Chapter Six
Violet Sommerset had surprised the hell out of him last night, standing behind her father-in-law’s desk, beautiful features pinched with frustration.
He shouldn’t have interacted with her, but he hadn’t been able to resist. The lady was a fascinating mix of fragile beauty and sadness.
Rhys never could resist the pull of someone in trouble.
Lady Sommerset was definitely in some sort of trouble.
But what kind? And why was she snooping through Lavensham’s study?
Her maid had scurried from the house with the bundled letters.
He had followed her to the mews and watched her hide the letters in the Sommerset carriage.
It would have been easy to take them for himself, but then he wouldn’t have an excuse to interact with her again.
Rhys frowned at that thought. Violet Sommerset was a good way to find out more about Lavensham.
If he could use her as an inside source in that household, then he could be rid of this infernal task.
Zeke’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Boss?”
“Sorry, I missed that. What?” he replied.
Across the table, Zeke leaned back against the bench seat. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, you are real out of it this morning. Something on your mind?”
The noise of the coffeehouse buzzed pleasantly around them.
The smell of coffee and pipe tobacco wafted through the sizable establishment.
Sunlight filtered through a large plate glass window that faced Bond Street.
Rhys nodded. “Yes, but nothin’ that has to do with neighborhood business. Sorry. Continue.”
“Two of Rutledge’s boys came to me looking for work. Said they was tired of the way Rutledge runs things down at the docks. He’s got everyone paying him a cut of the quid they make like he’s the fucking king collecting taxes.”
“Hmmm. What do you think?”
“Seemed sincere. I’d hate to be under Rutledge’s thumb, but I wouldn’t trust them to be on watch. Could’ve been sent by Rutledge to bring back information on our operation.”
Rhys raised one eyebrow. “Which one?”
Zeke chuckled. “Any of ’em. But definitely can’t trust them to collect rents and listen to complaints. These two look like they have all the tact of a pair of bears. And I don’t want them anywhere near the auction house.”
“What about at the factory? It’s good, honest work.
If they’ve been working as hooks, they gotta be strong.
” The textile factory he had purchased turned a good income.
He’d had to do a lot of improvements to make the building safe, but he employed folks from the neighborhoods on the Eastside and paid them fair wages.
Creating opportunities for honest work was important to him. Opportunities that he’d never had.
Zeke nodded. “I’ll offer it. Next thing is, Mrs. Bloom said her roof is leaking, and she wants someone to come by.”
“Send Frank. He can get it done in a jiff. We’ll pay him extra if he can get over there today.” Mrs. Bloom was one of the many widows who lived in his section of the neighborhood.
Five years ago, he had inherited the land between Great Queen Street and Duke Street behind Drury Lane.
Rents for all the houses and businesses on those three blocks lined his pockets well enough without much trouble.
The land had come from his father, the Duke of Hartwick.
Rhys’s mother had been the duke’s mistress for a short time, and though the man had never acknowledged Rhys publicly, he’d thought of him in his will.
It had been a surprise that enabled Rhys to leave the gang he had been working for since adolescence and start investing in legitimate business ventures.
He glanced over at Zeke. Leaving the Newgate Boys hadn’t gone over well, especially when he had taken Zeke and Matthew with him. In the end, he’d had to kill Big Hank, and while the others had scrambled to fight each other for Hank’s spot at the helm, the three of them had walked away.
The new boss, Walter, and he had a fragile truce.
Walter knew that Rhys could have easily taken the reins if he had wanted.
All Rhys had asked was that they leave his neighborhood alone.
But a man like Walter could only be trusted so far, and he had men on shifts to watch in the streets for any trouble Walter might decide to make.
He also paid the youngins to keep an ear out for any word of trouble.
If there was one thing working for Lord Fleming had taught him, it was that information was the key to success.
Rhys had begun renting the flats to mothers who needed affordable housing.
If they started a business in the neighborhood, he waived the rent entirely.
Mrs. Bloom was a seamstress and a war widow.
She was a complainer, for sure, but her shop added value to the neighborhood.
Both her sons worked at his factory and were raising their own families right here in the neighborhood.
The door to the coffeehouse opened, and a freezing blast of wind blew in, racing up Rhys’s back and neck. He tugged up the collar of his jacket. “Anything else?”
“I saw a piece come through that you might like. It’s a dining table. Got a real pretty inlay of mother-of-pearl design.”
“Why would I need a dining table? I eat in the kitchen.”
Zeke sighed. “Don’t you ever want to have people over to that house of yours? Friends? Perhaps a lover over for an intimate dinner?”
Rhys snorted. “Friends?”
“I’d come to dinner, and so would Matthew and that pretty wife of his, I bet. What about Ben? That is, if you ever told anyone where you live.”
“You know it’s a security risk,” he replied.
“Life is a risk. Rhys, you have more friends than enemies these days.” Zeke slid the ledger that contained this week’s numbers across the table. “I’ll see you later.”
Rhys nodded. He took a last gulp of his coffee.
Strong and bitter, just as he liked. Zeke didn’t understand the full scope of Rhys’s enemies.
Although perhaps his work for the government had made him somewhat paranoid.
But hell, he had killed a lot of people, and although he was more ghost than man when he was on a job, one couldn’t be too careful.
When he laid his head down at night, he liked to feel safe. Safety was a luxury.
He rose and tucked the small notebook into the back of his pants underneath his jacket.
Then he headed out and walked west. His shadow followed along at his side.
The mastiff had taken to following him as he did business around the city.
The first night when he had fed the beast, the dog had slept in the garden under a large bush.
In the morning, he had lured it back into the kitchen with a bowl of food.
This time, after it ate, the dog had wandered over to the hearth and stretched out in front of its warmth with a long sigh.
Like a soft-hearted fool, Rhys had kept letting it into the house and feeding the mangy thing.
Louisa had a conniption when Rhys first introduced the two.
But the dog must have won her over with its soulful eyes, because two days ago, he had caught her throwing it a piece of carrot as she chopped.
He made sure to caution her not to try to pet the mastiff.
The dog spent all its time following him around, so it had hardly been an issue.
“Louisa says you need a name, boy,” he addressed the dog. “What say you to Beast?”
The dog gave him a long-suffering look.
Rhys chuckled. “Alright, perhaps a bit too on the nose. What about Goliath?”
The dog snorted and bent to sniff the side of a building.
“Hmmm, well, I will think on it. It’s a far ways to Mayfair.
Sure you want to tag along?” Hartwick should be home.
His wife was due to have their first child anytime now, and the man refused to leave her side.
Rhys whistled a tune as he walked. Lucy was probably going to kill her overly attentive husband before she even had his baby.
Hartwick’s mansion on St. James Square spanned a half a block.
Its pristine windows reflected the sunshine, and Rhys squinted in the glare.
It was cold enough to freeze off a man’s bollocks, but at least the sun shone.
He went up the front steps and knocked on the dark green door.
The brass knocker was not out because they were not formally receiving guests, but he knew that Mr. Townson would let him in.
The door swung open, and Hartwick’s starchy butler greeted him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Seaton.”
“Are Hartwick and his lady at home? I’ve a question for him.”
“Yes, sir. I believe they would enjoy the diversion of your presence. Come in,” he intoned. Then he noticed the mastiff, and his bushy eyebrows rose.
“You can’t come inside. Stay,” he told the dog. Then Rhys walked into the foyer and handed his hat to the footman, who stood at the ready. So many damn servants. How did one live with so many people always watching you?
“They are in the study. This way.” Townson began to climb the stairs.
Rhys shook his head. He knew where Hartwick’s study was but followed Townson dutifully. The butler had run the ducal household since their father was the duke, and there was no explaining to the man that Rhys knew where he was going. Guests were always escorted.
Inside the study, Lucy sat on one end of the sofa with her legs stretched out and her feet in Hartwick’s lap. He rubbed at the soles absently with one hand and read a letter he held in the other.
“Seaton,” Lucy exclaimed. “What a nice surprise.”
“How are you and the babe feeling today, Lady Hartwick?” Rhys asked.
“Terrible.” Lucy’s nose scrunched. “It feels like I will burst at the seams. And look how swollen my ankles and feet are.”
Hartwick tugged down the hem of his wife’s dress to cover said appendages.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “I hardly think my swollen ankles will have Seaton burning with lust.”
“Nonsense. Every part of you is beautiful.” Hartwick gave the top of her foot a pat. “Come in, Seaton. What brings you over today?”
Rhys chuckled at Hartwick’s placating tone.
The man doted on his petite wife. Not that she was all that small these days.
Rhys eyed her swollen belly. How did she not tip over when she walked around?
He took a seat across from the pair. Not one for small talk, Rhys got right to the point.
“I wondered if I could see our father’s journal of secrets. ”
Hartwick’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“I would like to read any entries about the Duke of Lavensham.”
“Interesting. But you can’t.”
“Pardon?”
“You can’t look at the journal because I’ve burned it,” Hartwick replied.
“You did what?” Rhys pushed forward in his seat to rest his arms on his knees. “Why in God’s name would you burn the journal?”
Hartwick glanced at Lucy, who sent Rhys a rueful smile. “I tried to talk him out of it. But he said it was the right thing to do.”
“Do you remember when Lucy’s friend Adeline was here last year? And when we discovered the entry about her and her brother not being the legitimate children of Lord Rawlings?”
Rhys nodded.
“Well, it got me thinking about how dangerous that journal was. So many secrets that could ruin people’s lives.
And I felt that we no longer needed it as security with Griffen and his horrible son both dead.
Truly, so many of my father’s cronies are not an issue anymore.
So, I decided to destroy it. It’s for the best.”
Rhys leaned back in his seat. That journal had been full of valuable currency. Secrets were currency. Every good spy knew that. He looked over at his half brother. Hartwick was calm and sure in his decision.
“What did you need to find on Lavensham?” Lucy asked.
“I made a promise to someone. They said I needed to stop Lavensham from doing something.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know.”
Hartwick held up a hand. “You made a promise to stop the Duke of Lavensham from doing something, presumably bad, but were not told what it was?”
“Yes.” Rhys sighed at their expectant expressions and elaborated. “The person who asked me this favor died before he could explain.”
Lucy scooted so she was sitting up; her bare feet hit the floor. Leaning forward, her eyes were bright with curiosity. She smacked her husband’s arm. “I told you that you’d never know when that journal could come in handy.”
“Yes, dear,” Hartwick replied automatically.
“It’s not terribly surprising that Lavensham would be up to something nefarious.
Kingsbury told us that his father turned a blind eye to Lavensham and the others using his cove in Dorset to smuggle in French goods during the war.
But that was a long time ago. There were also rumors that his wife’s death was not an accidental drowning. Again, old rumors.”
“Truly?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “I knew I didn’t like that family.”
That caught Rhys’s attention. Lucy was a good judge of people. “Why?”
“She thinks that Sommerset is keeping Violet from her friends,” Hartwick said.
“It is true. I have hardly seen Vi in the last year. When we went to visit last summer, she was changed. So quiet and withdrawn. And now, because of this monstrosity inside me, I can’t go to social functions, so I have seen her only once since we arrived back in town.”
Hartwick sent her a wry half smile. “Thanks for describing our child as a monstrosity; that’s a new one.”
“Sorry.” Lucy sent Hartwick a sheepish look. “But this is all your fault. If you were a smaller man…”
“As amusing as it is seeing Lucy dress you down, could we get back to talking about Lavensham?” Rhys interrupted.
“Something is wrong over there. Everything looks perfect, but Vi is changed, and it worries me when you say there are rumors of violence in that family.” Lucy chewed on her lower lip.
“Will you keep an eye on her, Seaton? If you are investigating her father-in-law, could you find out what is going on with Vi?”
The worry in her eyes was enough to have him nodding his agreement. “You shouldn’t be worrying about anything, save that babe in your belly. I promise to keep an eye on your friend.”
Hartwick mouthed, “Thank you.”
Rhys gave another small nod. Without their father’s journal of secrets, he would have to do more trailing and more snooping into Lavensham’s business. Perhaps those letters he sent home with Violet would produce some interesting information.
“Thank you, Seaton. You have put my mind at ease. I know you shall keep her safe.” Lucy yawned and leaned back against the pillow behind her.
He stood. “I must go.”
“Come again soon. She can use the diversion.” Hartwick looked over at his wife, whose eyes were already fluttering closed. “Let me know how I can help with your task. I will keep an ear out for any gossip about Lavensham at the club.”
Rhys nodded. “Good. Thanks.”