Never Too Late (27 page)

“That’s all well and admirable, Lord Devin, but we still don’t truly have clear evidence. It’s simply Minnie’s word, and you know anyone who sees those photographs won’t believe her. The authorities won’t do a thing. For heaven’s sake, any local constables are likely already under their influence. I have every intention of printing a scathing ex-posé, but there are girls here now,
tonight
, who need my help. I won’t leave without them.”

He might look as unyielding as granite, but she refused to capitulate. And, apparently, he could see that. She would get what she wanted, whether he assisted or not.

“I will go in, not you,” he conceded. “I shall pose as a new client.”

“What if one of Withersby’s men is in attendance? For that matter, what if other visitors recognize you?”

“Then consider that there is little we can do tonight. We need to plan and orchestrate an effective attack rather than barging into the lion’s den armed only with bravado.”

She stared at the balcony above them, the iron railing barely visible against the brick edifice. It was too still, too quiet.

“Something isn’t right.” She slipped from his grasp cautiously and crept to a window she could reach. “It’s too quiet. There’s no light. There should be some modicum of activity, don’t you think?”

He moved past her toward the side entrance, pausing to listen, and then edged toward the front of the house. As he surreptitiously peeked around the corner toward the front entrance, he briefly gestured for her to follow, as if she would have stayed put. Even in the dim gaslight from the street, it was easy to see his surprise, followed quickly by the furrow of his brow, when he realized she’d been right behind him.

“The whole house appears dark, even the entryway. By this time of night, I would expect at least a few callers if this were the house of ill repute we suspect.”

“I’m going in,” she insisted, but he grabbed her arm, not gently, and trapped her back against the building.

“I meant what I said. If anyone enters that building this night, it will not be you. I am of a mind to toss you in a hack and have it drive you to Wales. Not so long ago, I watched helplessly as a mindless thug held a damned knife to your throat. God help me, it was the worst moment of my life, and nothing you can say will convince me to put you in harm’s way again.”

The anguish in his eyes was undeniable. She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her for a quick, hard kiss.

“Then go on. They’ve likely absconded, which would be awful, but you can be the one to confirm it. If all is clear, we can search it together. If anyone remains, I’ll run for help. Have we a deal?”

His kiss in response lingered, almost leisurely, as if he weren’t a peer of the realm about to trespass onto hostile property. As if he had a right to. He smiled when he finally released her and drew a deep breath. And she could not fault him or object.

“We,” he said. “Such a tiny but glorious word coming from your lips. We.”

The tenderness in his eyes sent a thrill through her, though she couldn’t trust herself any more than she could trust him.

“Yes, we. We will do this together. Now, go on. You first.”

Cautious as he was, they quickly found that the house was indeed vacant. No one answered his knocks; there was no sign of activity at all. They tried the side door. Still nothing. Finally, they agreed to try one of the cellar windows at the back. When he asked her how she intended to gain entry, she simply flattened her skirts against the window and kicked as hard as she could, the sound muffled by layers of fabric. It was remarkably effective, a surprise even to her. The room within was likewise dark and silent. She slipped in feet-first to drop as quietly as possible to the earthen floor. They made their way through the house as swiftly as they could, considering the darkness. He led the way, clasping her hand, while she kept an eye trained behind them. They couldn’t see any small clues in the darkness, but they could tell the house was abandoned in a rush. Food tins and threadbare blankets littered the cellar, chairs were tipped over or askew in the front parlor, as if a wave of people had tossed them about when it washed out the door. Strangely, the rooms upstairs held only the most basic items, a sofa in one room, a hip bath in another. No sign of photographic equipment or materials to develop films, no sign of children or duress. All that remained was the lingering but ephemeral scent of unwashed bodies and chemicals.

“We’ll have to come back tomorrow and search properly,” she finally said.

“I doubt it will do much good. There is nothing left here to find.”

“But there must be. We simply can’t see it yet. There must be some evidence of what was done here. More importantly, there must be some clue as to where they’ve gone!”

“It is impossible to tell at the moment. At best, we can try to gain legitimate entry in the morning. Whatever meager clues might remain, they are likely to still be here in daylight, when we could actually see them and not risk trampling them.” He squeezed her hand, which he’d not released during the entire search of the house. “Now, shall we get some rest?”

“We?” she asked, unsure if she read his intentions correctly or simply projected her own desires onto his innocent question.

“With all the intrigue this evening, I find I am loath to leave your side. Wherever you wish to go, I shall be your guard. Where should we go? Evans Books or Devin House?”

“My shop,” she said without hesitation. She needed to be on her own territory. “Please,” she added.

Chapter Twenty-two

Evans Principle #z: Revel in your successes. Even the smallest of them is worth celebrating.

T
he next morning couldn’t come soon enough. He hadn’t slept a moment, keeping watch over her from an armchair by the bed. He guessed from her breathing that she hadn’t slept either. As soon as they’d entered the shop, it was clear that she hadn’t reasoned through her choices. There was only one bed—hers—and in a cramped bedroom with barely space for one of the chairs from the sitting room, wedged between the bed and the wardrobe. Until he brought in the chair, she seemed hesitant. He could see desire warring with duty—glazed with a layer of exhaustion. But he’d made a tacit vow to himself that this night would be all platonic innocence. His protection mattered, not his bodily urges . . . or hers. So he planted himself in the wooden chair, propped his stockinged feet on the edge of the mattress, and reassured her that she could sleep soundly without fear of disturbance.

The disappointment in her eyes nearly broke his resolve.

Before he could move, she slipped under the covers fully clothed. She reached for his hand, which he gave readily. Perhaps she was as desperate as he to maintain contact. Hours passed as they simply held hands. Infinitesimally, the room brightened as the gray dawn approached. At the sound of the first street vendors, they both gave up the pretense of sleep.

The sound of a door and light, hurried footsteps had them both standing and tense in a moment. Minnie’s voice gave Honoria only a tiny modicum of ease. It wasn’t an intruder, but her voice still conveyed alarm.

“Miss Honoria! You must help! Miss Honoria, are you in? Please help!”

They both rushed down the stairs to meet the poor, breathless girl. She must have run much of the way from the apartment she and Erich shared.

“What is the matter, Miss Hearsh?”

She hated that both she and Minnie were in such a state, both so close to hysteria, so in need of Alex’s authoritative direction.

“It’s Erich! He’s gone after them! He left me a note this morning! You must help him!”

“Who, Minnie? Did he say exactly who he went after? We tried Peaseblossom House yesterday, but it’s been deserted. Where did he go?”

“His note only said that he has gone to make things right. Here! Please tell me you can figure out where he’s gone!”

Alex scanned the note quickly before handing it to her. What Minnie said was no understatement. Erich’s writing left no clues, only a terse vow. It sounded like a good-bye from someone on a suicidal mission.

“The only connection I have left is Withersby. I will see him immediately,” he said, tense and determined.

“I am going with you,” Honoria said, just as firmly.

“If I thought I could convince you otherwise, I would. Just give me a few moments to send word to some friends, powerful friends, and to my brother.”

After sending a handful of notes out with his footmen and making sure Minnie was secure in the shop, they set off for Withersby’s office. Honoria felt no inclination to inform Devin of the pistol hidden in her skirt, the gift Marissa had left in her closet. With any luck, it would not be needed.

She entered Withersby’s office alone, marching past his assistant’s desk with a quick “Your employer will want to see me.” Abruptly, she halted just inside the door when she found the man she assumed to be Mr. Withersby prone on his desk, face and chest bloodied, being attended to by a physician. His assistant closed the door behind her.

“Is he—?” she hesitated. “Is he seriously injured?”

“Mr. Withersby has taken quite a beating. I expect he’ll be in a bit of pain, but I’ve found no broken bones or internal injuries to speak of. Are you a family member? He’ll need some care and attention for the next few days.”

She swallowed the caustic response that flashed through her mind and simply said, “No, I don’t know him. I came here on business.”

“I am afraid he is in no condition to conduct business. You shall have to call again when he has recovered.”

“I’m afraid that is insupportable. I need to speak with him immediately, regarding a matter of utmost seriousness and urgency.”

“I cannot allow that, madam.”

Honoria drew herself up and determined that it was time to speak plainly.

“I have reason to believe Mr. Withersby was attacked because he has knowledge of a group profiting from the production and distribution of obscene photography, particularly featuring children.” At the physician’s horrified expression, she nodded grimly. “Furthermore, the subjects used for this iniquity are being held captive, forced to endure untold manner of degradation. And I believe Mr. Withersby can tell me where to find these unfortunates and these monstrous villains. He must say so.”

The man looked from her to Mr. Withersby, who had yet to show any sign that he was aware of the conversation. Except Withersby’s hand had moved, she was sure. His right hand now lay over his heart, fingers curled under in a loose fist. When she looked back at the physician, his face was pale.

“He is, um, indisposed, madam, as you can plainly see. He—I—uh, I cannot allow you to subject him to any unpleasantness.”

Only then did it occur to her that this physician might be embroiled in this degenerate business as well. She went to open the door, noticing the doctor’s obvious relief at her assumed departure, and signaled Lord Devin to join her. It was with some satisfaction that she caught the panicked recognition on the man’s face, before he bowed awkwardly. With a sense of pride, she stood by Alex’s side, feeling a deep sense of partnership in this effort. Lying on the desk, Withersby moaned once but made no move.

“Dr. Horwith, I believe. You may recall we met last year when Mr. Withersby’s sister suddenly took ill while visiting him here at the office.”

The physician nodded slowly, darting glances at his patient.

“So, sir,” Devin continued. “Approximately how long have you served as Mr. Withersby’s private assistant?”

Of course. They might not be able to get Withersby to cooperate, but such an operation might need the services of a physician occasionally. Her stomach rolled as her mind shied away from the dark possibilities of what might cause need for a physician under those circumstances. But if he knew anything about these pornographers and their victims, the two of them would drag it out of him. For heaven’s sake, she would resort to acts that would damn her soul if it would help them rescue the forsaken.

Reluctant as he may have been at first, Dr. Horwith proved to be remarkably helpful and direct, almost as if he’d been longing to confess his sins. While she didn’t discount the possibility of a trap, his manner appeared in earnest and his admissions rather graphic. Besides, Devin seemed unperturbed, which was enough to reassure her that things were well in hand. That is, until they arrived at the dubious address in Whitechapel.

Dr. Horwith secured them entrance, claiming Devin was a foreign physician studying venereal diseases and she his assistant. A servant, a young girl whose face was dirtied by perhaps ash or, Honoria feared, old bruises, hurried them into an empty sitting room, claiming someone was badly injured and in need of immediate attention.

It took her a moment to realize that the pile of rags on the floor was, in fact, Erich. She rushed to his side and found his face bloody and swollen almost past recognition. If it hadn’t been for a birthmark on his neck that was remarkably untouched, she might not have been able to confirm it was him. His entire body was disturbingly slack. When the servant brought a bowl of water and some linens, she gently cleaned his face and was relieved to hear him groan, to be assured that he was alive, at least for the moment. There was hope.

That fleeting hope died a sharp stabbing death when a stampede of heavy footfalls approached the room. Devin placed himself directly in front of her and therefore in front of Erich. It was a gesture for which she would be forever grateful, assuming they survived whatever was approaching.

Five men entered the room. From her kneeling position by Erich and partially obscured by Devin, she could not see much of them. The two in front seemed roughly dressed and were carrying clubs. Two near the door were dressed more formally; they could have entered the House of Lords without a stir. Of the fifth man, all she could see were muddy trousers and boots. Then she felt, somehow, Devin tense—and she heard the fifth man speak.

“Never thought I’d have the bad luck to see you again, milord.”

The man who broke into the shop. They’d come full circle. If there was any need for confirmation that they were in the right place, this was it. A dark, red emotion surged through her, causing her scalp to tingle. A copper-tinged bitterness flooded her mouth. She gripped the handle of the pistol in her skirt pocket, determined that he would not live to leave this building.