by Alyson Chase
She swayed towards him, her body tingling with warmth. “Even if you aren’t holding my hand, I’ll still feel you there. You’re always with me.” And for the first time, Amanda believed she could do this. The idea still terrified, but she would muddle her way through.
Dunkeld cleared this throat. “We could go without you, Rothchild. You take Miss Wilcox to the club.”
“And me.” Lady Mary sprung to her feet. “I want to go to the club, too.”
Dunkeld nodded.
“That’s all very well and good,” Summerset said, “but Julius has skills we don’t. We’ll need him if Hanford has a safe.”
Dunkeld ground a fist into his broad palm. “Finesse isn’t everything.”
“It is if we want our activities to go unnoticed.” Julius sighed. “No, I need to go to Hanford’s. I’ll write the letter to Bertie telling him to let the word out. The scandalous Miss Wilcox will be speaking at Simon’s tonight.”
Lady Mary bustled to the desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the top drawer. “And I’ll write Lord Hanford, tell him how exciting it is that Miss Wilcox will be arguing for reform at your club. That should draw him in. And I’ll contact the Ladies’ Society for Prison Reform. Mrs. Fry should be able to bring in a supportive crowd.”
“I’m sorry I’m going to miss it.” Dunkeld looked forlorn. “Sounds like a right entertaining row.”
Julius strode to the wall and pulled the servant’s bell. A moment later, a footman scratched at the door.
“Tea all around,” Julius said. “And send Carter up, please.” He followed the servant out and returned moments later with Amanda’s slippers. He handed them to her. “You might want to put these on. You know, so you don’t step on any of those mice with big ears running around.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Amanda slipped them on, a hand on Julius’s arm for balance. “I suppose neither of us is as stealthy as we thought.”
He trailed his thumb over her hand and smiled. “I’ll go write that letter.”
Julius joined Lady Mary at the desk, standing next to her seated form and bending over to write. Dunkeld and Summerset immediately invaded the space he’d vacated. “Miss Wilcox,” the large Scotsman said, “what are your intentions?”
Summerset planted a silk elbow in his friend’s gut. “You can’t ask a lady a question like that.”
“But we all know I’m no lady.” Amanda folded her arms over her chest. “I appreciate the marquess’s directness.”
Summerset mirrored her pose. “Fine. Then care to tell us your objective? Are you hoping to trap Julius into marriage? Because I’ll warn you now, that is an institution he will never enter into.”
“I’ve already refused him.” Amanda ignored the shocked expressions of the two men and gazed at Julius, a soft smile at her lips. He’d been willing to give up his freedom to do the right thing by her. Her decision to debate Hanford felt better every second. Turning back to the two men, she tried to put them at ease. “You don’t need to worry about your friend’s reputation. He’s safe from a permanent association with me.”
“We mean no disrespect, miss.” Dunkeld leaned in awkwardly, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. “We’re only concerned about Julius.”
Summerset eyed her with grudging respect. “He actually proposed to you?”
“After what Hanford wrote in the paper about us, of course he did.” Amanda shrugged. “He felt it was his duty. Did you expect less of him?”
“Well …” Summerset pursed his lips.
The door opened, and a footman pushed a rolling cart in front of him, stacked high with plates of pastries, a tea pot, and cups. Carter was a step behind. He dipped his head. “Your tea, m’lord.”
Julius straightened from the desk and replaced the quill in the inkwell. “Thank you.” He crossed to Amanda’s side. “After you apologize to Miss Wilcox, you can collect your things and leave this house.”
Carter snapped his head up. “Excuse me, my lord?”
“As the duke’s representative, I won’t tolerate disloyalty to the house you work for.” Julius flicked a bit of lint off his sleeve. “I know you have been feeding Lord Hanford information about Miss Wilcox. It was quite careless of you to deposit the money you received from him into your own accounts.”
Amanda kept her features even, but inside she seethed. She’d known Marcus’s butler disliked her, but she hadn’t imagined he’d been feeding Hanford stories. A sliver of shame slipped behind her breastbone, cooling her anger. That she’d even for a moment suspected Julius had been the one to let something slip to the marquess had been grossly unfair.
Carter wasn’t so adept at hiding his emotions. His cheeks turned ruddy and his jowls quivered. “You speak of loyalty to this house? How dare you. I wasn’t the one who savaged the name of Montague by letting this, this …”
“Be very careful what words leave your mouth next.” Julius’s voice was silky, but every muscle had tensed to rock hardness. Amanda laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed.
“The duke marrying her harlot of a sister was bad enough.” Carter smoothed his hands down the front of his coat. “But allowing shelter to this piece of trash went beyond the pale. She deserved the noose, and she landed in the lap of luxury instead.” Nostrils flaring, he shook his head. “I feel no shame in my actions. I would have done my part to expose her true nature regardless of coin.”
“Right, then.” Dunkeld laced his fingers together and extended his arms, palms out, knuckles cracking. His shoulders bunched into small boulders with the movement. “I’ll just show this man to the streets.” He took a step towards the butler, and Carter stumbled back.
“Julius?” Amanda whispered.
“We don’t want Montague to receive any bills from the bone-mender.” Julius cocked an eyebrow at the Scotsman. “Just pointing him to the door will suffice.”
Dunkeld grumbled, sounding a bit like Reggie when told to do something he’d rather not. But he nodded and pointed a thick finger at the door. Carter fled through it. Dunkeld followed at a more sedate pace.
“Another one of Marcus’s servants fired.” Amanda sighed.
Julius shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped.”
“How long have you known he was working for Hanford?” Amanda asked.
“I received confirmation earlier this morning.” He clenched his jaw. “I should have seen it sooner.”
Lady Mary tossed her pen down on the desk. “I wish you had. I just gave that man a pound and five shillings to buy a dress for his granddaughter.”
“It isn’t the chit’s fault that her grandfather is a lout.” Summerset winked at the older woman. “And money dedicated to fashion is never wasted.”
Sutton rolled his eyes. “You would think that.”
“Gentleman, we have a lot of work ahead of us if we are to pull this off tonight.” Julius strode to the desk and folded his letter. “Now isn’t the time to debate the height of Summerset’s boot heel.”
Amanda sank back onto the settee, feeling for the seat back behind her. The room burst into activity around her, the men discussing strategy, and Lady Mary penning ever more letters and ringing for footmen to deliver them.
Everyone knew their roles, Amanda included. She had convinced Julius to trust her to draw out Lord Hanford. That she could stand before a crowd, in public, and not break.
It only remained to convince herself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Julius crouched in the shadow of a hedge by the side of Hanford’s townhouse. The skies had cleared, and the light from the full moon created strange and disquieting shadows in the side garden. Sutton knelt next to him, and on his other side a rose bush cast the shape of a hunched goblin.
Julius worried the inside of his cheek. Amanda should be leaving Montague’s house about now. With Lady Mary at her side, Amanda would make it into the carriage. But would she have the nerve to step out when they reached the club? Their plan depended upon Amanda distracting Hanford for the sev
eral hours it would take to search his home. And if she did manage to stand up in front of the club, what sort of condition would that leave her in?
“What is taking them so long?” A cloud of vapor burst from Sutton’s mouth.
“It takes time to evacuate a marquess’s house.” Julius had decided that the best way to safely empty the house of all servants would be for Liverpool’s men, posing as city workers, to pound on the doors of all the homes on this block to inform the residents of a dangerous gas leak. The recent installation of the new lamps along the street provided a perfect story. And by evacuating several households, there was less of a chance of Hanford becoming suspicious.
Sutton shifted. “Smoke filling a room empties a house much more quickly.”
Julius didn’t bother rearguing the point.
The door to the kitchen swung open. Summerset poked his head out and waved.
Julius stood, ignoring the twinge in his knee. Each year that passed made his recovery missions a little harder. He slipped inside the door, Sutton breathing down his neck.
Dunkeld walked into the kitchen carrying a lantern. “After Liverpool’s men let us in the side entrance, they left out the front. They’re doing a lot of head-scratching and pointing at the street lamps. I’m not sure how much time they’ll buy us.” He passed out candles and lifted the glass cover of his lamp. “I closed the drapes at the front windows, but still be careful about creating shadows.”
Julius dipped his candle’s wick in the lamp’s flame. His candle hissed to life. “Let’s start with the obvious places. His office, then his bedroom.”
The men nodded and they padded down the hall, poking their heads in doors, before they found the office. Julius headed for the desk.
Dunkeld pulled books from a case built into the wall. He flipped through the pages before replacing the book and removing another. “Anything in particular we’re looking for?”
“It always comes down to money,” Julius said. He tugged on the middle drawer, but it didn’t budge. He knelt beside it and held the candle up, examining the lock. “Foreign bank accounts, land holdings, the usual suspects.” Placing the candlestick on the desk, he removed a leather case from his breast pocket and untied the cord wound around the front cover button. He opened the case and pulled out a small tool.
Summerset stood on a chair and ran a hand along the head of a window. “If Hanford is the ringleader of a major criminal organization, would he leave incriminating evidence laying around his house?”
“You’d be surprised how safe men believe themselves to be in their own homes.” Sutton replaced a painting on the wall, his mouth a grim line. “They rarely take the proper precautions.”
Summerset sneezed loudly.
“Quiet,” Dunkeld growled.
“It’s dusty up here.” Flicking out his pocket square, Summerset dabbed beneath his eyes. “Hanford’s housekeeper is slack in her duties.”
Julius blocked out the prattle of his friends, focusing on the lock. The tumbler was being a coy bitch, and Julius had to persuade it to release without its key. He could feel the resistance, but if he applied too much force he would break the lock. A sure sign to Hanford that his security had been breached.
Had Hanford arrived at the club yet? Met with Amanda? If Hanford made her cry, Julius swore he was going to break more than just this lock.
A lever in the tumbler shifted, and his tool slipped, letting it pop back into place. Julius cursed. He was three miles away from Amanda and could do nothing to help ease her fears. He needed to stop worrying about her and focus on his task at hand.
Pushing Amanda from his mind proved impossible. Nevertheless, he managed to open the lock. Putting his tools away, he shook his head, disgusted at the length of time it had taken to open a simple desk drawer. A metal box squatted at the bottom. Julius pulled it out, and faced a small padlock attaching the lid to the base.
Sighing, he drew his tools out again and set to work.
Three clicks of the lock and several minutes later, and Julius was able to open the box.
Sutton stepped up beside him. “What did you find?”
“I don’t know yet.” Julius removed a bundle of correspondence and passed it to his friend. “You take this pile. I’ll start on this end.” Lifting the remaining batch of folded letters, Julius started from the bottom, at the oldest, and began to read.
As he and Sutton discarded the letters they’d read, Dunkeld and Summerset picked them up. When Julius had finished his pile, he placed the last letter down and looked at his friends. A ball of iron settled in his gut.
Summerset stared back at him incredulously. “They’re not just a criminal organization. They’ve insinuated themselves in legal businesses. Big businesses. If we take them down, there will be huge repercussions.”
Dunkeld loosed a bark of laughter. “Hell, I’m on the board of one of their companies. My holdings will take a hit.” He rubbed his jaw. “The effects of this will ripple all throughout society.”
“It’s smart.” Julius rolled his head, trying to ease the stiffness of his neck. “By placing people on the boards of London’s major companies, they know there will be intense pressure to cover this up. How much political will do you think will be behind their prosecutions if it means certain men will lose their fortunes?” He held up a letter. “This is the one that really boils my fucking blood. Hanford and his accomplices are majority stakeholders in the Chesseworth Corporation, the company that owns London’s prisons. Does his anti-reform stance have anything to do with his political beliefs, or was it always about lining his pocket?”
Dunkeld rocked back on his heels. “In addition to the jail fees every prisoner must pay before being freed, Chesseworth gets a stipend from the local magistrate based on a percentage of the prison population. It would do him no good if England went soft on crime.” He tilted his head. “On the other hand, hanging the prisoners would seem to deprive him of a population base. Maybe he is sincere in his belief that capital punishment deters bad behavior.”
“Yes, the ten-year-old who’s had his neck broken can’t ever steal another loaf of bread,” Summerset said. Dunkeld glowered and opened his mouth, but Summerset waved him silent. “But I don’t think you’re remembering that spending bill we passed two years ago. The one put forward by Lord Wallace.”
“There were over three hundred provisions in it.” Resting his hands on his hips, Dunkeld glared at Summerset. “How in the hell am I supposed to—”
“What was in the bill?” Julius glanced at the grandfather clock that stood next to the doorway. The second hand ticked loudly.
Summerset pressed his palms flat on the desk. “Because of Sir Romilly’s speeches in the House of Commons, a push was made for basic prison reform, including providing basic sustenance to those who can’t afford to purchase their own food.”
“So?” Dunkeld asked.
“So, the prison population is counted once a month, with those numbers determining how much the prisons gets paid for each prisoner’s upkeep,” Summerset said. “The count is made the last day of the month, but the count is prospective. Meaning the number of prisoners counted at the end of January determines how much Chesseworth is paid for the month of February.”
A divot appeared in between Dunkeld’s eyebrows. “Why?”
Julius swallowed. “Because the executions typically happen the first of the month.”
Summerset nodded, his nostrils flaring.
“If one thousand people are counted at the end of the month, and the next day one hundred of them are executed, the prison gets paid for the thousand even though they’re only supplying nine hundred people with food and guard.” Julius ran a hand through his hair. It was diabolical. If he ran the numbers, he could calculate exactly how much a human life was worth to these monsters.
Dunkeld crossed his arms over his thick chest. “But the prisons will start to fill up again. There wouldn’t be just those nine hundred for the entire month.”
“No.” Summerset sighed, his face going slack, looking exhausted. “But it could take several days up to half a month before the numbers evened out. It’s enough at the margins to turn a tidy profit.”
Julius pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “We need to copy down names, dates, companies, and get the information to Liverpool. With how deep the tentacles of this crime ring stretch, he might not directly prosecute the members. But I have no doubt with the information here that he’ll find a way to make the bastards slowly disappear.”
“That’s a project I wouldn’t mind lending a hand to,” Dunkeld said, his voice as rough as crushed gravel.
“Before you start busting heads,” Sutton interrupted, “we have a more immediate problem.” He looked up from the letter he’d been studying. “The most recent letter to Hanford, from someone who only signs his name with a zed, mentions Miss Wilcox by name.”
Julius tore the letter from his friend’s hand and scanned the document.
Sutton frowned at Julius. “This Zed had become most concerned about the support your Miss Wilcox is raising among the Cits with her pieces in The Times. He wanted Hanford to shut her up.”
“‘By any means necessary.’” The pounding of Julius’s pulse slowed to match the ticking of the clock. Or perhaps time was slowing to match his stalled heart. If this Zed and Hanford were determined to stop her letters, what would they do to stop her from publicly speaking? His mind emptied of thought, leaving only grim determination. “I have to go.”
“We’ll all go,” Dunkeld said.
Summerset spread his hands out, encompassing the office that was littered with evidence of their visit. “This is supposed to be a stealth operation. Hanford isn’t to know we’ve been here.”
“I don’t care, I’m going.” Julius turned for the door. Calm enveloped him like a warm blanket. He’d become an expert during his time in the East at tamping out emotion. Fear and panic were useless when it came time to fight. And he had no doubt that time had come. Amanda was out there alone, unprotected … He ground his jaw so hard the back of his neck ached. No, he couldn’t think of that. Of her. He needed to concentrate on the fight ahead. “The rest of you stay and clean up. Take down what information you can. I’m going to get Amanda.” He strode through the door.
