by Merry Farmer
Chapter 12
Max’s thoughts were scattered and his mind was firmly still in Limehouse when he charged up the steps of his family’s townhouse in Mayfair. He barely acknowledged his father’s butler when the man opened the door for him, heading straight for the stairs that would take him up to his bedroom. He needed to bathe, change clothes, and think. Jane and the two boys couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air after the concert. Lady Bardess might not have been directly involved, but he had a hard time believing she was completely innocent. If he was clever enough, if he combined forces with Stephen and, with any luck, David Wirth and Lionel Mercer, there had to be a way they could discover—
“So the prodigal son has returned home at last.”
Max was jolted out of his thoughts before he’d made it halfway up the stairs as his father stepped out of the afternoon parlor. Irritation warred with a reluctant sense of guilt as Max stopped short and twisted to face him.
“I wasn’t aware you’d returned from the country,” he said, his heart thundering against his ribs from more than just his dash through the front hall.
His father’s face remained as dark as a storm as he strode to the foot of the stairs. The way he glared up at Max made it feel as though his father were the one on a higher level while Max was forced to cower beneath him.
“I had business that brought me back to town,” his father said, his expression darkening. “Imagine my surprise when I learned from Mr. Holmes—” he nodded to the butler, “—that you have not been home for days.”
It was an exaggeration, but Max couldn’t deny he hadn’t been home the night before. His father wasn’t a stupid man. Max knew exactly what the intent behind his comment was. He descended the stairs slowly, but stayed one step above his father, if only for the illusion of added height that the single stair would give him in the unpleasant conversation he was about to have.
“I’m nearly thirty, Father,” he said. “Where I spend my time should not be any of your concern.”
“It is my concern when you continue to live under my roof, surviving off of my money.”
Max clenched his jaw. “I have money of my own.”
His father snorted. “Barely enough to support you in the sort of decadent life you choose to live.”
Max frowned, wondering what sort of life his father thought he lived. “I have no need to continue to live here,” he said with what he hoped came off as a casual and confident shrug. “I’ll move out immediately, if that’s what you want.”
“Why? So that you can go live with your pauper lover?” His father’s expression turned dangerous.
As much as he hated it, fear coiled around Max’s heart. He wasn’t fool enough to think any sort of paternal love would keep his father from exposing who he was, or from turning him over to the authorities.
“I would think you’d be glad to be rid of me,” he said instead, his voice hoarse with old and fading resentment over his father’s rejection.
“Getting rid of you isn’t the issue,” his father said, as cold as winter. “The embarrassment of the whole thing is.”
“Ah, yes. I would hate for you to be embarrassed by me,” Max seethed. He blinked, tilted his head to the side, then went on with, “Oh, wait. You’ve been embarrassed by me for a decade now.”
“Because you are a filthy perversion,” his father said without pause. “You bring disgrace on us all with your sordid affairs and public carrying on.”
Again, Max wondered if his father had the first clue what his life was truly like. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He wasn’t the type to seek out empty pleasure or to flaunt his choices. Half of the reason he loved Stephen so much was because Stephen was the same. And not a single person of their acquaintance would ever look down far enough to see Stephen or the orphanage, or to take notice of Max’s interests there.
Unless they had been to the concert.
“Did someone say something to you?” he asked, inching closer to his father in the hope that he would be able to pry whatever information he needed out of the man by standing up to him. “Did something happen at Lady Bardess’s concert that you found embarrassing?”
He expected his father to flounder and struggle to answer, but the man snapped, “Lillian Bardess is exactly the bride you need. She is wealthy, respected in the only social circles that matter, and well-connected.”
Max’s brow shot up. “You want me to marry Lady Bardess?” The notion was so preposterous that he laughed.
“Want? No, son, I demand that you do,” his father said with a grim laugh. “Before the veil drops from her eyes and she understands what sort of an abomination you are.”
“No,” Max said in no uncertain terms. “I cannot stand the woman.”
“Your opinion of her is irrelevant. You will marry her.”
Max gaped at his father. “Again, might I remind you that I am not some green youth. I am a grown man, and you have no right to make my decisions for me.”
“He does when you’re behaving like a blasted idiot.” The confrontation was interrupted as George swayed into the front hall, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bleary look on his face.
Max sighed in exasperation. “If you want to talk about abominations, ask George to recount the tale of his behavior at the concert yesterday.”
George snorted in indignation; a gesture that tipped him off-balance. “I behaved like a perfect gentleman,” he argued, swaying to regain his balance.
“By staring into the décolletage of whichever lady you happened to be standing next to? By arriving drunk and rushing out of the room when the concert was barely finished even drunker? And where did you go when you fled? To vomit into some ornamental vase in an adjacent parlor?”
A sudden thought stuck Max through his anger. George had left the room before the concert ended. Lady Bardess’s butler had said he’d broken a vase. He might have been in the hall, or even the parlor with the children, when Jane and the others vanished. George might know something.
“What happened to them?” he asked, stepping down from the stairs and crossing to stand toe to toe with his inebriated brother. “Did you see anything? Were you in the hallway when those children went missing?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” George said, then hiccupped. The alcohol fumes radiating from him turned Max’s stomach.
“The only children you need to concern yourself with are the ones you will get on Lady Bardess once you are married to solidify the alliance between our families,” his father said, pulling himself to his full height and crossing to trap Max between himself and George.
“I will not marry Lady Bardess,” Max insisted. “Nor any other woman,” he added. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“You will do as you’re told,” his father seethed. “Lillian Bardess is the daughter of my friend, and she is in need of particular protection right now.”
“I don’t care if she’s a member of the royal family,” Max argued, daring to raise his voice. “I’m not marrying her. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a desperately important matter to attend to.”
He turned to go, but his father grabbed his wrist so hard it hurt.
“Running off to bugger your pitiful lover, are you?” his father growled, leaning close enough to murmur threateningly into Max’s ear. “Or perhaps some of those children of his?”
“Mr. Siddel’s orphanage is for girls only.”
“Men like you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near children,” his father went on, ignoring the comment.
“Should they be allowed around men like George?” Max challenged him. “Or half of the arrogant, leering guests at Lady Bardess’s concert?” He hadn’t liked the looks that any of the members of his own social class had directed at the children. No wonder Stephen had felt so uneasy about the concert from the beginning.
“If you care about that man or those children at all, you will cut off all contact with them at once,” his father said, bending even
closer to Max’s ear, his expression threatening to the point of chilling Max. “It would be tragic if some sort of accident were to befall them, say, a fire. Or if your beloved Mr. Siddel were to be arrested on charges of sodomy and abuse of children.”
Max swallowed hard, meeting his father’s stare with pure hatred. He wanted to tell the bastard off and denounce everything he was saying. The trouble was, men like his father absolutely had it within their capability to destroy men like Stephen. The truth wouldn’t matter when title and money spoke out against poverty and what the world saw as perversion.
Max shook his father off. “I will never, in all my life, understand why men like you and like George—drunken, cruel, faithless louts who destroy lives and innocence for pleasure—are praised and awarded the highest place in society while men like Stephen—good, kind, and brave—are deemed filth and threatened with imprisonment and worse. If that is the world you live in, then I want no part of it.”
He jerked away, marching toward the stairs without a backward look, seething with hatred.
“You will not be permitted to leave the house unless I say so,” his father called after him. “Holmes has been given orders to make certain you stay put until our meeting with Lady Bardess tomorrow.”
Max nearly missed a step, but soldiered on. He wasn’t about to let his father see him sweat. He wasn’t about to be locked in his room like a disobedient child either. The fact that his father had arranged some sort of meeting with Lady Bardess was a minor annoyance that he would easily get around. Once he was able to shift a few things into place, all the locks in the world couldn’t keep him chained to a life he hated. And nothing or no one could stop him from helping Stephen to find Jane and the others.
Stephen glanced at the card David Wirth had given him during the dance at The Chameleon Club, then up at the nondescript building in front of him. He had the address right, he’d just expected to find more than an ordinary building, just like every other on the busy street. A small plaque beside the door listed the businesses housed inside, and the offices of Dandie & Wirth were among them.
It wasn’t until Stephen walked through the door into the ground floor office that he knew he’d come to the right place. The building outside might have been plain and uninteresting, but the office itself was elegant and refined. Two leather-upholstered sofas sat facing each other near the center of the room. Bookshelves lined with everything from books to exotic art pieces stood around the perimeter of the room. A stove with a steaming kettle sat in a corner. The wallpaper and curtains were perfectly matched with the carpet. But the most striking feature of the room was the large desk that faced the door and the man who sat behind it.
Even though he’d only met the man twice, Stephen would have known Lionel Mercer if they’d encountered each other in a dark alley. Lionel was dressed in calming shades of blue that set off the color of his eyes. Not a hair on his head was out of place. The man exhibited the same otherworldly power that he had at The Chameleon Club. And as soon as Stephen stepped through the door, he stood to greet him like an old friend.
“Good morning, Mr. Siddel,” Lionel said with a smile that was almost teasing in its welcome. “It’s nice to see you again. How can I help you?”
Stephen cleared his throat and stepped deeper into the office. It was ridiculous that he should be intimidated by a man as elfin as Lionel Mercer, but he was. He removed his hat and said, “I was told that Dandie & Wirth might be able to assist with a serious problem I have.” He cleared his throat and muttered, “Well, at least, David Wirth implied that he might be the sort who could help with this particular problem.”
“We are experts in helping people with serious problems,” Lionel said, coming around his desk with a look of extreme interest. He leaned against the front of the desk and crossed his arms. “What is the nature of your problem?”
“As you know, I run an orphanage in Limehouse,” Stephen began, turning his hat in his hands nervously. It was ridiculous for him to be anxious around Lionel when he had been able to face down Lady Bardess as though he were her equal. Then again, Stephen wasn’t certain anyone was Lionel Mercer’s equal. “And yesterday, one of our children went missing. As well as two little boys from the home run by the Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow.”
“Missing children?” The question was asked by David Wirth himself as he came out of the office at the back of the main room.
Stephen was relieved at the sight of the man. Whereas Lionel filled him with an odd sort of intimidation, David made him feel as though help had arrived. It was an uncanny juxtaposition of personalities.
“Yes,” Stephen said. “A little girl from my orphanage and two boys from the Sisters’. I was given the impression in our last conversation that you might know what to do about children that have gone missing.”
“Unfortunately, we do,” Lionel said, pushing away from his desk and crossing the room to the stove, where he set to work making tea. Stephen watched him for a moment, his brow inching up over the ease with which such a powerful man rushed to make tea for a visitor.
“When did these children go missing?” David asked, gesturing for Stephen to have a seat on one of the sofas.
“Yesterday,” Stephen said, feeling confused, but taking the offered seat all the same, “my children and the Sisters’ performed at a benefit concert that was held at the Bardess mansion. Afterwards, we realized that three of the children were nowhere to be found.”
David’s expression filled with alarm, but with a certain measure of triumph as well. “You’ve come to the right place, Mr. Siddel,” he said as Lionel returned to the sofa to hand Stephen a cup of tea. “We’re already investigating this kidnapping ring, and we won’t stop until we bring it down.”
Stephen nearly dropped the teacup and its contents on the floor. “A kidnapping ring?” His gut filled with dread and guilt. Not even a sip of the excellent tea could tamp it down. “I can’t—” he stammered, finding it suddenly hard to catch his breath. Shock turned to fear within him as all the possibilities of what might have happened to Jane and the boys closed in on him. “We have to do something,” he said, his hands starting to shake so badly that tea splashed over the edges of his cup.
Lionel cleared his throat and quickly took the cup and saucer from Stephen’s hands. “You’re in luck. We’ve been doing something for weeks now.”
“My dear Jane,” Stephen went on in a strangled voice, barely hearing him. “And Jerry and Robbie. I’m not ignorant enough not to know what happens to children who have been taken like that.” His pulse shot up so fast and hard that it made him dizzy and he thought he might be sick. His heart felt as though it were being turned inside out.
David shifted to sit beside him, taking his hand. “It’s all right, Stephen,” he said as though they’d been friends for decades. “We are aware of the situation, and believe me, we are doing everything humanly possible to resolve it.”
“You will be pleased to know that there was a vital break in the case just yesterday,” Lionel added, sitting on Stephen’s other side. His manner suddenly shifted from intimidating to comforting as though he were an actor who had switched masks and committed to a whole new role.
“A break in the case?” Stephen forced himself to take a deep breath and pull himself together. He wasn’t going to find Jane if he fell apart.
David’s expression grew serious. “The police prevented a ship full of children from leaving Batcliff Cross Dock last night.”
A surge of hope filled Stephen so suddenly that it made him dizzy all over again.
“Dozens of children were rescued, and some of the men responsible were captured by police,” Lionel added.
“Jane,” Stephen said, twisting to grasp David’s hand with both of his. “Did you find a girl named Jane Pratt?”
David glanced past him to Lionel. Lionel’s face pinched into a frown. “We did not,” he said. “The children all gave their names, but there wasn’t a Jane among them.”
> “What about Jerry? Or Robbie?” Stephen’s emotions ran riot, ricocheting between hope and despair.
“There was a Bob,” David said with a sympathetic wince. “He was a lad of about thirteen?”
Stephen slumped where he sat. “No. Robbie is barely seven, as I understand it.”
“So your children weren’t among those who were rescued,” David said, drawing the same, horrible conclusion Stephen had.
“That means there’s another cell of this group out there, as we feared,” Lionel said, speaking to David as though Stephen weren’t there. “And I would be willing to bet that Chisolm is involved.”
“Chisolm?” Stephen’s back snapped straight. “As in Lord Chisolm?”
“The very one,” David said gravely. “His son, Lord Burbage, was one of the men arrested last night.”
“Although, as I understand it, he’ll be released before teatime today,” Lionel added bitterly. “Ah, the benefits of a noble title.”
“Lord Chisolm is Lady Bardess’s father,” Stephen said as though he’d been punched in the stomach. He cringed, wanting to break down into tears, but knowing he couldn’t. Not without embarrassing himself far more than he wanted to. “I knew I never should have let my girls perform at that house.”
David let out a tight breath, releasing Stephen’s hand long enough to rub a hand over his face. “It stands to reason that if Chisolm and Burbage are in the thick of this, Lady Bardess could be as well.”
Stephen fought to think of the situation rationally, in spite of the fact that his heart was ready to break into a thousand pieces. He knew he’d been wrong to take his focus off the girls, no matter how much Max had argued otherwise. He should have known better. Still, he tried to reason. “I’m not sure Lady Bardess is a willing participant. She seems far too flighty for that.”
“You’d be surprised,” Lionel said with a drawl. “Women can get away with murder by pretending to have fluff for brains. Trust me.”
Stephen did. He trusted Lionel and David implicitly, though he wasn’t certain why, other than that they were like him. They had the capacity to understand.
