Page 42 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
He hadn’t braced for the blow, and it reverberated to his spine. His body attempted to curl in on itself, but the behemoth at his back held tight to his neck and shoulders.
“Tell me why you were on Moulton Street,” Ben rasped.
They might beat him, torture him, toss him in the Thames, but he at least needed to know the answer to that single question. He needed to know how to keep Alexandra safe.
“I ’ad my reasons. Maybe I was waitin’ on you.” Demming scoffed. “Then that crazy little bitch came at me like a terrier. Nipping at me ’eels.”
Ben closed his eyes, thankful Demming had been there for him. Even if he found Alexandra’s audacious determination to confront the thief maddening, he admired her bravery. She was extraordinary.
“Do you know Holcroft?” Ben had no intention of volunteering details about the attempted robbery, but any connections he could gather would help.
“Never ’eard of ’im. Enough talk.” Demming stepped back toward the shadows, then bent to strike a match and light his pipe. He sucked on the thing, generating a cloud of pungent smoke.
He finally looked up at Ben. Then he shifted his gaze past Ben to the men surrounding him.
“Do your worst, boys.”
Southwark at night, drenched in fog, was a kind of dark Allie had never experienced.
Little tremors raced across her skin when the hansom driver departed and she stood alone, listening to the lapping sound of the Thames, trying to distinguish the nature of the stew of smells that emanated from the water and ships’ cargo.
She’d told the driver to drop her near the bridge. A pub near the bridge—that’s what Drake had called Demming’s favorite haunt.
And, sure enough, she noted one corner of a building glowed with light and life. A few men stood outside arguing even as two more passed them to enter its doors. The Anchor. She could read the sign painted in deep red letters even through the night’s haze of soot and smoke.
She’d never been to Southwark before. Dominic had, and Eve too. They’d set out on journeys from here or met shipments containing antiquities they’d acquired for the shop. In the past, their father had even rented a warehouse nearby to store the relics he’d acquired on his expeditions, some of which would be shipped ahead before he made his trip home.
Allie never had a reason to come, though she’d begged to visit once. Her parents were setting off on a trip to the East, and she’d wanted to join hersiblings to see them off. But she’d only just recovered from one of the colds that plagued her as a child and was considered too fragile to make the journey to the docks.
Fragile little Allie. Always left behind.
That thought made her glad she’d come tonight, no matter how angry the inspector would be with her. That same nagging insistence in her middle still told her that she needed to find him, help him if she could.
She headed toward the pub. In the fog, all the sounds were muffled. Bits of conversation. Men’s voices carried to her on the breeze. Underneath it all, the sound of the water lapping against the docks and boat hulls was strangely lulling, making the night seem less ominous. The men milling about mostly paid her no notice as they went about their business. She was shocked to see so many working even at this hour.
Lanterns hung on posts, and there were barrels with fires lit that a few workers gathered around to warm themselves, but the gaslights were few and far between. Though where the lantern light ended, The Anchor’s glow led the way.
She’d worn a black dress left over from the year of mourning her father, thinking it might make her less noticeable. But the moment she stepped into The Anchor, she noted that the only other women in the pub were garbed in vivid-colored gowns. She stood out like a crow would if it landed on a branch of canaries.
Most of the pub’s patrons, however, were men, and she felt their perusal as she made her way toward the bar.
“Hello, sir.”
“What can I do for you, miss?” The publican wore the same assessing look as every other man in the pub, though his expression soon softened as if she’d passed muster somehow.
“Would it be terribly strange to ask you for tea?”
The older man laughed, his eyes creasing in genuine amusement. “Would be strange but not unheard of. The missus is in the kitchen this evening and makes an excellent brew, so you’re in for a treat.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Food?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Allie had scanned the room when she walked in but took a moment to do so again. She knew detectives sometimes disguised themselves, but she’d never yet been in the same room with Inspector Drake and not felt his presence keenly.
He wasn’t here. But had he been?
“I’m looking for someone.”
