Chapter 8
Warrick's Warehouse
Wapping Street, London
Beatrice sent for Anneke to join her the morning after they'd intervened in the thievery from her ships.
She needed help with bathing the young sweeps and fitting out each of the orphans with fresh clothing and small clothes.
She'd instructed her troublesome sister to bring as much of young Willie's outgrown wardrobe as she could find.
She'd been saving her son's cast-offs for years, hoping beyond hope that she might reconcile with her wandering husband and have another child. However, that hope, like many others, had been dashed by his whoring, gambling ways.
As soon as Warrick's brother, Ban, had introduced Beatrice to Rachel Kamish, they'd become fast friends.
The older woman had supervised Warrick's cook, Elias, in the preparation of a huge pot of hearty stew for the boys.
When she'd apologized for giving him such a large recipe, he'd assured her he'd missed the kind of cooking necessary for feeding a warship full of hungry sailors.
Within a few hours, Warrick's warehouse abode was filled with the mouth-watering smells of rich beef, vegetables, and onions simmering on the Royal Navy issue-type Brody stove in Warrick's lower-level kitchen.
Warrick had rigged a system of hinged windows to vent the heat of the coal-burning cooker to the outside.
Elias's parrot had been relegated to his perch in a far corner of the kitchen where he held court with the young sweeps, screeching out "Follow me--" occasionally to their delighted shrieks.
Anneke tried to pretend she was aghast at the noise and bustle on all levels of Warrick's lair, but Beatrice thought she detected a new energy in her sister's walk, not to mention an occasional smile on her usually grim face.
She'd even coaxed Anneke to bring along Willie.
He'd brought his outgrown clothing and was helping the younger boys find something that would fit them.
Mrs. Kamish had rounded out the clothing selection with donations from members of the Hambro' Synagogue.
At one point, Anneke pulled Beatrice to a quiet corner of a hallway and demanded in a dramatic whisper, "Where were you all night?"
"Helping rescue these poor babes from the clutches of thieves trying to make the River Police believe they're part of Mister Dyer's, um, organization."
"The whole night?"
"Yes, Anneke, the whole night. There was no time for what your vivid imagination is conjuring."
"And what would that be?" She pressed her lips into a prim, thin line.
"Mister Dyer and I are nothing more than business partners. Period."
"And just what does he do for Rowe Shipping?"
"He's helping me save my cargoes from an army of greedy thieves, if you must know."
Anneke had no further questions after that revelation.
Warrick fought the urge to complain about the transformation of his usually bleak, naval-like quarters. The warmth and smells wafting up from the kitchen were nothing like their usual plain fare served up by Elias.
The sounds of children racing from floor to floor, pretending to be pirates and being half-heartedly shushed by Missus Kamish, Beatrice, and Anneke were not as jarring as he would have supposed.
He didn't know exactly what he was feeling, but the tiny place where his lonely heart had been seemed to be expanding.
He liked having Beatrice close, in his home.
He supposed she was appalled at the plain walls and curtains, but she'd never given that impression.
As soon as they'd returned the night before, he'd cleared out a place for her to sleep for a few hours in his study on his comfortable sofa.
He'd immediately fallen into a deep sleep in his own quarters after they'd found pallets and blankets for the twelve young sweeps they'd rescued that night.
He'd scarcely had time all morning to share a few quiet words with Beatrice after Rachel Kamish had arrived, and they'd all worked together to get the young sweeps ready to meet their new families.
At a light tap at his study door, he said "Come.
" When he looked up over his spectacles from the detailed report he was making of the names and ages of the young sweeps and where they'd be going to meet their new families, his gaze collided with that of the blue-eyed, whirling wonder that was Beatrice.
"Stop working so hard. Come eat with the boys. Rachel's stew is ready." She softened her stern orders with a warm smile that did dangerous things to his cock. "I also made enough loaves of bread to feed an army."
When he stood suddenly to join her, she stifled a giggle. "I didn't know you liked Rachel's stew that much." Her gaze was directed at the bulge in his trousers.
His face burning crimson, he crossed the room and kicked the door shut before pulling her close. "You're just going to have to help me make myself presentable," he whispered into one of her ears, which set off a telling blush on her face as well.
"We can't make Missus Kamish wait," she said in a whispered hiss.
"Then tell me again how many loads of tea you have coming in this month on how many ships." He gave her a wicked smile. "That should sufficiently cool things down."
Beatrice sat quietly at the back of his study whilst Warrick pulled two comfortable chairs close together in the center of the room in front of his desk and indicated with an open hand the young sweep should sit in the second one.
He sat before leaning his head companionably close to the boy and began with a quiet question.
"Did you recognize any of the men who came for you to make you help them steal from ships, or did you hear any of them call each other by name? "
The boy's eyes widened, and then he tilted his head as if in thought. "One of them shouted 'Jem--' at the other one when Billy tried to run away one night."
"Did you recognize any of the thieves' faces?"
"No, sir...they all wore hats pulled low over their faces."
Beatrice thought she noticed a flicker of recognition on Warrick's face at the mention of "Jem."
Warrick spoke gently again. "Did the handlers ever have conversations around you boys that you can remember?"
"They did brag one night that they stole a toy drum from one of the children forced to work with us and dropped it in front of a Horseman's warehouse." The boy's face suddenly became fearful and tears leaked down from the corners of his eyes. "You won't tell nobody, will you, Mister Warrick?"
As Beatrice watched Warrick silently cross his heart and shake his head slowly to reassure the child, she nearly cried herself.
The brothers had instructed the boys to call them by their first names instead of the last name of Dyer they'd taken when they fought their way to the top of the criminal underworld of the rookeries.
"John Paul--you're not getting too tired from all the questions, are you?" Beatrice interrupted softly from the back of the office and leaned forward to get a better look at the child's face.
At the slight sniff and a brief look of fear on the boy's face, Warrick gently pushed the hair out of the boy's eyes and produced a handkerchief to wipe the tears from his face. "Let's go down to the kitchen and see if there's any of Missus Kamish's apple crisp left. Shall we?"
In that moment, Beatrice realized the warmth she'd begun to feel toward Warrick that she'd attributed to lust, had turned into something more.
After his third helping of Missus Kamish's apple crisp, Warrick excused himself, grabbed a warm coat from a line of hooks near the rear stairwell, which was next to the servants' entrance, and headed out into the lengthening dusk.
He knew better than to venture into the streets of Wapping on his own, so his men had a routine where they gave him a ten-minute head start before a crew of three fell in behind him.
Unlike his brothers, his mews did not hold any riding stock. His only hay-wasters included a set of black geldings for drawing his carriage through the back streets of London when necessary. He was a Royal Navy man, for the love of Zeus. Horses and Navy men did not suit.
Con and Fam had instructed him to wait until morning when they'd come to him to reveal what they'd managed to extort from the children's handlers whom they'd locked up in Con's warehouse dungeon at the edges of Seven Dials.
He was so incensed from his talk with young John Paul that he couldn't wait to discover what they'd beaten out of the damned-to-hell men who had the nerve to treat children like chattel on his patch.
Warrick swung down to the riverfront and boarded a lighterman for hire. His guards caught up and joined him. The man who poled away from shore immediately asked, "Where to, Mister Dyer?"
"Copper's Wharf, and there's extra coin in the hire if it's a fast trip. My men will help."
The lighterman smiled and reached beneath the gunnels for extra oars. "Of course, Mister Dyer. Fastest trips on the river."
When Warrick and his men alighted, they hung back as before, whilst he set a swift pace up through Covent Garden.
When he turned west at Longacre and headed toward Mercer, he was surprised to be joined by a muscular-looking gentleman from the shadows.
He gave a short whistle to signal his men all was well before turning to give Archer Colwyn a questioning look.
"How did you know I'd be heading this way tonight? "
"History, Warrick. Long history with The Horsemen. I've yet to see a one of you who can wait for anything."
"I can only assume your interference in Horsemen business is not a good sign."
"You read my mind." Colwyn pulled a cheroot from one pocket and a sulphur from the other.
When he gave his companion a questioning look, Warrick shook his head. "I'm too angry to smoke tonight."
Colwyn raised a brow at that admission. "Now you've piqued my curiosity, but don't say anymore until we get to your brother's fortress."
Beatrice had a suspicion that there were other young men amongst the sweeps who might talk to her rather than Warrick, because, frankly, he scared the devil out of most adults, let alone mere boys.
John Paul had been the exception. He seemed to be the youngest of the enslaved boys, yet he'd trusted Warrick implicitly since he'd taken his hand the night they'd rescued him along with all the other sweeps.
Although she was a bit uncertain as to how to proceed without Warrick, she trusted his younger brother, Ban, would be a good person to help her encourage the boys to share what they knew.
He'd stayed behind to provide extra protection to her and the sweeps whilst Warrick sought out information from his other two brothers who'd interrogated the boys' handlers earlier that day.
Ban, as it turned out, had an ingenious plan.
He walked into the midst of the remaining young sweeps who were fighting over who would take control of the most comfortable pillow for the night.
Crossing his arms and leaning against a wall in the long crew quarters on the top floor of Warrick's warehouse, he idly asked, "Who would like to earn an extra slice of apple crisp before bed? "
In a matter of minutes, she and Ban were ensconced in Warrick's office watching young Enoch polishing off the last of Missus Kamish's apple crisp whilst leaning over the bowl full of the sticky treat as if he expected one of his fellow sweeps to suddenly leap from a dark corner to steal the precious treat.
After he'd duly licked the spoon clean of any remnant of the cinnamon-dusted, caramelized apple dessert, he stared back at them expectantly.
After a momentary niggling doubt that he'd give them anything worthwhile now that he had a full stomach, Beatrice plunged ahead with her questions. "Were there other child slaves like you and your fellow sweeps who were taken from different places?"
"Of course."
"Where?" Beatrice was amazed at the alacrity with which he'd responded.
Enoch leaned back into Warrick's chair as if he belonged there and screwed up his face in thought. He sat forward suddenly and snapped his fingers. "There's a baby farm they go to for workers when we have jobs too big for just us sweeps."
Beatrice's blood ran cold whilst next to her, Ban's face and knuckles at his fists whitened. Hera's bones...a baby farm.
Ban interrupted. "Are you quite sure it was a baby farm? Those children are too small to be of much help with heavy crates being taken off ships, wouldn't you think?"
Enoch's young face turned grim. "Whenever they dropped something, they'd leave 'em there at the quay."
Beatrice fought to keep her expression calm and her gorge from rising to cause her to cast up her accounts.
Ban visibly struggled to keep his revulsion from Enoch as he questioned him more carefully. "Did they mention anyone who owned the farm, or did they say where the farm is?"
"It's over off Maiden Lane on one of those little alleyways."
"Do you know where for sure?" The look on Ban's face told Beatrice more about the suffering The Horsemen had endured as children growing up than anything she'd heard from them before.
Enoch gave him an odd look. "Of course I'm sure. They made us go get the little ones and force them to work with us."
"You had to force them?" Beatrice tried to keep her voice from shaking.
"We had to show them how. They were too young to know how to pick up bales and crates."
Ban turned away and slammed out of the office, his hands clenched and shaking.
A look of fear flashed across Enoch's face. "Will he beat me?"
"No my love," Beatrice said, "he's angry at the men who forced you to do such terrible things." She pulled the boy close and enveloped him in her arms.