Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Not Eliza, too, Mungo thought as the carriage lurched to a halt.
“You check the kitchen, and we’ll take the parlor,” Gray said.
Mungo didn’t waste breath answering. He strode into the kitchen and found Theo with his mouth stuffed full of fruitcake.
“Where is Miss Downing?”
Theo mumbled something incomprehensible.
“Swallow,” Mungo barked.
The boy gulped, choked, coughed, and finally managed to say, “Afternoon off.”
Mungo was already moving. He sprinted from the kitchen and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Reaching the hallway, he flung open doors as he went. When he reached Eliza’s room, he entered. Empty. But something made him step deeper inside.
The little space was neat, ordered. Her pairs of gloves were stacked precisely on the bedside table beside The Holton Agency Manual. He opened the book and ran his eyes down the numbered entries.
Could this have something to do with the numbers in that book? He shoved the manual under his arm and ran back downstairs. He found Ivy in the music room, reading to Lottie and Olivia.
“What’s wrong?” Ivy rose with Olivia in her arms.
“Mama!” Olivia squealed, reaching as Ellen entered behind Mungo.
“Where is Miss Downing, Ivy?” Mungo forced calm into his voice.
“She’s gone to visit her friend, the seamstress.”
“Where, Aunt Ivy?” Ellen asked while Olivia rained kisses over her face.
“She works for the House of La Rue.”
“We think Eliza is in trouble,” Gray said, stepping in. “Where are Bram and Calder?”
“Here,” Bram said from the doorway. “Come downstairs and tell us everything.”
Calder arrived a heartbeat later. “What’s happened, brother?”
“We have to find Eliza. She’s in danger,” Mungo said.
“Fenella—”
“We will find her, Calder, I promise,” Gray said. “Mungo stole two small ledgers from the Holton Agency,” he added as they all moved into the sitting room. “I do not condone theft, but in this case, it appears justified,” he explained quickly, holding up the ledgers.
“A cypher?” Calder asked.
“Aye. You were always the one with the head for this,” Mungo replied.
Calder took a seat at the table. Mungo placed the agency manual beside the ledgers Gray had just lowered. “This might help, or not. You’ll know.”
“I’ll need something to write with.”
Ivy fetched him parchment, pen, and ink. Calder opened each book, studying them with painstaking, infuriating thoroughness. Mungo paced, stopped, then paced again, every muscle rigid with fear.
Was Eliza safe? Or was Ellen’s vision unfolding at this very moment?
At last Calder spoke. “The first number of each entry refers to a location. In the back of this journal”—he tapped the one Mungo had first examined—“are numbered counties. So the code 5, 45, 13 means: 5 = Hampshire.” He turned pages swiftly.
“45 corresponds to a name—Miss Lucy Brown. And 13….” He picked up the etiquette book.
“‘Maintain impeccable moral conduct. A perceived indiscretion leads to dismissal.’”
“Eliza and Polly are in there,” Mungo said tightly.
“Buckinghamshire, Polly Watts,” Calder continued. “Instruction: ‘Do not form romantic attachments that could bring the Agency into disrepute.’” He looked again. “I have found no entry for Miss Downing.”
“If Ellen’s vision of Miss Downing bound in the back of a cart is correct, we must determine whether it connects to Polly and Fenella,” Bram said.
“But Buckinghamshire is large,” Ellen murmured. “Where do we look?”
“Theo must send word to the others. We will need—” Bram began.
“There is no time,” Mungo snapped. He had to get to Eliza. Had to get to Fenella and Polly.
“We may need the entire family, Mungo,” Bram said. “We do not yet know the scale of this.”
“Then we start at the source,” Gray said. “Mrs. Holton knows where her girls are sent. And she will know where Eliza is.”
“I’m coming,” Calder said. “I want that woman to know I am onto her.”
“And I’ll check with the seamstress,” Bram added. “We must confirm whether Eliza truly visited her friend.”
“Thank you,” Mungo said hoarsely.
“We will bring them both home, my friend,” Bram promised.
They ran for the carriage, Bram sprinting off to hail a hackney.
In the coach, Gray said, “I interrogate people for a living. Let me take the lead.”
Neither Mungo nor Calder disagreed.
She is in danger. The truth hammered through Mungo with every turn of the wheels. Every instinct screamed at him that Eliza needed him—now. Someone had taken her and Fenella. He forced the rising terror back. He would not think of what Eliza meant to him, or his small niece, alone and frightened.
But someone would pay for this. He vowed it.
They reached the Holton Agency in grim silence. This time, they did not knock. Gray threw the door open and strode inside. The young receptionist leapt to her feet.
“You cannot go up! You have no appointment!”
They ignored her and climbed the stairs. Mungo shoved open Mrs. Holton’s office door so violently, it slammed into the wall.
“Mr. Rutherford!” Mrs. Holton gasped.
“Sit,” Gray said, stepping past Mungo. “Now.”
She sank into her chair.
“My name is not Mr. Rutherford. It is Detective Fletcher from Scotland Yard.” He gestured to the men flanking him. “And these gentlemen are not here for pleasantries.”
He dropped the ledgers onto her desk.
“I–I’ve never seen those,” she said, though the guilty flush rising in her cheeks told the truth.
“I found them under your desk,” Mungo said.
Mrs. Holton pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Where in Buckinghamshire is Polly Watts, and why was she taken there?” Gray asked.
Mungo had seen Gray in many roles: loving husband, doting father, protective brother—but now he was all steel, his voice hard.
“I will keep asking, Mrs. Holton,” Gray continued when she remained silent. “You are complicit. Whatever you say next will shape your future.”
“I want you to leave my office,” she whispered.
“That will not happen. Tell us everything, and quickly, or you will be dragged to a cell and left there until you choose to speak.”
Still she hesitated.
Mungo slammed his fist on the desk. She jumped.
“Speak now,” he growled. “Because unlike him, I am not a gentleman. I will extract what we need by whatever means necessary.”
“As will I,” Calder added, his fury simmering.
Gray hissed out a breath—his only sign of annoyance—but didn’t contradict them.
“Talk,” he ordered.
Mrs. Holton swallowed. “I… I supply girls to the Baddon Boys.”
“For what purpose?” Gray asked coldly.
“For… parties. Wealthy men. The girls serve them.”
Mungo instantly understood what that meant. His rage sharpened.
“Plenty of women would willingly take such work for coin,” Gray said. “Why force innocent ones?”
“Because the men want innocence,” she whispered.
Gray’s jaw clenched. “These girls believe they are going to Europe for employment, when in truth, you send them straight to hell. Is that correct?”
“I do what I must to survive,” she said, chin rising.
Mungo’s voice was a low growl. “You ruin women’s lives for coin. There is no survival in that, only evil.”
“So,” Gray said, containing his own fury with effort, “they pack their things, enter a carriage, and then? Where are they taken?”
“Different locations. Sometimes the same.”
“Where is Polly Watts?” Gray demanded.
“I–I….” Mrs. Holton paled. “An estate called Three Waters. In Buckinghamshire. The Baddon Boys arrange everything. I receive payment for… for supplying the girls.”
“In exchange for selling them into unwilling prostitution,” Gray amended flatly.
She nodded, shaking.
“And after? Are they released?”
“They are free to leave,” she whispered, though even she didn’t sound convinced.
Calder stepped forward, voice shaking. “Why was my daughter taken?”
Mrs. Holton stared at him, and the color drained from her face as recognition hit her. “M–Mr. Fraser.”
“You knew Polly Watts was here in London with my daughter. You had Polly taken, and Fenella was taken with her.”
“No!” Mrs. Holton cried. “Polly, yes. But not your daughter. That must have been a mistake. The men take only the ones I list.”
“There was no mistake,” Calder said, leaning in. “If she is harmed, I will kill you myself.”
“They don’t harm them,” Mrs. Holton whispered. “They are collected, and kept drugged until—”
“And that is supposed to comfort me?” Calder roared. “You are an evil, manipulative woman who deserves to suffer as you have made all those girls, and we will see that done.”
Gray stepped in. “Is Eliza Downing part of this?”
Mrs. Holton’s eyes flicked to Mungo now.
“Answer,” he said, voice like a blade.
“Yes.”
“Why? She works in the Nightingale household,” Gray snapped.
“She caused trouble at her last post, but we had enough girls… until one fell ill. Her last employer insisted it be Miss Downing. And she is known to the Baddon Boys.”
“Known by the men who murdered her family,” Mungo said, voice thick with fury. “If she or those girls have suffered, I’ll make your life hell.”
“Does this room lock?” Gray asked abruptly.
Terrified, Mrs. Holton retrieved the key from her drawer.
Gray took it. “You will remain here until someone comes for you. Then you will face the consequences of your crimes.”
“No, please—”
He ignored her, ushering the others out. He closed and locked the door.
“Let’s go.”
They hurried downstairs.
“Quill and paper,” Gray said to the stunned receptionist. She obeyed quickly.
Gray wrote a note. “You will take a hackney to Scotland Yard. You will give this message and the key to Detective Holden. Only him. Say Detective Fletcher sent you.”
She nodded shakily.
“Do you hold the key for the front door?” Gray demanded.
The woman nodded and retrieved it from a desk drawer. She handed it to him.
Gray pressed money into her hand, then shut the office door and locked it before handing her back the key.
Then he leaned in close to speak to the woman once more. “Give both keys to Detective Holden along with the note. If you lie or run, never doubt I will find you.”
Her eyes widened, and she fled, running into the street.
Hoofbeats thundered. Bram, Leo, and Alex appeared.
“Miss Downing never visited her friend,” Bram said grimly.
“She, Fenella, and Polly Watts are at an estate called Three Waters,” Calder said.
“That’s Baron Ellington’s estate,” Bram said sharply.
“Then let’s go,” Mungo said. “And I’m killing that bastard this time.”
No one argued.
Ram and Charles arrived as they moved toward the horses. Together, they mounted and thundered out of London as if the hounds of hell snapped at their heels.