by Merry Farmer
He was still riding high on those thoughts when Lady Bardess’s sour-faced butler led him into a bright morning parlor near the front of Bardess Mansion. But his cheery smile dropped with a thud the moment he was escorted into the room and found himself face to face with his father and George as well as Lady Bardess.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted before he could gather his wits about him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” his father said with a growl, standing and moving closer to him. When he was close enough to hiss into Max’s ear without Lady Bardess or George overhearing, he went on with, “I forbade you from leaving the house yesterday. Don’t think I don’t know where you’ve been.”
“As I told you, where I’ve been is none of your concern,” Max growled in return. He jerked away from his father, plastering on a smile and approaching Lady Bardess. “My lady, it is good to see you looking so well this morning.”
In fact, the closer Max looked, the less well Lady Bardess looked. She was dressed impeccably in a morning gown of Belgian lace. Her hair was dressed in the latest style. She sat straight and wore a benevolent smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes were those of a cornered animal ready to run at a moment’s notice.
“I am so happy to see you again, Lord Hillsboro,” she said with the perfect manners of a hostess. “Please do sit beside me.” She patted the place next to her on the sofa with a flirtatious grin. That grin didn’t meet her eyes either. “What brings you to my humble home this morning, my lord?” she asked, inching closer to Max once he’d had a seat.
“I, uh—” Max scrambled to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t instantly make his father and his brother—who looked extremely out of sorts and wan, likely from drinking too much the night before—suspicious. “I heard a terrible rumor that your father and brother have abandoned you, and I wanted to make certain you are being looked after,” he said. The best way to avoid disaster was to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“Oh, my father and brother haven’t abandoned me at all,” Lady Bardess said, laughing so suddenly that it set Max’s teeth on edge. “That is to say,” she went on with a gulp, her entire demeanor changing in an instant, “they have abandoned me, but with good reason.”
Max’s pulse shot up. He fought to keep his easy smile in place as he studied Lady Bardess. Something was most definitely wrong. She picked at her lace gown as though she were about to be sent to the gallows. Her cheeks were a little too pink. Most telling of all, she shot a furtive look across the seating area to Max’s father.
Max glanced across to his father as casually as he could. “Have you come to comfort Lady Bardess in her hour of need as well, Father?”
“You know that Lord Chisolm and I are friends,” his father snapped.
A deeper chill passed down Max’s spine. His father and Lord Chisolm were friends. The connection was unnerving, to say the least. It made Max feel sick to wonder if his father—and potentially George as well, for why else would he be there—might be involved in the kidnapping ring.
“As a friend, I would assume you know what has become of Lord Chisolm,” Max said as casually as possible.
“He’s been called abroad,” his father said with an irritated shrug, as though Max were annoying for bothering to ask the question. “My understanding is that Burbage has gone with him.”
“Yes,” Lady Bardess rushed to say, her eyes glassy with anxiety in spite of her smile. “Papa and Paul have sailed off to the Caribbean.” Max caught the briefest hint of the glowering look his father sent Lady Bardess before she waved a shaky hand and went on with, “Or perhaps it was India. South America? I cannot remember. I never pay attention to those sorts of things. Not when there are far more interesting things to occupy my mind.” She slid even closer to Max, taking his hand.
Max arched one eyebrow as he stared at Lady Bardess’s hand on his. He wasn’t certain what she was attempting to do until his father said, “Dear Lillian and I have just been discussing the many benefits of marriage.”
“You’re already married, Father,” Max said in a tight voice, narrowing is eyes at his father, knowing full well where this was going.
“Not him, you dolt, you,” George snorted, then winced, as though speaking aggravated a headache.
“Forgive me, but I have no intention of marrying,” Max said, glaring at his father, then turning a kinder smile on Lady Bardess.
Lady Bardess gaped as though he’d signed her death warrant before smoothing her features. “But, of course, we will marry,” she said with another high, piercing laugh. “You and I make ideal partners, for I am beautiful and wealthy and you are handsome and well-connected.”
“I’m also—” Max stopped, losing his nerve to shout the truth. “—far too inconsequential for a woman of your standing, Lady Bardess,” he recovered as best he could.
His father looked ready to murder him all the same. “You do not give yourself enough credit, son,” he said through a clenched jaw. The spite in his eyes said far more about what his father thought of Max’s worth than his words. “Lady Bardess and I were just finalizing the arrangements.”
“Padron me, the arrangements?” Max stared hard at him.
“It will be a June wedding,” his father said.
“I’d like to see you pull together a wedding as grand as mine was in less than six weeks,” George scoffed, as if he’d already won a prize. A prize Max had absolutely no interest in winning.
“I’m terribly sorry, Father, Lady Bardess, but marriage is out of the question,” Max said.
“You will do as you are told or you will face the consequences,” his father snapped, so loud that Lady Bardess yelped and burst into tears.
In an instant, Max’s sense of the situation and his attempts to figure out what was truly going on shifted. Lady Bardess might not have been a direct accomplice in her father and brother’s activity, but he would bet all the money he had and then some that his father was. The idea repulsed him. It also brought home the horrific realization that he would get further and uncover more information if he played along fully, taking things beyond the half-hearted flirtation he’d intended, rather than fighting at every turn. It also dawned on him that, as odious as she might have been, Lady Bardess might be in a dangerous position as well.
Max cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. He met his father’s eyes with as much gravity as he could muster. He already guessed what his father was thinking, but played along anyhow, pretending to come to a slower realization of the game his father was playing. It was clear he was threatening Stephen and the orphanage, as he had the day before. Carefully, Max let his expression morph into what he hoped his father would interpret as a sudden understanding of exactly who was in danger.
“I see,” he said, lowering his eyes. “In that case….” He managed a weak smile for Lady Bardess, turning his hand so that he could thread his fingers through hers, since she hadn’t moved her hand away from his yet. “A June wedding it is, then.”
Lady Bardess let out a breath of relief, as though granted a reprieve from something.
Max’s father smiled as though he’d won a major victory. “Good,” he said. “I’ll have your mother make the arrangements at once.” He stood, gesturing for George to get up. “I believe our business is done here, for the time being.”
Max let go of Lady Bardess’s hand and stood. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Max feigned defeat, but underneath the act, his heart burned with hatred and the desire to bring his father to justice. He would pretend to be the cowed and dutiful son now, but his father’s days were numbered, as far as he was concerned.
“If you will excuse me as well, Lady Bardess,” he said as soon as his father and George were gone. “I have an urgent appointment I need to keep.”
“Oh? Yes. Well.” Lady Bardess was so distracted Max wasn’t certain she’d heard him.
He left her to her own devices, hurrying out of the mansion and hailing the first ca
b he could. David Wirth needed to know about his father as quickly as possible.
Chapter 15
“The operation to stop those children being shipped overseas and the resulting arrests went fairly smoothly the other night,” Wrexham explained to Stephen as the police carriage entered Batcliff Cross Docks. “We were successful in keeping our investigation a secret. None of the operatives of the ring knew we were coming for them until the very last minute.”
“That’s a blessing,” Stephen said, though he was having a difficult time being completely optimistic about the whole thing. Not when Jane and the boys were still missing. Not when he still felt it was his fault.
“Another advantage we believe we have on our side is that the operators of this ring neither trust nor particularly like the very lowest classes,” Wrexham went on as the carriage jerked to a stop beside a row of rundown warehouse buildings. “They have either overlooked those who they consider dirt or treated them badly, which means some of those people have been willing to talk to us.”
“Have you learned anything interesting?” Stephen asked, his pulse beating with uneasy interest as the two of them climbed down to the bustling, crowded dock.
Stephen tried not to wince at the stench of rotting fish, brackish seawater, and the unwashed bodies of the dock workers and other unfortunate souls who packed the area. Despite his birth, he wasn’t that far above any of the people around him, but even so, the differences in their circumstances of life were palpable. He wasn’t about to turn into a snob, like too many of the aristocrats he knew, by treating those around him as refuse.
“We learned the exact location of the ship that was minutes away from sailing for the orient,” Wrexham said, gesturing for Stephen to follow him down the line of dilapidated warehouses. “We also learned that the children were held here for days before being loaded onto the ship.” He nodded to one warehouse building in particular.
Stephen’s blood ran cold at the sight of it. He couldn’t shake the image of Jane, cold, frightened, and miserable, being locked away in a place as frightening and hopeless as the dock.
His sense of foreboding only increased when Wrexham led him inside of the building—which was already being loaded anew with cargo from a newly arrived ship—and up a rickety flight of stairs to a storage room.
“Isn’t it counterintuitive for this warehouse to be used for shipping when it’s still the subject of an investigation?” Stephen asked as they climbed the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at the workers stacking crates.
Wrexham huffed an irritated breath. “The owner of this building was furious that we wanted to close it up at all. He complained about the money he would lose by letting it stay empty, and all because of a handful of brats no one cared about.”
Stephen’s gut clenched in anger. He could see Wrexham shared his outrage. It added to his estimation of the man’s character.
“This might very well be the last time we get a look at the room where the children were held,” Wrexham went on, opening a creaky door and letting Stephen into the storage room. “I’ve been told it’ll be in use for cargo storage within a few hours.” Wrexham paused, then added, “God damn the men who disregard the lives of vulnerable children in order to make a profit.”
Stephen agreed with him wholeheartedly, but his thoughts were scattered by the stench that slapped him when Wrexham opened the door to the dark and dank storage room. The air was as rotten as could be and heavy with the smell of urine and worse. As Stephen’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted lengths of chains and soiled shackles that had been abandoned against the walls. His eyes stung with furious tears and his heart bled at the thought that innocent children had been kept in such conditions.
“Can we open a window,” he croaked, crossing to the tiny, dirty window at the other end of the room.
“They’re nailed shut,” Wrexham told him.
Stephen tried to open one anyhow, but gave up when he saw it was impossible. He turned to survey the room, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Whoever had held children in that room was evil incarnate. He didn’t even want to think about where the children had been bound for or what sort of lives other children had been sold into. Everything within him burned with fury to think that men like him and Max were vilified and seen as abominations while the men responsible for everything around him likely walked free in society, lauded as upright members of the community.
“I will make whoever did this pay,” he seethed. He’d never been so angry or so deeply hurt in his life.
“Not if I make them pay first,” Wrexham growled.
Stephen glanced to the burly officer as he made his way around the room. Whatever the man’s story, it was a sad one, he was certain. Wrexham glared at the space around him with fists clenched, looking as though he could be a champion boxer if he wanted to. He certainly had the rage in him. But there was also an unmistakable gentleness to the man. Gentleness and pain. He was the sort of man Stephen could be friends with.
Friendship could wait, though. Stephen turned his attention to the details of the room, painful as it was. He had the sense that the children had been moved in haste. Whoever had left bits and pieces of chains and shackles just lying around had been clumsy.
“Either the men who did this wanted to be caught or they had to act so fast that they couldn’t clean up after themselves,” Stephen spoke his thoughts aloud.
“My assessment exactly,” Wrexham said. “And that of the detectives who looked the place over yesterday.”
Stephen turned to him in surprise. “Did they find anything?”
Wrexham let out a wry laugh. “They spent fifteen minutes in here, if that. Even the Met doesn’t think these children are important enough to warrant allocating valuable resources.”
“But you’re here,” Stephen said.
“I’m not a valuable resource,” Wrexham said in a hollow voice.
There was more to the man’s statement than Stephen had time to process. He returned to studying the room, acutely aware there could be clues lying around that everyone else had missed.
He moved in closer to get a look at every corner of the room, studied the remaining chains and shackles, and tried not to lose the contents of his stomach at the alarming piles of refuse scattered around the room. Among the signs of misery and terror were a few incongruous pieces of paper and scraps of fabric or ribbons. He picked up one scrap of paper that seemed too large to be a torn-up receipt or bill of lading.
“Gretton Mill,” he read aloud, brow furrowing. “Why would a paper with the address of a mill in Leicestershire be lying around here?”
Wrexham left what he was scrutinizing in the opposite corner of the room to stride over to Stephen’s side. Instead of commenting, though, he handed Stephen another small slip of paper, his eyes wide with intensity.
Wrexham’s paper was the stub of a train ticket. The letters “Leic” were printed in one corner where the ticket had been torn.
“Do you think it was purchased in Leicester?” he asked.
“It could have been,” Wrexham said. “It very likely was.”
“Is there anything else lying around from Leicester?”
Stephen’s heart thumped against his ribs as he and Wrexham combed through the room, looking for any further clues. The trouble was, hardly anything was left. None of the other bits of paper or scraps of cloth bore any sort of clue. The address of the Gretton Mill and ticket stub were all they had to go on.
“You two, get out of here,” a dock worker barked at them from the doorway, nearly shocking Stephen out of his skin. “Boss says to clean this mess up so the room can be used.”
“This is a police investigation,” Wrexham tried to argue with the man, crossing to glare at him.
The worker backed up a bit, but said, “I’m just doin’ as I’m ordered, sir.”
“We’ve found all we can find here,” Stephen said with a sigh. It felt too much like admitting defeat. At least they had a weak lead they
could pursue.
“There has to be something else to guide us,” he said when he and Wrexham reached the street and the relatively fresh air of the dock. “Somebody has to know something.”
“If they do, they’re not telling,” Wrexham growled.
“About them kids?” Their conversation was interrupted by a gnarled old man with one leg and no teeth.
Stephen and Wrexham turned to face him as though he were the King of Siam.
“Do you know something about the children who were held here?” Wrexham asked, approaching the man.
The old man snorted. “I know nothing,” he said, a shifty look in his eyes.
“Please,” Stephen pleaded with him. “Young lives are at stake. If you know anything at all, please share it.”
“I said I know nothing.” The man raised his voice, narrowing his eyes at Stephen. “Except that this ain’t the only place I’ve heard the wail of young ones and their pitiful cries for their mothers.” His face pinched with misery for a moment before returning to dismal anger.
“Where?” Wrexham asked. “Where else have you heard these sounds?”
“All over,” the old man said. “Up and down the waterfront. Coming from ships.” He snorted, then spit on the rotting planks of the dock. “This weren’t the only place locking them up. There’s more out there, and there will be more and more and more.”
Uneasy prickles raced down Stephen’s back. He wasn’t sure the old man was entirely sane. But he believed him when he implied the ring was still as active as ever.
“We will stop them,” he told the old man, no idea if he would want to be comforted or not.
The old man nodded sharply at him, then turned to hobble away on his crutches.
Stephen and Wrexham walked away as well, heading back to the police carriage. “I hope you’re right,” Wrexham growled. When Stephen glanced at him, he went on with, “That we’ll stop them.”
