Chapter 17
August 23rd, 1881Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York
While waiting for time to pass, Henry studied the full moon nestling in an indigo sky. His shaking hands bore the telltale signs of withdrawal. Since receiving the letter from Elias, he had promised himself to start the long road to sobriety. It had been a tedious week of weaning off laudanum, and it had left him beyond irritable.
His trembling fingers searched for his pocket watch, and his gaze dropped to its shattered face. It was fifteen minutes to midnight. That hour was his cue to leave for the garage where the shipment would be inspected, hauled into trucks and taken to the harbour. Sometime during this process, he would escape to Scotland on a ship.
He inhaled a shaky breath as he watched the brass second hand. Every tick brought him closer to his freedom. The thought of seeing Eva in ten days’ time was enough to propel him toward his final act with his head held high. He shut his watch, tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat and turned to face the crowd of guests waiting for a grandiose firework display.
Groups of gentlemen and ladies were trailing around the ballroom toward the windows which overlooked the Davenport garden. It was late in the night, so copious amounts of champagne, cognac and whisky had been consumed. Food had staled, flowers had wilted and conversations had become slurred.
It was the perfect setting for him to vanish into the shadows.
Henry moved around the room. Like a caged animal, he felt the approaching freedom burn through his veins like molten lava. He was close. So blazing close that it pained him to wait a mere fifteen minutes more.
“They say the rockets will be enormous this year.”
“Darling, you know the Davenports have them imported from China. They’re always enormous.”
There was a shriek of laughter.
Henry flinched.
The gossip of inebriated Americans grated on his ears. They were too loud. Always too loud.
He spun on his heels. Perhaps he should fetch his suitcase and make an early start to the underground garage.
A trio of ladies crossed his path, one of whom took his arm.
“Husband,” Fanny said.
“Wife,” Henry responded sternly.
“I’m of a mind to ask whether you wish to watch the fireworks with me?”
He snorted.
Since he had caught Fanny searching through his mail, their relationship had hung on by a thread. For the most part, she had left him to his own devices. He ignored her completely.
“Well?” she said.
“To be quite honest, I’d rather be shot dead,” he said.
There was a crescendo of gasps from Fanny’s friends. A flash of irritation crossed Fanny’s reddening face.
He was well past the point of modesty. “A jest,” he added. “Naturally.”
“Mr. Asheford, you have an odd sense of humour,” one of the women said as she placed a hand on her chest. “For a moment, you seemed entirely serious.”
Because I am.
He looked at Fanny and forced a tight-lipped smile. “If you would excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
“Now?” Fanny said.
He pushed past the women. “I do not believe I stuttered.”
“But the fireworks—”
“Bugger the fireworks.”
He moved faster, dodging the crowd and the footmen serving champagne on silver platters. Once he reached the hallway, he rushed down the brightly lit corridors like a thief in the night, arriving at the library in a breathless pant. He opened the ornate double doors with both hands and entered the dark vastness.
In the shafts of moonlight, the two-storey bookshelves reminded him of his beloved library at Asheford Hall. The familiar scent of books riled his nostalgia.
For a moment, he simply breathed in.
It had been a long while since he had read a book. Once he settled, he would read ten a day. No more organized crime, only wonderful, heart-warming stories filled with adventure and true love.
Reanimated by the thought of freedom, he hurried to the shelf where he had hidden his suitcase behind century-old encyclopedias. Shortly before the party, he had arrived alone at Angelo’s home and managed to tuck away the case without raising suspicion. Fanny was too busy being fashionably late with her trio of friends, and Angelo was in his bedchamber with John, his male concubine. He took hold of the case and dashed toward the exit, but as he approached, a figure was standing in the doorway.
It was his wife.
Sickening panic welled in his stomach. He had been caught. Would she run to Angelo and divulge what she saw? Reason. You must use calm reasoning. There was no way she would suspect him of anything.
“What are you doing with a suitcase?” she said.
She propped her hands on her hips. Her corseted figure was a grey silhouette against the dimly lit hallway. Although he could not see her expression, she was most likely pouting like an insolent child. As she always did.
“Fetching it for business,” he stated plainly.
“What business?”
“The deal with your brother.”
She crossed her arms. “I want to see what’s inside.”
He approached her, the tension crackling throughout his body. “Do you distrust me, wife?”
They stood close.
Her eyes were as black as coal, reminding him of Angelo’s. They even had the same cold disposition as they crawled over his face, observing, judging the man he was. He briefly wondered what she would think of the contents of his suitcase: wads of cash, technology from a future century, a change of clothes, the pistol gifted to him by Angelo and the last vial of laudanum to appease the monster within him. Would she understand their meaning? Would she finally learn who Henry Asheford was? A wealthy, addicted fool with regret in his soul, a maddening love for a woman from the future and desperation for his freedom.
“I have distrusted you since our courtship,” she said.
“Likewise.”
No, she would never understand him.
But he understood her.
A rushing noise went through his ears as he peered at her thin lips. “There is a rasp in your voice. Did you run to me?”
“I did,” she breathed.
Yes, a kiss and a few crude words would disarm anyone. And for a young woman inexperienced in the game of romance, it was a potent combination.
He brought his fingertips to her cheeks, lingering ever so slightly on the edges of her jaw before they slowly caressed the length of her neck.
There was a healthy pulse.
“Ah, yes,” he mused. “There it is. I can feel your heart racing like the wings of a hummingbird. Tell me, wife, why did you run?”
“Because … because I saw you were up to no good.”
“No good?”
“Yes.”
He flashed her a charming smile. His hand pressing against her neck slid to her shoulder. He dropped the suitcase to the floor, grasped her thin arms and pressed her back against the door.
She gasped.
“You know, my darling wife, your games have had a profound effect on me,” he said.
Wide-eyed, her breath came in rapid gusts against his face.
There we go. Keep panting like a mare in heat.
He leaned closer. “Do you wish to know more?”
“Tell me,” she said.
“Well,” he drawled, brushing a thumb over her lip. “We did start off on the wrong foot, do you not think? I suppose, over time, I have taken a liking to your wickedness. Coming to me in the dead of night in nothing but your nightgown, begging for my manhood like a good wife should … I suppose that does something to a warm-blooded man.”
“I only wanted to love you.”
His teeth clamped down. No, Fanny, you wanted to control me. He held back his tongue.
He moved his hand to the nape of her frail neck. “Yes, love. I see how wrong it was of me to deny your hunger to satisfy me. Tonight, you can please me as you wish.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Is that not what you want?” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He brought his mouth to her ear. “To ride me and make me moan your name?”
A strangled noise came from her lips.
Crude words would silence any virgin. He only needed a few more to render her mute from shock.
“Tell me, wife, is that what you want from me?” he whispered. “Do you want to chain me to your bed and have me all to yourself?”
“Henry, I—” she began, reddening.
He did not want her to speak; he was the one in control. Slowly, he pressed his lips against hers.
It was their third kiss.
Or the first sober one for Henry, and he unequivocally despised it.
Inexperienced as she was, he led the way. His fingers curved into the tight banded strands of her black hair. There was no sense of urgency between them. No blazing heat. It was nothing but awkward kissing, and he wondered whether she could feel his lack of passion.
She moaned.
Ah. So, she did like it. He kissed harder.
She melted around him and arched her back against the door. Her fingers explored the silky material of his waistcoat and the further down they went, the more he had to work to control his distaste in the act.
Her fingertips brushed the ridge of his trousers.
He curved his hips away. “Ah. That is for you to discover tonight, wife.”
“I want it now. Against the bookshelf.”
He made an agitated sound. Partly because she was back to her forceful ways and partly because the idea aroused him.
“Please,” she said. “Let me love you as a wife should.”
“Later.”
He stepped away, but her fingers reeled him back in with a pull to his jacket.
“I said later.” He removed her needy fingers from his collar. “In our … marital bed.”
Her face fell.
There was something in her expression that gave him an odd feeling. Was that guilt he saw? He eased back, adjusting the front of his trousers. She had managed to arouse him, after all.
“As mentioned, I have business to take care of. I will come and find you shortly after,” he muttered.
He did not care to stay another minute by her side. Regardless of her title as his wife, he was ecstatic at the prospect of never seeing her again. He bent to pick up the suitcase, gave Fanny one final fleeting glance and hurried through the doorway.
***
“There are seventeen crates loaded with pistols, ready to be taken to the harbour. When do you wish to leave, Mr. Asheford?”
Fireworks exploded in the vicinity, each louder than the last. The excited shouts of the crowd were just audible. The explosions were a momentary distraction to Henry’s heart drumming against his ribs.
“Show me,” he said.
Robbie glanced at one of the men and nodded. The man approached a wooden crate with a crowbar and dug into the crevices of the cover. In cautious silence, he made his way around each edge of the lid.
Henry wanted to yell at him to quicken his pace. Being here with Angelo’s men when he had a mind to flee within the next several minutes was nerve-wracking. What if something went wrong? What if he never made it to the harbour and was forced to spend another wretched night in his blazing marital home with a wife he had promised to bed? Tense, muscles twitching and craving a hit of laudanum, he was going madder by the second.
The wooden lid fell to the floor with a thud.
A thick layer of bundled fireworks lay in a neat row on shredded paper. Robbie ordered the men to remove the fireworks and open the hidden compartment beneath. After a wooden plank was slid out, the metal glint of pistols caught in the light of the gas lamp hanging above.
Henry approached and cocked his head.
Several Smith Wesson pistols lay at the bottom of the crate.
Henry wondered once again what his father planned on doing with so many weapons. Arming his gang? Trading for more lucrative treasures? Supporting a potential war Henry had yet to know about? Whatever it was, he wanted no part in it. That was for the London police to worry about.
Nevertheless, he had to confirm the stock was real. As Clarkson mentioned, he needed to accurately assess the pistols. It would be a damned shame to have got this far and the weapons turned out to be fakes or stolen before reaching the harbour.
He picked up a pistol. The metal was cool to the touch. He gripped the handle hard, suppressing the nervous tremble in his right hand.
“Fetch me some ammo,” Henry demanded.
The men exchanged looks.
“Are you all mute?” Henry said, losing patience. “I wish to test the product.”
Robbie muttered something unintelligible while he pulled out his pistol. He opened the barrel, emptied a bullet into his palm and handed it to Henry.
Henry took the tiny brass bullet and loaded it into the chamber. Once locked in, he aimed the gun at the wall near Vic’s head.
A nervous glint crossed Vic’s dark eyes.
Henry pulled the trigger. The gun fired a couple of inches away from Vic’s temple, blazing a path into the cellar wall and leaving a tiny smoking hole.
“Mr. Asheford,” a raspy voice boomed.
Henry’s head snapped to Detective Durrett who had entered the garage. One hand in his pocket, he flicked the butt of a cigar to the floor with the other and stomped it out with his boot.
What the bloody hell was Durrett doing here? Henry had never once initiated contact with him.
“You are under arrest for the crime of smuggling illegal arms across international waters,” Durrett said.
Henry’s heart sank.
Durrett whistled. The large metal doors opened to reveal five police officers standing in a line. All were aiming pistols directly at Henry.
“My men will escort you to the cart,” Durrett said.
The sheer ridiculousness of the situation caused Henry to laugh. He gave Durrett an incredulous look. “I? Under arrest for the crime of smuggling illegal arms?”
Durrett nodded slowly. “That is what I said.”
Henry waved the pistol at Angelo’s men. “And these men are not?” he said, raising his voice. The rage within him grew tenfold. “You are quite aware who the ringleader of this orchestra is.”
“Yes, you. It has always been you. We have sufficient evidence provided by Angelo Davenport—”
“Angelo Davenport,” Henry snorted. “We both know the lies you speak.”
“My, my,” Angelo’s voice echoed in the room. “I seem to be right on time for the entertainment.”
Henry turned to Angelo. “Entertainment?”
“Ah, yes, you of all people know how much I love to put on a good show,” Angelo said, approaching Henry with a smug look on his face. “And this one has been stewing for several weeks.”
Henry glared at Angelo.
A tense silence settled over the garage.
“Asheford was the rat?” Robbie said, eyes widening.
“A squeaking rat who thought he could get away with fucking us over,” Angelo said.
“That’s why we gotta give the fucker a lesson,” Vic declared, holding up his own pistol. “Pop a few shots in his dense skull.”
“Drop the weapon, Vic,” Durrett said. “We may be associates, but don’t forget we are still the police. The less of a mess we make, the better. Think of the damn paperwork.”
“But the Limey’s a traitor–”
“And it isn’t your fight to win. Vengeance will be had. Trust me,” Angelo said.
Reluctantly, Vic lowered his pistol. Fierce hostility crossed his face.
Angelo turned to Henry. “Asheford, if I were you, I too would drop the weapon. You wouldn’t want another offence to be added to your criminal record, would you?”
Henry’s glare bounced between Angelo and Durrett. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. His hunch had been correct– Durrett was not to be trusted. He had been on Angelo’s payroll all along. But that posed another problem. If they had no direct contact with Clarkson, how had they found out his plan?
“And to think you would have got away with it if you hadn’t been foolish enough to show your face tonight.” Angelo’s gaze flicked to Henry’s trembling pistol-wielding hand. “I said, drop the weapon.”
Instinctively, Henry’s grip tightened on the pistol’s handle.
Angelo raised a brow. “No? You wish to keep playing dirty?”
Held still by the uncertainty of the situation, Henry remained frozen. He was not sure what to say. Should he feign ignorance, admit defeat, or go along with the situation as it unravelled before him? As he pondered which angle to take, he stared at Angelo’s smirk.
You were found out. It’s over.
Angelo waved a glittering hand. “Robbie, if you could—”
Henry dropped the pistol to the floor. The metallic clang echoed around the garage.
Angelo smiled. “There. Was that so hard?”
He was inches away, and his cheap perfume overwhelmed Henry’s senses. If he wanted, he could headbutt Angelo’s nose, but all that would bring was violence and a splatter of blood across Angelo’s silver waistcoat. It was hardly worth the effort. Instead, he would observe how it would all unravel with as few words as possible. If there was a chance to not dig his grave deeper, he had to take it.
“How badly I wished to trust you,” Angelo said. “When I saw the darkness in you—”
Something inside Henry snapped. To hell with staying silent on this matter.
“I do not harbour any darkness,” Henry said.
“But you do.”
“You delusional fool.” Henry sneered into his face. “You only saw what you wanted because you sought to control me.”
“Don’t make me laugh. You exude wickedness, like the prince of Satan himself, and you will never rid yourself of those demons. A damned shame you refused to harness the power. We could have been magnificent together.”
Flames of anger licked through Henry. “I will never be like you.”
“That much is true.” Angelo licked his lower lip. “Perfection cannot be replicated.”
Henry snorted. “Perfection? You are a treacherous, sad little boy who must pay whores to get his cock sucked. What a pathetic life—”
Angelo’s fist rammed into his stomach.
Henry took it without a murmur. Winded by the attack, he pressed his lips together and breathed through the pain. Angelo waved his men over. Within seconds, Robbie and Vic were restraining Henry’s arms.
He expected another punch. Or a few crude words. What he did not expect was for Angelo’s fingers to dig into his scalp and pull him toward his mouth. Instinctively, Henry jerked his head back.
An angry growl emanated from Angelo’s throat. “You will kiss me,” he grunted, bringing his mouth inches away from Henry’s. He smelled of wine. “No matter how much you despise the act.”
Held in place by three men, he had no choice but to accept the man’s lips upon his.
A thunderous fury roared through him.
I am being kissed by Angelo Davenport.
By a man…
Angelo’s lips softened as Henry’s hardened. He made to turn his head, but all he could manage was a few inches before he was forced back into position. Breathing hard through his nose and feeling disgust, he shut his eyes and tried to imagine another place. A flash of Eva came to mind but he forced it out.
Anything but her.
God forbid he associated Eva with the memory of this assault.
Angelo broke away and held Henry’s gaze. His steely grey eyes were filled with hard contempt.
“I could sodomize you before all these men,” Angelo whispered. “I could make you scream my name like the whores I pay to suck my cock.”
“Do what you will. It would hardly amount to the pain I have suffered and continue to suffer. Your efforts to break me have been in vain,” Henry said.
A challenging shadow glazed over Angelo’s dark eyes.
Fresh energy filled Henry. No matter how much Angelo humiliated him, it would never amount to the pain inflicted by his own father. That epiphany gave him a sense of courage. No one could break what was already broken.
“The fireworks will soon end,” a man said.
Henry looked at the speaker. Next to Durrett was a familiar face. It was the same man who had stood next to Durrett at Angelo’s party weeks ago. What was his name? David? Davies? It hardly mattered. He was another crooked cop. More depressingly, Henry would soon be shackled for the crime of illegally smuggling weapons.
Angelo patted Henry’s cheek with cold fingers.
“It seems this is our goodbye. Your father was right. The world really is better off without you in it,” Angelo said.
The expected sting that followed those words pricked Henry’s heart like the tip of a knife, but it did not plunge deeper. How odd. Had the insult been cheapened by the countless times he’d heard it?
Angelo stepped away, looking smug. “Durrett, shackle this useless English filth. Follow through with what we agreed upon, and my end of the deal will be paid shortly. Boys, pack up the shipment and proceed as intended.”
There was a moment of deafening scuffles as everyone in the room started moving at once. Strong hands pulled at Henry’s arms, propping them up for Durrett to cuff him.
Henry’s innards twisted at the heaviness of the metal pulled tight across his wrists. As he was led out of the room, he refused Angelo one last glimpse. He had greater things to worry about, like the magnitude of what would come next.