Irene’s eyes widened.
Lucy appeared and took Irene’s arm. “I’ll make sure she eats. You may go, Clive.”
Irene gasped in surprise.
He nodded and departed. He was certain that if anyone could get anyone to eat, it was Lucy.
∫ ∫ ∫
1 6
* * *
“My lady,” Irene turned to Lady Ganden, who’d insisted she call her Lucy, “it is very kind of you to offer your help, but I’m more than capable of seeing to myself.”
“Very well, but I thought you might like to hear about Clive’s time in captivity.” Lucy shrugged and let her go. “I was there.”
Every aching bone in Irene’s body went numb, and the trails of sleep that had tried to gather around her vanished. She was given new life at Lucy’s words.
Lucy grinned, reading Irene’s interest for what it was, and led her down the hall. “Come. We can speak over tea. The others are there.”
As Irene followed, she couldn’t help but think this a better thought to have on her mind before she went to sleep than anything else. There was so much to worry about. Where had Mr. Crow disappeared to? Had her father known about the corruption in his companies? What would the constable ask her tomorrow? What would she do with the children?
Clive thought she could have handled this day on her own and perhaps she could have, but he’d never know just how much she appreciated all he’d done. She wanted to know everything about him, and this was her opportunity.
They found the other wives in the kitchen. Irene had met them all at her party, but she’d gotten to know them better through the evening. She’d been amazed by how much work they’d put in. They’d gotten as dirty as Irene. They’d done well with the children and had even cleaned up any messes that had been made through the day. They’d worked as well as her staff and as efficiently as herself. Irene would never have believed a duchess, a marchioness, a countess, and a viscountess capable of such work, but they’d proved her wrong and had left Irene intrigued about their stories.
They entered the kitchen and the others looked up and greeted Irene. She’d given them permission to use her first name and they’d taken to it. It didn’t escape Irene’s notice that these were the wives of Clive’s closest friends and becoming their friend would be necessary.
Irene was rarely intimidated, but when she looked at all the beautiful women in the room, she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. The action was one she’d learned to stop long ago, around the time she realized she didn’t look like most anyone else.
Lucy was the smallest of the women. She was thin, like Irene, but unlike Irene, she was short. She was fair from head to toe and looked the perfect dainty woman. Selena was a beauty. Her hair was a shade that was hard to define. It was mostly blond, but red was also prominent with a few amber tones in between. Her eyes weren’t a set color either. There was green. There was gold. There was power. She’d played songs for the children as they’d waited for baths, entertaining with her piano mastery while Kimberley, who everyone called Kim, sang with a voice that soothed the soul.
Kim had dark hair and was one of the taller women. That was where her and Irene’s similarities stopped, however. She’d been designed with curves that left her unmistakably feminine. Her dark jade eyes held a knowing that Irene appreciated just as much as she feared.
Nora had also been very good with the children and had shared that before she became a mother to two girls, she’d been governess to Lucy’s child before she married Garrick. Her blond hair had been straight upon her arrival, but after assisting with the baths and standing over the heat, the hair had begun to wave and then it had curled. Her blue eyes were shades darker than Lucy’s, yet just as stunning.
The women were all gorgeous as they smiled at Irene.
She’d barely taken her seat when a plate was placed before her. Hunger hit her the moment the warm savory fragrances rose, and she ate with little dignity. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw the food.”
Lucy laughed. “I’m sure everyone here ate much as you did. I admit, I’ve not been this tired in a while.”
“Neither have I,” Kim said with a sigh. “It’s likely Selena is used to this much activity every day.”
Selena did look rather put together in spite of all she’d done that day. She grinned over her cup as she met Irene’s eyes. “I assist at my husband’s theatre most days. My mother has a women’s club there. I never knew how much pleasure the theatre could bring until Marley introduced it to me.” Marley was the Duke of Astlen.
“Marley did more than introduce you to the pleasure of the theatre there, did he not?” Kim asked boldly.
Irene gasped as the woman laughed boldly.
Selena’s cheeks colored. “Don’t be so coarse in front of our hostess, Kim.” To Irene, she said, “Don’t mind Kim. She and her husband have a talent for embarrassment.”
“I don’t mind,” Kim whispered, clearing her throat. “I want to thank you all again for what you’ve done today.”
“As though we could do anything else,” Lucy said with a sad expression. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, being packed into those crates. Those poor children were set for a life much worse than what the men suffered.”
Those were the words Irene needed to hear. “What did the men suffer?”
“Clive hasn’t told you?” Kim asked with a small frown. “Perhaps, we should leave it to him to explain. It will mean more when it comes from him.”
Irene panicked slightly.
“I already promised to tell her some,” Lucy said. “Besides, it’s partially my story as well.”
“Why is that?” Irene asked.
Lucy held her eyes. “I helped keep the men captive.”
∫ ∫ ∫
1 7
* * *
“How are the women?” Kent asked as he walked Clive to Marley’s office. It had become a habit to meet at Marley’s home in the inner circle of Regent Park as opposed to anywhere else. The privacy was unbeatable by any other residence in the city. His neighbors were far away, and the park was closed to those except who were residents and their guests.
“They were fine when I left.” He shook his head. “They worked hard. I’m proud to call them my friends.”
Kent nodded. “Excellent. I received a note while you were gone.”
Clive stopped at the entrance of the office. “What do you mean?”
“My footman arrived an hour ago and gave me this.” He handed Clive a missive before he entered the off
ice and took a seat next to Garrick.
Clive opened the note.
You and your friends will regret this.
There was no signature, but Clive didn’t believe one to be necessary.
“Mr. Crow,” he said.
“He must have Kent’s letter.” He sat on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed. “And Garrick tells us Lord Van Dero told Irene about your past, things the average man doesn’t know. Do you think he has something on all of us?”
Clive began to pace. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“Then we might be dealing with something far worse than a single missive,” Kent said. “There may be a collection of them.”
“Or a book,” James said. He was sitting by the window with his back to it. “There are rumors of a book that might be a collection of every terrible sin anyone from the ton ever committed.”
“An entire book?” Garrick asked. Wonder and disgust rose upon his face.
Even Clive felt ill. “How do you know?”
“I hired Kent’s man Mr. Charles to look into finding the missive.” Mr. Charles was once a soldier in the army, but a few years ago, he’d spied for Kent in an effort to find Lucy. Back then, Lucy had been only known as Harlot, the servant girl for Mr. Goody. Kent had hoped to trap her in a marriage, but in turn, he’d been trapped in true love. “Mr. Charles heard one of Van Dero’s former servants whispering about it in a tavern in the east around October. The man, the driver I believe, feared losing his job after his master’s death and had told another about a book that would set him up for life. Blackmail. But nothing ever came of it.”
“And you’re just telling us now?” Clive asked with his hands on his hips.
James shrugged. “Nothing ever came of it.”
“Why not?” Marley asked.
“Well, for starters, Mr. Charles was certain that the driver was all talk. He’d never actually have the courage to blackmail anyone. He’d been deep in his cups during the time of the confession. Also, the driver had claimed Van Dero had supernatural powers, could convince anyone of anything.”
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