In the carriage, Virden made Jo lie on the squab beneath a rug. It smelled chokingly of dust and horse. Trying not to cough, she thought over what he had told her. Who was behind this gang of procurers? It was not Virden, he wasn’t smart or powerful. Nor would it be his mother. A woman wouldn’t have overseas connections. If Reade had been investigating them, he might have some knowledge of where Virden was taking her. But dusk was not far off, and at dawn the following morning, the tide would turn and sweep her away from England. It seemed impossible to believe. Too scared to cry, she put her fist to her mouth as her throat tightened on unshed tears.
When Black went to arrest Rivenstock, Reade saddled Ash. Within minutes, he was on the road to the Virdens’ house.
The cottage had a shuttered look. No servant answered the door. Reade broke a window and climbed inside, moving from room to room, gun cocked. In the upstairs bedchamber there was evidence of a hasty departure, but no sign of Jo. When he emerged again through the front door, something bright caught his eye, lying on the porch. He bent and picked it up. A gold heart-shaped locket. He released a slow breath. The last time he’d seen this dainty piece of jewelry was around Jo’s slender neck.
He threaded the fragile chain through his fingers. At first, he feared Virden had ripped it from her, but he was wrong. The clasp was fastened. Might she have dropped it on purpose? As a sign? It told him Verdin had brought her here, but not where he took her. With a curse, he tucked it into his waistcoat pocket.
No staff and no horses in the stables. Virden was on the run, and Jo was with him. Why? Did he intend to sell her as he had so many before? In that case, he didn’t intend to return here. They were shipping Charlotte overseas, was that Virden’s intention for Jo? Reade groaned. His men would have to watch the docks. He’d need a shipping list. Boats departing London within the next week.
Mounting Ash again, he rode to Bow Street. He had lost too many he cared about. Well, it would not end that way. Not this time. He would find Jo and restore her safely to her home. If he didn’t, his life wouldn’t be worth living.
In the mood to draw blood, even should it be aristocratic, Reade set Ash at a gallop and rode through the streets toward Covent Garden.
Chapter Seventeen
The rain eased to a drizzle as Virden’s coach traveled along beside the brick walls rimming the docks where tradesmen and port workers unloaded sugar, tobacco, and spices from trading vessels in the soot-filled air. Through the darkening sky, a sea of masts could be seen rocking on the Thames in the Pool of London. The recent deluge formed impenetrable black puddles over the ground.
Verdin’s coachman stopped at the mouth of a lane too narrow for the vehicle to proceed farther. Alighting on the pavement, Virden paid him, then took hold of Jo’s arm and hurried her along. Her knees were weak, and she feared they’d give way while her nerves jumped at the noise from a tavern on the corner where drunken sailors and stevedores argued or sang shanties off-key. If she escaped Virden, could she find safety among them? She was willing to try.
Virden unlocked a door set in a grimy brick wall and pushed Jo inside. The lack of a window made the space dark and gloomy. It smelled of unwashed bodies and rats. The only furniture, a rickety table and four mismatched chairs and a filthy mattress on the floor against one wall. The stub of candle he lit threw flickering halos over the discolored walls, drawing them in, making the room seem even smaller. Virden hadn’t locked the door. But if she tried to flee now, he would only hurt her. She must bide her time.
He gestured for her to sit and slumped into a chair. Jo as far away from him as possible, but she remained within reach. His earlier bluster had ebbed away during the journey. The prospect of leaving these shores must have lost its appeal.
She rested her elbows on the table and studied him from beneath her lashes. How might she outwit him? When she shuffled her feet to test him, his head came up sharply.
“Don’t even think of trying to escape. You are my ticket out of here. I don’t intend to lose you.”
Did he expect someone? “Are we to sit here all night?” she asked. “I’m hungry, and this chair is hard.”
“Stop your whining. There’s the bed if you prefer it.”
“No, thank you. Lice and rats don’t appeal, but they’re no worse than you.”
He scowled and opened his mouth to rebuke her, but a clatter out in the street brought him to his feet. He hurried over to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out.
It occurred to her that rather than expecting someone, he feared it. He had abandoned not just his mother, but his gang of crooks. If they discovered what he was up to, surely they’d come after him? She shivered. She hoped they wouldn’t. For that would seal her fate.
Virden shut the door and returned to his chair, relief etched on his face as he sat down.
“Are you afraid someone has discovered what you’re up to and come after you?” she asked, watching him, chin resting in her palm.
He glared at her. “Not before the meeting tomorrow at noon. We’ll be long gone by then.”
As he seemed prepared to talk, Jo pursued another topic. “How many of you are there?”
“Nosey, aren’t you? Four, counting my mother and me, plus a few henchmen from the rookeries eager to do our bidding. We have a good number of girls in London brothels now. But the big money is not to be made here in England.”
“Who are those two men?”
He raised his brows. “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”
She shrugged. “I suppose you’re afraid I’ll tell someone.”
“Who will you tell? The captain of the ship?” he sneered. “Lord Rivenstock is one of them.”
The horrible fat man who held the first ball Jo attended. She could believe it of him. “I understood gentlemen had a code of honor.”
“How naïve you country girls are. Our leader is related to the king.”
She slowly shook her head. “Really?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You doubt it? It is Roland, Viscount Lothian. Guineamen made him rich,” Verdin said moodily. “But there’s too much opposition to the trade, so he is keen to diversify where he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty.”
“What are Guineamen?”
“The slave ships from the Guinea coast.”
Jo failed to hide her shock and disgust.
Verdin looked pleased. “I’ve impressed you. As you can see, I’m in excellent company.”
“But you’re leaving. And you can never return to England. Or see your mother again,” she said reflectively. “Although I imagine she won’t want to see you, will she?”
He leaned over and gave her a stinging slap across the cheek.
Jo fell back, her hand to her face. “Brute.”
“That will teach you to button your lip, girl. I warn you not to insult me again. We have weeks before we arrive in Tangiers. So, keep control of yourself.”
Jo rested her head in her arms. Riling him achieved nothing. Best to wait and see what chances the night might bring.
Dusk had fallen, and Reade’s impatience and temper got the better of him as he stood in the Bow Street room, with Black, watching Rivenstock quiver. The lord’s demands for his solicitor had fallen on deaf ears. It was Reade’s hope when Rivenstock discovered himself one step from a Newgate holding cell, where his title was unlikely to protect him for long, it might loosen his tongue.
Reade rested his knuckles on the table before him. “You won’t enjoy being packed into a cell with cutthroats. They live by a certain code which might not tally with yours.”
“They’ll appreciate that diamond ring, gold fob, and watch,” Black said. “And your pretty waistcoat buttons. Pearl, are they?”
“Why am I here?” Rivenstock rubbed a hand across his eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“Give up the names of your gang, and things will go better for you,” Reade said. “Where would Virden take a young woman?”
“He’s taken a girl? How should I k
now where he’d go with her?” Rivenstock’s attempt at surprise evaporated when Reade grabbed his collar.
His hands tightened, and Rivenstock’s face turned crimson. “Where would he take her? A Soho brothel?”
Rivenstock struggled and gasped. “I can’t tell you! No matter what you do to me. I don’t know!”
“Tomorrow’s meeting. Where is it to take place?”
Rivenstock eyed him aloofly. “I’ll have you know I am a close friend of the Prince Regent.”
Black kicked Rivenstock’s chair, sending it back against the wall. The man clutched the sides, his eyes wide. “Lord Reade would have the Regent’s ear long before he listens to the likes of you.”
The man’s shoulders sagged. “If I tell you, will you let me speak to my solicitor before I go before the magistrate? I am a lord of the realm. You cannot send me to Newgate.”
“Providing you get that far. There’s many a slip between cup and lip.” Reade eyed the overweight, indulgent man before him. His fingers itched to take him apart, but he wasn’t about to waste time on him, and he needed that information. “Answer Black’s questions, and I promise you we will send for your solicitor. Now, the address of the meeting place or our patience is at an end.”
“Cannon Lane, near the West India docks. Noon tomorrow.”
“Tell me about this meeting, you shivering lump of lard,” Black demanded as Reade strode out of the room.
“A matter of business on hand,” Rivenstock unwisely replied. His scream of pain echoed down the hallway after Reade.
Was there a chance he’d find Jo in Cannon Lane? There was nowhere else to look except the brothels, and there were dozens of them. He groaned as he ran to get Ash, who he’d stabled nearby. As he mounted the horse, a paralyzing thought struck him. Business on hand, Rivenstock had said. Their business was sending fair English women to the slave markets of eastern countries. That meant they had a woman in mind. Was it to be Jo?
Reade nudged Ash into a gallop.
Chapter Eighteen
How long had she been in this windowless room? Jo had lost track of time. Her neck and her back ached from being constantly tense. She raised her head from her arms to see if Virden still watched her. He sat with his hands shoved into his waistcoat pockets, looking contemplative. He appeared calmer. Did he think himself safe? She supposed he did, for in a few scant hours, they would board the ship. Panic shortened her breath. Somehow, she must escape. At least try, even if he hurt her. But after a glance at the implacable man, her confidence sank to rock bottom.
“We shall breakfast onboard,” he said in a conversational tone as if they were about to take a pleasant sea voyage. “You can sleep in the cabin as long as you wish.”
“I won’t eat or sleep.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, although her stomach felt hollow, and she was dreadfully tired.
He frowned. “You will. I won’t have you arriving in a bedraggled state. I shall buy you a gown.” He tilted his head and observed her with shrewd eyes. “Green and gold silk. It will become you with your red hair.”
“And to think I once considered you a gentleman.”
Verdin’s eyes burned with fury. She had discovered his weakness. Could she use it to distract him? “I am one,” he snarled. “But English society turns its back on a gentleman’s bastard.”
“They have shown a good deal of commonsense in this case.” Jo pushed back out of the reach of his raised arm. As she expected, with a cry of anger, he threw back his chair and stood to advance around the table. “I warned you not to anger me again. Now you’ll be sorry.”
Fear made Jo move faster. She sent her chair crashing on its side in his path. It tripped him up, and he came down hard with a cry as she ran to the door. Wrenching it open, she bolted out into the street, then gasped as the pelting rain blinded her. Night had fallen. She stumbled toward the lighted tavern, unsure of the reception she’d get but no longer caring. Anywhere was better than where she’d been.
Her wet clothes clinging to her, she ran inside. A dozen sets of male eyes stared at her, the air laden with hops, smoke, wet wool, and sweat.
Jo pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. She ran over to the tavern-keeper, who was filling tankards with ale. “Please, could you help me?”
He signaled to a woman perched on a man’s lap. “You are needed, Becky.”
Becky slipped off the man’s knee and received a slap on the bottom. She sashayed over to Jo. “You’re in a state, aren’t you, luv?”
Jo stared at the door, expecting Virden to burst in at any moment. “Yes, I…”
“Not here. Come upstairs. You need to dry off.”
Jo followed her up the stairs to a tiny bedchamber. A small casement window overlooked the street. She stared down through the rain. A group of people scurried past, but she couldn’t pick out Virden among them.
“Now, what can I do for you, pet?” Becky held out a bit of toweling.
“Thank you.” Jo took it and attempted to dry her hair. “A man abducted me from the park. He is out there looking for me.”
“But what are you doin’ down ’ere, luv?”
“It’s a long story. I want to go home, but I don’t have any money.”
“You can turn a trick with one ’o them downstairs.”
Jo stared at her. “What?”
Becky shrugged, looking amused. “Thought so. Gently reared, they call the likes of you. Mayfair, is it?”
“Yes, how did you…?
“Your fine clothes for one.” Opening a drawer, she took out a leather drawstring bag. She extracted some coins. “Doubt I’ll see this again. No matter. Twill be me good deed of the day, won’t it.”
“I’ll return your money, Becky. I promise.”
Becky dropped two silver coins in Jo’s hand. “Two bob should do it. I’ll come outside with you and whistle up a ’ackney. But few come ’ere this time o’ night.”
Jo tensed. “The man who kidnapped me will wait out there.”
Becky removed a knife from a drawer and hid it in the folds of her knitted shawl. “Then ’e’ll be sorry, won’t ’e?”
Her heart in her mouth, Jo followed Becky downstairs.
“Hey, Becky, why don’t you bring yer friend over,” a rough-looking man called. “She looks like she could do with a drink.” His mates boisterously agreed.
“No thanks, Bert,” Becky said. “She’s not for the likes of you.”
“Eh?” Bert lumbered to his feet.
“Fred?” Becky turned to the tavern-keeper. A big beefy man, he stepped forward with a lump of wood in his hand and cast a warning glance at Bert.
“Forget it.” Bert shook his head and sunk back into his chair.
Jo shivered as she and Becky ventured out into the rain and walked toward the main road, which ran the length of the harbor’s edge.
A man appeared from the shelter of a doorway opposite.
“It’s him,” Jo whispered.
“Don’t like the look of ’im.” Becky turned away. “Better I get Fred.”
“No! Don’t leave me, Becky!”
Becky disappeared into the tavern. Jo went to follow, but Virden was quickly upon her. “Thought you’d run away from me, did you? I’ll teach you a lesson.” He thrust her back toward the room. Jo struggled and struck at his face with her nails. With a curse, he pinned her arms and lifted her off her feet.
A clamor behind them made Virden turn. Becky and three men burst out of the tavern and spilled onto the street.
“She’s my wife. Mind your business,” Virden cried.
The men stopped. “’e’s a toff,” one of them said. The men lost interest and filed back into the warmth and dry of the tavern.
“You didn’t say he was your hubby, luv,” Becky called.
A clatter of hooves and a horse rider galloped out of the dark. Reade! Was she dreaming?
Virden pushed her away and ran up the lane.
Jo screamed. “Reade! He’s got a knife.”
; Reade jumped down from his horse and took off at a run after Virden, who’d almost reached the door to his room.
Becky hurried over to her. “Friend ’o yours is ’e?”
Jo nodded.
“I should like to be his friend.” Becky grasped her arm. “Come inside out of the rain.”
“No, I can’t get any wetter. You go in, Becky.” She pushed the money back into Becky’s hands. “And, thank you!”
Stiff with fear, Jo stood alone in the halo of light cast over the street from the open doorway.
Reade brought Virden down in a flying tackle. The villain scrambled away from him. Back on his feet, he rounded on him.
If only she could help, but Jo could only watch helplessly and pray.
Reade needed Virden alive. He aimed his gun at the scoundrel’s chest. “It’s over, Virden.”
“You’re not taking me. You’ll have to shoot me,” Virden snarled.
It would be very satisfying to kill him after what he and his cronies had done to those women and Jo. But neither Virden nor Rivenstock were the mastermind of this cruel enterprise. If Black failed to get the leader’s name from Rivenstock, who appeared too terrified to reveal it, they might never find him.
Reade replaced his gun in his pocket and advanced on Virden, raising his fists.
With a savage laugh, Virden came at him, a knife flashing in his hand. It curved upward in a wicked arc, aiming for Reade’s heart.
Reade leaped to one side, avoiding the blade, then caught and clamped Virden’s wrist in both hands. The knife skittered away out of reach. Bending over, Reade hoisted Virden onto his shoulder, throwing him hard to the ground. Turning, he quickly realized there was no need for haste. Virden lay with his head at an odd angle where he’d hit the edge of the gutter. Reade cursed under his breath.
Introducing Miss Joanna Page 15
