No Cure for Love (26 page)

After settling Josie with Sarah Nolan and her lively brood for the night, Ellen had dashed to Robert’s rooms. Not able to bear time apart from each other, they had fallen into each other’s arms, but now they relaxed in Robert’s comfortable study like a long-married couple. He scribbled his correspondence with a bold flourish of his quill and she quietly kept him company.

Oh, if it could only be, Ellen thought as a lump caught in her throat. She pushed the unhelpful dream away and turned her mind to her own correspondence. Two days after Bridget had died she had written to Joe in New York, telling him that she and Josie would be taking passage at the end of October and hoped to be with him, winter storms permitting, before Christmas. But now things, in the shape of Robert, had changed. And she was torn in two.

There was no possibility that she would ever be able to give Josie better opportunities in life if she stayed in London. America was their only chance. But Robert!

After so nearly losing him, she could not think of leaving him for America without physical pain wrenching her heart in two. The domestic tranquillity of Robert’s cosy study and rooms could not eliminate the brutal world outside.

She watched him as he concentrated on his letter, and her heart caught in her throat. He sat with his trousers and shirt on, but the latter was unbuttoned and gaped open. His hair was tousled and the wayward curl at the front hung forward over his eyes. The small muscles of his hands and fingers twitched the quill swiftly over the paper, making a soft scratching noise. He stopped for a moment and chewed the end of the feather for a second, then jabbed it back in the glass inkwell to replenish it.

Maybe they could be married, if they were discreet. But what about later when he was overlooked for a post? Would he still love her if she blighted his future? He might not think it now, but what about in a year or two’s time? How would he feel about her then?

Not wanting to continue down the path her thoughts were leading her, Ellen uncurled herself and stood up. Slowly she strolled over to Robert, her bare feet making no sound on the Turkish carpet. He looked up and smiled warmly at her. He scraped the chair back and opened his lap for her to sit on. Ellen took up the invitation and flipped over the sealed letters at the top of his blotting paper.

‘Do you know Viscount Melbourne?’ Ellen asked in a hushed voice.

‘I have met him a couple of times, though my acquaintance is with Lord Ashley,’ Robert said, resting his hand lightly on her hip and stroking his fingers back and forth.

‘
Lord Ashley
?’ Ellen said in an astonished voice.

‘Yes, he is the Member of Parliament for Woodstock and is interested in factory and living conditions of the poor.’ Robert’s hand slid up around her waist. ‘It was he who suggested me for the post at the London Hospital after he had read my book.’

How would a lord and a viscount view Robert if he married a public house singer? Ellen doubted they would be corresponding.

‘How did you get on at Wapping Police Station?’

‘Jackson’s after Danny Donovan, that’s for sure. He has a file on him as thick as my thumb. That was before he caught Hennessey trying to burn me out.’ His face darkened for a moment, and she guessed he was thinking of all those who had perished in the fire. ‘A number of witnesses have come forward and
Hennessey
has turned king’s evidence,’ Robert continued in a serious voice. ‘I said I would help in any way I could. That is why I am writing to the Home Secretary.’

A small shiver crept up Ellen’s spine. She stood up and faced Robert, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulder and making him look at her. ‘Robert, Danny didn’t just burn you out. He tried to kill you.’

He fixed his eyes on her. ‘I know that, Ellen. He has tried to silence me for weeks now. First, the visit to the hospit—’

‘The hospital?’ Ellen said, her eyes stretched wide as she looked down at Robert.

Robert lifted the side of his mouth in a mocking smile. ‘Oh, yes. He and Black Mike came to have a
word
with me.’

Ellen’s heart lurched uncomfortably in her chest and she felt herself start to tremble. Two-finger Sven had been dragged from the river a week ago after Danny had a
word
with him.

‘Now, now what’s this?’ Robert said, his voice full of concern. He scooped her into his arms and held her tight to his chest. She felt his lips on her hair and the steady thump of his heart. Her own slowed a tad. Then a vision of Danny breaking a costermonger’s arm because he had kept some of his takings back sprang into her mind.

Twisting in Robert’s embrace, Ellen slid her arms around his neck. ‘Be careful. Those who oppose Danny often meet a bloody end. Let Jackson catch him.’

‘Ellen, my love,’ he said in a light tone, starting to kiss her in a more purposeful way. ‘I can look after myself. I learnt early in life that you need to confront bullies, and Jackson can’t do it without help. Now, let’s not talk about Danny any more. There are far more pleasant things for us to do.’

His hand slipped inside the front of the dressing gown and opened it. His eyes glided over her body. ‘You’re looking particularly lovely this evening.’

Ellen pulled herself from his embrace.

‘You don’t understand, Robert. This conflict between you and Danny is not a disagreement between gentlemen, with rules and courtesies,’ she told him, gathering the open gown around her. She started to pace back and forth on the patterned carpet.

‘Danny Donovan’s a monster,’ she said. ‘He’ll slash a girl’s face if she won’t pay him the money she’s made working the streets, and you think you can look after yourself!’ A sob burst from her. ‘He’ll kill you, Robert. He’ll wait for you and slit your throat one dark night. He’s done it before to others who have crossed him. You don’t know how much he hates you for your interference in his business an ... and...’ The words caught in her throat.

Robert stood up and drew her to him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid any more. Trust me. I will protect you and Josie.’ He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. ‘Jackson is very close to having what he needs to arrest him. All we need now is some hard and fast evidence that will link him to the many deaths and assaults and show the full extent of his web of dark dealings.’

‘What sort of evidence?’

He took hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head up and his lips descended on hers. ‘Let’s not talk about Danny Donovan any more.’

His hand smoothed over her stomach and around to her bottom.

‘What sort of evidence?’ Ellen asked.

‘Names and dates of people who owe Danny or who are paying him for protection,’ he said, kissing her neck below her ear and slipping the silk gown from her shoulders. ‘Something in black and white.’

Danny Donovan sat at his table in the White Swan on Tuesday evening, scowling ferociously, with Black Mike lounging opposite him. He lifted the empty brandy bottle and shook it over his head and a nervous-looking waiter brought over another. Danny threw the bottle in his hand on the floor to join the other three he and Mike had consumed during the evening.

It was not his usual practice to have supper at the White Swan on Thursdays, but over the last few weeks Robert Munroe’s investigations had brought the first crop of arrests.

After that snivelling bastard Hennessey turned king’s evidence, Old Annie and Murphy were put away by the police and now Milo, second only to Black Mike, had been taken into custody.

The arrests had sent ripples of disquiet among many of Danny’s business acquaintances. Some of those who had fallen over themselves to buy him a drink not a month ago were now avoiding him like he had the pox. If he had known the word, Danny would have called his situation humiliating.

He threw the last of the brandy down the back of his throat and poured another into his glass with a shaky hand. The comedian with a small dog dressed as a clown left the stage to grumbles and boos from the audience and Maggie, the new singer Forster had engaged, stepped into the centre of the stage.

Danny pulled out the well-worn ledger and thumbed through it. The names underscored in red meant that Danny’s men needed to have a
word
with them. There were others whose names had been scratched across once; in these cases, such a word had fallen on deaf ears, and the offenders now needed to be dealt with after which the name received a second line through it. Those names with double crossings-out were often the same names issued by the Wapping Police Station of people found dead in the gutters or washed up in the mud at high tide.

Danny looked at two names, Brown and Turlock, both of whom Wag was visiting that very night. He took out a stubby pencil and crossed the final line through both names with a bold stroke. Contemplating the imminent demise of the two unfortunates who had fallen foul of him, Danny’s spirits rose a notch. He tapped on the page under another entry.

‘Dirty Mary and China Rose both owe me a good number of sovereigns. I think we’ll pay them a visit in an hour or two when their brothels are full of customers with their pricks up and their trousers down.’

Mike grinned. ‘They’ll soon cough up the coin.’

‘They had better. They won’t be able to charge their usual shilling if their noses are missing.’

Maggie almost hit a top C as she launched into another lively song.

‘That there singer’s got big tits and a fat arse, Danny,’ Mike said, as customers around them winced. ‘But, to be sure, doesn’t she just murder every note that the good Lord ever invented?’ Mike stretched his arms behind his head. ‘Still, since Ellen’s gone...’

‘That bastard Munroe,’ Danny said, narrowing his eyes as gnawing frustration started in his vitals again.

‘Yeah, I don’t s’pose that Doctor Munroe would be happy to have his fancy showing her ankles on the stage of the Angel.’

‘Jumped-up madam,’ Donovan spat out. He spotted a young lad collecting the glasses from the table. ‘Mind your place, boy,’ he said, and fetched the lad a stinging blow with the back of his hand. The boy staggered under the blow and scurried away.

‘I’m surprised that Munroe hasn’t set her up in some fancy house by now,’ Mike said, filling both their glasses to the brim again. ‘’Tis a pity she’s gone, though,’ he continued, eyeing the young woman cavorting on the stage. ‘She rolled in the pennies at the Angel and added a bit of class.’

‘Class!’ Danny spat out. ‘Thinks herself above her class, does Ellen O’Casey. She’s forgotten those who were good to her after that no-good, philandering husband of hers died. When it was the workhouse for her and her brat, she was pleased enough to sing for me, so she was. You’d think she would have shown her gratitude the usual way, but no. Tells me she’s too fecking respectable for that.’ He gripped his glass and his knuckles cracked. ‘Respectable? Huh! So fecking respectable she opens her legs for Munroe after a couple of smiles. Haven’t I always treated her well?’

Mike shrugged and cracked a flea from his beard between his finger and thumb.

Danny let out a loud belch. ‘Yes. I treated her well. Did I force her? No,’ he said, answering his own question. ‘I behaved like the gentleman I am.’ Mike raised an eyebrow and Danny waved it away. ‘A light-hearted bit of hand work don’t count.’

Hand work. Danny flexed his stubby fingers and gave Maggie a closer look. She was jigging on the stage as she sang. A lecherous grin crossed his face.

He enjoyed a bit of hand work with the girls. The more they resisted or tried to fend him off, the more he liked it. But Ellen had never cried or whimpered as the others did, just glared at him in outrage. Strangely, this had stopped him from going as far as he would have liked, and left him frustrated. An interesting image came into his head, of him ripping Ellen’s clothes off and her begging him to stop. But he wouldn’t stop, he never did.

His hand went inside his front flap and clutched hold of his half-erect penis. ‘I’ll promise you that, me fella me lad,’ he said to his crotch, as he thought of Ellen sprawled on the floor, her clothes ripped from her body.

‘Danny!’ Mike said sharply, sitting up.

Danny stopped his rambling and followed the direction of Mike’s gaze across the room.

His mouth dropped open as his eye came to rest on Ellen standing in front of the White Swan’s main entrance.

 

Ellen’s heart missed several beats and her knees shook as she pushed on the polished horn doorplate of the White Swan’s public rooms.

She had dressed carefully for the evening in a lightweight calico gown of a floral print: red and blue flowers, little green leaves. To keep out the autumn chill she had thrown on an old velvet opera cloak that had been very tatty when she had bought it from Isaac Levy but, with a great deal of tucking and stitching by herself and Bridget, had been restored to some of its former glory.

Suppressing the almost overwhelming urge to turn tail and run, she stepped into the room and looked around. She didn’t have to look far because there, in the corner of the room, sat Danny and Mike. From the debris of bottles on the floor around them, she guessed they had been there some time.

Squaring her shoulders, Ellen put on what she hoped was a relaxed, inviting smile and swayed through the tables towards Danny.

She let her eyes rest on him coolly and he glared back at her. Sitting open in front of him was his ledger of accounts and grudges. He snapped it shut as she stopped in front of him.

‘What the feck do you want?’ he snapped, his gaze running over her slowly.

Ellen breathed slowly to calm her raging pulse. Danny might be many things, but he was no fool.

‘Do I have to want something to visit an old friend?’ she asked, slipping the opera cape off her shoulders and letting it fall on a spare chair.

Danny studied her and Ellen forced herself not to move under his scrutiny. Although his posture was relaxed, his eyes had the all-too-familiar expression of lust clouding them.