Chapter Thirty-Two
Blackwell Rooms was one of at least two dozen lodging houses littering the congested, working-class street.
Numerous additions had been connected to the main building, creating an architectural hodgepodge.
While staring at the geometrical maze, Edward berated himself.
In his haste, he hadn’t inquired what floor Brown resided on, and it would not do to barge in on an unsuspecting tenant’s evening meal.
“Bloody hell,” he said as he kicked at a loose cobblestone.
Thankfully, his little burst of temper temporarily eased his irritation.
Now to stay calm, because if he didn’t think clearly, he’d make a muck of this.
Closing his eyes, he slowly breathed in and out while visualizing a sunny meadow.
Colorful flowers bloomed, butterflies fluttered, and birds chirped merrily.
His heart rate slowed, and his angry inner voice abated, allowing him to assess his situation.
Coming here was a mistake. He should have waited until he had a writ in his hand and the law behind him.
He was not some violent vigilante who ran around London cracking skulls open.
He was a logical lawman who thought things through.
Ethical men most certainly did not flog arsonists who beat their wives, although they definitely fantasized about it.
Edward imagined his whip repeatedly slicing through Brown’s skin.
And blood as it oozed from the cuts as Brown sniveled like the coward he was.
Edward would not feel guilty for wanting to punish this man because the courts did little to protect women, and cruel bullies needed to be taught a lesson.
His serene meadow morphed into a cyclonic maelstrom of destruction. Growling, he opened his eyes. To hell with his conscience. Justice needed to be served swiftly.
He marched to the closest door and pounded on it. A ruddy-cheeked woman with a halo of gray curls peered out at him.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Good day, Madame,” he said. “I’m looking for Mr. Brown. Can you tell me where I might find him?”
The woman regarded him through slitted eyes. For a moment, he feared she wouldn’t answer.
“Are you his mate?” she asked.
Too angry to control his emotions, Edward snorted.
The woman’s skeptical expression softened. She stepped aside and invited Edward into her cozy home. The scent of fresh bread swirled around him, making his stomach growl inopportunely.
“Why are you looking for him?” she asked, her tone more curious than judgmental.
“I work for the magistrate.” Damn his honesty. He probably should have lied about who he was since friends and family tended to hide a wanted man’s whereabouts from the law.
“ ’Tis about time,” she said.
Edward tilted his head, waiting for her to continue.
His patience was rewarded because after a brief pause, she chirped like a songbird.
“That man is as mean as snake snot, he is. Picks fights with everyone he meets. Always out all-night drinking with that no-good brother of his. Goes to church on Sundays, acting like he has God in his soul, but the devil took up residence there long ago. And that’s not even the worst of it. ”
“Oh?” Edward asked.
“I think he hits and kicks that sweet wife of his. Breaks my heart, it does.”
Edward’s, too.
“The Browns’ rooms are on the second floor, but I doubt you will find him there.
He’s probably at a tavern or a bawdy house, drinking himself into a stupor.
The stairs to his rooms are out back. Do not take the side stairs, those lead to the Holme’s rooms, and they are a respectable family.
Wouldn’t want a lawman banging on their door, scaring them. ”
The respectable people must be Charlie’s family. At some other time, Edward would tap on their door and tell them what a remarkable lad they’d raised. But, right this minute, before he changed his mind, he needed to confront Brown. “Thank you for your time,” he told his helpful informant.
“Are you going to protect that poor wife of his?” she asked.
He was going to beat the man within inches of his life. Forget about an imagined whip; Edward’s knuckles would inflict the damage. Then he would haul him to the local goal without a warrant. He’d simply claim, “I was minding my own business, and this wastrel attacked me in a dark alley.”
“Yes. I intend to make sure he never raises a hand to her again,” Edward promised.
“Thank you.” She rested her hands on her heart, and her eyes filled with affection. “Honorable, brave men like you keep the city safe.”
Edward winced. Honorable might no longer be a word that described him, because he was about to take justice into his own hands.
*
As Edward approached the Browns’ quarters, his gaze landed on a burlap sack tucked behind the stairs.
He carried the bag to an open space where moonlight eliminated a tinder box, an empty container of whale oil, and a few swatches of charcloth.
Hopefully, this would serve as the proof he needed.
The fishy stench emanating from the bag stole his breath.
There was no way he could carry it with him for any length of time.
He hid the evidence in the branches of a nearby bush so that he could retrieve it in the morning.
Thereupon, he climbed the short set of stairs, then cautiously knocked.
The kindly woman was correct; Brown wasn’t home. Edward settled into a dark shadow created by the eaves. Brown would have to pass by him to get to the stairs, and when he did, Edward would leap on him, continuing his brutal assault until the ignoramus took his last breath.
Try again, fool.
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t kill the blackguard.
However, he could approach him and confront him about his misdeeds.
Even if he didn’t follow through, threatening the blighter would bring him joy.
He’d watch Brown squirm, relishing every second of the man’s discomfiture.
If he somehow got a confession from him, which would be easy to do if he were foxed enough, he could escort him to the goal. No violence needed.
And, once he locked Brown away, his wife would no longer be in danger. Lady Davenport could easily find her a suitable job. Or maybe she could work for Franny and Josie. That was what Jane Brown said she wanted, after all.
Edward smiled. The thought of Franny always filled his heart with joy. Tomorrow, once all of this was over, he would ask her to be Mrs. Robinson. “Mrs. Frances Robinson,” he whispered to the darkness.