CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
* * *
When Gareth opened the door to the Home, Rufus thought he looked thinner and more careworn than before. The smug, self-righteous fellow he’d previously found so obnoxious seemed to have packed his bags and left.
“I don’t know if I should be talking to you, Lord Southbrook,” he said doubtfully, when they were together in the office. “I believe you and Averil have had a falling-out. The only reason I opened the door to you was because I still hope to receive your donation. Things are rather desperate at the moment.”
Rufus waved an impatient hand. “Of course. And this isn’t about Averil. This is about what is happening right here under your nose.”
Gareth hesitated and then gestured for Rufus to take a seat. “What do you mean?”
Rufus sat down, removing his disreputable cap and tossing it onto the desk. “I followed Jackson to a brothel,” he said without preamble, “and after he left with Sally Jakes, I went inside and spoke to the woman he took there. Betty. One of your women, Doctor Simmons.”
Gareth stared.
“It seems that Jackson and Sally are in cahoots and have been for a while. Jackson finds you women for your Home, is that right? Women he says are in need of care? Well, the truth is, he brings the women here, for you to add a little polish to them, and then he either persuades them to leave or terrifies them into leaving. He and Sally then put the women into some of her posher houses, to cater for the more up-market gentlemen.”
“Jackson and Sally Jakes?” Gareth repeated. He looked angry, a flush in his cheeks and his eyes glittering, and for the first time Rufus could see in him a similarity to Averil.
“She owns a number of houses of ill repute, as well as The Tin Soldier,” Rufus went on.
“I’ll call in the police,” Gareth said, and stood up, his hands clenched.
Rufus smiled without humor. “She probably has any number of them in her pay, but I can give you a name you can trust.” He proceeded to give Gareth the name of one of the officers he’d worked closely with during his days with the Guardians.
Gareth went out of the door but returned a moment later looking troubled. “Averil was here not long ago,” he said. “She was worried about Violet. Now both of them seem to have disappeared. Mrs. Claxton says she saw Violet leaving through the back, and then Averil following her. She says she heard Violet say earlier, to Molly, that she was going to The Tin Soldier. Do you think . . .?”
Rufus jumped up. Violet, who knew more than she would say, and Averil, who was always trying to save people. He felt a hollow in his chest, a warning of danger that he had long ago learned never to ignore.
“Would Averil go to The Tin Soldier on her own?” he asked sharply, and then thought how stupid the question was. Of course she would.
“I don’t know. If she thought Violet was in danger she might. Averil is rather impulsive, Lord Southbrook, as you’re probably aware.”
Rufus was already at the door. “Call on my policeman, and I’ll go and look for Averil. And hurry!”
They were all there, the three of them, faces blank with shock as they turned toward her. Jackson was the first to recover. He gave a gruff chuckle and rose up from his chair. Beside him, Violet shrank in on herself, her eyes dropping to the floor and her pale hair falling over her face as if she wanted to hide behind it. Sally was the calmest, merely raising her eyebrows, and saying, “This is a private room, Lady Averil. It’s manners to make an appointment.”
“I’ve come for Violet,” she said in her firmest voice, as if she expected nothing but obedience. “I need her at the Home immediately.”
“She’s not yours to order about,” Sally snapped. “This is ’er ’ome, right ’ere. Just as it was your mother’s ’ome. You might come in ’ere with your ’oity-toity ways, but I know different, don’t I? You’re no better than me, Lady Averil, because your mother was no better than me. Got to the point that she’d do anything for a coin or two, Anna would.”
Averil felt a sharp stab of pain in her heart at the picture this conjured up of her mother’s desperation.
Sally seemed to know it and gave a satisfied smile.
“Leave her alone.” Suddenly Violet was coming to her defense, placing herself between her mother and Averil. “She hasn’t done nothing to you. She’s my friend,” she blurted out, losing some of her carefully learned vocabulary.
Sally’s mouth tightened. “Go downstairs, Violet,” she said in an impatient voice. “Put some of your ladylike ways to good use.”
“No.” Violet lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not. I’m going to tell them the truth. You can’t force me to keep quiet. You can’t force me to do anything anymore.”
Sally’s face altered, her features tightening with bitterness and pain and something more that frightened Averil. “And do you think Lady Averil ’ere will look after you? You’re my daughter, stupid girl. No lady would want to be friends with the likes of us. Now do as you’re told.”
Violet turned to look at Averil, her eyes wide and pleading, but before Averil could answer, she darted past her and out of the room, her footsteps clattering down the stairs.
“Violet!” Averil called after her, and belatedly went to follow.
Jackson caught her arm, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “Not so fast, my lady,” he said, and his ugly face twisted into a nasty smile. “We haven’t finished with you yet, have we, Sal?”
Sally sauntered toward her, malice in her face. “If you think you’re just going to waltz off with my girl, then you’ve got another think coming,” she said. “Women go missing around ’ere, didn’t you know? Some of ’em are murdered. You shouldn’t go wandering around on your own. Never know what might ’appen.”
Averil did her best not to show fear, refusing to drop her gaze or her chin, although inside she was quaking. “Let me go,” she said coldly. “I want to leave now and I’m taking Violet with me.”
Jackson gave a snort of laughter. “What do you think, Sal? Is she leaving?”
Slowly, Sally shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, “I don’t think she is.”
He could hear their voices as he reached the top of the stairs. Averil sounded angry, but she also sounded scared. He broke into a run and reached the door of Sally’s office out of breath, just in time to see Jackson manhandling a struggling Averil, while Sally was watching on with a smile of cruel satisfaction.
“Let her go, Jackson, or I’ll break your arms,” he growled.
Averil cried out, and Jackson let her go so suddenly that she stumbled and almost fell. Rufus hurried forward and caught her. His arm was tight around her waist, and he drew her in to his side, holding her there in case she tried to pull away. She didn’t. She seemed to melt into him, clinging to his jacket, and he could feel her trembling.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, more shaken than he’d felt for years.
She nodded and lifted her head to look at him. There was a wobbly smile on her lips and her hair was falling untidily about her shoulders and her sleeve was torn. If he hadn’t reached her in time . . . the thought made him angrier still, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He turned back to the other two, who were watching him intently.
“Game’s up, Sally,” he said. “The police are on their way.” He eyed Jackson, who had begun slinking around the wall toward the window. He almost hoped he’d jump—from up here he was sure to break his neck.
Sally curled her lip at him, putting on a brave face. “And what will they do? Slap my ’and and shut me down for a week or two, then go back to sleep?”
“Not this time.” His voice went hard. “A woman died, remember? I imagine that was Jackson’s doing. Why did you kill her? Didn’t she want to go with you, or was she going to tell Doctor Simmons what was happening?”
“It were an accident—” Jackson began.
“Shut up!” Sally flashed at him. Then she turned once more to Rufus, her green eyes watchful. “Women die around ’ere all the time. Life wears ’em down or they meet the wrong customer. You can’t blame us for every tart who’s found dead.”
Averil touched his hand and murmured, “Violet. I need to find her.”
Rufus hesitated, but she was already moving away and he doubted he could stop her. “If you get into trouble,” he said dryly, “I suggest you scream.”
Her lips quirked, and then she was gone. He heard her hurrying down the corridor to the stairs as he focused his attention once more on the two left in the room. His voice dropped threateningly, so there could be no mistake.
“I want to know the name of every woman you’ve taken out of Doctor Simmons’s Home and then you are going to tell me where they are now.”
Averil wondered if Violet had left the building, but something told her there was more to her visit here than a confrontation with Sally Jakes. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she looked about her and called out.
“Violet?”
A face peered at her around the corner from the far room—a thin woman in a head scarf and holding a mop. “Violet’s gone down to the kitchen,” the woman whispered loudly, looking anxious. “Me daughter’s down there and she promised to look out for her. She’s only eleven.”
“The kitchen?”
The woman pointed at a door near the staircase. Averil thanked her and went through, down creaky stairs, and into the shadowy depths of The Tin Soldier. It grew so gloomy that she had to feel her way along the gritty surface of the wall, and she wondered if she should turn back, but then she remembered Violet’s white, frightened face and the expression in her eyes when she stood up to Sally on Averil’s behalf.
She couldn’t leave without telling the girl that her mother was wrong. That Averil was her friend and that she would never let her be forced into the sort of life Sally Jakes had mapped out for her.
Light was coming through a small window high on the wall up ahead and she went toward it, hoping to find Violet at last, and discovered herself in a grim room with smoke-stained walls and lit by flickering candles. The air was stifling and hot, and when Averil’s eyes adjusted, she was shocked to see a group of girls cowering together. Many of them were no more than children. Violet, who appeared to be the eldest, was holding as many of them in her arms as she could manage, while the others clung to her skirts.
“Violet?”
The girls jumped. Violet murmured soothing words, her eyes focused on Averil.
“You see why I couldn’t leave,” she said, and although her voice was harsh, tears weren’t far away. “Without me they would be hurt, used, God knows what. I look after them. I look after them all. When I can. I protect them from my mother and Jackson.”
“Oh, Violet,” Averil breathed, coming forward, her heart aching. “You poor girl.”
“I don’t want your pity,” Violet retorted contemptuously, with a lift of her chin. “I want you to help me to look after them. I wanted to tell you everything, I did, but I was afraid if I told that these poor souls would be hurt because of it. You do see, don’t you?” she added softly, and once again Averil could see the kind and generous heart beneath Violet’s tough, brash exterior.
“Of course I see. And I’m not pitying you. I am in-in awe of you.”
Violet gave an unexpected smile. “In awe? Really?”
Averil held out her hand toward the group. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go. We’ll take them to the Home for now, until we sort things out.”
Violet demurred. “What if they don’t want to stay?”
“Then they don’t have to. We’ll find somewhere for them, Violet. I promise.”
Violet hesitated but whatever she saw in Averil’s face convinced her, and she nodded and began to chivvy the young ones across the room.
Just then Rufus arrived.
There were immediate screams and squeals and the girls rushed back to Violet, huddling around her once more.
Rufus had stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw the situation he’d walked into. “Averil? What’s going on?”
She examined him critically in the poor light. To her he was a hero, her savior, but if she looked at him as a frightened young girl might . . . well, she supposed he could seem rather alarming with his scarred face. Suddenly it was important to her that they know the real man.
“Hush, girls,” she soothed. “Lord Southbrook will not hurt you. He’s a friend and he will help you. He-he has a seven-year-old son called Eustace, and a castle that is falling down, and Violet cooked for him because he couldn’t find anyone else who could cook nearly as well as her.”
He blinked. Averil bit her lip. Her description probably wasn’t quite what he would have imagined for himself, but it seemed to do the trick. Violet was also reassuring them and, with a smile to Averil, she finally led the girls out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“The police have arrived,” Rufus said, once he and Averil were alone. “Sally and Jackson have been arrested. I have to get back. Will you be all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said softly. And then, in a rush, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did. How did you know I was here?”
He explained, but she hardly heard his words. She was watching his face, listening to the timbre of his voice, taking in the whole lovely package that was the wicked earl of Southbrook. And she knew, with an ache in her chest, that despite what had happened at the castle, she hadn’t stopped loving him. Not at all.
She was giving him that direct look. For a moment he was disconcerted by her scent, the sweet womanly smell of her that had haunted him for so many lonely days and nights. Perhaps she saw something in his eyes, because she smiled, her gaze dropping, her dark lashes sweeping down.
He thought about giving her a speech about rushing into danger and frightening him, or perhaps he could suggest that next time she be less impulsive? But he discarded both ideas. She’d only get cross with him and that was the last thing he wanted right now.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said instead.
She glanced up at him then away again. She smoothed her sleeve. “I-I didn’t know you were back in London. Did you bring Hercules?”
He was confused. Had James been right and she’d left the dog behind so that he could follow? “No. As far as I know Hercules is happily ensconced at the castle with Eustace.”
“How is Eustace?” she asked, smoothing her other sleeve.
Rufus raised an eyebrow, wondering where this conversation was going and whether he really had time for it with the police waiting upstairs. But he was reluctant to leave her. “Eustace is well. That monster you left for him is eating us out of house and home, and destroying every cushion in the castle, but as long as Eustace is happy . . .”
She laughed softly, a breathless sound that made his senses jump up another notch. “Good,” she said. “Rufus, I think I might have been—”
But whatever she was about to confess was interrupted.
“Lord Southbrook?” It was Violet, calling down the stairs. “There’s an inspector here who wants to speak with you.”
Rufus gave an impatient sigh. “I have to go,” he said, “but I’m not leaving you here to get yourself into more trouble.”
“I have to go to the Home and settle the girls,” she said briskly, and their intimate moment was gone. They started up the stairs, and she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Fancy Violet being Sally’s daughter,” she whispered, not wanting the girl to overhear.
Rufus wondered about that himself, but he didn’t have time to reply. The inspector was waiting and when next he had time to glance around him, Averil was gone.
Once back at the Home, they found room for their new arrivals. Surprisingly, Molly took them under her wing, showing a gentle side to her nature Averil had never seen before, and Violet was soon in the kitchen preparing hot soup.
That was where Violet told her story, in between setting out bowls and crusty bread, and comforting the girls.
“I grew up at The Tin Soldier. Sally let me do mostly what I wanted, and what I wanted was to stay out of the way of the customers, so I spent my time in the kitchen. There were always cooks coming and going, so I learned to do most of the cooking for the customers.”
“I remember you said you were used to cooking for many,” Averil said.
Violet smiled. “I was.”
“But . . . well, you don’t speak like Sally. You must have been educated at some point, Violet?”
“I went to one of the church schools. The teacher was good at what he did, and he saw in me someone who could ‘rise above her station,’ as he used to say. And Sally helped. Whenever one of her gamblers owed her money, she’d find out if he had some talent she could get him to teach me. You’d be amazed the types who pass through The Tin Soldier. There were artists who taught me to paint, and dancing masters who taught me to dance, and a posh lady who’d fallen on hard times, who taught me to sew. That was the way they paid off their debts.”
She grimaced. “But then it changed. Sally began to set up her houses of pleasure.”
Pleasure probably wasn’t the word Averil would have used.
“Jackson wanted me to come here to the Home, and he persuaded Sally that I would be able to keep an eye on things. Sally pretends Jackson is her creature, but I think she listens to him more than she lets on.”
“But why send you here? I don’t understand.”
Violet wiped her hands on her apron. She looked as if she’d rather not say. “They—Sally and Jackson, that is—wanted to give their women some shine. Make out they were ladies, or something close. I was supposed to be watching out, in case someone found out the truth, but I hated it.”
She looked up at Averil and her eyes were alight with anger.
“Oh, Violet, why didn’t you tell me?”
“How could I? I wanted to, but . . .” Violet sighed.
“Well, it’s over now,” Averil said softly.
“Yes,” Violet said, but there was sadness in the droop of her mouth and Averil knew it wasn’t really over for the girl. Not yet.
“Violet is a brave young lady,” Gareth said admiringly, when Averil had explained everything to him.
“Yes, she is.” Averil glanced at him sideways.
“Averil,” he said, catching her look, “I have learnt my lesson, I promise you. Never again will I single out any woman.”
“I hope that isn’t true, Gareth. One day you will find someone you want to single out, someone special, someone you love with all your heart.”
She turned away. She knew she’d sounded emotional, but she hoped Gareth would think it was because of the turmoil she’d been through at The Tin Soldier. She didn’t want to confess the truth. That she was just as foolish as Gareth, perhaps more so, because she loved a man who wanted her for her money, and if they hadn’t been interrupted she would have told him so.