Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  Chapter 21

  Jack Dodger was drifting off to sleep after just having made passionate love with his wife when he heard the whistle. Because Livy was snuggled against him, her reddish-brown hair spread out over his chest, she stirred when he stiffened at the sound.

  “What is it?” she murmured.

  “Just something I need to check on.” Kissing the top of her head, he eased out from beneath her. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Jack?”

  “Shh,” he whispered near her ear. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  He padded across the room and quickly drew on his trousers and a shirt before heading downstairs. Even now, a few months after he’d inherited this grand residence in St. James, he had a difficult time believing that he was fortunate enough to have Livy as his wife. As he reached the grand foyer, he considered opening the front door and checking outside for the source of the whistle, but Jack suspected the culprit was already inside somewhere.

  Locks had never stopped Feagan.

  And if Jack knew Feagan at all, and he knew him very well indeed, he suspected he’d find him in the library, where Jack kept most of his liquor. He wasn’t disappointed.

  In his topcoat that had seen better days and his felted beaver hat that seldom came off, even indoors, Feagan was pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

  “Feagan.”

  “Ah, me Dodger. That didn’t take long. ’ope I didn’t disturb wot would have otherwise been a pleasant night.” He glanced around. “Ye got a fancy place ’ere.”

  “Which I’ve no doubt you’ve already visited when I wasn’t about. So, you crafty old blighter, what are you doing here?” he asked as he took the glass of whiskey Feagan offered him.

  “I’m worried about me darling Frannie.” He downed the whiskey and poured himself another. “Sykes ’as put out word that ’e’ll pay well anybody who snuffs ’er out.”

  “Sykes wants her killed? Whatever the hell for?”

  “She’s interfering with his business, taking his boys off the street.”

  “Yes, well, you put out word that if anyone touches so much as a hair on her pretty little head—damnation, she was attacked the other night. I thought it was random, some blighter wanting a toss. She led us to thinking that.”

  “Probably. She always felt guilty about Luke killing a lord and all. Wouldn’t want you lads doing something that might get ye hanged.”

  Jack cursed again. They should have known. She wanted to protect everyone except herself. “Put out word that your lads will bring hell into the rookeries if she’s hurt.”

  “Already did. Afraid it won’t do no good. Yer not in the rookeries anymore, Sykes is. These new lads know wot kind of devil ’e is. They don’t know the kind ye be.”

  Jack cursed soundly again. No matter what they did, how far they climbed, what levels of success they achieved, the rookeries were always dragging them back. “Very well then. I’ll get the others. We’ll show up at your favorite gin palace tomorrow night and make sure the new lads get a taste of what we’re capable of.”

  “Truth be told, I’m afraid it’ll be too late by then.”

  Jack felt his gut clench. “Feagan, what have you heard?”

  “They mean to snuff ’er out tonight.”

  Frannie knew she should have confessed everything to Jim, told him why she thought Sykes might have murdered Nancy—because she had no doubt that Sykes had killed her—but it was all simply gut feelings and she had more pressing concerns. She needed to get Peter and possibly the other children out of London. Jim couldn’t help her with that, but Sterling could.

  Besides, if Jim knew what she suspected, he’d want to protect her, question her, keep her secure, and she didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense right now. The children had to come first. For her, they always came first.

  She opened the back door to the alleyway and released a screech at the sight of the tall, dark figure looming there.

  “Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to frighten you,” Sterling said as he put his arm around her.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Told you I wasn’t going to let you travel about alone. Are you all right? You’re trembling.”

  “Sykes killed Nancy.”

  “What?”

  She nodded at the disbelief in his voice. “Jim just told me. He doesn’t know Sykes did it. They found her body in the Thames, but I know it was Sykes. I shouldn’t have let her go back to him. I should insisted—”

  “Frannie, love, you’re not responsible for every wrong that’s done to someone.”

  “I know. I just…I was so angry with her.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Still, she didn’t deserve what she got. Where’s Peter?”

  “He was sleeping when I left.”

  “Did you leave someone watching him?”

  “No. He promised not to leave.”

  “Oh, Sterling, a child doesn’t understand promises.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s get home and check on him.”

  As his coach traveled quickly along the streets, Sterling held Frannie close against his side.

  “Sterling, I know it would be a great imposition, but could we take him to your country estate?”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary? Why would Sykes think we have him?”

  “Nancy might have told him. I don’t know. I just…I don’t think he’s safe here.”

  “Very well then. We’ll take him to the country.”

  She squeezed his hand. “And the other children? I want to take them as well.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Thirty-six. I know that’s a lot but I’ll make certain they don’t pilfer anything.”

  “Oh, Frannie, I don’t care about all that. I’m thinking logistics. I have two more carriages—your staff could ride in those. We have a large wagon we use for carting our belongings here for the Season, then taking them back to the estate. I think it’ll hold the children. Be miserable for them if it rains, but it’s only a day’s ride if we start with the sun.”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Thank you ever so much.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t help?”

  “No, I knew you would.”

  Two months ago, he wouldn’t have. That was the thing of it. He hadn’t cared about the orphans in the streets. He’d cared about only his own pleasures and given little thought to how others survived. They weren’t his concern. What a shallow young man he’d been.

  When they arrived at his residence, Frannie dashed up the stairs while Sterling spoke with Wedgeworth about the arrangements he wanted made with the carriages and the wagon.

  “Sterling!”

  He looked to the top of the stairs, and he could tell by her stance what was coming.

  “He’s gone.”

  They searched everywhere. Sterling thought perhaps he’d gone to the art room. That evening Sterling had let him use charcoal to draw a picture before scurrying off to bed.

  For a moment Frannie studied the picture Peter had drawn. It was all harsh lines, dark beady eyes, pointed teeth.

  “Something that gives him nightmares, I suppose,” Sterling said, as uncomfortable now looking at the picture as he had been when Peter showed it to him. What sort of dark thoughts ran through that child’s mind?

  Frannie gave Sterling a sad smile. “That’s Sykes.” She turned away, heading for the door. “I want to check on the orphanage.”

  “I can see him coming for his son,” Sterling said as he followed her down the stairs, “but the others—”

  “You don’t understand Sykes. When I was twelve, he told me that he wanted me to be his girl. He tried to kiss me. I kicked him. Told him I’d rather die. He told me there were worse things than death. I suppose that’s the reason he arranged my little journey into hell.”

  “You failed to mention that.”

  “It only occurred to me tonight when I heard about Nancy.�
��

  “I like this fellow less and less. Surely Swindler can do something about him.”

  “Not without proof, and Sykes is very difficult to find. He hides in the shadows.”

  Which gave him an advantage over Sterling.

  They went outside and started down the steps. The coach was waiting, but Sterling didn’t see the driver or footman. Probably having a spot of tea in the kitchen.

  “I need to alert the driver—”

  She’d reached the bottom of the steps ahead of him, and he realized there were more shadows there. Two of the gas lamps weren’t burning.

  Where was Frannie? She’d been in his field of vision and then she’d disappeared beyond the hedgerows.

  “Wedgeworth!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he hurried down the steps.

  He cursed the darkness that swallowed her. He saw what he thought were shadows…moving…he heard a feminine grunt.

  “Frannie!”

  He heard rapidly pounding footsteps coming from the residence. “Your Grace!”

  More light was bobbing his way. He could make out the shapes now. Two men bending over someone—

  “Frannie!”

  The men took off at a run.

  “Get them!” Sterling yelled to his footmen as he knelt beside the crumpled and broken woman.

  “Dear God, it’s Miss Darling,” Wedgeworth said as he held a lamp higher.

  Sterling couldn’t respond. His throat was thick with tears. Very gently he cradled her in his arms and stood. He swallowed down the knot of fear. “When Catherine fainted, Claybourne sent one of the servants to fetch a Dr. Graves.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. That would have been Jessup.”

  “Send him for Graves. Immediately.”

  She lay so still that Sterling kept his fingers pressed to the pulse at her neck, feeling the slight, faint fluttering. She had a horrible gash on her head. One of the maids had helped him change her into a nightgown so she’d be more comfortable. She was already bruising. It was evident they’d been beating her. If only he’d seen them. If only he hadn’t stopped on the stairs. If only he had better vision at night. If only…

  Sending for Graves was like putting out word using a telegraph. Claybourne, Catherine, and Swindler arrived in short order and were quickly followed by Dodger, who brought along a disreputable-looking chap he introduced as Feagan. The old man leaned on his cane, studying Frannie as she lay with her glorious red hair spread out over the pillow. This was the man Frannie had thought might be her father. Judging by the way he watched her, as though it would kill him to lose her, Sterling thought she might have the right of it.

  “She’s taken quite a blow to the head,” Graves said as he leaned over, opening one closed eye and then the other. He straightened and glanced around. “I need all of you except Lady Catherine to leave so I can examine her more fully.”

  Several mouths opened—

  “You heard him,” Catherine said sternly. “Go. You do her no good by delaying this. We’ll join you in the library when we know more.”

  As Sterling heard the others leaving, he stayed where he was—standing beside the bed, gazing down on her. Catherine touched his arm.

  “Sterling, you must leave as well.”

  “I need a moment.”

  With a nod, she led Graves over to the sitting area.

  Sterling bent over and whispered near her ear, “Please, sweet Frannie, don’t let Sykes take you. I swear to you that I’ll never let him harm you again.” He kissed her temple. It wasn’t enough but it was all he could offer her.

  “I didn’t see them lurking about,” Sterling said for what seemed like the hundredth time. He wasn’t accustomed to defending his actions. He’d tried to welcome them into his library by offering them a shot of strong whiskey and anything else they wanted. It seemed all they wanted to do was determine how he was responsible for this tragedy.

  “How could you not?” Swindler asked, his anger still apparent, his inquisition growing tedious.

  “Enough!” Dodger shouted. “What’s done is done. What we have to do now is figure out how best to protect Frannie.”

  “Sykes ain’t loikely to fergive ’er,” Feagan said. “Only one way to make sure ’e never harms ’er again.”

  “And what would that be?” Sterling asked.

  Swindler looked at him as though Sterling had left his common sense on a sideboard somewhere.

  “We kill ’im,” Feagan said in the same tone that someone might say, “Pass the marmalade, please.”

  The next words Sterling spoke were ones he’d never thought to hear himself say. “How do we manage that?”

  “We have to find him first,” Claybourne said.

  “Can’t you just go to his residence? Wait for him in the shadows as he did for Frannie?” Sterling asked.

  “Someone like Sykes doesn’t exactly give out his address,” Swindler said. “He works in secret. He hires people to do the dirty work for him. Unless it’s very personal. Then he might see to it himself, but no one betrays Satan, because his revenge is hell.”

  “We need to lure Sykes out,” Jack said. “The problem is that he knows all of us, knows how we feel about Frannie. He wouldn’t trust us if we arranged a meeting.”

  “He doesn’t know me,” Sterling said.

  He thought he’d have been able to hear a feather land on the floor, the room got so quiet.

  “Could work,” Feagan finally said, scratching his beard.

  Sterling did hope there weren’t lice living in there, although God help him, he’d welcome the pesky buggers if it meant not losing Frannie.

  “What could work?” Swindler asked, the impatience clear in his voice.

  “Sykes is not only a burglar, but ’e provides boys for others in the trade. Right? Right. So we get the word going that a Mr.”—Feagan looked Sterling over as though trying to measure his worth—“Knight? I think that’ll work. A Mr. Knight is in need of a breaking-in boy. And he desires a meet with Mr. Sykes.”

  “Sykes isn’t going to meet with him without checking him out first,” Claybourne said.

  “Course ’e won’t. He ain’t a fool. Ye’d be in the shadows watching ev’rything. Eventually, Sykes will show because our Mr. Knight ’ere will insist on doing business only with Mr. Sykes. When Mr. Sykes shows, ye take care of ’im.”

  Swindler gave Sterling a hard stare. “I think we need to make certain His Grace understands exactly what we’re proposing here.”

  “I assure you that I’m not quite the simpleton you seem to think I am. I’m to serve as the bait. When the prey takes the bait, you’re going to kill him. And I assume, Inspector, that you’ll investigate and determine it was an accident.”

  Swindler shrugged. “Or self-defense.”

  Claybourne leaned forward from his perch on the corner of the desk. “You need to understand, Greystone, that it’s not an easy thing to live with the responsibility of a man’s death on your conscience. It’s not a decision to be made in haste or in anger.”

  Sterling gave his full attention to the old man. “Get the word out.”

  Sterling sat beside Frannie’s bed, holding her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She had yet to awaken. Graves thought she would…eventually. She had two broken ribs, immense bruising, but no damage internally. Graves tried to credit Sterling with getting to her quickly and in time.

  But everyone in the library had recognized Graves’s desperate attempt to shift blame to some nameless, faceless fellow, when everyone knew who truly was to blame for Frannie’s dire condition. A man who couldn’t see his hand if he held it out straight from his side. A man for whom the dark was the enemy. They didn’t know the particulars, of course. And he wasn’t about to enlighten them. He didn’t have to see Sykes once he lured him out. Unless Sterling intended to shoot him—and that was a real possibility. Mostly he’d shot game with rifles in Africa, but on occasion he’d used a pistol. It would be much easier to conceal.

  Somet
imes one of the men would come in and offer to relieve him or to report that nothing had yet been heard from Sykes. It would probably be twenty-four to forty-eight hours before a meeting would be arranged.

  Sterling knew he was being reckless to be the one involved. But he hadn’t protected her before. He was damned sure going to see that she was protected forever—no matter what the cost.

  He heard the soft footsteps. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Catherine. She pushed a chair over and sat beside him. “How is she?”

  “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

  “She will.” She squeezed his hand. “You can trust them, Sterling.”

  “Don’t count on it. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Swindler uses this opportunity to set me up to be hanged. He has a rather low opinion of me.”

  “They all love her.”

  “She’s very easy to love.”

  “Do you love her?”

  He nodded. “She’s so good, Catherine. I’ve never met anyone as unselfish as she is. I want her to be a little bit selfish. I could teach her that, you know. To put her own pleasures first.”

  “Is that what you and Father fought about?”

  “It was part of it.” He looked at her. “I did go see him, Catherine. When I got back to London. He wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “Why didn’t you come see me?”

  “You were managing things quite well without me, and my presence would have just complicated matters.”

  She rubbed her hand up and down his arm. “I shall take your word on that.”

  They sat in silence for several long minutes. He thought about brushing Frannie’s hair. Thought about lying beside her and holding her—one last time. After Sykes was taken care of, everything would change. Sterling would see to it. He knew what he had to do and as much as he didn’t want to, he would do what had to be done. Strange that it was this wisp of a woman who had changed him into the man his father had thought he’d never be.

  “Sterling, I know you want to do this,” Catherine said quietly, “but there are incredible dangers. If anything should happen to you, you’ve left no heir.”