Page 26 of Taming of the Rake
Chapter 6
David stepped down from his carriage, having just arrived on the fringes of one of London’s worst slums. He had arrived a few days ago on the business of selling everything he owned that would fetch a price. His solicitor had been busy in his absence, finding a buyer for his townhouse. Taking rooms in a modest hotel, David had seen to the transfer of the deed into its new owner’s name. From there, he spent two days selling off his phaeton and pair, as well as every piece of jewelry he owned, and scraping together quite a tidy sum to help see his family through winter. He didn’t intend to remain in London long, as there were affairs back in Lancashire requiring his attention—not the least of which included Regina Hurst.
However, the note he received last night had urged him to make haste meeting Benedict in Seven Dials before dawn. Not wanting to drive his carriage into the center of one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in London, David opted to walk the rest of the way. Hands in his greatcoat pockets, head lowered and chin dipped into the warmth of his muffler, he traversed a veritable minefield of puddles—most of which weren’t composed entirely of rain. The stench of human and animal excrement and unwashed bodies made his throat simmer with nausea, but he choked it down and pressed on. Keeping his eyes forward, he did his best to pretend he did not hear the shuffle of feet, coughs, and groans of suffering from the shadows. He wasn’t certain if he was in danger of being set upon by pickpockets, beggars, or disorderly drunks, but David would rather not find out.
What the devil was Benedict doing in Seven Dials? Even with his less than stellar reputation, the man was a future viscount who had no need to go about rubbing elbows with prostitutes and drunks. Having been away from London for weeks, David had no notion what was going on or how matters of The London Gossip were being handled. He had to assume that was what this was about.
His assumption was proven right when he followed the glow of distant light down one of the seven narrow streets converging into the circular center of the slum, where a single column thrust up toward the grayish sky with six sundials adorning its peak. At the foot of this spire stood a circle of broad-shouldered men, many of whom held torches aloft. The flickering flames cast their light upon Benedict, who stood in their midst staring down at something in his hands.
As David quickened his steps to draw closer, the men parted and he caught sight of a collection of young boys. Grubby, dressed in worn clothes and tatty caps, the lads likely ranged in age from seven to thirteen, and each one was busy loading something into a large wagon under Benedict’s watchful eye.
They were bundles of broadsheets, he realized as he paused in the gap left by two of the of the men. By David’s estimation there were hundreds of copies ofThe London Gossiphere, every last one being stowed in the rough vehicle. Glancing up to notice him standing there, Benedict grinned and waved him over.
“There you are. Come … witness the genius of my plan.”
Stepping around a lad in a threadbare shirt and patched trousers, David made his way toward Benedict. On his way, he noticed a second wagon, this one overflowing with rough, burlap sacks bulging with mysterious contents.
“What’s going on? You know my opinion about any time of the morning preceding daylight. It’s unnatural to be awake at this hour.”
With a hearty laugh, Benedict shoved one of the scandal sheets at him. “Trust me, friend, this was worth waking up early for. It’s not every day one thwarts a madwoman with nothing more than a handful of sovereigns and a cart full of food.”
David darted a glance at the boys running about to do Benedict’s bidding, most of whom looked pitifully half-starved. Glancing down at the copy ofThe London Gossipmarked with today’s date, he began reading. His brow knit and his mouth fell open as he absorbed a rather accurate description of the way the Gentleman Courtesans had been doing business—from meetings in the back of a modiste’s shop, to clandestine encounters, contracts and raucous parties where the favors of the men could be had for a night at no cost.
“For the love of … she isn’t making this up, Ben. It’s all true.”
Benedict tossed his crumpled sheet onto the growing pile of others. “Not anymore it isn’t, since we vacated Madame Hernshaw’s and stopped attending Millie’s parties. I am going to find the person who told the Gossip bitch about that and break his jaw if it’s the last thing I do. The last thing I wanted was to bring scrutiny upon her.”
David issued a sarcastic huff. “If there’s one thing Millie is used to, it’s scrutiny.”
“You’re right. Still, if I stop these details from becoming public knowledge, I can protect everyone involved until I uncover her identity and shut her up.”
Handing his copy of the paper off to a passing boy, David frowned. “Nothing yet?”
“Millie is still making inquiries, but I am a patient man. In the meantime, I have my friends here.”
Just then, one of the aforementioned friends came to stand before them, tufts of dirty blond hair peeking out from under his hat.
“That’s the last of ‘em, guv!”
“Well done. David, may I introduce my good friend Oliver? He and I set off on a rocky start, but we have settled our differences and decided to work together.”
For a second, David was flabbergasted at Benedict’s claim. But then, he remembered Ben’s story about being attacked in an alley by a collection of thugs working under the command of the London Gossip. He’d gotten himself into that mess following a boy working as a deliverer of the gossip column.
Before he could respond, the other boys surged around them with hands open and arms outstretched.
“All right, one at a time,” Benedict chided as he reached into his coat pocket and came out with a purse heavy with coins. The boys scampered away in twos and threes, stuffing the money away before helping themselves to one of the stuffed sacks from the other wagon.
David watched all this in silence, until the last of the lads was gone, save for Oliver, who tipped his hat to Benedict with a grin sporting two missing teeth.
“Same time tomorrow, me lord?”
“Yes, and remember—”
“Aye, guv! We got no idea what ‘appened to the papers once we delivered ‘em.”
“Good lad.”
Once Oliver darted off in the wake of the other boys, Benedict turned to David. “Those lads and their families are living in squalor and starving. The Gossip pays them a handful of shillings a week to deliver her papers. Is it any wonder I was able to buy their loyalty with the promise of filled bellies?”
