Chapter 14
Baby Farm Off Maiden Lane
White Chapel, London
When Warrick made as if to chase after Beatrice, Con and Fam held him back. "There's nothing you could tell her that she'd believe right now."
"She must be mad with grief. What if she comes to harm out there?" He pointed distractedly in the direction of where she'd run after discovering all eleven of her men had been murdered.
"Wu's following close behind her," Con assured him. "No one will interfere with her."
After a long silence, Fam spoke first. "We need to get the bodies of these poor men returned to their families and see that they all receive decent burials."
Fam's partner Ethan, who had come along to help with the children, said, "I'll go find a cart, and some linens to cover the bodies."
Warrick could not see past the grief that wracked him over the loss of Beatrice.
Who could have betrayed them? The only place they'd discussed their plans outside of the safe house was The Angel.
But Maggie always kept the far corner of tables reserved for them alone.
That was the beauty of The Angel - no eavesdroppers.
There was only one man with the clarity to get to the bottom of how they'd been betrayed, and the baby farm they'd raided was close enough to his Covent Garden area office that Warrick could walk there. And what Warrick needed right now was a good, hard walk down the rookeries' meandering streets.
Every scrap of his pride argued against crawling to Col to beg for help in getting to the bottom of who had done this to Beatrice's men. He suspected he knew all too well who was at the bottom of the murders...but how in the name of Hades had they known ahead of time where the Horsemen would be?
A rogue thought briefly flitted through his brain.
Was it possible he didn't really know the woman whose body was as familiar to him as his own?
Could she have set them up and sacrificed her own men to seal the Horsemen's fate?
He dismissed that cork-brained idea out of hand.
The warm woman who had opened her heart to him, and the helpless, abused children of the rookeries, could not have betrayed anyone, let alone the small babes imprisoned at the farm.
He could sense a growing well of evil behind the machinations pushing the Horsemen toward total destruction.
The only person who had a reason to destroy both the Horsemen and Beatrice appeared to be her bastard of a brother-in-law, Silas Rowe.
But did he have an organization big enough to second-guess the Horsemen?
That was the place he'd start, and the man had better have a damned good alibi for the time that the Rowe Shipping employees were being butchered.
But first, he needed the cool, assessing mind of Archer Colwyn. His roiling thoughts had brought him to the door on Great Queen Street leading to the man's private investigation office.
The minute he walked into the office, Col met him and assured him, "We'll get to the bottom of this mess."
"How did you know?"
"Eleven murders on Maiden Lane? Every Runner in London is on the case, hoping for a reward from the Horsemen."
Once they'd shared tots of Col's favored Scottish whisky, Warrick unloaded his frustrations. "Who could have betrayed us? We met at The Angel at our usual private tables."
"There was no one there you might suspect even a little bit?"
"No." He lowered his head in thought. "Only Maggie, but she's been a friend of the Horseman for years."
"Maybe we should talk to her. Perhaps she saw something unusual, perhaps a new employee of hers?"
Within minutes, they were out on Great Queen Street, hailing a hack carriage.
When they finally reached The Angel and went inside, the barman told them Maggie had left suddenly that morning, saying she had an aunt in the country who needed nursing.
"Did she say when she'd be back?"
"No. Just said not to expect her for a week or two."
Warrick exchanged a wary look with Col. He hated to even entertain the thought. Could Maggie have been the spy that betrayed them?"
September 14, 1827
Con Dyer's Mercer Street Warehouse
Seven Dials, London
Warrick had decided to take care of what he'd promised Marianne to take his mind off the loss of Beatrice. For once in his life, he couldn't solve a problem by merely wading into the fray with his trusty boarding axe.
The minute Warrick had exchanged pleasantries with Wu and deposited his weapons in the trunk in the hallway, Marianne poked her head around the door to her parlor. "Get in here before someone sees us and gets suspicious."
As soon as she closed the door, she wrapped her arms around Warrick and drew him close. "I am so sorry about Beatrice, but I know in my heart you two are meant to be together. You'll figure out a way to win her back."
"That eventuality is looking less and less likely as the week goes on. She thinks I had something to do with her men being killed, and she's staying with her brother-in-law, Silas Rowe, locking me out.
"As for someone getting suspicious about what we're up to, you know full well your husband knows everything that goes on in his house...practically before it happens. Just tell me what you want, and I'll be on my way before Con shortens my miserable life."
"That's the beautiful part of the favor I'm calling in..."
"What favor?"
"You remember...when I let you in to have tea with me and Missus Rowe. You never would have gotten anywhere near that woman's petticoats without me to soften the way for you."
"I never..."
"Don't deny it. It's written all over your face. You've tasted the sweetness of that woman and want more. And besides, this will take your mind off your troubles for a while."
He hung his head, unable to argue further with his attics-to-let sister-in-law. When he raised his gaze to hers, he couldn't hide the resignation in his heart. She was right. He owed her.
"What exactly do you want me to do? I can't waste all day trying to tease it out of you."
"I have a lead on my uncle. He's working for the widowed dowager Countess Breverhoff."
"What does that have to do with anything? We all know your uncle is a dandy for hire, not to mention a thief."
Marianne popped a third French sweet into her mouth. "Yes, but don't you see? If he's living off the good graces of yet another wealthy woman, that means he hasn't been able to open the malachite box either."
"But what does that have to do with me?" Warrick reached for one of her sweets, but she swatted his hand away. His brother's baby growing in her belly must be a greedy little thing.
"You and I have to figure out a way to sneak into the countess's Berkley Square townhouse and steal back the box."
Warrick stood and stole a biscuit from an abandoned teacart she'd shoved off into a corner after eating most of the tiny sandwiches. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He hated to steal a biscuit without offering her something.
"What?" She looked up from a stack of drawings she'd somehow obtained of the countess's townhouse.
St. Swithin's toes. She was actually going to steal the box from the poor woman's house...and implicate him whilst she was about it.
"Get over here. Let me show you how I think we can get in and out without anyone being the wiser."
"Except perhaps your uncle," Warrick unhelpfully pointed out.
She waved a dismissive hand toward him. "I've had Wu watching the house and tracking his comings and goings.
My uncle plays cards all night every Tuesday night.
The countess goes to bed early after having two brandies.
According to her lady's maid, she's a solid sleeper and snores through the night.
"Does Con know you've pulled Wu into your havey-cavey machinations?"
"Wu is not perfect either. He has a thing or two to hide...and he owes me as well."
Warrick shook his head. "When have you decided to pull off this great green box robbery?"
"Tuesday next. Meet me in Berkley Square Park at the gate at nine o'clock sharp."
If he were dealing with anyone but Marianne, he'd have asked how she was going to get a key to access the park.
September 15, 1827
Home of Edward Caskill
Limehouse, London
Lighterman Edward Caskill almost regretted his decision two nights earlier to row toward the sounds of fierce fighting followed close after by the splash of something substantial into the Thames's murky waters.
Firstly, the giant Dutchman he'd pulled out of the water probably weighed nearly as much as his boat.
He counted as a miracle he'd been able to haul the angry man aboard in the dark night.
Now he was sailing a small fishing cutter the fierce Captain Jarlsson had commandeered.
They were headed across the Strait of Dover and then northward to Amsterdam, a feat mere mortal men of the sea would hesitate to take on.
The man was so persuasive, Edward had somehow found himself volunteering to serve as crew.
Captain Jarlsson had been close-mouthed about who had tried to kill him before pirating away his ship and passengers. All Edward knew was he was infinitely grateful the man who'd dare attack Jarlsson wasn't him.
September 15, 1827
Rowe House
Well Close Square, London
Beatrice and her sister had been roughly herded into her bedchamber and forced to stay there with a one of Elias's guards stationed outside the door. So much for trying to placate her brother-in-law by humoring him.
She'd been so proud of Willie she could have cried when he stood up to his uncle and insisted his mother and aunt should be treated with respect and civility, not like prisoners in their own house.
Elias had merely sneered, but Willie had held his head high as he'd been banished to his own bedchamber, away from her and Anneke.
Once she and Anneke were alone, she faced her sister and laid out their only option to survive Elias's wrath. They'd somehow have to get word to their father, Captain Van Dijk in Amsterdam, even though the thought of begging for his help made both of them sick at heart.
September 18, 1827
Berkley Square, London
Warrick grabbed a bit of dirt from a flower bed and dirtied his old lieutenant's uniform a bit more. It would not do to be caught stealing from an aristocrat's house just days after the Horsemen were involved in an operation that ended in the deaths of eleven employees of Rowe Shipping.
The stories in the gossip sheets about the story behind what had really taken place had become more lurid with every passing day.
He hated to admit that his sister-in-law had been right, but following her into the depths of her blasted quest for the damnable green malachite box had given his mind something to do besides beat himself up for letting down Beatrice.
After consulting the schematics of the townhouse Marianne had somehow obtained, they'd determined the best plan would be to lurk in the gated garden in the park in the center of Berkley Square and watch the lights in the various rooms of the Countess's townhouse.
Once all the lights were out, they'd sneak inside and check the usual places wealthy people usually hid precious items they'd rather the rest of the world not know about. ..or steal.