Chapter 3
The Angel
Limehouse, London
Beatrice Rowe took a deep breath and poured herself a bracing cup of Maggie's hot, steaming black tea. She blew lightly over the top of the hot liquid to cool the freshly boiled brew and took a few moments to study her adversary whilst he downed a tankard of ale.
She'd talked to everyone she could find who knew the Dyers and were familiar with their operations.
Her research leading up to the current physical encounter had been calculated to give her an edge.
Information was knowledge, and knowledge was power when negotiating.
She was amazed at people in the shipping business who came into meetings without ever bothering to find out who she was and what she'd done.
However, ignorance on the part of her competitors and suppliers had served her well in the past.
She had to admit, though, that learning about the Four Horsemen on paper was vastly different than meeting the flesh-and-blood man sitting across from her now, a wicked sharp, gleaming axe of all things slung over one shoulder.
A boarding axe? What was he afraid of? He, along with his brothers, ruled all the smaller gangs on the docks.
There were probably men in the tavern at that very moment he could call up to defend him.
All her piles of notes on Warrick in particular had not prepared her for the sheer physical presence of the man.
And who knew a crusty river pirate would be surrounded with the essence of a scent like that?
A touch of sandalwood mixed with a generous dollop of orange, much like the clove-studded beauties her father had always splurged on for their celebrations of Father Christmas.
When they weren't speaking directly, he kept his head bowed as if he didn't want her to know what he was thinking. Wise man. Once he gazed directly into her eyes, she'd have him. He'd tell her everything.
And then he did look up long enough for her to capture him with her gaze.
After a long minute, she knew what he feared.
This man was ruled by isolation. He stayed above the fray by never getting close to anyone.
That was his secret strength. But she saw more than that in his gaze.
She suspected there was a lonely soul in there looking for someone's touch despite the thick castle walls and moat around his heart.
But she didn't care. She had problems of her own.
Beatrice tapped the ledger lying between them like a crouching, ominous creature no one wanted to acknowledge.
"You, sir, are trying to destroy me. I want to know why. Have you tired of the two percent you've been stealing from us for years?"
He gave her a long, dark, angry stare that went on so long, she feared he might be apoplectic. When he finally spoke, he threw her carefully planned assault into confusion.
"Missus Rowe...if my brothers and I decided to steal more than our fair share from you, we wouldn't stop at a paltry percent of shipments. We'd take everything you have...ships, warehouses, and all."
After that speech, he shook his head hard and clapped his hands over his ears. After a few moments, he apologized. "I apologize, but in crowds like this, the ringing in my ears is unbearable."
When she gave him a blank stare, he explained. "I was sold to a Navy press gang when I was eleven and spent many years as a powder monkey, feeding the cannons."
"Your ship was in so many battles, that your hearing was damaged?"
"In truth, the battles aren't where most of the firing and booms occur.
Each captain is a bit different, but all of them are duty bound to practice every day until the firing crews can shoot, reload, and fire again in the shortest amount of time possible.
The ship's boys were expected to keep gunpowder coming from the storage hold below and load the flash powder as fast as possible to keep up with the cannon crews. "
"How fast did they demand you perform?"
"Three shots every five minutes."
She swallowed hard. "For how long?"
"Until we couldn't do it anymore."
His unexpected admitting to a weakness had thrown her well planned assault on his thieving ways into disarray.
How could you attack a man who wasn't afraid to appear vulnerable?
For that matter, how could you attack a man who looked that good in a worn but clean, brushed Royal Navy lieutenant's uniform?
Beatrice was sorely tempted to cry. This was not working out the way she'd carefully plotted in her study.
Her study was safer. If she'd stayed hidden away there and entrusted this mess to her solicitor and the magistrates, as she'd been advised by her brother-in-law, she never would have ended up feeling an unholy attraction to the bald-faced thief who was robbing her blind.
That's what she deserved for having married a pompous, unfaithful gambler who was rarely home and had never visited her bed after their wedding trip.
Thank the gods she'd become pregnant with Willie sometime during that trip.
Otherwise, she'd have had to return to her family home in Amsterdam and beg her father's forgiveness.
He'd warned her that Wilfred was rotten to the core when he'd been courting her.
Willie had been her single joy throughout the years of a loveless marriage.
The terms of her late husband's will were such that she was to manage the business on behalf of their son until he reached his majority at eighteen. After that, she'd be paid off with a pittance that would probably mean she'd have to eventually rely on her father's good graces anyway.
It was inevitable that she'd be attracted to the first handsome devil she encountered in widowhood. She was so disgusted with herself, she kicked one of the battered table's wobbly legs.
Warrick Dyer lifted his eyes to hers for a moment before slowly shaking his head and then favoring her with a wicked smile. "Looks like there might be some fire under that somber bonnet of yours."
His impudent, impertinent remark was exactly what she needed to bring her back to her senses.
"Then you won't be surprised when I demand an explanation for every anomaly in this ledger.
" She slammed open the heavy book so hard, that hot tea sloshed out of the pot in the center of the table and onto his trousers.
She had to avoid even the hint of a smile when he leapt to his feet and brushed frantically at the hot, steaming liquid.
Warrick had decided to remain calm and not show any reaction to her accusations, but the amounts she tracked as missing were enormous, and then she poured more salt into the wound with an astonishing claim.
"Over the years I've been the only one managing our shipping company, and I've become accustomed to visiting our warehouses.
I've come to know many of the dock workers we employ.
When I began to ask questions, I discovered something so horrific, I had no choice but to confront you.
" She struggled to maintain her composure, but a tear rolled down the side of her cheek.
"I've been getting reports from my night crew that whoever has been stealing huge amounts of tea and tobacco from us is using small children who are chained together to carry the cargo away from the dock area to waiting carts."
Warrick had been listening whilst tipped back in his chair but banged his boots back down onto the floor at that accusation.
"Madame, if only you knew the hell my brothers and I endured on a baby farm, and then as virtual slaves to an old gang leader in Seven Dials, you would never have the temerity to accuse us of abusing the helpless children of the rookeries. "
Her soft blue eyes widened. He had no idea whether in shock or disbelief. He didn't care.
"No one is going to harm children while I'm in charge of the London dock gangs.
I won't just kill the perpetrators of such horrible crimes.
I'll put them in Con's dungeon whilst he, my other brothers, and I take turns ferreting out every one of their sordid secrets.
They'll end up begging to be allowed to die.
He stood up suddenly, his boarding axe banging against the chair, and began to pace back and forth in front of the table.
He stopped suddenly and leaned down to her level in a move so fierce, she didn't have time to react.
He grasped her chin and demanded, "Take me to your dock workers.
I'll have the truth today or know the reason why.
" He ran his hands through his unruly hair, dislodging the ribbon keeping the mass in a neat club at the back of his neck. He barely noticed and continued pacing.
Missus Rowe dragged her chair back in an attempt to put more space between them. When he whirled on her again, she was ready, and leapt to her feet. She slapped him hard on the face and said, "You'll have to do much better than this to intimidate me, Warrick Dyer."
"And devil have me if I won't. Where's that mountain of a sea captain who's your guard dog?"
"He's out front with my coachman and..."
Warrick didn't give her time to brag about her hulking guardian.
He scooped her up in his arms and exited out the secret back way, which had saved his hide any number of times.
She gave out a screech of course, which brought both of her men running into the tavern.
However, he was out the back and into the secret pathway through a neighboring house clinging to the cliffside before anyone knew what he was about.
Except for the hellcat screeching and pounding his head.
Beatrice huffed out a sigh of exasperation. Why had she expected a master criminal like Warrick Dyer to play by the rules governing the behavior of all gentlemen?
"I don't suppose you're going to tell me where we're going?
" She'd given up screaming and fighting.
He was going to do whatever he wanted. She couldn't stop him.
However, the earlier momentary twinge of desire she'd felt for the lawless ruffian had extinguished as suddenly as a burning candle in a whirlwind.
She should thank him for that small favor.
"You're not going anywhere until you tell me who told you such a Banbury tale about my men abusing children."
"Well, since I haven't known of any other gangs stealing from me over the last twelve years, you seemed the most likely culprit. And my crew spied those men, ostensibly in your employ, using very young children in ragged clothes to do the work of carrying heavy bales of goods out of my warehouse."
"Then you'll take me to the men who told you that, and by Satan's tail, I'll get them to tell me the truth."
They'd left the secret passageway in the house next to The Angel and were headed toward a large, elegant black carriage with two impatient grays being held by a fearsome Chinese man.
In a surprise move, she boxed Mister Dyer's ears hard, and he loosened his grip for a few seconds.
Which was enough for her to wrench away and tear off down the street toward an alley where she might be able to.
..umpf. He'd scooped her back into his arms in less time than it had taken her to race away.
"How did you do that?"
"I have longer legs, I'm faster than you, and I know how women's minds work."
An unbidden thought flashed through Beatrice's mind. He must keep a mistress in his lair.
"I can assure you I do not think like any other woman with whom you might share your bed."
At that, he set her down gently at the carriage and broke out into loud laughter. She ignored him and accepted help up into the conveyance from the Chinese gentleman who seemed to have much better manners than his employer.
She was determined to remain silent and ignore the oaf for the rest of the trip to whatever hell-hole destination he had planned for her.
Her heart sank when within about twenty minutes of creeping through the crowded streets of Limehouse, the carriage lurched to a halt behind an old tenement building.
No one would ever find her here. She'd never see her son again.
Her brother-in-law would take custody of Willie as well as Rowe Shipping which she'd struggled for years to turn around into profitability.
Warrick set her down onto the ground as soon as the carriage stopped but then had second thoughts about letting her take off again.
He simply slung her over his shoulder as if he were delivering a sack of potatoes to his brother and headed up the back staircase.
Con would be proud of how he'd taken charge of a situation which could have taken an ugly turn for their operations.
When the door at the top of the staircase opened, it wasn't his tall, capable brother who greeted him. His sister-in-law Marianne stared at him as if he'd killed her favorite kitten. "What in the name of St. Mary's bones are you doing with that poor woman? Put her down immediately."
"If you must know, I'm locking her in the dungeon until she tells me what I want to know."
His sister-in-law, who was no taller than Beatrice, won the evil staring contest. Warrick blinked first. "You will do no such thing.
You'll put her down so that I can give her a proper tea and then.
..maybe...you'll get to interrogate her.
But no woman is ever again going to be locked in my husband's lower-level cell.
And that's the rule as well for all of his worthless lugs of brothers. "
He broke eye contact first in a second stare-off and went back down to the stables to help see to the grays.
When Beatrice finally stopped shaking, she couldn't help asking, "How did you do that? Are his brothers really afraid of you?"
"No, not at all."
"Then how did you get him to leave me be?"
"Warrick, Con, and their other two brothers all know that it's useless to lock up me, or anyone I see fit to protect."
Beatrice gazed at her in wonder. "What kind of hold do you have over them?"
"None. It's just that they know there's no lock ever made that I couldn't open. Hera only knows, my husband tried for weeks to make me do what he wanted by locking me up before he surrendered and married me."