Burning Lamp (34 page)

“There are men who will stop at nothing in order to take what I have built. If they believe that you are important to me they will not hesitate to use you to try to achieve their objectives.”

“Would you give up your underworld kingdom for me, Griffin?”

He gripped her wrists. “In a heartbeat.”

She smiled. “Yes, of course you would, because you know that you could always rebuild it.”

“That is not the point, Adelaide.”

“I agree. Well, then, my darling crime lord, if you are willing to walk away from your empire and all that goes with it, including your formidable reputation, then I believe I have the solution to our dilemma.”

“There is no solution. That is what I am trying to explain to you. I created this nightmare for myself and now I have no choice but to live in it.”

“ ‘Better to reign in hell?’ ” she quoted offhandedly. “But you are not a devil, Griffin, and London isn’t exactly Paradise Lost.”

“I’m no fallen angel, either. I am what I am and there is no going back.”

“Ah, but I am not suggesting that we go back. We will go forward to a place where no one will even think of being so rude as to inquire about your past, because everyone there is far more obsessed with the future. It is a place where your reputation is unknown and will not matter. A place where we can forge a home and a family together.”

“Is this some dreamlight fantasy you have created?” he asked. “I am sorry, my love, but I learned a long time ago that dreams always evaporate in the light of day.”

“This one won’t. You have my word as a social reformer. I suggest you start packing, yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because we are going to purchase tickets on a steamship bound for America. There is much to be done before we sail, of course, but I’m sure you can have your business affairs settled in short order. You have a great talent for management and organization.”

 

 

 

“YOU’RE MOVING TO AMERICA?” CALEB ASKED. HE LOOKED first dumbfounded and then, almost immediately, intrigued.

“Our ship sails the first of the week,” Griffin said. “Mrs. Trevelyan, Jed, Leggett and Delbert are going with us. Oh, and the dogs, as well.”

They stood together in the park where they had met a few days earlier. But they were alone this time. The ladies had not accompanied them on this occasion.

“To say I am stunned would be the understatement of the year,” Caleb said. But he sounded thoughtful, not stunned. “America is a big place. Where will you live?”

“Adelaide seems to think that San Francisco would be a good location for us.” Griffin smiled. “She tells me that the fog will make me feel right at home.”

“What about your various enterprises here in London?”

“I am selling my most profitable businesses to Mr. Pierce. There is no lack of buyers for the others.”

“You will no doubt make a great deal of money from the sale of the Consortium’s holdings. You certainly won’t be destitute when you arrive in America.”

“I have always found that it is far more convenient to be rich than it is to be poor,” Griffin said.

“What of Adelaide’s social reform work?”

“Evidently London is not the only city on the face of the earth that is in need of some social reform. Adelaide seems to feel that there will be plenty of opportunity for her to carry on her work in San Francisco.”

“What will become of her charity house and the Academy?”

“Brace yourself, Jones. As we speak, she is making plans to turn over the responsibility for both charities to Arcane. Evidently some of the women of the Jones family are eager to assume the projects.”

Caleb’s smile was rueful. “No doubt. Keeping an eye on Miss Pyne will very likely prove to be a full-time occupation for you.”

“She will be Mrs. Winters soon. You and Mrs. Jones are invited to attend the wedding.”

“I am not generally keen on weddings, but in this case I will make an exception,” Caleb said. “It is not often that one gets an opportunity to see a notorious crime lord wed a social reformer. We must make sure that Gabe’s wife, Venetia, brings her camera.”

“Any word on the whereabouts of Samuel Lodge?” Griffin asked.

“Not yet. But I have put a hunter- talent on his trail. We will find him.”

“And when you do locate him?” Griffin asked. “What then?”

Caleb contemplated the sun- lit park with the air of a man whose dreams were troubled. “Adelaide and Lucinda are of the opinion that he is mad.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose we could arrange to have him locked up in an asylum. That sort of thing can usually be handled discreetly.”

“Lodge is not only mad, he is also a powerful talent. How long do you think it will take him to escape an asylum?” Griffin asked quietly.

Caleb met his eyes.

“I know what you are saying, Winters. There really is no option, is there? Lodge will have to be put down like the mad dog that he is.”

“And you will do what needs to be done because you cannot ask another to do it for you.”

Caleb said nothing.

“There will be others like Lodge in the years ahead,” Griffin said.

Caleb exhaled deeply. “I am well aware of that.”

“You cannot kill them all. I do not believe that you were born for the work of a professional assassin.”

“What is my role, then?”

“You are a general waging a war,” Griffin said. “Your task is to collect and analyze information, devise strategies and then select the most skilled agents to carry out those strategies.”

“And when I find myself confronting those like Samuel Lodge? What am I to do, Winters?”

Griffin reached into his pocket, took out a small, white calling card and handed it to Caleb.

“What is this?” Caleb examined the single name on the card. “Sweetwater?”

“It is an old family business. The members of the Sweetwater clan are all powerful talents of one kind or another. Very expensive but very discreet. The firm specializes in disposing of dangerous rubbish like Samuel Lodge.”

Caleb frowned. “Are you telling me that the Sweetwaters are assassins for hire?”

“One could say that. But in their own way, they are an honorable lot. They adhere to a strict code. Done some work for the Crown.”

“And for the Consortium?”

Griffin chose not to answer that.

“One cannot simply hire a Sweetwater off the street,” he said instead. “They work strictly by referral.”

“You are offering to make such a referral for Jones and Jones?”

“I will be happy to supply you with a character reference,” Griffin said. “Consider it a favor.”

 

 

 

IRENE BRINKS SAT AT A DESK IN FRONT OF ONE OF THE TEN typing machines arranged in the schoolroom. Her spine was straight, her shoulders were properly aligned and her fingers were poised over the keys in a graceful manner.
“Just as if you are playiNg a piaNo,”
Miss Wickford, the instructor, had said.

It was precisely that image, Miss Wickford had gone on to explain—that of a woman playing a piano—that had caused the public and employers, in general, to conclude that a career as a typist was a respectable profession for a female.

The vision of herself as a respectable, professional woman had inspired Irene. After three days at the Academy she had begun to imagine herself working in an office, gracefully producing elegant letters and neat reports for an employer.

But now, after several more days of instruction, her dreams had expanded. She was currently contemplating the possibility of opening a business of her own, an agency that supplied typists to firms and offices all over London. She would recruit from the Academy, she decided.

She was halfway through the sample letter, an order for fabric, needles and thread for a fictional tailor, when the door burst open.

A man strode through the doorway. He was accompanied by three other, much younger men, two of whom carried pistols. The third gripped a knife. There was a woman with the group as well. Irene recognized her as the social reformer from the charity house: Mrs. Mallory.

“You will all stay right where you are at your desks,” the man declared. “The first woman who moves will be shot. Do I make myself clear?”

Irene, Miss Wickford and the other nine students froze in their chairs.

“My name is Mr. Smith,” the intruder announced. He shoved Mrs. Mallory with such force that the woman stumbled and fell on the floor. “Get up,” he ordered. “Sit at one of the desks.”

Mrs. Mallory scrambled slowly to her feet and sat down. She was pale with terror.

“What do you want?” Miss Wickford asked Smith. She sounded as calm and unflustered as if she were giving a typing lesson.

“Nothing from you,” Smith said. “Whether you live or die depends entirely on Adelaide Pyne. She has two choices, you see. Either she comes here to give me what I want or she will flee, leaving you all to your fates.”

“Who is Adelaide Pyne?” Irene asked.

“I believe you know her as The Widow.”

Irene remembered the formidable lady who had descended on the charity house kitchen the morning after the brothel raid.

“The Widow will rescue us,” Irene said.

“Let us hope you are right.” Mr. Smith removed an object from his pocket. It looked like a large chunk of blood- red glass. “Because if you are wrong, you will be the first to die.”

 

 

 

THE FRONT DOOR OF THE CHARITY HOUSE WAS UNLOCKED. That was so unusual that Adelaide paused, one gloved hand on the knob, and opened her senses.

Jed, waiting patiently on the driver’s seat of the carriage, reached a hand inside his coat in a reflexive move.

“Something wrong, ma’am?” he asked.

There were layers upon layers of dreamprints on the front steps but nothing out of the ordinary.

“No,” she said, speaking over her shoulder. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

The constant presence of a bodyguard was decidedly awkward but she tolerated the inconvenience, aware that, until they sailed for America, it was the only way that Griffin could have some peace of mind. She had to admit that, as bodyguards went, Jed was a pleasant enough companion. Nevertheless, she could not wait until they were all aboard the ship and she would once again be free of the rigorous protection.

She opened the door and stepped into the front hall. There were no unusually disturbing prints on the floor, but a curious silence gripped the entire house.

Another frisson of awareness shivered through her. It was still early in the day, she reminded herself. The women and girls of the streets did not usually drift in for their hot meals until mid-afternoon. Nevertheless, there should have been sounds from the kitchen. Mrs. Mallory was forever either preparing new pots of soup or cleaning up.

“Mrs. Mallory?” she called. “Are you here?”

It dawned on her that the woman might be outside in the kitchen garden collecting vegetables and herbs for the next meal.

Her senses still wide open, she walked into the kitchen. Shock swept through her at the sight of the dark, twisted dreamprints that radiated from the floor. Samuel Lodge had been in this room and not long ago.

“Mrs. Mallory,” she shouted. “Where are you? Please answer me.”

The front door slammed open. She heard Jed pounding down the hall. A few seconds later, he exploded into the kitchen, revolver in hand.

“I heard you call out,” he said. He swung the revolver in a wide arc that covered every inch of the room. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m fine. But Lodge was here. And Mrs. Mallory is gone.”

“Bloody hell,” Jed muttered. “The Boss isn’t going to like this.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled, myself. Caleb Jones assured us all that Lodge had fled to the Continent.”

Then she saw the folded sheet of paper on the kitchen table. It was stained with Lodge’s foul dreamprints.

 

 

 

“HE DISCOVERED THE LOCATION OF THE ACADEMY,” ADELAIDE whispered. She sank slowly down onto one of the kitchen chairs. Still a little numb, she stared at Griffin who was studying the note. “He probably frightened Mrs. Mallory into telling him the address. He has taken her and some of the girls hostage at my school.”

“I can read, my love.” Griffin did not look up from the note.

“He’s going to murder them one by one unless I give him the lamp and agree to work it for him. In the note he says I mustn’t tell anyone. If he finds out that I sent for you—”

“Calm yourself, Adelaide.” Griffin refolded the note. “No one saw me enter this place. My first talent does have its uses.”

His cold, casual confidence was oddly reassuring.

“Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath and got a firm grip on her nerves. “It’s just that the girls at the Academy are there because they trusted me, you see. They feel safe in the school. And they would have remained safe if not for me. I am the one responsible for bringing this monster down upon them.”

Griffin dropped the folded note into the pocket of his long, black coat. “You are not responsible for what Lodge has done. He alone must take the blame. And the consequences.”

“We have to rescue the students and Mrs. Mallory.”

“Certainly.”

“Do you think we should ask J-and-J for help?” she ventured.

“No. The risk is too great. We must assume that Lodge still has friends and connections at the highest levels of Arcane. If we take the time to contact Jones and Jones, someone may discover what has happened and send word to him.”

“You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”

In spite of her badly frayed nerves, she managed a small, albeit shaky smile. “You just discovered this disaster a few minutes ago. How could you have crafted a plan so quickly?”