Chapter Eight
Rhys strode up the steps to the front door of the Angel with his shadow at his heels. He didn’t bother to knock but pushed the large door open and entered the warmth of the building. “G’day, Kenneth.”
“G’day, Mr. Seaton. Oy, what’s that?” Kenneth took a step back.
Rhys glanced down at the mastiff, who was baring his teeth at poor Kenneth. “My dog. Won’t leave me alone.” He shrugged. “He is all growl. I haven’t seen him actually bite anyone.”
“I’m not a fan of dogs. Nearly got my hand bit off as a kid by some stray in the street.”
“Hmmm, we’ll just go up then. Reeves in his office?”
Kenneth nodded. The poor man’s posture was stiff and perfectly still as a statue as he stared warily at the mastiff. Rhys had planned to leave the dog down here at the front to wait, but clearly Kenneth wasn’t going to be amenable to watching the mutt.
Rhys snapped his fingers. “Come on, dog. You’re with me, then.”
He climbed the stairs and made a left to walk down to Matthew’s office. Rhys gave a knock and then entered.
Matthew was at his desk with a ledger open in front of him. His friend grinned when Rhys came into the room. “I wondered if you’d be by today.”
“Busy?”
“Always.” Matthew spotted the dog. His eyes widened. “You got a pet?”
“Rescued him from a cage in the Duke of Lavensham’s mews. He was going to be used for fighting.” He settled into a chair opposite Matthew.
Matthew nodded his approval. “You feed it?”
“Yes. It’s so thin.” He glanced down at the big, mangy mutt. “Won’t leave me alone now.” He shrugged. He was getting used to his shadow. “Lie down,” he told the dog. The mastiff stretched out on the rug with a loud sigh. “How’s business? The cold keeping people at home?”
“Maybe a little slow the past two weeks, but still decent for February. Elizabeth said you had a visitor not a half hour ago. Left you this.” He pushed a folded envelope across the desk. “What’s your business with Lady Sommerset?”
“Elizabeth tell you to ask that?” Rhys smirked at his friend.
“Yes, she did. She had to go to work; otherwise, she would be here interrogating you, believe me.”
Rhys took his knife out and slit the seal. Violet Sommerset had pretty handwriting—large, loopy script was neatly penned across thick, expensive paper.
Mr. Seaton, as promised, I wanted to share with you the information I gleaned from the letters I took from the duke’s office.
Many were simply personal correspondence, but the interesting ones were responses to his request to hire what I assume are prostitutes.
Several letters politely told him they would not send him any more girls.
One in particular mentioned an incident with ‘the last girl.’ All except one were rejections.
The last letter was dated last week and was from a Mr. Jones.
He said he had someone for the duke, but he asked for more money.
Today, I plan to pay a visit to Mrs. Lowell at the Foxy Den, who mentioned the previous incident, and ask her for information on what happened to the last girl. I will let you know what I find out.
Sincerely, Violet
“Shit,” Rhys exclaimed. The Foxy Den was no place for a goddamn lady. The low-class brothel was filthy, and the clientele mostly dock workers and sailors. He stood. “When did you say she was here?”
“Elizabeth said about a half hour ago. Maybe a little more now. What’s going on?”
“Bloody ladies who think they can do anything they want. Can I leave the dog here with you? And borrow a horse?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” He headed for the door. The dog’s head raised to see where he was going. “You stay here, boy. I’ll come back for you later. Oh, and Matthew, don’t try to pet him. And don’t let Robert near him. Not sure if he is fond of kids.”
Matthew eyed the dog suspiciously. “All right. But you’d better come back for him.”
The mastiff lay his head down and went back to sleep. Rhys hurried out and headed for the mews, all the while cursing fancy ladies who fashioned themselves spies.
*
“Let’s go down this street. Perhaps it’s tucked down there,” Violet said to Jim.
Jim followed her dutifully down a narrow cobblestoned street.
They were certainly lost in the warren of streets that made up the dockside area of Cheapside.
She was pretty sure that she would be able to figure out her way back to the carriage, but she wasn’t going to give up on finding the Foxy Den.
Apparently, Ginny’s brothers knew of the place, although getting them to admit it hadn’t been easy, and getting proper directions had been impossible.
Ginny’s middle brother owed her a favor, so he had finally relented and told her that the Foxy Den was on Getty Street.
Why had she assumed it would have a sign outside proclaiming its exact location?
She shook her head at her own na?vety. A boy about ten years old leaned against the wall of a building in front of them.
“Young man, do you know where the Foxy Den is?” Violet fished out a coin from her purse and held it up.
From behind her, Jim moved closer as the boy approached.
“Sure do, just down around the bend. For another coin, I’ll show you myself.” His eyes were glued to her purse. They briefly flicked up to Jim, and he sneered.
Violet pulled out another coin and then carefully tucked her purse away. They had already wasted enough time looking for this place; she placed them in the boy’s outstretched palm.
The coins disappeared into his pocket. “Follow me.”
“My lady, perhaps this isn’t wise,” Jim murmured.
“Not to worry. We are finally on track. You just continue to be intimidating. I will do all the talking,” she replied.
It turned out the Foxy Den did have a sign.
No words, just a simple depiction of two foxes curled up in an underground den was carved into a wooden placard by the faded red door.
The boy knocked with three sharp raps. When the door swung open, a half-dressed woman leaned against the doorjamb.
Her hair hung loose over her bare shoulders.
The buttons of her cotton dress were unbuttoned scandalously low.
It didn’t appear that she had any foundational garments on underneath.
“What you looking for?” The woman’s gaze rose to roam over Jim, a spark of appreciation in her eyes.
“Good afternoon. I am looking for Mrs. Lowell,” Violet said.
“What for?”
“I wish to speak with her. I can pay her for her time.”
The woman shrugged. “Follow me.”
They stepped inside, and the foul smell of rancid body odor stopped Violet in her tracks.
Her stomach roiled. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and held it to her nose before continuing to follow the woman.
As they headed down a long corridor, she could hear people moaning behind the closed doors they passed.
Then they went up a staircase, and Violet again stopped in her tracks.
On the landing ahead of them, a man and woman were having sex against a wall.
The woman’s legs were wrapped around his waist, and she looked rather bored as the man pounded into her.
Violet was glad she had her handkerchief as she gaped at the man’s hairy buttocks pulsing with each thrust of his hips. Dear Lord.
The three of them walked close to the opposite wall to get by the couple, who paid zero attention to them. Farther down the corridor, the woman leading them stopped and knocked twice before opening the door. “Some lady to see you, Mrs. Lowell.”
“Let ’em in.”
Violet tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve and stepped forward into the room.
The space was not anything like what she expected based on the rest of the building.
A buxom older woman sat behind a beautifully carved maple desk.
Behind her, a large window faced the street, and sunlight streamed in, glinting off a polished brass oil lamp that sat on one corner of the desk.
The stained glass lampshade reflected a colorful pattern on the floor.
The room smelled nothing like the rest of the house.
Instead, the pleasant smell of a spicy tobacco permeated the air.
“Mrs. Lowell?”
“Yes. What can I help you with, hon?” The lady’s gaze swept over her.
“I have some questions about a past client of yours. And I am willing to pay you for your time.”
The lady waved away the woman who stood at the door. “Get back to work, Jane.” Then her eyes returned to Violet. “Questions, huh? Well, now, client privacy is very important to me. Who is it you’re asking questions about?”
Violet glanced back at Jim. “Will you wait outside the room, please?”
Jim frowned but stepped into the hallway. “I’ll be right by the door if you need anything.” He shut the door with a snap.
Mrs. Lowell hadn’t offered her a seat, but Violet wasn’t about to converse standing in front of the desk like a naughty schoolgirl. She took a seat in a wooden ladderback chair across from Mrs. Lowell. “I am here to ask you about your dealings with my father-in-law, the Duke of Lavensham.”
Mrs. Lowell’s eyes widened.
“I know that he recently requested a girl from your establishment and that you turned him away. Why? He offered a very large sum.”
Mrs. Lowell leaned back in her chair. “Well, now, like I said, I take the privacy of my clients very seriously. I don’t know that I can divulge information about such an important client.”
Oh yes, this was the part where she offered her bribe. Of course. “I am prepared to pay you for the information. Say, fifty pounds?”
Mrs. Lowell tapped the desktop with one bony finger. “Let me see it.”
Violet took out the money and placed it on the table in front of her. “Why would you not send him any more girls? What was the incident with the last girl?”
“It’s my choice who I send girls to. Unlike some, I watch out for the girls who work for me.”
Violet leaned forward. “But why not the Duke of Lavensham?”