Page 15 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Liam loathed returning to the Earl of Darrington’s house, so he decided to collect information on the earl and his slimy son before he did. One acquaintance that Liam, unfortunately, came to know before he took over ownership of the restaurant was Lucian Sharpe. Lucian was a rookery outlaw who’d often gone to The Crowing Cock for a meal and a visit to the brothel upstairs. He was about eight years older than Liam and had lived and survived on the streets since he was nine. He had bragged to Liam once that he had many contacts with aristocrats dabbling in illegal schemes to keep their legacies and titles afloat. Liam wanted to discover if Darrington was one of the toffs in that clandestine underworld league. The earl had a corrupt look in his eye and acted too smug by half. Would Sharpe have started the fire at Darrington or even Shinwell’s say so? It was entirely possible if he’d been paid enough. Or maybe the miserable aristos had hired someone else, someone Sharpe might know of. One thing he knew for certain. If Darrington or his son were behind the fire, Sharpe would know about it.

Tracking down Sharpe was a nerve-wracking task, as the man was constantly on the move. Clearances were underway in several slums where the disadvantaged gathered, including Sharpe’s usual haunts in Devil’s Acre around St. Ann’s Lane. The late author Charles Dickens had described this area as ‘The most deplorable manifestation of human wretchedness and depravity,’ and it was rumored to have inspired Oliver Twist and its infamous characters. The task of finding Sharpe seemed increasingly daunting.

Since the construction of Victoria Street in 1851, which cut through the heart of Devil’s Acre, the evicted population has crowded into even less available property and housing. The continued but slow clearances significantly diminished Sharpe’s criminal kingdom and influence, transforming the once thriving area into a shadow of its former self.

Liam rode in the hansom cab with Bruce, marveling at the stark contrast between the notorious area of Devil’s Acre and the grandeur of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. As they turned onto Pye Street, the stench hit him like a slap in the face. This expanse was rampant with marshlands, and he could smell the fetid dampness mixed with odors from the gasworks. Dirty, barefoot children dressed in rags stood on the street corners, staring at him with suspicious eyes. He swallowed hard. Liam had once been one of those children.

Construction was everywhere. Old tenements were being torn down, and new buildings were being erected. It seemed to Liam that Sharpe was king over a pile of rubble. But there were still enough grimy dark alleys, courtyards, and side streets for him to lord over. But for how long? Liam guessed Sharpe had a couple of years—if that. The cab turned onto Duck Lane, and when Finnian’s Chop House came into view, Liam pounded on the roof.

“Bruce, stay with the cab. I won’t be long.” Liam exited and closed the folding doors. Then he stuck his hand in his pocket, keeping it firm on his money folder—not that he carried that much.

He stepped across the threshold into another era, just as he had described to Celia, down to the wooden tables and benches and sawdust on the floor. The lighting comprised of oil lamps, tallow candles, and two gas sconces on the wall. A fire crackled in the ancient hearth in the corner. The dubious odor of frying onions and old meat filled his nostrils.

Scanning the cramped pub, Liam located Lucian Sharpe sitting in the darkened corner near the fire. Sharpe could see the entire tavern from his vantage point, including those who walked through the doors. Sharpe looked like a feral alley cat, ready to pounce on his prey.

A man as wide and solid as an oak tree stepped before him. “And who are you, then?”

“Liam Hallahan. Sharpe knows me.”

The man turned and looked at Sharpe, who gave a quick nod. As Liam stepped forward, the bullyboy laid his hand on Liam’s chest, effectively stopping him. “I’ve got to search you, yeah?”

“Then have at it,” Liam growled. Still holding his wallet, he raised his arms partway to allow the man to do a pat down. This was an intriguing new layer of security. With the search completed, Liam walked over to stand before Sharpe’s table.

“Hallahan. I never expected to see you again since you banished me from your place of business. And you didn’t bring me any stew? I’m insulted.” Sharpe smiled with a cruel twist to his lips. Lucian Sharpe might be a product of the streets, but he didn’t look it. Besides the clean, straight teeth, he wore an expensive suit, though it was garish, with a bold black and tan plaid pattern. His left knuckle had a fresh tattoo, but Liam couldn’t distinguish what it was from this distance.

“I’ll send a pot tomorrow. It wasn’t ready before I left.”

“How’s Junie?”

Lucian Sharpe had come around The Crowing Cock to see June on numerous occasions, and she’d confided to Liam that Sharpe had tried to convince her to come to live with him.

“June married and left England some months ago.”

The only reaction was a slight twitch of his mouth. “Sit there and speak your piece,” Sharpe said, pointing to a chair directly in front of him.

Liam took his seat. “There’s lots of activity outside. Where will you go once the last remaining streets are cleared?”

“What’s it to you? I’ll find a place. There’s always business to be done.”

“True enough. Speaking of business, I came to ask if you do any commerce with the Earl of Darrington or Viscount Shinwell.”

Sharpe snorted. “Billy Buck? Aye, plenty of business. Why?”

Billy Buck. Interesting. “His son owes me a gaming debt. I want to know what I’m up against before I stick my nose in to collect.”

“Billy Buck is rich enough to pay. Don’t let him give you any excuses. He’s paid Shinwell’s debts for years, some in the thousands of pounds. If old Billy hadn’t been born on the right side of the blanket, I swear he’d be one of the most notorious gangsters in London town. Does he keep his word? Mostly, especially if he can profit from it. His son, on the other hand, is a sniveling toad.”

Liam nodded. He knew that for a fact. “I had a fire at my place, in the storage shed.”

“And? You think Billy Buck is behind it?”

“Or his son. I wondered if you’d heard anything, or know of anyone who’ll start fires for a price.”

Sharpe shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Billy Buck or his spawn. But I’ve heard nothing.”

Sharpe probably knew a number of arsonists, but he wasn’t about to tell Liam. Criminal types tended to cover for each other.

A man rushed to the table. “Guv, we lost the Golden Angel. She dodged us.”

Sharpe banged the table with his fist. “Try again tomorrow. And don’t fail!”

The man hurried away.

“I’ve got a do-gooder lady in my midst,” Sharpe announced.

“What’s the harm in that? I wish I’d had a do-gooder in my patch when I was growing up.”

“Aye, me and all. But it’s interfering with my business. Let her do her good works in another rookery.”

“‘No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another,’” Liam said.

“ Our Mutual Friend , Charles Dickens,” Sharpe replied. “It’s actually ‘lightens the burden of it for anyone else.’ Don’t look so bloody shocked. I taught myself to read, same as you.”

“Leave her be. What’s the angel doing, depleting your prospects of pickpockets and prostitutes?”

Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. “It’s none of your concern. I’ll find her, make no mistake. Anything else?”

Liam stood. “No. Thanks.”

“Don’t forget that stew. I want it here at this table tomorrow at noon.” Sharpe tapped the table. “It’s payment for the information.”

“I’ll send along one of my boys. Let him deliver the stew and leave him be, yeah?” Sharpe was always trying to recruit youngsters for pickpockets and such. Liam had no doubt guessed why Sharpe was annoyed at the charity lady. The worse off people were, the more they were willing to turn to crime to keep bread on the table.

Sharpe nodded, then turned to speak to one of the men sitting next to him, effectively dismissing Liam. Liam departed, and after he gave directions to the driver, he climbed into the cab. During the journey to Darrington’s, Liam formulated a plan.

When the hansom arrived at the earl’s, Liam paid the driver. “Bruce, stay next to me, but don’t speak, yeah?”

“Right, Liam,” the hulking ex-boxer replied.

After ringing the bell, the butler stepped aside to allow them to enter. “The earl awaits you in his study. This way.”

The room seemed strangely devoid of books, but maybe that was because he’d seen the Hornsbys’ studies, which were filled with various tomes. It proved that reading was not on Darrington’s or Shinwell’s priority lists.

“Mr. Hallahan and friend, my lord,” Baldwin announced.

“Sit, or will you stand?” the earl asked. Liam glanced at the leather sofa. Shinwell laid indolently across it, looking bored.

Liam grabbed a padded wooden chair and placed it strategically where he could see both men. Once he sat, Bruce stood beside him, arms folded. “I’m here to make a proposal concerning the 240 pounds owed. I am willing to forego the debt—for a price.”

Darrington’s bushy gray eyebrows shot skyward. The earl hadn’t been expecting that. “A proposal? Of what, exactly?”

“The address of where Countess Darrington is staying. Also, the money he--” Liam pointed at Shinwell, “--stole from Celia and fifty pounds more for the stress caused.”

“That is all?”

Liam snorted. “Should I ask for more, my lord?”

“Why would you do this for Celia? Has she bewitched you somehow?” Darrington asked. “She’s not that beautiful.”

Liam snarled. “Do not disparage her again. Not in my presence.”

Shinwell laughed mockingly. “By God, he’s cunny struck!”

Liam leaped from his chair so fast, it tumbled across the carpet. He punched Shinwell square in the face, catching his eye more than his nose. Shinwell cried out.

“Enough!” Darrington thundered, coming to his feet, which wasn’t easy considering his girth. “You!” The earl pointed at Bruce. “Get him under control, or there will be no deal!”

Liam pulled back his arm to punch Shinwell again, but Bruce’s massive hand closed over his fist. They locked gazes, and Bruce shook his head and mouthed, ‘Stand down.’

Seething, Liam returned to his seat. He had already lost control of the situation. That was on him.

Darrington pointed to his son. “You, keep it shut. There will be no more outbursts.”

Shinwell held his hand over his right eye and glowered at Liam. Liam grumbled in response. Bloody hell, he despised this family—especially the son—after Celia had confided about her past living in this house.

“Everyone settle down,” Darrington admonished as he sat. “Now, as to your proposal, I will give you the address, the money he stole, and 20 pounds.”

“45.”

“25,” Darrington responded.

“35, and it is done.”

“I agree.”

“One more thing. My shed was deliberately set ablaze last night. Did you have anything to do with it?”

Darrington looked genuinely surprised. “No. I did not.” The earl’s gaze slid to Shinwell. “Troy?”

“Burning a shed?” Shinwell scoffed. “I have better things to do on a Saturday night.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “If the address you give me is fake, or anything else untoward happens to my business or the people who work for me, this deal is null and void. The full amount will be due again with interest. And I will collect. Mark my words. Billy Buck .”

Darrington smiled slyly. “How crafty of you. We must have mutual acquaintances. I can respect that.”

“The fire brigade reported the arson to the Met Police. They asked me for names of suspects.” Liam inclined his head toward Shinwell. “I’ll give the peelers his name if the deal is broken in any way. This is not a threat, just a statement of fact.”

The earl pursed his lips. “You have made your point. We can do business.” Darrington opened his desk drawer, grabbed his pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and then scribbled something on paper. “My wife’s address. I cannot guarantee she will be there now, as she is traveling. But she will return to this address before she comes home. I tell you this to make you understand a reply may not be imminent.”

“Fine.”

Darrington reached into his bottom desk drawer and brought forth a money box. He opened it and counted out pound notes. “Thirty-five pounds plus the five pounds he took. I rounded up.” The earl slid the money and the piece of paper across the desk. “Do I need a receipt drawn up?”

“Aye. Just write out the transaction, and we’ll sign it. One copy for me, one for you. My acquaintance said your word on the streets is reliable enough.”

“Did he?” Darrington pulled out two pieces of paper and hastily wrote on them. “Come here and sign the papers.”

Liam came to stand beside Darrington and bent to write his name.

“Listen closely,” Darrington whispered. “I could take the knife from my drawer and pin your hand to the desk. Try stirring a pot of soup with a permanently injured hand. It can’t be done. However, I won’t—not this time. Do not come near me and mine ever again.”

Liam continued to write his name on the second sheet of paper. “And that goes for me,” Liam murmured menacingly. “Keep your toad of a son from my property; he’s banned. If I see him, I will not be responsible for my actions—or Bruce’s. We don’t want to take a war to the streets.”

Liam stood upright, grabbed the papers and the money, and turned to leave.

“Then we understand each other!” the earl called out.

Liam gave a mocking bow. “Perfectly!” He motioned to Bruce. “Come on. I need a breath of fresh air.”

Once outside, Liam smiled. Yes, he did not collect the total amount owed, but in his mind, he came out ahead. He could just imagine Celia’s joy at being able to contact her aunt.

And he would do anything for Celia. Anything.

* * *

“You did it, the fire?” William roared.

Troy shrugged. “I told the truth. I would never stoop to start a fire. On the other hand, did I hire a couple of dodgy lads to do it? Now that is the question.”

William scrubbed his hand down his face in exasperation. What in hell was he going to do with this boy? “I have made a deal, one to my advantage monetarily speaking, and I don’t want it spiked. Hallahan has connections on the street and within the aristocracy. I discovered that the fair-haired spectacled bloke with him last week is the nephew of the Duke of Gransford and son to Viscount Hawkestone. Gransford is a powerful man, the family is close to the queen, and Hawkestone runs an influential progressive group within the House of Lords. I do not need that kind of scrutiny.”

“So what?”

“By God, you’re thick. No one can know of my double life, which could ruin me financially and in society. And with Hallahan’s connections on the streets, the last thing I need is a war between rookery bosses. Stay away from Hallahan, his business, and your cousin!”

“And I am allowed to let this stand? He hit me!” Troy whined.

“To hell with waiting until summer to arrange a marriage for you. You will be wedded by next month. I will find a strong-willed young lady to keep you in line. Your days and nights of running the streets are over. Grow up.” William had just the lady in mind—the daughter of an acquaintance. Mr. Silas Foster was an American steel magnate, and was in London on business. William had heard that the daughter had traveled with him, and was looking for a husband. He would contact Foster right away and broach the subject.

“And if you jeopardize this deal, I will cut you off,” William continued. “Your mother will be livid when she hears what you did, dragging Celia to that pub owner. I should have discovered where in Spitalfields you took her and brought her back here the next day. What a blasted mess.”

Troy scoffed. “But you did not bring her back, not that she would have come. You were glad to be rid of her, admit it. And you won’t toss me out. You need me to produce an heir. Keep pushing me, Father, and I will make sure there is never an heir to carry on the title. Remember that. You may force me to wed, but the wife? I will never bed her. Push me too far, and I will ensure there are no children. None at all.”

William glared at Troy with a mixture of admiration and revulsion. The boy possessed a backbone when the moment called for it, but William loathed being threatened—first by Hallahan and now by his only son.

“Stay away from Spitalfields.”

“No, I will not make such a promise. I will continue to do as I please. Now, I am going to the kitchen to locate a slab of meat for my eye. Then I will return, and we will discuss prospective brides.” Troy stood and exited the room.

William slumped in his chair. Troy would exact some form of revenge, and he could not stop it. He should never have let it be known that he yearned for an heir--that shifted the power to his son. Perhaps he was getting too old for this game. Should he warn Hallahan?

No. He’d let the chips fall where they might.