Chapter Sixteen #4
Griffin stole a glance at Sir Hadrien. “At last I understand how quiet is becoming.” Satisfied by Sir Hadrien’s start of recognition at this sentiment, he returned his attention to Mrs. Christie.
“The attack on Alastair’s sister was in every way about you.
Your petty jealousies. Your rage at being turned out.
You conceived the notion that she was to blame.
You sent Neville Burton to Olivia’s room not only to punish her, but to punish me as well.
Burton might be Crocker’s man, but you had the use of him.
It doesn’t matter to me whether today’s bit of business was planned by you or Crocker.
Neither of you is blameless. Both of you are responsible. ”
Satisfied that she’d heard him, Griffin fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw they were approaching Crocker’s hell. He tapped the barrel against the roof to alert the driver that they were coming to their destination. The carriage slowed immediately.
“I expect nothing less than your cooperation,” he said. “Both of you. You can trust that Crocker will see to his own well-being first and on no account will he be concerned for yours. As I am of a similar mind, you will precede me to the door.”
Sir Hadrien alighted first, then Mrs. Christie. Griffin followed them up the stone steps and remained behind them while their knock was being answered.
Johnny Crocker’s establishment did not cater to the fashionable crowd.
They came, though, especially the younger set, to rub elbows with the rough trade.
Too frequently it was because they had something to prove, either to themselves or their friends, or even more often, to the society of their parents.
As a consequence, Crocker’s hell served up regular brawls that broke furniture and jaws in equal measure.
Crocker was known to tolerate opium smokers and did not fuss overmuch if that activity spilled out of the rooms designated specifically for it.
He did not operate a brothel but allowed women to ply their trade within the house as long as they were comely and did not expect him to provide protection.
He paid the local constabulary well and expected little enough for it.
He didn’t call upon them to settle disagreements that arose at the tables and among the opium eaters, and he didn’t welcome their interference when he settled such things in his own way.
Doing nothing, it was the easiest money they earned.
Griffin and his companions were shown into the entrance hall by a man who would have seemed equally in his element on the docks. He had a thick neck and hands like paddles. He looked them over, nodded politely to Mrs. Christie, and asked Griffin, “What’s your business?”
“Tell your employer that Breckenridge is here on the matter of a debt that’s owed him. He’ll see me.”
The manservant nodded, turned his back to seek out Crocker, and was felled like the great oak he was when Griffin caught him in the back of the skull with the butt of his pistol.
“What was that?” Olivia asked. The bottles shuddered once and were still. “Did you feel it?”
Alastair’s head came up. He frowned, realized Olivia couldn’t see his confusion, and said, “Don’ know. S’not the same as it usually is. Goes on for hours most times.”
Olivia returned to her brother’s side and sat down. “I’ve been thinking, Alastair. There’s something yet that we might do.”
Griffin directed Sir Hadrien and Mrs. Christie to drag the body to the front parlor and close the pocket doors. He didn’t expect that the man would be coming around any time soon. His skull had cracked like the shell of a soft-cooked egg.
He gestured to his companions to climb the stairs to Crocker’s rooms. It was impressive that neither of them had done more than startle when the big man went down. Apparently he’d made himself convincing. All to the good, since he’d meant every threat.
Johnny Crocker was a large man himself, given to expansive gestures and raising his voice in a manner that made him seem larger. He jumped to his feet and threw his arms wide when he saw Alys Christie step into the room.
“Alys, m’love, so you’ve come. Couldn’t stay away, could—” He stopped, thick, copper-colored eyebrows coming together over a pair of sharply leveled green eyes as Sir Hadrien followed on Mrs. Christie’s heels. “Who’s the toff sniffin’ your skirts, Alys? Can’t say that I like you bringin’ him here.”
“Sir Hadrien Cole,” she said. “Sir Hadrien, Mr. Johnny Crocker.”
“Cole? I’ll be damned.” He folded his arms across his chest so they rested comfortably on the shelf of his protruding hard belly. “I’m at a loss here, Alys. Damned, if I’m not at a loss.”
Griffin stepped over the threshold behind them. “A loss? That is unlike you, Crocker.”
“Bloody hell.” He eyed Griffin’s raised weapon. “For God’s sake, lower your pistol, Breckenridge. I ain’t of a mind to lay you out, though your manners make it tempting. What the hell do you want? If I have it, it’s yours.”
“Olivia Cole.”
“Don’t have it. Don’t know precisely what it is.”
“I am generally amused by your bluster. Not just now, though.” Nonetheless, he lowered his pistol and made a point of looking around Crocker’s study.
The tidiness of the space was in perfect contrast to the man.
Crocker’s cravat was limp and slightly twisted, his shirt bunched around his waist, and there was a button missing on his waistcoat.
His study, however, had no item out of place.
The furniture was set at conversational angles and none of it held papers, books, or ledgers.
There was room to walk in every direction without bumping into a stack of newspapers or tripping over a footstool.
The vases, all four of them filled with expensive hothouse flowers, did not have to share a tabletop with mismatched porcelain and jade figurines and other odd collectibles.
There were no decks of cards under the chairs or teacups and saucers lining the windowsill.
No decanters were left out on the drinks cabinet, and the evidence that Crocker smoked the occasional cheroot or cigar was confined to the stale, smoky fragrance that lingered in the air.
“You welcomed Mrs. Christie rather warmly, I thought.”
“Why shouldn’t I? She’s a right piece of God’s handiwork and has a mouth what knows how to pleasure a man. You’re familiar yourself.”
Griffin saw his former mistress’s back stiffen.
At her sides her hands curled. “Have a care, Crocker, else she will launch herself at you. Don’t depend on me to pull her off, nor to wager that you’d emerge the victor.
She says she’s not your partner, and neither is she in your debt, but something about her way of saying doesn’t sit well with me.
I thought you might entertain me with your version of the truth, but I’d like to see Olivia first. Sir Hadrien would like to see her brother.
Explanations, as diverting as I’m certain to find them, will have to wait. ”
Crocker held up his hands in advance of his attempt to explain, his broad features suggesting confusion and innocence. “You mistake the matter if you think I know what you’re talking about. You seem to be suggesting something that is beneath me.”
“Since you’d crawl on your belly in the sewers if it would put a copper in your pocket, there’s nothing that’s beneath you.
” He raised the pistol, used it to nudge Mrs. Christie and Sir Hadrien a bit to each side, then kept it level on Johnny Crocker’s barrel chest. “Show me where you’re keeping Olivia. ”
Crocker shifted his weight, unfolded his arms, and held fast to the lapels of his frock coat.
He took Griffin’s measure, calculated the likelihood that he would use the pistol, and equally important, the likelihood that he would miss.
The probability of the first was extremely high, the latter, extremely low.
Johnny Crocker decided he could afford to cooperate.
“Do you have the ring?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, Griffin said, “Take me to Olivia.”
Crocker shrugged his massive shoulders. “As you wish.”
Griffin stepped back and out of the way so that all three could precede him. He explained to Crocker in his calm and careful voice what he would do if there was the least interference from the staff. Crocker simply nodded and took the lead.
They used the servants’ stairs to enter the bowels of the house.
The narrow passage confined their movements and made it easy for Griffin to keep them contained.
When they entered the servants’ hall, Crocker sent the cook and all three helpers out.
A maidservant came into the hallway from one of the adjoining rooms, her arms extended and laden with laundry.
A word from Crocker had her reversing her direction immediately.
The hall was silent and still after that.
“Show me,” Griffin said quietly.
“This way.” Crocker turned the corner and stopped in front of a heavy oaken door. “Wine cellar. I have to get the key from inside my coat.”
“Go on.” Griffin noted the door was barred as well as locked. The combination was good for keeping people out and in. He felt more confident that he was being shown where Olivia and Alastair had been secreted.
Crocker removed the bar, set it aside, then used the key. They all stepped back as the door opened toward them and stayed rooted to the floor as the foul stench escaped the room.
Mrs. Christie gagged and stuffed her fist against her mouth. Sir Hadrien quickly found his scented handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. Crocker grimaced but stepped into the room, encouraged by the pistol pressed momentarily against his spine.
Griffin called for Olivia in the same moment she heaved the contents of the slop bucket into the crowded doorway.