Page 43 of Molly Boys
Grasping the knocker, he rapped it firmly a few times, then adjusted the peak of his flat cap and hunched his shoulders against the cold. He’d forgone his usual bowler, instead borrowing the cap from one of the younger constables. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but he hoped it made him less obvious.
The door opened and a small man stared at him silently. From his pocket, Archie pulled out a few coins and handed them over. The attendant studied him for a moment longer, then glanced around to see if he was alone before stepping back to allow Archie entrance.
Archie wasn’t naive. He knew many policemen more highly placed than himself used places such as these, just as he knew it wasn’t exactly legal. But in return for allowing the officers to sate their needs within their establishments, eyes were cast the other way concerning the legality of the situation. Archie wasn’t so idealistic that he would even attempt to right every law ignored or broken. It was just the way the world worked. He was more concerned with meting out justice to those who deserved it rather than trying to take down traditions that were firmly ingrained. If there was one thing he’d learned on his rapid rise through the ranks, it was how to pick his battles, and trying to close down flourishing opium dens was not one of them.
Finding a killer was.
He followed the attendant down a long narrow staircase which opened out into a large underground room filled with bodies lounging on sofas and beds. Men, women, working class, upper class. The establishment didn’t discriminate, serving anyone enamoured of the poppy who sought escape.
Archie had drawn to a halt as his eyes skimmed the assortment of prone bodies. Thanks to a description and an official photograph, Archie had a fairly good idea of what Eddy, or rather Prince Victor, looked like.
The attendant, noticing Archie had stopped, turned and lifted his hand to indicate that he should follow.
“I’m joining someone,” he told the man, hoping he understood. “I’m just going to look for him.”
Archie wasn’t sure if this was a usual request, having never spent any time in an opium den. The man stared for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded once and walked away. Drawing a slow breath, Archie glanced around the large room, daunted by the task of trying to find a man he’d never seen in person amidst the sea of bodies.
Knowing that he’d have to look person by person, he began to slowly weave between beds and sofas, discounting any female patrons immediately. Eddy—and it was easier to think of him as Eddy rather than Prince Victor—was only nineteen years old, which narrowed the search slightly but not by much. He was tall and slim with a long face and brown hair, but there were many men of that disposition there.
Archie’s attention was momentarily distracted by a much older gentleman with curly, grey hair being helped to his feet by a sweet-faced middle-aged woman.
“Come, Uncle Cornelius, let’s get you home,” she said in a clear, soft voice filled with patience.
“But they won’t stop,” the older man slurred, almost sobbing. “They just won’t stop speaking to me, but no one else can see them.”
“I know,” she crooned.
Archie dismissed them and kept searching, passing by several young men, but none of them were the right fit. Slowly, his eyes fell on a head of golden hair resting against the back of a sofa. He couldn’t say what made him change direction, but his feet were moving toward that halo of gold before his mind could argue.
There in front of him was the beautiful young lord that hadn’t been far from his mind since they’d crossed paths earlier that afternoon.
Lord Stanley’s eyes were closed, his breaths soft and even. His bright blonde hair, so ruthlessly combed into place earlier in the day, now hung forward in his eyes, soft and appealing. His collar was unbuttoned, revealing the smooth pale skin of his throat, and his hands rested on the seat either side of him. A discarded opium pipe lay nearby, where it had clearly fallen from his lax fingers.
A quick glance around revealed that Lord Stanley seemed to be alone; that is, there was no sign of his companion from earlier, nor did anyone seem to have taken his place. Archie knew he should just leave him, give him privacy and walk away, pretend he’d never seen him in this place, but as he turned to do just that, he froze.
He couldn’t.
He released a long breath at the image of David Perkins laying naked and discarded in the snow. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to rest unless he knew the young lord had made it home safely convinced him to move to the sofa and sit beside him.
“My lord?” He shook him gently, his voice low so as not to give their identities away to any of the others nearby. “Lord Stanley.” He shook him again.
Still not getting any response, he leaned over and studied his face. The man’s closed eyelids moved rapidly, his soft lashes fluttering. Archie reached out with a tentative hand and tapped his cheek.
“Lord Stanley,” he muttered. The young lord’s eyes opened, rolling wildly before finally coming to rest on Archie. His gaze remained unfocused, but the smile on his lips was the most beautiful smile Archie had ever seen and it caused his stomach to tangle in confused knots.
Lord Stanley raised his hand and cupped Archie’s jaw, dragging the pad of one thumb across his lower lip. Archie jerked back abruptly, his heart pounding as Stanley’s hand dropped back to his lap and his head lolled to the side.
Archie lifted his hand and gripped the other man’s face. Turning it back toward him, he watched as those eyes once again fluttered open.
“Lord Stanley.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you have the means to return to your home?” Archie asked in concern. “Are you here alone?”
“M’always alone.” The words came out slurred as his head tilted, but Archie gripped his jaw tighter and held his face up.
“Lord Stanley?” Archie tried again. “It’s not safe to wander the streets alone in this condition. There’s a killer on the loose targeting young single men.”