Chapter 14
"You promised that Missus Fitz-Wilton you'd not go after this poxy cove," Billings said as he and Ban leaned in the shadows against the courtyard wall behind one of Mayfair's most well-known private gaming clubs.
"I'm not going to touch him," Ban assured him. "Why do you think the rest of you are here?" He nodded across the courtyard to where four more of his men crouched behind a large privy.
"I'll do for him," Isadore's coachman said, as he stared at the back door into the elegant private townhouse where the ton's elite went to lose their fortunes and drink themselves into oblivion once they had lost it all.
"You've done enough," Ban told the old man. "You need to get back to Grosvenor Street before you're missed. You're of better use to Missus Fitz-Wilton there. I don't want George Fitz-Wilton to have any reason to suspect you gave us his location tonight."
The coachman sniffed and crammed his hat onto his head. "You look out for our girl, now, Mister Dyer. Or you'll answer to me." He nodded and disappeared down the narrow mews lane that ran behind the row of exclusive town houses.
Ban and Billings watched him climb into Isadore's coach and drive away.
"He loves her," Billings said. "Says he's known her since she was a babe in leading strings."
"I know. Which is why I don't want anything to happen to him.
She's lost enough already." Ban refused to turn his head to see Billings's expression.
Instead, he looked across the courtyard where Wells, another former boxer, stood talking to one of the maids from the gaming club.
Wells dropped some coins into the maid's bodice and slapped her on the arse before he walked casually across the cobblestoned courtyard to where Billings and Ban waited.
The maid scurried back inside the house.
"Both the gents are on their way out. Their carriage is down the way. The lass was supposed to fetch the driver and carriage. I told her I'd do it for her." He glanced back over his shoulder as the back door slowly opened. "Half an hour long enough, guv'?"
Ban nodded and pulled the dark kerchief around his neck up to cover his face, save for his eyes.
Billings did the same, as did the three men closer to the house.
They all waited for the two men leaving the house to move into the middle of the courtyard, which was brightly lit by torches along the surrounding walls.
"That's them," Billings said softly. "White-haired one is Sutton. The one in the red waistcoat is Fitz-Wilton." The boxer had been watching Fitz-Wilton's house and tracking his movements over the last few weeks.
"I'm for Sutton," Ban said. "You and Six-Fingers take Fitz-Wilton. Hurting, not dead. Tell Mad Dog and Whistler to keep watch and keep those two in play."
"Got it." He and Billings split up and crept around in the shadows so they were on either side of Fitz-Wilton and Sutton who were deep in conversation. Ban grabbed one of the torches from the wrought iron sconce set into the brick wall and tossed it, still burning in front of the two men.
"Good evening, gents," he drawled as he strolled toward Sutton. "I heard a nasty rumor about you two."
Sutton froze, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open like a newly hooked fish.
"Who the devil are you? Fitz-Wilton demanded. "Remove yourselves at once or I shall summon the Watch." Before he could utter another word Billings punched him dead in the mouth. He went down like a felled ox. Six-Fingers immediately dragged him to his feet so that Billings could punch him again.
Ban grabbed Sutton by the heck cloth and spun him around, slamming him into the wall. The man screamed like a woman and covered his face with his arms. "Take the money. Don't hurt me," he mewled.
"Is that what those young boys say when you bugger them, Sutton?
Is it?" The old rage bubbled up in Ban as he'd known it would.
He slammed Sutton's head into the wall and when the man dropped his arms Ban snatched his neck cloth again and dragged him toward the privy.
He spun him around and punched him in the face, three times in succession.
Then he opened the privy door and forced Sutton inside.
He kicked the still screaming man's feet out from under him and shoved his head into the festering swill below the privy seat.
"Remember this," he snarled as he bent down and held Sutton in place.
"The next time you even think about taking a child to your bed, you miserable shithole of a man.
" Ban backed out of the privy and used the metal bar Wells had left for him to lock the door to the privy.
He wiped his knuckles on his breeches and fought to steady himself.
He'd used every ounce of his strength not to drown Horace Sutton in the name of every child the man had ever hurt.
In the name of every time Ban and his brothers had been hurt.
"He's done," Billings told Six-Fingers as they stood over George Fitz-Wilton. "Let's leave him for the Watch." Ban joined them and gazed down at the unconscious demon who had taken Isadore's son. Billings had given him a proper beating, but he'd live. For now.
Mad Dog and Whistler came around the corner from the mews lane.
"Best to scarper," Mad Dog said. "The Watch is on the stroll and could be coming this way. Wells is signaling their carriage is on the way as well."
"Right," Ban said. We're for Pall Mall. Benny's waiting to take us back to Saffron Hill." He kicked Fitz-Wilton in the ribs. The man groaned but didn't move or open his eyes. "To be continued," Ban murmured as he followed his men out of the courtyard and they headed for the heart of London.
Isadore found Ban's expression of frustration far more amusing than she should.
She'd known he was going to The Ten Bells in White Chapel to meet with the Bow Street Runner, Archer Colwyn.
They were to discuss the sons of the woman who had made Ban's childhood a horror.
He'd flatly refused to allow her to accompany him.
Which was why when he stepped into his carriage behind the Devil's Den, he had found her sitting there on the front facing seat waiting for him.
"You are dressed too fine for The Ten Bells," was all he managed to grumble before Benny set the coach in motion.
Now they sat at a relatively clean table in an open alcove a step up from the main taproom.
Ban and Archer Colwyn were deep in conversation.
Isadore spent a few moments taking in the notorious tavern.
Contrary to Ban's observation, no one paid her a bit of mind in spite of the elegant green-and-gold-striped silk day dress she wore. Why would they?
The people of White Chapel came to The Ten Bells to drink away the misery of their lives in one of the poorest parts of London.
They had no interest in anything save their own troubles and the drink they consumed to try to wash those troubles away for a while.
Whilst they did not notice Isadore, nor even the plainly dressed Bow Street man, nearly every person in the crowded, stale-aired tavern took note of Ban Dyer's presence.
Their attention was as heavy as the scents of sweat, dirt, and ale in the air.
The men nodded or touched their caps. The women stared and made a point of passing by his table, some with glances of open invitation and some whose expressions spoke of gratitude and deference.
Isadore fought to understand how a man so feared in the rookeries could also be.
..almost revered in one of the lowest taverns in London.
"The man was hanged at Newgate, Ban. I've seen the records." Archer Colwyn was a powerfully built man with a stony expression and the sort of simmering intensity one expected to erupt at any moment.
"It was them, Bow Street. How I managed to put down a dead man is your puzzle to solve. He and his brother have something to do with the missing and dead children. Have you found their sister? Her name was Elizabeth Dyer, but she was married off to some coal merchant in Chelsea."
"I have my people looking for her, but she seems to have disappeared.
If you had brothers like John and Jack Dyer, would you want anyone to be able to find you?
" Mister Colwyn took a sip of his ale and grimaced.
"I see the ale here isn't much better than it was when we were boys begging for pennies to buy a mug or two. "
Ban grinned. "The ale hasn't changed, but we have." He raised his mug in salute.
"Thank God for that," Mister Colwyn agreed and did the same.
"You two have known each other that long?" Isadore asked. She had to admit the thought of a Bow Street runner and a crime lord growing up together was not anything she'd ever considered.
"We have indeed, ma'am," the Bow Street man replied. "Though we took quite different roads at some point."
"No doubt." Isadore sniffed the contents of her own mug and placed it back on the table. The plate of meat pasties one of the tavern maids had placed on the table smelled far more appetizing. Isadore broke a piece off one and tasted the spicy combination of pork and gravy.
"About Ma Dyer," Mister Colwyn started.
Ban's jaw tightened. The vein just below his ear begin to pulse. Isadore suspected Archer Colwyn noticed the change in Ban as well. He struck her as a man who noticed everything.
"What about her?" Ban bit out. He took the time to shake the offered hand of an ancient man in a ragged coat and trousers.
"Mister Dyer," the old man mumbled.
"You took your wife to see the Rose Street man?" Ban asked.
"I did. He's a good 'un, he is. She's right as rain now." He tugged the brim of his cap. "Your boys did a good job on the house. Snug and warm now. I thank ye." The poor man looked embarrassed and unsure.
"Give my best to your missus," Ban said gently. He followed the man's progress with his eyes until the elderly gent shuffled out of the tavern. Mister Colwyn glanced at Isadore and shook his head.
"What about Ma?' Ban demanded, once his attention left the old man.
"She's likely dead. As nearly as I can tell from her records at Bedlam, she's had consumption for a while. The last entry on her record is from a year ago. They had her at death's door."
"I wonder if her boys knew that?" Ban mused aloud.
"I'll ask them when I find them," Mister Colwyn said. He took one of the pasties and put it on one of the pewter plates the tavern maid had left for them. "Do you remember anything else about the night you put down a dead man, whose body has not shown up yet, at an unnamed location?"
"The less information you have, the less likely you will have to arrest me," Ban said, as he bit into another of the pasties.
"I remember something," Isadore said. Both men turned slowly to stare at her in disbelief. "Well, I do and it might be helpful for Mister Colwyn to know."
"Please do go on, Missus Fitz-Wilton," the Bow Street man said, once he'd swallowed a large bit of pastie.
"Isadore," Ban warned.
"Don't you Isadore me, Ban Dyer." She waved a dismissive hand at him. "Yes, I was there, Mister Colwyn. The second man, the one who got away? Just before he ran, he looked up at the back of the tavern, up towards a window on the top floor. Only then did he turn and run."
"What's so unusual about that?" Ban asked. "Ma's boys were always cowards at heart, especially when the other wasn't there to back them up."
"He had a pistol pointed at you, I had a pistol pointed at him. And he took the time, a good long time, to stare at a window?" Isadore rolled her eyes. "Would you look away under those circumstances?"
"He damned well wouldn't," Mister Colwyn said.
"And he knows it. Tell me more about this tavern and you having a pistol pointed at John Dyer.
Or perhaps Ban here would like to tell me about the attack on George Fitz-Wilton and Horace Sutton last night behind a rather exclusive Mayfair gaming house. "
Isadore's stomach sank. She glared at Ban, eyes narrowed and lips closed tight to keep from railing out at him.
"Nothing you need concern yourself with, Bow Street.
Neither of you say another word," Ban ordered, his hand on Isadore's wrist as he stood from his chair.
"I'll be right back." He walked through the crowded tavern toward the tall round bearded man behind the bar who was waving him over with a slight flick of his hand.
Isadore snorted and turned back to Mister Colwyn. All humor had left his expression. "What happened to George and Horace?" she asked.
"What tavern, Missus Fitz-Wilton?" They engaged in a brief contest of wills.
"The Angel. Talk to Maggie Church, she's the owner." Isadore glanced over her should to ensure Ban was still occupied. "That is all I will say. Tell me."
"The two gentlemen were attacked as they left the back of the gaming house. Several men with kerchiefs over their faces. I'm aware you're having difficulties with both of those men. I'm also aware that you and Ban Dyer have formed some sort of attachment. You are playing with fire, ma'am."
"I know what he is, Mister Colwyn. My difficulties are not the business of Bow Street, and Mister Dyer serves my purpose. Nothing more." Isadore doubted the man believed her as she frankly did not believe herself. "He is not a good man, but neither are George Fitz-Wilton nor Horace Sutton."
The Bow Street Runner sighed and shook his head. When next he looked into Isadore's eyes it was very like looking into the eyes of Ban or one of the other Four Horsemen.
"You think a good man is a harmless man.
And you would be wrong. A good man is an inherently dangerous man, born and bred in hell, who holds his violence under control until he is given no choice but to unleash that violence and accept the circumstances.
" Archer Colwyn closed the notebook he'd been scribbling in the entire time and shoved it into his pocket.
"Be careful what you unleash, Missus Fitz-Wilton.
Because not even God knows what the damage will be when you do. "
"Leaving, Bow Street?" Ban asked, as he came back to the table.
"I have everything I need," Mister Colwyn replied. "I suppose it wouldn't do any good to warn you off the Dyers and George Fitz-Wilton?" He gave Ban a warning stare.
"Has it ever?"
"You're determined for me to have to arrest you one day." He shook Ban's hand.
"But not today."
"No, Dyer, not today." He offered Isadore a brief bow. "Good day, Missus Fitz-Wilton and good luck." Once the Bow Street runner had left the tavern, Ban grabbed Isadore's hand and dragged her towards the back of the tavern where Benny waited with his carriage.
"Come on," he urged as she grabbed the last pastie on the plate. "I have things to tell you."