Rule's Bride (21 page)

Billy stuck his hands behind his back. “Burnt meself. Mr. Pratt says I'll be fine in a day or two.”

She bit her lip, fighting down the anger she felt toward Simon Pratt. “Are there other boys who work for Mr. Pratt, as well?”

He nodded, jiggling strands of grimy red hair. “Girls, too.”

“I see. I'm looking for a boy with two fingers missing. Does he work for Mr. Pratt?”

“'E used to.”

Her pulse kicked up. “Do you know his name?”

“Danny Tuttle.”

She managed another smile. “Do you know where I can find Danny?”

The child shook his head. “I donno, but Tom Dasher's only got part o' 'is arm.” As if Tom might serve in Danny's stead.

Violet controlled a shudder, her heart aching for the little boy and the others. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a handful of coins and handed them to the child. “Thank you, Billy.”

The little boy stared at the coins, then looked up at her and grinned. He tucked the money into the pocket of his ragged trousers and disappeared back inside the house.

Turning, she stepped off of the porch and Mr. Bellows fell in beside her. “Ain't right, is it?”

“No, it isn't.”

Several disreputable men watched as they returned to the carriage, but the size of the coachman's thick arms seemed to dissuade them from any evil intent.

They left the neighborhood and headed for the second address on her list. If Danny Tuttle no longer worked for Pratt, perhaps he worked for Dick Whistler. As the carriage rolled toward the second residence, she thought of the
children who lived in the ramshackle house and tried to think what she might do to help them.

At the second address, a slightly better cared for brick structure in a less run-down neighborhood, no one was at home.

The front door opened at the house next door and a woman with frizzy blond hair stuck her head through the opening.

“If ye be lookin' for Mr. Whistler, he ain't home. Works till dark. Ye want ta hire him, come back then.” The door slammed closed, the sound echoing off the houses across the street.

Violet sighed. “I guess I shall have to return later.” Walking next to Mr. Bellows, she returned to the carriage.

“Ain't safe at night, milady.”

“I suppose not.”

But as soon as possible she would find a way to come back. She needed to find Danny Tuttle. She hoped Dick Whistler could help her.

 

Pacing back and forth in the drawing room, Rule heard Violet's feminine footfalls approaching down the hall and angrily strode toward the door.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?”

Her chin went up. “You must have a fairly good notion or you wouldn't be so angry.”

And angry he was. His jaw felt like steel and his stomach was tied in knots. “I came home early. I had too damned much on my mind to concentrate on work. When I got here, I discovered you were gone.”

“I had things to do.”

“So I gathered,” he said darkly. “When I questioned Hat, he said you were asking about the person who had delivered the note from Whitney. You spoke to Mrs. Digby, as well.”

She cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “That's right. I figured if we didn't have the note, perhaps we could find the messenger who brought it.”

“And?”

“Mr. Hatfield said it was a boy, not a man. He believed the lad might have been a chimney sweep. Mrs. Digby gave me several addresses, places where I might start my search.”

“Tell me you did not go into those neighborhoods by yourself.” A murder had been committed, for God's sake. He didn't want his wife getting hurt!

“I did not go there by myself.” She gave him a tart little smile. “Mr. Bellows and Mr. Harkins accompanied me.”

Rule swore foully. Her eyes widened, since he rarely used that kind of language in front of her. Rule didn't care.

“Dammit, Violet, those places aren't safe for a woman. God's blood, they aren't safe for a man! You could have been attacked or even killed.”

“I was perfectly safe with Mr. Bellows and Mr. Harkins. But since you are so concerned, perhaps you will accompany me when I return.”

“Return!”

“That is correct. The messenger's name is Danny Tuttle. We need to speak to a master sweep named Whistler, see if Danny works for him or if he knows where we might find him. Since Mr. Whistler works until dark, it would be better if you would go with me.”

Rule fought to hang on to his temper. “I swear, Violet—”

“You have already done so, sir.”

Rule clamped down on his jaw. “If you were still sixteen, I would put you over my knee and give you a good sound thrashing for putting yourself in danger.”

Her smile remained in place. “But I am no longer sixteen. I am a grown woman and your wife.”

And he would far rather ravish her than spank her. Though the notion still held a certain appeal.

“You wish to return to the sweep's house tonight?”

“I do. And along the way, there is a related matter I wish to discuss.”

Oh, she was a handful. Like no other woman he had ever known. More outspoken, more intelligent and far more determined. He raked a hand through his hair. “What am I going to do with you, sweetheart?”

Her features softened. “For the moment, I hope you will let me help you clear your name.”

She was also caring and loyal—and so damned pretty standing there by the window with the sunlight gleaming on her glorious flame-colored hair. A dozen ways he wanted to make love to her popped into his head and he felt himself begin to go hard.

“Well?” she asked, drawing him back to the moment.

If she wished to aid him, he could hardly continue to refuse her. She had already dug up more information than anyone else.

“All right, I could certainly use your assistance, but I want your word you will tell me whatever it is you plan to do. I want you safe, Violet. Promise me you won't go off again on your own.”

She smiled, obviously pleased. “If that is your wish, I'll agree. We shall work on this together. Will you take me back to the sweep's house tonight?”

He nodded. “We'll find the Tuttle boy. With luck he'll be able to tell us if Whitney was the man who sent him to deliver the note.”

S
eated across from Rule, Violet rode mostly in silence as the carriage pressed on to the house in a court off St. John's Street that belonged to Dick Whistler. Lamps burned in the windows when they arrived. Apparently, he was home.

“We're here,” Rule said, leaning over to open the carriage door. “Let's see what we can find out.”

She let him help her down from inside the coach and guide her up the dirt path to the porch. The door opened at Rule's light knock and a lean, tired-looking man stood in the opening.

“Are you Dick Whistler?” Rule asked.

“That's me.”

“I'm looking for a boy named Danny Tuttle. He's about twelve, maybe thirteen years old. We thought he might work for you.”

The man scratched his jaw and shook his head. “Danny's too young to work for me. There's a law against it and I don't break the law.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” Violet asked.

“Used to work for Simon Pratt. Lost two fingers be
cause of it. Doesn't sweep chimneys no more. Last I heard, he was doing odd jobs for a fellow named Benny Bates. He's a real sharper, is Bates. Runs a ring of blacklegs and thieves. Danny's not really like that, but I guess he didn't have much other choice. He's alive, but he might not stay that way if he keeps workin' for Bates.”

“Do you know where we might find this man Bates?”

“Hangs out at the White Bull Tavern in St. Giles. You might find him there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Whistler,” Violet said. “I am glad you're concerned about the children's welfare.”

He nodded. “Apprenticed young, meself. I know what it's like.”

She noticed the scars on his hands as he closed the door and thought of Simon Pratt and little Billy Robin.

“We'll go to the tavern tomorrow,” Rule said as they returned to the carriage, “see if we can find Bates.”

“All right.” Violet settled her skirts around her as the conveyance lurched into motion. “In the meantime, there is a favor I would ask.”

One of his winged black eyebrows went up. “Do I dare ask what it is?”

Violet just smiled. “The man Mr. Whistler mentioned…Simon Pratt?”

“What about him?” His voice still rang with a hint of disapproval that she had gone there without him.

“There's a child who lives with him. His name is Billy Robin, a little boy about seven years old. I think there are other young children in the house, as well.”

“Go on.”

“You heard what Mr. Whistler said. Danny lost two fingers working for Pratt. Little Billy was home because his hands were burned so badly he couldn't work. He was
waiting for them to heal.” She reached over and touched Rule's arm. “We have to do something, Rule. It's against the law to use children as sweeps. We can't just ignore what that man is doing.”

In the glow of the carriage lamp, she caught his nod. “I'll speak to Royal. See if he knows someone who might intervene on their behalf. But they are likely orphans, Violet. They might end up worse off than they are working for Pratt.”

“But surely you know a place where they might find shelter, a place where they could find care.”

Rule seemed to ponder the notion. “Now that I think on it, I do. Annabelle Greer sponsors a home for orphans. I'll speak to her, see if there might be something she can do to help little Billy and the others.”

“Oh, Rule, that would be marvelous! And we are going to find Danny. Once we do, we'll know more about what happened that day at the hotel.”

“Let us hope so.”

“We'll find the answers we need to prove your innocence,” she assured him, and a look came into his eyes she had never seen before.

The next thing she knew, he was leaning across the velvet seat, capturing her lips and kissing her fiercely. Lifting her up, he cradled her in his lap and continued to kiss her.

“I need you,” he said, and her heart went out to him. She knew he was worried. He was suspected of murder. He needed to forget for a while and she wanted to give him the chance.

Easing her down on the seat, he made love to her there in the carriage. In the soft glow of the shiny brass lamps, every jolt and sway of the coach heightened the incredible sensations.

“Sweet God,” Rule groaned, fighting for control.

The instant she reached her peak, so did he, driving into her until she cried out and shattered a second time. Against her hand, she felt the solid beat of his heart.

Easing himself off her, he reached down and smoothed a strand of her heavy copper hair. “I don't understand it. I can't seem to get enough of you.”

Violet's heart took a leap at his words.

A thread of worry followed. There were so many problems ahead of them. Uncertainty about her marriage. The children who needed their help. And the not-so-small matter of solving a murder.

As she straightened her garments, Violet prayed she would find a way through the maze of troubles that lay ahead.

 

Jeffrey stood in front of the hearth in his suite at the Parkland Hotel, sipping a glass of fine Tennessee whiskey. Seated in a chair across from him, J. P. Montgomery finished reading the article on the front page of the
London Times
and set the paper on the table beside his own whiskey glass.

“Well, it looks like Charles Whitney is out of the running,” he drawled.

Jeffrey flicked a glance at the paper he had read before Montgomery arrived. “That it does.”

“Bad business…shot like that right there in his hotel room.”

“Yes, it is. Apparently the police think they may know who killed him. They are examining the evidence and hoping to make an arrest very soon.”

Montgomery studied him over the rim of his glass. “I wonder who did the poor bastard in. Not that I can truly say I'm sorry. With Whitney out of the way, Dewar will have to find another buyer.”

Jeffrey took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps he'll take our offer this time.”

“Could be. Might be better to find someone else to make the offer. Someone local, maybe. Pretty clear Dewar's sympathies lie with our opponents to the north, though neither he nor his missus ever came right out and said so.”

“Having someone else involved might be a good idea.” Jeffrey knew Montgomery was right, at least about Violet, though they had rarely discussed the slavery issue. Once or twice she had voiced her opinion, but he had never doubted that after they were married, she would come around to his way of thinking.

He sipped his drink, savoring the taste and the burn. “Whatever we do, we need to take our time. We move too fast, it might put them off.”

Montgomery nodded. “Maybe we can find us a partner over here, someone to buy the company and keep our involvement a secret.”

“There's a lot of money to be made. Might take us a little time.”

“Maybe not. Meanwhile, maybe they'll find out who killed Whitney.” Montgomery sipped his drink. “Could work to our advantage.”

Jeffrey made no reply.

Whatever happened, they still intended to buy the company. And now that Whitney was dead, things had definitely turned in their favor.

 

Rule planned to arrive at the White Bull before noon, hoping it might be a good time to catch Benny Bates at the tavern.

“I'm going with you,” Violet said as she walked into the study.

Knowing the sort of place it would be, Rule shook his head. “Not this time, sweetheart, but I promise I'll return straightaway with whatever news I discover.”

Her pretty green eyes flashed. “We were going to do this together. Take me with you and I'll wait outside in the carriage. If you uncover another clue, I'll be there to help you pursue it.”

He knew he shouldn't do it. It was dangerous to get her involved, but it was the middle of the day and the notion of her company pleased him.

He released an exasperated sigh. “Why is it you always seem to get your way?”

Violet grinned. “Because I'm a woman. I shall change and be back in a jiff.”

A jiff.
She was picking up more and more British slang. Soon she would be talking more like an English lady than an upper-class American.

“Wear something plain,” he called after her as she raced up the stairs. “We don't want to draw attention.”

And to that end, he had dressed in plain brown trousers, a full-sleeved shirt and a pair of scuffed riding boots. He planned to park the carriage somewhere Bates wouldn't see it, and he didn't intend to be in the area very long.

In a simple gray wool gown, Violet returned faster than he had imagined she would, and they set off for St. Giles. The White Bull took up the bottom floor of a building on the corner, the front painted black with bold white letters announcing its name.

Bellows parked the carriage a block away and Rule descended the narrow iron stairs. He looked up at his coachman. “Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble, will you, Bellows?”

Violet cast Rule an indignant glance through the window, but the burly coachman just grinned. “Aye, milord.”

The interior of the tavern was nearly as black as the paint on the walls outside, though once Rule's eyes adjusted to the flickering lamplight, he could see well enough. He strode over to the tavern keep, a fat man wearing a stained white apron, sat down on a wooden stool in front of the bar and ordered a tankard of ale.

For several minutes, he sipped his ale and surveyed his surroundings—the smoky interior, the group of men laughing in the corner, the dark-haired tavern maid serving the customers drinks. As she sashayed past, he caught her arm and pressed a coin into her palm.

“If you have a minute, I wonder if you might help me.”

She eyed him up and down and smiled, and he saw that she was young and fairly pretty.

“I'll be happy to help ye, handsome.” She rested a slim-fingered hand over his thigh. “What can I do for ye, luv?”

Rule eased her hand away. “I'm looking for a man named Benny Bates. They say he comes in here. Do you know him?”

“Aye, I know Benny—penny-pinchin' blighter that he is.” She glanced over her shoulder and Rule followed her gaze to the men in the corner.

“One of those men Bates?”

She jerked a nod. “Short one with the bald head. That's Benny. He does business in here. I'll tell him yer lookin' for him if ye like.”

“Actually, I'm looking for a boy named Danny Tuttle. I heard Danny works for him.”

The girl's expression changed to suspicion. “What ye want with Danny?”

Rule pulled out a small pouch of coins and set them on the bar in front of her. “Just a few minutes of his time.” He
shoved the pouch in her direction. “I'd be happy to pay you for making the introduction.”

The girl tugged at the front of her low-cut blouse. “You don't look like a copper.”

“That's because I'm not.”

“Ye'll pay Danny, too?”

“I will.”

The tavern maid turned away from him and walked behind the bar. Pulling open a door leading into the rear of the tavern, she disappeared inside the back room. A few minutes later, she returned.

“One of the lads went to fetch him. Bates don't like anyone interfering in his business so Danny'll meet ye out front.” She picked up the pouch of coins on the bar.

“If he doesn't show up, I'll be back for my money.”

“Danny's the sort to keep his word. He'll be there.” The girl returned to her duties as Rule paid for the ale and made his way back out the front door.

The boy was waiting, tall for his age and far too skinny, with tangled brown hair and worn clothes a little too small for his growing size. The minute he spotted Rule, he recognized him and started to run.

“Damnation!” Rule bolted after him, caught him before he reached the end of the block, spun him around and pinned him against the wall. “I'm not going to hurt you. I just want you to answer a couple of questions.”

Danny struggled, but he was slightly built and Rule held him easily. “I just want answers, Danny. I'll pay you well for them.”

The boy remained stiff with tension, but interest crept into his dark eyes.

“You know who I am, don't you? That's the reason you ran. You delivered a message to my house and then fol
lowed me to the Albert Hotel. All I want to know is who paid you to do it.”

Danny's bony shoulders tightened. “I don't know nothin'.”

“Unless you were in on the murder, this has nothing to do with you. I just need some answers.”

Danny's eyes bulged. “Murder? What murder? You think I did murder?”

Rule shook his head. By the stunned look on his face, it was clear the boy knew nothing of the crime.

“Actually, the police think I'm the man who did it. I'm trying to prove I'm not. Now tell me who gave you the note.”

Danny nervously chewed his lip. “I…umm… I don't know 'is name. I was runnin' an errand over by the 'otel. Some jackanapes said 'e'd pay me to deliver a message, so I took the job.”

“So you delivered the note and then you waited in front of my house. Once you saw me leave, you ran back to the man and told him I was on my way to the hotel. Is that about right?”

Danny nodded. “'E said 'e needed to know if you was coming. After I said you was, 'e paid me and I left.” The boy glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Don't tell Bates. 'E'll whup me good just for talkin' to you.”

Rule relaxed his grip on the boy's shabby coat. “I'm not telling Bates anything.”

Danny darted another furtive glance toward the door but held his ground. “You said you'd pay me.”

Rule pulled a gold sovereign out of his pocket and flashed it in the sunlight. The boy's brown eyes widened.

“Tell me what the man looked like.”

Danny glanced down at his worn-out shoes, then his gaze snapped back to the coin. “Nothin' special. Not so tall as you, brown hair parted in the middle.”