Page 26 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

THE GRINNING RAT

C lerkenwell smelled of damp stone and ash—the kind of stink that clung to your skin long after you'd left it behind. But then, I was already wearing it. The last thing I’d expected was to find myself back here so soon. Back where I’d stood this afternoon. With Rosalynd.

That kiss. That maddening kiss.

The taste of her still lingered in my mouth.

Her witch’s scent still clung to my skin.

The little fool. She drove me mad. What had she been thinking?

She could’ve been killed—or worse. She had no idea what the men who haunted this cesspool did to women.

And she’d rushed into it without the slightest hesitation.

For what? To discover who’d murdered Elsie Leonard?

There were other ways. Smarter ways. She should’ve come to me. Asked for my help. But she hadn’t. And that infuriated me more than I cared to admit.

A knock tapped the trapdoor above the cab.

“We’re here, Guv’nor.”

Not quite. We were still two streets off—as I’d requested. I had no intention of announcing my presence. Not that I had any hope of blending in. Dressed as I was, I stood out by a league. Should’ve thought of that earlier. Too late now.

I climbed down, turned up my coat collar, and pulled my hat low. Then I walked the rest of the way, every sense sharpened.

The alley off Saffron Hill was narrow and blackened with soot, bracketed by the skeletal backs of warehouses and shuttered shops. I found the door exactly where Finch said I would—crooked, warped, and unmarked. No sign. No knocker. Just rot and rust and shadow.

I rapped twice.

A moment passed before a metal panel slid open with a clack, revealing a sliver of yellowed eyes and pipe smoke. “You ain’t one of ours.”

“No,” I said. “But I’m no constable either.”

He grunted. “Don’t look like you’re down ’ere to slum it.”

“Never said I was.”

The panel slammed shut. A heartbeat later, the door creaked open, and I stepped into The Grinning Rat.

The name wasn’t a metaphor. A carved wooden rat grinned down from the beam above the main floor—two fangs, one gold, one missing. Inside, the heat hit like a blow. Sweat, smoke, spilled gin, and the burn of desperation.

The room was low-ceilinged and dim, lit by greasy oil lamps and a hearth that hadn’t been cleaned since the Great Fire. Men hunched over cards and dice, sleeves rolled, faces tight. A girl in stockings and a wine-stained corset leaned against a post—bored, bruised, and already half-drunk.

The Rat stank of loss. Of men who’d bet too much and didn’t know it yet. Smoke hung thick in the rafters. Dice clattered somewhere behind me. Laughter, mean and sharp, echoed off the stone walls. No one looked twice as I crossed the floor.

Mulligan was at the far table, counting chips with the slow confidence of a man who didn’t need to cheat to win.

His coat sleeves were rolled, the scars on his knuckles catching the light.

One of his men leaned in to whisper something, but Mulligan waved him off as his gaze slid past him—straight to me.

Recognition flickered in his eyes. And a hint of surprise.

“Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, Your Grace,” Mulligan said, his voice low and dry. “Figured you’d still be off licking your wounds.”

“I heal fast.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving me a long, appraising look. “That so? Then what brings you crawling back?”

“Someone I know’s been gambling here.”

Mulligan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Come to make good on his markers?”

“I came to ask what he owes.”

He grinned—his teeth too white for the rest of him. “A tidy sum.”

“How tidy?”

“Let’s just say—tidy enough that he’ll be coughing up interest for the rest of his privileged little life. If he keeps it.”

I stepped closer, set my hand on the back of the nearest chair, but didn’t sit. “I want a number.”

He shrugged. “It grows by the day. That’s how these things work. You know that.”

“Then give me a name. Who’s holding the debt?”

The grin vanished. “You know better than to ask that.”

“I don’t,” I said flatly. “Because I’m going to pay it.”

Mulligan gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s rich. You want to save your brother—fine. But you don’t get to know who holds the leash.”

I leaned forward. “If I’m going to settle it, I need to know who I’m settling with.”

“No,” he said sharply. “You don’t.”

The table between us felt like tinder. His eyes had gone cold—not hard. Afraid . It was subtle, but I saw it.

“Is it the man in the mask?” I asked, voice quiet but steady. “The one who stayed seated while your brute beat a poor bastard half to death?”

Mulligan didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.

“Your man was doing the damage. You stood by, silent because the one calling the shots didn’t need to speak. He just sat there, watching. Waiting. And you kept glancing his way. Because he was in charge, not you.”

His jaw tightened. The silence stretched.

“Who is he?” I asked. “What’s his name?”

He shook his head once. “You don’t want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because he’ll kill you soon as look at you.”

I stepped around the table, close enough he had to tilt his head to keep me in view. “He won’t succeed.”

Mulligan stood then—slowly, deliberately. His voice was low, almost flat. “You want advice? Tell your brother to run. Far and fast.”

He turned away, leaving his unfinished drink and the stack of chips on the table.

But just before he disappeared into the shadows, he paused.

“I saw her, you know,” he said over his shoulder. “This afternoon. Red hair. Fire in her step.”

Blood chilled in my veins. I didn’t move.

“I could’ve stopped her. Should’ve, maybe. But I don’t make it a habit to harm women.”

A pause.

“But the man your brother owes? He’s not me. He’s not bound by rules or reason. And he doesn’t hesitate.”

His gaze met mine for the briefest moment.

“Keep her out of this, Your Grace. While you still can.”

Then he walked away, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

As I stepped into the alley, the cold hit me like a blow, but I barely felt it.

All I could think about was Rosalynd.

Mulligan had seen her. Had known she’d been there this afternoon. And he’d chosen to do nothing about it. Not because she wasn’t in danger, but because he didn’t hurt women.

The man who held my brother’s debt? He wouldn’t have that restraint.

She was in danger. Perilous danger. And she had no idea. She’d put herself in harm’s way—bold, reckless, brilliant woman that she was—and now she was tangled in something neither of us fully understood.

I had to make her see what she’d walked into. What she’d invited. She thought this was about justice. But she didn’t know the men who lived in this world. She didn’t know what they did to women who asked too many questions.

I took a step forward, heart pounding. That’s when I heard it—movement. Subtle, deliberate. I turned sharply, hand already dropping toward the revolver beneath my coat.

From behind a stack of crates, a figure emerged. Slender. Limping. The man I’d pulled from the floor nights ago.

He stopped just inside the spill of lamplight, his good eye squinting against the glare, the other still swollen shut. His jaw bore the sickly yellow-green hue of an old bruise.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” he rasped.

“Saved your skin?” I asked, keeping my voice flat.

He gave a crooked, humorless smile. “Come back to Saffron Hill.”

I didn’t respond.

“You’re here for your brother,” he said after a moment. “Asking questions.”

I studied him. “You know something.”

“I know enough to be afraid.”

“Of Mulligan?”

He shook his head. “Mulligan growls on command. But he’s not the one they answer to. There’s someone worse. Quiet. Always watching. No name. No need. Just a shadow that walks like a man.”

My throat tightened.

“The one in the mask.”

He nodded once, slowly. “No one speaks when he’s in the room. They just look to him and wait.”

“What does he want?”

“To own your brother. Body, coin, and silence.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Why?”

A beat passed.

“Because then he’ll own you.”

The words hit hard.

Own me.

That was the endgame. Not just my brother— me . The man behind all this thought he could drag me in too. Use Phillip as the leash. Tighten it until I danced on command. Not with blades or threats, but with pressure. Leverage. Influence.

He’d use my name. My title. My place in the House of Lords. Force my hand to protect his interests. Twist my words to silence reform. Turn me into a shield for the corrupt—and a sword for those who’d bought their way free of it.

At least, that’s what he thought .

But I would never play his game. I would burn it all down before I bowed to him.

My mother’s voice rang sharp and cold in my mind: If Phillip falls beyond saving, you must protect yourself. And Nicholas. And the name your father left behind.

But the thing of it was, I couldn’t let that happen. Not while Phillip was still breathing. Not while Rosalynd was still in danger. Not while I had anything left to give.

The fog thickened, curling low around my boots as if the city itself wanted to swallow the truth I’d just faced. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once—then silence.

The man hadn’t moved.

“I saw her,” he said at last, voice quieter now. “This afternoon.”

My head snapped up.

“Red hair. Walked like she owned the street, but her eyes kept checking the shadows. Brave. And far too clean for this place.”

My heart began to hammer, slow and heavy.

“Some of the men thought she was a fool. Others thought she was something to sell. But one of them . . .” He hesitated. “He watched her too long. Like he was choosing where to cut first.”

I took a step toward him. “What did he do?”

“Nothing. You showed up. But if she comes back, she won’t walk out again.”

My fists clenched.

“You need to get her out of this. Now. While you still can.”

He turned to go, but before he could do so, I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“You pulled me out when you didn’t have to.”

A beat passed.

“You’re running out of time.”

Then he vanished into the fog, and the night closed in around me.

I stood there for a long moment, listening to the silence.

And then it struck me.

I hadn’t asked his name. Hadn’t asked about Elsie Leonard and what he saw the night of her murder. He was the one person who might have seen her killer, and I’d let him walk away.

Because all I could think about was Rosalynd. Because the fear of losing her had drowned out everything else. I turned sharply, the cold settling deeper into my bones.

I needed to warn her, tell her the danger she was facing. But not tonight. She was safe tonight. Warm, well-guarded. But Phillip might not be. I needed to know—for certain. That meant hailing a cab.

No driver would venture into the cesspool that was Saffron Hill. I cut through a narrow passage and emerged onto Farringdon Road. Even at this hour, it offered better luck than the alleys behind the tannery. A hansom soon clattered out of the mist.

“Where to, Guv’nor?” the cabbie called as I pulled the door open.

“Brook Street. Quick as you can. You’ll earn extra coin if you get me there in under half an hour.”

“I’m your man, Guv’.” He snapped the reins, and we jolted forward. The wheels rattled so violently it felt as though my teeth might shake loose. But I welcomed the haste. The sooner I reached Phillip, the sooner I’d know he was alive.

We reached Brook Street in just under thirty minutes. I tossed the cabbie a guinea.

“Keep the change.”

He tipped his hat with a grin. “Thank ‘ee kindly, Guv’nor. Good night.”

I hoped it would be.

Harrington answered the door at once, his expression tight.

“Your Grace,” he said with a stiff bow.

My gut clenched. “Is my brother here?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

I took the first easy breath of the night.

“But he’s in no fit state to be receiving,” Harrington continued.

“Why?”

“Lord Phillip has . . . overindulged.”

Drunkenness, I could manage. “How far gone?”

“Unconscious. He refused supper and took to the brandy. Two bottles in, he collapsed. He’s in the sitting room. I couldn’t rouse him to take him to bed.”

I pushed past him without a word.

The sitting room reeked of spirits and stale smoke. Phillip lay sprawled across the settee, one boot off, the other still on, a half-empty glass in his hand. His head lolled to the side, pressed against the velvet cushion, lost to the world.

“Let’s get him to bed,” I said. If he remained crumpled like that all night, he’d be useless by morning. And I needed him to be sharp.

Between us, we managed to haul him to his room. I left Harrington to settle him and returned to the sitting room to wait.

After what felt like an age, the valet reappeared.

“All tucked in?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. Pack his things. Tonight.”

Harrington blinked. “Sir?”

“He’s leaving for Yorkshire in the morning. You’ll accompany him. I’ll be here to see him off myself. Make sure he’s ready.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out, the door closing hard behind me.