Her reaction was a dangerous risk she couldn’t afford. She had to find a way to guard herself against him. When next they met, she needed to act as though he were merely a friend of her father’s, a fellow scholar who loved books.
Why did that seem so impossible? Perhaps it would be best if she could find another copy of that book to give to the viscount or convince her father to give up his copy after all. The sooner she removed the intriguing Oliver from her life, the better.
~*~
Jasper Smithby surveyed the exterior of the new warehouse with a critical gaze though vision was limited on this foggy night. The location just off Wentworth Street in the East End should prove safer in one respect as the police were reluctant to venture to the rough area. It also put him in the vicinity of Jack McCarthy’s neighborhood.
McCarthy, who controlled many of the lodging-houses nearby, had been a thorn in his side for some time. The man had stepped into Jasper’s territory by controlling prostitutes, arranging fights, and moving stolen goods in the same neighborhoods.
Jasper had already had about enough of him. This particular warehouse would allow him to keep a better watch on his rival and retaliate when the opportunity arose.
Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good here. That meant he had to watch his men all the closer as the temptation to steal was everywhere. He just had to make certain they didn’t pilfer from him.
The majority of those who worked for him were hardened thieves. Most had a long history of it, often dating back to their childhood. Some even had thieves for fathers, if they knew who their fathers were. Jasper appreciated both their skills and their lineage.
With a nod of satisfaction, he decided he wouldn’t trade his life for anything. He’d started young as well and had been driven by the need to prove his father wrong—that he wouldn’t amount to anything.
Now he had an empire to be proud of with money coming in steadily. He was far better educated than anyone else he knew and had an affinity for languages, including French and Latin. It was not easy to manage the business he’d built. The diversity that saved him also made his domain complicated.
He was still regrouping after the raid last week that had cost him a warehouse full of stolen goods, several young girls he’d hoped to sell to a brothel, not to mention one of his best men, Culbert Rutter.
Rutter still sat in jail. Jasper hadn’t decided if he wanted to use his connections to gain Rutter’s freedom or not. He’d already done so twice. Getting him out again might draw too much attention. What concerned him was whether Rutter would keep his mouth shut. The man liked to brag far too much.
Jasper shook off his worries to step around a puddle and enter the warehouse, leaving the foggy night behind. A smile lit his face at the sight of the interior, bustling with activity despite the late hour. Men stacked crates in one corner while others set up shelves to store smaller goods.
“Put it over there,” he directed two men who hefted a large wooden desk toward the far end of the warehouse.
Though several offices were in the back, he preferred to remain where his men could see him and he could see them. A watchful eye was necessary when one worked with thieves. He chuckled to himself at the thought.
Another man brought in a fancy, black leather chair, making Jasper smile all the broader. He appreciated the finer things in life, especially since he’d grown up with so little.
One corner would hold items to be sold in local stores while another would hold those awaiting a buyer. He liked to keep things organized so when a buyer was located, he could easily send them an entire shipment of goods.
Quantity was what made him money. Shop owners were often willing to look the other way if they could purchase numerous items at a low cost. There was always another ship whose cargo could be mysteriously unloaded in the middle of the night with no one the wiser.
Jasper decided this location would serve as his import-export business. He imported certain items from ships into his warehouse then exported the goods to those willing to pay with cash. He didn’t believe in setting buyers up on accounts that they could pay later. That type of payment structure had taken his father out of business.
“Bring that gas lamp over here,” he directed one of the men who was carrying in goods. “Put it on my desk.”
“This was supposed to be part of the delivery for tomorrow’s order,” the man protested.
Jasper glared at him, and the man hurried forward to do as Jasper asked.
Thomas Crawford, one of his newer hires, came to stand at his side. “Did ye decide what to do with Rutter?”
“Not yet. The police are still far too interested in him for my liking. If I decide to free him, it will be after their attention has shifted elsewhere.”
Thomas nodded as he watched crates being stacked nearby. “I suppose ye might be lookin’ for a replacement for him.”
“I might,” Jasper admitted. “At least temporarily. Are you applying for the job?”
Thomas gave a one-shouldered shrug in his ratty brown jacket. “I wouldn’t mind earnin’ a bit more.”
“The position comes with additional responsibility.”
“I seen for meself what Rutter did. And what he didn’t do.” Thomas turned to look Jasper in the eye.
“Oh?” Jasper wasn’t sure if he liked that look. Was there no honor among thieves these days? Then again, he had no doubt Rutter would’ve sold Thomas’s soul if he had the chance.
He’d been careful to build his organization so no one person knew everything. That could easily lead to disaster. Though it was difficult to manage it all without Rutter, he wasn’t certain he could trust Thomas.
“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 definitely 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 for 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 anymore 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 time 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.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 4
