Page 40 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
She imagined his reaction to her doing so and shuddered.
Still, she couldn’t shake the oddest sensation. A ridiculous notion, really.
That, somehow, Benedict Drake needed her, and if she went to Southwark, she could help him.
Chapter Nine
These riverside haunts were familiar to Drake.
Too familiar.
Though it had been years, the memories were still as sharp as the wind that whipped the sails of ships being loaded and unloaded in the London docks.
He’d worked in a factory in Southwark at thirteen. At fifteen, he’d looked for work at the docks not a stone’s throw away on the other side of the river. It had been brutal labor—with employment secured for only a day’s duration. Each morning, one had to compete to be chosen, but the odds were often in his favor. Even at fifteen, he’d been tall and muscular and strong, and he’d been selected for work frequently enough to feed and lodge all of them—himself, Helen, and George.
And then, after the heated argument he would always regret, his younger brother had come to the docks too. But George had never spoken to the foreman Drake had directed him to. George wasn’t interested in seeking honest work. The Thames-side gang that his brother found his way into was a dangerous, desperate lot—picking thepockets of drunk sailors or filching goods from warehouses and ships along the river.
When George had been fool enough to steal from the gang, it had been the last mistake his brother ever made.
Drake couldn’t untangle his own folly from his brother’s dreadful choices. Anger, guilt, and grief were tied up in a knot, and coming back to this place did nothing but twist the pain.
But he needed to speak to Demming. He needed to know why he had parked himself outside of Princes of London, and what connection, if any, the thief had to the man who’d come into Alexandra’s shop. He knew exactly where he’d find Demming.
Dusk had only begun to settle over the city, but The Anchor Pub was already bustling. It was a beacon in the fog and had been for centuries. The odds were good that Demming was nestled up inside. The man was even known to take up residence in the pub’s upper rooms at times.
The greatest danger for Drake was that he’d be recognized. He hadn’t worked this area as a constable or foot patrolman, but there had been cases during his early days as a detective that brought him into contact with those who considered Southwark their territory.
One couldn’t do this sort of work without making enemies. He and Demming had met over the years when the thief was brought into the station where he worked, but as far as Drake knew, Demming had no reason to loathe him, no special grudge tobear against him. And Demming certainly had no reason to know Ben had been in the back room of the Princes’ antique shop all afternoon.
Once he stepped inside The Anchor public house, he was grateful for the busyness of the place. One could hide among the crowd, but a man of Demming’s size and boisterous nature couldn’t hide for long.
Not ten minutes after finding a table in the corner to tuck himself into, Drake recognized one of Demming’s known associates. Ichabod Kean matched Demming for size and ruthlessness, and not long after Drake noticed him, the man slammed his glass on the table and made his way out of the pub.
Drake debated whether to follow. Kean might lead him to Demming, or Drake could wait instead to see if the two returned together. But he wasn’t in a waiting mood. Before giving the barmaid time to come over and ask what he wanted to drink, he stood and made his way out of the pub again. Somehow, though he’d been inside for only a quarter of an hour, the skies had grown impossibly darker, and a thick fog clung to the ground.
Luckily, Kean was a friendly sort and had run into some associates the minute he exited the pub. He stood with the men in jovial conversation, hunching together against the wind off the river, and breaking out into laughter now and then. Drake made his way around the opposite side of the building. The technique hadn’t worked earlier with Demming, but he hoped he could come upbehind Kean, wait, and watch for where he went next.
After a few more shared laughs, the men headed off together, just as Drake hoped. He suspected they’d make their way to one of the gaming hells or perhaps one of the dens where they could bare-knuckle box, and those were just the sort of places a man like Demming could be found.
He followed the trio as closely as he dared. All of them seemed in high spirits and were perhaps full of spirits. Kean and another man stumbled a bit as they walked, weaving as if whatever they had consumed at The Anchor was already taking effect.
To Drake’s surprise, they cut through the main road and ducked into an abandoned building. He stood debating whether to follow the men inside or wait until they emerged. The absence of Demming unsettled him. He couldn’t help wondering if he was in the wrong place. Demming might be standing outside of Miss Prince’s home, continuing his watchfulness there.
He waited a good twenty minutes, chafing his hands against the evening’s chill, watching for movement inside and around the building. A dim light had been lit in the building’s upper story, and something told him Demming was inside. The decision to enter might be foolhardy, since the men inside outnumbered him. But he had to find Demming. If he wasn’t with them, they could direct him to the man.
His revolver sat heavy in his pocket, and he hoped he would not have to use it or even threaten to.
This was Demming’s territory. Surely, a man seeking him here wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary.
On the ground floor, he found the building all but pitch-black inside. He used his hands to guide himself along the wall until his eyes adjusted. That’s when he noticed a single window high on the opposite wall that allowed a bit of moonlight to leak in.
The building had once been a factory of some sort, though all the machinery now sat derelict.
Footsteps crunched on gravel to his left, and Ben spun toward the sound, body tensed.
Light burst out of the darkness, blinding him, and he lifted an arm against the glare.
“Expected a bit more of you than this, Drake.” The low, gruff voice was exactly as he remembered Demming’s.
