Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The next day, Evie and James traveled to London.
Their family had insisted on accompanying them and now kept watch as they approached Doolittle’s Emporium of Wonders.
Located in bustling Whitechapel, the pawnshop was situated on a narrow street crammed with businesses, which ranged from disreputable to more disreputable.
The emporium itself bore a gilt sign that looked freshly painted, and its plate glass window displayed a mishmash of goods, from a stuffed monkey to a fashionable top hat.
As Evie and James entered, they were greeted by a chorus of wailing babes.
They made their way through a maze of cabinets and shelves teetering with bits and bobs to the main counter, where a harassed-looking blonde was tending to three toddling triplets and a pair of older, freckled twins.
While the triplets raced about like pups escaped from the whelping box, the woman was trying to separate the twins, who were locked in a battle over a wooden horse.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “Or I’ll break this toy in ’alf, leaving one o’ you wif the ’ead and the other wif the arse!”
“I want the arse,” the taller twin said.
“Alfred the Second said a bad word,” the other reported.
“Mum said it first,” Alfred the Second muttered. “You’re such a tell-tale.”
“Pardon, ma’am.”
James’s pleasant inquiry cut through the mayhem. All eyes turned to him. Then a massive shaggy brown dog came charging through a curtained doorway, and Evie’s breath caught as it headed straight for James.
“Sit,” James commanded.
The dog skidded to a halt and sat, its tail thumping against the floor.
“Gor.” The blonde turned huge eyes to Evie. “If your pot-and-pan manages tots the same way, I may ’ave to steal ’im for meself.”
Recognizing the Cockney slang for “husband” and the harmless nature of the woman’s admiration, Evie smiled. “I think I will keep him, thank you.”
“You would be a fool not to, and you don’t strike me as a fool, luvie. I’m Sally Doolittle, proprietress o’ this madhouse. Anyfing I can ’elp you wif?”
“As a matter of fact.” Removing the half-ticket from his coat pocket, James showed it to Mrs. Doolittle. “We are looking for this item, which we believe is in your possession.”
“Looks like my old man’s handwriting. Please wait while I fetch ’im.” Opening her mouth, Mrs. Doolittle let out a bellow that rattled the cabinets. “Alfred-kins! Get your behind out ’ere. Customers need attending, do you ’ear me?”
After a delay, the curtain parted, and a slight fellow with a mop of brown hair strolled through.
“The dead could ’ear you, Sal,” he said, yawning. “Is there a law against a bloke getting some shut-eye?”
“Papa!” The children swarmed him.
“There are my good tots.” Patting each of them on the head, he handed out boiled sweets as his offspring cheered. “Nothing like candy to calm the spirit, eh? Now be off and play quietly while the adults talk.”
After the children barreled off like locomotives under full steam, he turned to Evie and James and performed a sprightly bow.
“Alfie Doolittle, at your service.”
James introduced himself and Evie.
“We are in search of this item,” he said, “which we believe is being held in your shop.”
Glancing at the stub, Mr. Doolittle shrugged. “I hold a lot o’ things, guv.”
“This pearl necklace belonged to my mama,” Evie said. “It was the only thing I had of hers, and it was stolen from me by the man who deposited it here.”
Mr. Doolittle drew himself up. “If you’re accusing me o’ handling ill-gotten goods—”
“We are not accusing you of anything. Yet.” James’s warning was clear. “We see no reason to summon the police when this matter can be handled discreetly—and advantageously.”
When he took out his pocket-book, Mr. Doolittle’s manner turned speculative.
“I offer a service,” he said smoothly. “Patrons deposit their goods wif me for safekeeping, and I issue them a ticket like the one you ’ave there. When they return wif the ticket and pay the holding fee, I return the item. My trade is as clean as a nun’s conscience.”
“I assume you keep a record of the depositor’s information?” James asked.
“Weren’t born yesterday. Keep my records and my business straight, don’t I.”
Rifling behind the counter, Doolittle emerged with a thick ledger and thumped it onto the counter. He thumbed through the volume and tapped his finger on a page.
“’Ere’s the transaction you’re after. One necklace, graduated pearls o’ exceptional quality, gold filigree clasp—valued at two hundred pounds.
Deposited by one Charles Wilcott. And let’s see…
I made a note. Wilcott paid the holding fee up front and said the necklace was to be given to the man who brought in both halves o’ the ticket. ”
“Do you have Wilcott’s address?” James demanded.
“That’s confidential.”
James placed a twenty-pound note on the counter.
“14 Burton Crescent in Bloomsbury. A lodging house, and not a very fine one.”
A thrill chased up Evie’s spine.
“Now, you will return my wife’s necklace,” James said.
“That I cannot do, guv. For any price.” Mr. Doolittle shut the ledger. “I’m bound by the pledge o’ my trade. If word got out that I relinquished a patron’s deposited goods wifout proper authorization, my reputation won’t be worth dirt.”
“Your patron is a murderer and extortionist,” James stated. “If the police get wind of your involvement, your reputation will be the least of your worries.”
“Let the Peelers come.” Mr. Doolittle folded his arms over his chest, a slight sneer on his face. “I ain’t afraid o’ a pack o’ blue-bottles.”
“But you should be afraid of me,” James said in a dangerous tone. “My wife has suffered enough losses, and I will not stand by while you keep what is rightfully hers.”
Evie stopped him before he could follow through with his threat.
“Leave the necklace for now, darling.” She kept her gaze steady on the burning blue of his. “When we capture Wilmington, we will get the other half of the ticket. I shall have my pearls—and justice at last.”
Dusk had settled over Burton Street like a shroud.
Gas lamps dotted the terrace, their flickering halos doing little to relieve the misery of the surroundings.
Evie shivered as they drove past the bleak lodging house at number fourteen: its sunken roof and crumbling brick facade gave the impression that it was rotting from within.
In a nearby alleyway, Evie and James rendezvoused with his family.
“Are you certain the two of you should go in alone?” Papa asked.
“If we barge in as a group, the commotion might alert Wilmington,” James said. “I will handle the coward. But in case he makes a run for it, the rest of you must cover all exits.”
“You can count on us,” Ethan said.
“Evie, you are prepared?” Mama inquired.
“Yes, Mama.” Evie removed the pearl-handled pistol from the pocket of her cloak. “Wilmington is no threat to me.”
“Not physically,” Mama murmured. “Yet facing one’s demons is never easy. You must confront him together, my dears, and let your love strengthen your purpose and resolve.”
The group split up, and hand in hand, Evie and James entered the lodging house.
It was supper time, and from the distant clatter of dishes and hum of conversation, most of the guests were occupied with the meal.
The shabby foyer was manned by a single clerk, who was as weathered as the décor.
His gaze widened as he took in James’s elegance and commanding presence.
“We are looking for Charles Wilcott,” James said softly. “We don’t wish to cause any trouble for you or your occupants. If you cooperate, there will be no need to summon the authorities.”
Sweat dotted the clerk’s upper lip, his gaze darting as he made the calculations.
“I believe Mr. Wilcott is in his room. Top floor, room f-four,” he stammered. “Up the stairs to your right, my lord.”
James held out a gloved hand. “The key, if you please.”
Fumbling, the clerk unhooked the key from a jangling chain and handed it over.
James deposited a coin on the desk, and he and Evie headed up the stairs. Each creak of the floorboards quickened her pulse; when they arrived at the appointed door moments later, she felt as if she had run a mile.
I have been running—all my life, it seems. But that stops here and now.
“Ready, my love?” James lifted his brows.
“As ready as I shall ever be.”
He inserted the key and opened the door.
“How many times must I tell you that I don’t want that slop you call supper?” The man hunched over the table continued scribbling in a journal and didn’t bother to look at them. “Go away and leave me to my privacy.”
“Hello, stepfather,” Evie said.
The man jerked up, stumbling from his chair, his face shocked…
and menacingly familiar. The intervening years had added grey to his hair, deepened the lines of discontent on his noble brow, and added a sag to his jowls.
But the eyes…the eyes were the same. Under slashing dark eyebrows, the pale, hard orbs sent a chill down Evie’s spine, and she braced against the instinct to run and hide.
“Evelyn.” Recovering his composure, Wilmington managed a sneer. “My, you have grown up, haven’t you?”
“And you are not dead.”
“What can I say? I experienced a miraculous recovery.”
When he sauntered toward a dresser, James pulled out a pistol. Cocked it with cool intention.
“Stay where you are,” he said.
“Is that any way to greet your father-in-law?” Wilmington spoke in mocking tones, but he stayed where he was. “You should know that Evelyn has always had an active imagination. Whatever she told you—”
“I would believe it. My wife has my full confidence. You will rot behind bars for your crimes.”
“You killed Mama.”
A floodgate opened, fury pouring through Evie. She advanced toward him, her shoulders set, her hands balled at her sides.
“You smothered her to gain control of my dowry. Then you abused me and tricked me into thinking I had poisoned you. I suppose you didn’t think I was useless after all, for you planted the seed of guilt in me so that you could reap the rewards.
So that when the time was right, you could threaten, terrorize, and extort me from beyond the grave. ”
“Rather clever of me, wasn’t it?”
Wilmington smiled—then lunged.
He clamped his hand on Evie’s throat, yanking her back against his chest, using her like a shield.
“Put your pistol on the ground,” he snarled. “Now. Or I’ll snap her neck.”
The promise of retribution flashing in his eyes, James crouched and laid down the weapon.
Gasping, Evie clawed at Wilmington’s iron grip with one hand. She slid the other into the pocket of her skirts, closing her fingers around the pistol’s handle. Blindly, she rotated the pistol until the barrel pointed backward.
“Hurt her, and you will die slowly,” James said.
“Kick over your pistol,” Wilmington barked.
James flicked his gaze to Evie—and she acted.
Tightening her grip, she pulled the trigger.
The crack of the bullet, muffled by the layers of her gown, was followed by Wilmington’s guttural howl.
His hand spasmed around her throat, and she broke free as he collapsed to the floor.
Lying on his back, he clutched his bleeding thigh, whimpering in agony.
Evie stumbled over to look at him, her bosom surging and pistol drawn. Drawn and ready to fire the second round. On the ground, Wilmington writhed, pale and sweating, hatred twisting his features.
“Finish it,” he spat. “Do it, you worthless cunt.”
Evie’s finger trembled on the trigger. For an instant, she imagined the sweetness of vengeance—of paying back Wilmington for all the pain he’d inflicted.
With a gentle motion, no more force than she would use to pluck a spent blossom from a stem, she could put an end to him and his villainy.
She felt James standing behind her—felt his strength and support, the gift of his love.
“I make my own choices. I always have.”
She lowered her weapon.
“Well done, my love,” James murmured. “I shall secure him.”
Striding past her, James used a bedsheet to tie Wilmington’s hands.
“Where is the other half of the pawn ticket?” he demanded.
“For God’s sake, I’m bleeding to death—”
Wilmington screamed when James clamped a hand over his wound and squeezed.
“The cabinet,” the bounder gasped. “In the…the lining of my hat.”
Retrieving the ticket, James presented it to Evie. Then he returned to Wilmington and used his cravat as a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding.
“Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?” Wilmington moaned.
“Death is too easy for the likes of you.”
James knotted the linen with savage force. Wilmington screeched and lost consciousness. His job done, James went to Evie and took her gently by the shoulders.
“Are you all right, my love?”
She smiled. “Yes. Are you?”
“I lost a few years of my life when that bastard had his hands on you. Other than that, I am fine.”
Seeing the lingering shadows on his face, she moved closer.
“I was never in any danger. Not with you to protect me.”
“You protected yourself. With the pistol Mama gave you.” He tucked a stray tress behind her ear. “Let that be a reminder to never cross the females in this family.”
“I was referring to more than your physical protection,” she said softly. “Your love, James, has always been my shelter. Because of you, I had the courage to confront my greatest fears and now I am finally free. Free to be the wife you deserve—and the woman I was meant to be.”
“I could not be prouder of the woman you are,” he said fiercely. “My sunflower, my love.”
They kissed, and were still kissing, when their family arrived.