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 several 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.
Someone cursed behind him. Sutton’s voice reached him as though through a tunnel. “Dunkeld, go with him. Summerset and I will stay and join you later.”
A heavy hand landed on Julius’s shoulder bringing him up short. Julius blinked up at Dunkeld.
“We can’t use the front door. This way.” Dunkeld led him out the side, across the yard, and down an alley to where their carriage was waiting. He pushed Julius inside and told their driver where to go.
Climbing inside, Dunkeld pounded on the roof, and the carriage jerked into motion. “She’s at Simon’s. Nothing bad ever happens under that roof. The club is filled with adolescent, self-satisfied twats, but they wouldn’t let a woman come to harm.”
Julius nodded. He sat very still, and willed the carriage to move faster. In his mind, he could still hear the ticking of that damn clock.
In the dark part of him, the part that had never truly left his prison, he knew that time had run out for him and Amanda.
***
Lady Mary pulled open the bottom door on a mahogany bureau and peered inside. “I’ve always wondered what went on in these gentlemen’s clubs. What they were doing that was so illicit that women couldn’t be allowed to see.”
“Have you found anything?” Rubbing her damp palms along the front of her skirts, Amanda ignored the quaver in her voice. As long as she was able to make the words she wanted come out of her mouth, she was fine. A tremor here or there was of no matter.
Because people won debates all the time whilst sounding like scared little mice.
Amanda sagged into her brocade chair. This was a doomed endeavor. Except, she didn’t have to win. She placed both hands on her stomach and took a deep breath. She only needed to delay Hanford.
“Are you certain Mrs. Fry said she’d come?”
Dropping a cigar back in a drawer, Lady Mary pushed it shut with her hip and sauntered to the bookcase. “That’s what she wrote. Did you really think she’d miss this?”
No. That was too much to hope for. Amanda didn’t mind losing the debate if it meant she’d helped Julius. But failing miserably in front of the earnest reformer— “And the rest of the Ladies’ Society?”
“Mrs. Fry is rounding all of them up.” Lady Mary shot her a warm smile. “You will have much support from the crowd.”
She would fail in front of the lot of them. “Oh. Good.” Perhaps, Amanda consoled herself, the women would be denied entrance. Stomach quivering, Amanda focused on keeping her tea down and stared at the closed door. Julius’s acquaintance, Lord Bertrand Waverly, had seated them in a back room and told them he’d return when it was time to speak. The look of glee on his face as he anticipated the debacle to come had almost sent Amanda fleeing back into the carriage.
The room at least was small and windowless, an interior chamber with two doors. The one they’d entered opened onto the hallway. The other, Amanda didn’t know. But the cloistered space helped to calm her nerves.
Lady Mary finished her perambulation of the room and stood in the center. She planted her fists on her wide hips. “Cigars and liquor. No different than any drawing room. I don’t understand the great appeal.”
Amanda shrugged. “A place where gentlemen don’t have to worry about offending the fairer sex, where they can say, or behave, in any manner they wish. Everyone deserves such freedom.”
“Except for women, apparently.” Perching on the armrest of a chair, Lady Mary fluffed out the skirt of her lavender gown. “We don’t have such clubs.”
“You could always start one.”
Pursing her mouth, Lady Mary tapped a finger to her lips. “That is an interesting idea.”
Amanda opened her mouth. She hadn’t been serious. But the door swung inward, and she fell silent.
The Marquess of Hanford stood in the opening, the black silk of his coat glimmering in the lamplight. The pointed tips of his collar were so starched they left little red imprints in the soft skin of his neck. His valet had spared no expense in dressing his master for the debate.
Amanda looked down at her own dress. The preparations for the night had been rushed, and she hadn’t bothered changing from her day gown. The faded Mornine fabric was neat and serviceable, and looked like pauper’s rags next to the marquess.
He clapped his hands together. “My dear, here you are! I wanted to advise you before you spoke. I’m certain public discourse is unfamiliar to you, and I thought you could benefit from my many years of oration.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes. If she hadn’t seen the evidence with her own eyes, she would still believe him a sweet old man dedicated to his cause. But like many politicians, he spoke with a serpent’s tongue.
“You are Miss Wilcox, I presume? Come, come, you must be.”
Amanda nodded.
“And who is this charming lady?” he asked.
Amanda and Lady Mary stood, and Amanda made the introductions.
Hanford clicked his heels together and bowed deeply. “Charming. Simply charming. Cavindish.” His bushy grey eyebrows drew together. “Did we meet at the prince’s annual Michaelmas ball?”
Lady Mary patted her bun. “I think I’d remember meeting a gentleman such as yourself. Also, I make it a point not to celebrate Michaelmas. I have a bone to pick with that particular archangel. As an administrator of cosmic intelligence, he has been much too lax when it comes to informing the populace in the recklessness of the unadulterated slaughter of geese.”
“Uh …” Hanford blew out his cheeks and slid a glance at Amanda.
She frowned at her chaperone. Now really wasn’t the time to act the mental incompetent. Between her and Hanford, it was like watching a joust of who could act the biggest idiot. She cleared her throat. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. I wasn’t certain you would.”
He flashed his incisors at her. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I think the public deserves an informed debate.”
Amanda’s body tensed. Informed debate, her foot. But now wasn’t the time to antagonize the marquess. She’d save her anger for the stage. Perhaps it would help her to find her voice.
Lady Mary glided to a side table and adjusted the mirror hanging above it. “What is it exactly that you gentlemen do here at Simon’s? I’m thinking of opening a ladies’ club, and am curious about your activities.”
“A ladies’ club?” Hanford tossed his head back and loosed peals of laughter. “What on earth would a group of women do at a club?”
Lady Mary tapped her fingers along the marble top of the table and plastered a wide smile on her face. “That’s why I asked you about your club’s activities. To determine our options.”
“It is a sound idea.” If it had sounded foolish to Amanda before, the marquess’s mockery had transformed it to an outstanding proposition. “Women want the freedom to act without the strictures imposed by male society.”
“Isn’t that what your sitting rooms are for?” he asked.
Lady Mary and Amanda stared at him, unblinking.
He straightened his cravat. “Yes. Well, if you are that interested, I’m more than happy to show you around the club. I’m not a member here, but many of my friends are. I’ll introduce you, and you can see what we’re all about.”
Lady Mary rolled up onto her toes. “That would be lovely.” She glanced at Amanda and her smile faltered. “But I’m here to support Miss Wilcox. I don’t suppose you’d like to go on the tour, dear?”
Mingle among the crowds, people who would love to jeer at her, snub her? No, that wasn’t at the top of her list. She shook her head. “But you go if you want the tour. I’m happy to wait here.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. A public tour in a well-respected club couldn’t be dangerous to Lady Mary, could it? Even if the tour was led by a criminal.
Maybe she should go along.
“Wonderful.” Lady Mary bustled to the door and waited for Hanford to open it. “I’ll be back soon, and I’m sure the Ladies’ Society will be here at any moment.”
With a swish of satin, Lady Mary swept from the room. Hanford dipped his head, a slight smile dancing around his lips. “Goodbye, Miss Wilcox.” He tapped the wall three times in quick succession, then left the room, closing the door with a decided snick behind him.
Amanda’s scalp prickled. She stepped forward, hesitated. Lady Mary really should be safe with the marquess in public, and it wasn’t as though she was a helpless, old lady. But Hanford’s behavior had been decidedly odd.
A slight whisper of air on the back of her neck sent a shiver racing down her spine. She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the chill.
Another set of arms wrapped around her from behind. Large, strong, and tight as a python. She opened her mouth to scream, and a meaty palm slapped across her mouth. The man easily lifted her off the ground and turned to the open door in the back of the room. Amanda kicked at him and struggled to pull her arms loose from his hold, to no avail.
Her head started to swim, pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes. She managed to suck down the barest amount of air between his fingers, but it wasn’t enough.
As he carried her through the door and kicked it closed behind them, she realized it wasn’t Lady Mary she should have been worried about.