Page 20 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

twenty

S IX MONTHS OF working as a waitress in different taverns across London had taught Elizabeth to steer clear of drunk patrons, lecherous hands, brothel madams, vendors who sold miracle drugs, and men who offered her money for dubious activities. A fast course on real life.

Still, even though she was careful, now and then she attracted unwanted attention.

“Where are you going, pretty lass?” A man slapped his meaty hand on Elizabeth’s rear.

She scurried out of reach, managing not to drop the tray of mugs of ale she was carrying. “Get off me, cur.”

Another thing she’d learnt was how to swear. Swearing got her some degree of respect from the patrons. Politeness didn’t work in a place like the Hog’s Head, a small tavern in Whitechapel. She’d been working there for only a couple of weeks, but she could already tell it wasn’t different from the other dubious places where she’d found employment.

“Another ale!” a man shouted from a corner.

“Where’s my dinner?” another one asked. “I ordered it an hour ago!”

Tobacco smoke formed a thick fog that singed her nostrils. The loud, rowdy conversations buzzed in her ears, and the floor was so greasy she could skate on it. A song started from a corner. Out-of-tune voices sang about a very specific, anatomical part of a beautiful woman. She thought she’d heard it all.

“Come here.” Another patron tried to snatch her wrist, and she slapped his hand away without thinking. Habits.

After she delivered the mugs of ale to the patrons, she took a breather behind the counter. Her back hurt, and the skin of her hands was covered in cuts, calluses, and red spots where it wasn’t peeling off from using scullery lye soap.

Unless she became faster at serving around the tables, she wouldn’t find employment in a better restaurant or a teahouse. At least in a reputable establishment, the customers didn’t paw the waitresses in public. They did it somewhere private, but it was an improvement.

“Lizzie,” the cook called from the kitchen. “The bins need to be emptied.”

“Again?”

“Get your lazy arse in the back and be quick!”

She weaved through other waitresses carrying more trays of mugs of ale or dirty plates. The kitchen was an inferno of steam and shouts. Everything smelled of garlic, even the apples. She smelled of garlic, too.

The bin overflowed with leftover vegetables and other unidentified rotting things.

She brushed a curl of hair from her sweaty face before grabbing the bin by the handles. Heavens, it was heavy.

“Can somebody help me with the rubbish?” she asked no one in particular.

“Just do it!” Natalie waved her off. “We’re all busy. Stop whining.”

Fine.

She dragged the bin towards the back door. The alleyway behind the tavern was lit by a lonely lantern, but it was enough to see the rats feasting on the rubbish.

A muscle in her back got pulled, and she winced. On the threshold of the door, she carefully inched the bin down to the cobbles, lest it topple. Sweat trickled down her back.

A moment of fatigue caught her once outside. The cold air was a stark contrast with the heat in the kitchen, but at least it didn’t smell of tobacco, just rubbish and coal dust.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead. A cut on her palm started bleeding again, staining her apron. Botheration.

She’d need to ask for a clean apron, which meant the manager would retain a full shilling from her pay, which meant she couldn’t pay the rent. Her landlord would kick her out.

She leant against the brick wall behind her, wondering if she could hide the stain or wash it. Except that, the last time she’d tried to clean a stain from her apron, she’d made a mess, and the manager had kept two shillings.

Footsteps came from the other side of the narrow alleyway. She tensed, glancing in that direction. Passersby didn’t usually walk in that secluded alleyway, and the narrow exit opened to another alleyway. The rubbish bins took up almost the entire space.

She held her breath as a man walked in. A flat hat hid his features. He was dressed in black clothes, which didn’t allow her to understand how large and tall he was. At his side stood the biggest, scariest black dog she’d ever seen. The hound’s yellow eyes fixed on her.

“You, girl,” the man said.

She swallowed hard.

“We’re looking for a woman called Elizabeth. She’s a lady, the daughter of an earl. Do you know her?”

The dog growled, exposing long, sharp teeth.

All the air rushed out of her lungs. She’d heard stories of the most powerful gang in Whitechapel. Its leader was called the King. Those thugs didn’t hesitate to kill and maim at will. Rumour had it the King kidnapped babies from their crates, forced himself on women, and beat those who didn’t pay protection money. Not to mention that the Ripper was said to be still prowling Whitechapel. Plenty of reasons to be scared.

“Well?” the man prompted. “Do you know where I can find Elizabeth?”

“No,” she whispered.

“What did you say?” The man came closer.

She stepped back. “Leave me alone.”

“I only want to ask you a few questions.” He spread his arms, revealing a dagger at his side.

The dog straightened its ears. The man moved in closer. He was younger than she’d thought, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of considering him less dangerous.

Elizabeth grabbed a fistful of her skirts and made a dash for the other side of the alleyway.

“Where are you going?” The man followed her.

The dog chased her too, barking and baring its fangs.

She sped up, but her boots slipped on the wet cobbles and she fell over. A muffled groan left her when she slammed her head against the wall and pain turned everything white and then black.

Her last thought was that being killed in a dark alley was the proper ending to her six months of misery.

* * *

An ache pounded in Elizabeth’s head when she fluttered her eyes open.

She lay on something soft and smelling of soap. Definitely not the alley. Her first instinct was to scream, but she forced herself to remain quiet. If that thug had kidnapped her, she had to be careful and pretend not to be awake yet.

She remained as still as possible, trying to catch any sounds or signs she wasn’t alone. Muffled male voices came from somewhere, and she focused on them.

“… not my fault, Guv.” That sounded like the young man from the alley. “She fell. I didn’t touch her.”

“She’s unconscious and with a bruise on her head.” Was that Christopher?

“She ran,” the man said. “She did everything by herself. I said, ‘Hullo,’ and she ran.”

“You scared her. I told you not to hurt her.” Yes, it was Christopher.

“But it’s her, isn’t it?” the man said. “I wasn’t sure it was her. I asked one of the waitresses at the restaurant, and she said there was a woman called Lizzie working there.”

“It’s her, but you didn’t handle the situation as I told you to do.”

“That’s unfair!” the man said. “She was terrified of Darko as well.”

“Rubbish. How could anyone be scared of my pup?”

“Seriously, Guv?”

“Anyway,” Christopher said. “Call the search off. She’s here.”

There were mutters, a bark, and feet shuffling. Then the door inched inwards, and a beam of yellow light lit the bedroom, a wide room in rich brown wood and patchwork quilts.

She slowly propped herself up, blinking in the semidarkness. “Christopher?”

He turned on a few lamps. “Elizabeth. How are you?” He was next to her in a moment in a flutter of black fabric.

She couldn’t help but recoil at his speed.

He frowned, moving back. “I’m sorry if Darko and Finn scared you. I thought the presence of my pup would have reassured you in case Finn had found you.”

“Pup?”

“Darko is my dog. His name means gift in Slavic. He’s very sweet once you know him.”

A more appropriate word for that beast would be hellhound. “Were you looking for me?”

“I divided my men into small groups to search for you. I was searching for you in another restaurant when Finn found you.” He huffed. “You have no idea how many bloody Elizabeth, Elise, Beth, or Lizzie there are. It took me weeks to find you.” He flashed a smile as he stared at her.

“So you know everything, that my family kicked me out.”

He sat on a stuffed stool next to the bed and hunched his shoulders, failing to look less menacing. “Pearce took care of informing me. From the moment I knew what had happened, I searched for you. Actually, I tried to contact you a few days after the ball. I sent Finn to your house, but the maid told him you were in the country with your sister.”

“Not exactly.” She rubbed her aching forehead. “I had no idea you sent someone to my house.” Not her house anymore, but anyway.

“I just wanted to see you again.” He parted his lips as if he wanted to say something else, but he remained silent, his eyes unblinking.

They stared at each other, becoming for a moment two strangers. Or maybe she was too nervous.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said.

His smile widened. “Hell, so am I. So relieved as well.” He tilted his head after another long pause as if he didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. “What happened to you?”

“A good dose of real life, I guess.” She grimaced when she put her injured hand down.

“What is it?”

“I sliced my palm a while ago.”

“Let me see.” He gently took her hand and examined it in the glow of a lamp. “Nasty cut. It’s infected. And the bruise on your forehead must be painful.”

“Oh, this.” She touched her forehead. “When I saw your man, I got scared. Stories of those poor women found dead in the alleyways of Whitechapel made me wary. Some say the Ripper is still hunting.”

“No, not anymore. We took care of him.” He rose and rummaged through a cabinet to fish out a leather bag.

“What … what do you exactly do in Whitechapel?”

“Smuggling, illegal gambling, illegal bare-knuckle fights, that sort of thing.” The honesty with which he stated that was disarming. “After my father died, Pearce made clear that he didn’t want to support or help me in any way. Father had given me a job on his estate in Yorkshire, and Pearce unceremoniously gave me the sack. So here I am. I built my own kingdom.” He spread his arms. “That’s why they call me the King.”

Dash it. Mother had been right. A little quiver crawled down her back. She was gobsmacked. Christopher was the infamous King she’d heard about.

“So it’s true. You’re a … criminal.”

“Semantics. I prefer the expression ‘tycoon with his own set of rules’.” He sat next to her. “Does that bother you? You’re free to leave whenever you want. The plan wasn’t to kidnap you, but to talk to you.”

“I’m surprised. But I’m not going to judge you. After having experienced extreme poverty, I understand why people resort to criminality. Surviving without help or support is a real struggle.” But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little afraid.

“Don’t be scared of me,” he whispered, seemingly reading her mind. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I know.” She meant it. He might be the King of Whitechapel, but he would never hurt her.

He opened the leather bag to reveal a set of bottles, rolls of bandage, and other medical tools. “Give me your hand.” His tone became low and serious.

She did as told and couldn’t deny a quick shiver of excitement at the contact with his fingers.

“This is going to sting.” He dabbed the cut with a cloth and disinfectant.

She gnashed her teeth. “It really hurts.”

“They say the more it hurts, the more effective it is.” He bandaged her palm with a clean strip of fabric, handling her hand with infinite care. “What would you like to do?”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t release her hand but held it gently between his. “Do you need money, a place to stay, or a new job? A cottage by the sea? All of those?”

The whole situation was so new she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.”

He released her hand, trailing his fingers over her knuckles. “I understand if you’re hesitant to accept the help of a criminal, but these are exceptional circumstances, and I didn’t forget you saved my life.” He raised his blue eyes to her. “I didn’t forget you.”

She touched her forehead again, her thoughts confused, and the throb in her head didn’t help.

“Also, you might want to clear your name,” he said. “I can help. I can talk to your parents and Pearce again, make clear we’ve never been lovers.”

She chuckled bitterly. “No offence, but they won’t listen to a word you say. They made up their minds about me, about us.” She stared at her bandaged hand, the first sign of someone caring for her in months. “My parents had many opportunities to change their minds. I sent them letters to inform them where I was. They never replied. Nor did my brothers, sisters, and friends. Not even when I finished the money Father had given me and I had to beg in the streets before I found a job, not when I slept in an alleyway, covered by newspapers.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and a hard glint flashed in his gaze. “Hell. Had I known, I would have helped you.”

“I tried to search for you, but I had no idea where you were.”

“You’ll have a place here if you want. If you feel better, I’ll show you around the palace to help you decide.”

“The palace?”

He grinned. “I’m the King.”

“I heard rumours about the King.” She licked her dry lips. “But now that I know it’s you, I can’t believe you kidnap babies and attack women.”

He couldn’t be that heartless, could he?

He chuckled bitterly. “Just rumours. They’re part of my persona as the King. I swear on my honour that I’ve never done any of those things. Please don’t believe them. You’re the only one who truly knows my heart. No one else.”

Goodness. Now she felt guilty for having doubted him even for a moment. She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the bandage. “I do believe you, Christopher. I know you. I trust you.”

His new smile was pure joy as if she’d given him the best of presents. “I’m sorry your parents threw you out. You should have blamed me?—”

“No!” She raised her gaze to him. “Please don’t. Pearce and my parents wanted me to blame you. They said everything would be all right if I said you forced me. I would never do that. So don’t ask me.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. I mean, I’m a gangster. What could be worse?”

“Being accused of something you’re not. I won’t let anyone believe you attack women.”

He exhaled and offered her his hand. “Do you want to take a tour of my palace?”

“Yes.” She slid her hand into his, and the familiar thrill of energy didn’t disappoint.

A little gasp escaped her. They remained holding hands and staring at each other. The intensity in his blue eyes should make her feel embarrassed. Instead, she felt treasured, beautiful, and adored as she had never felt.

He helped her up, and for a moment, as he dipped his head, she expected him to kiss her. Her chest rose with an inhale that brought a whiff of his clean scent, but he merely paused an inch from her lips, his breath fanning on her skin.

“Let me show you around,” he said in a low, husky voice.

The palace was a renovated and glorified barrack with two-storey buildings set in a quadrangle around a courtyard. A front gate that looked like a castle’s drawbridge closed the access to the street.

She leant over the handrail in the walkway. In the courtyard below, the hellhound was resting on a large cushion, chomping on a giant bone. Finn was sitting on a wooden bench at the side of the courtyard, eating a sandwich with gusto. Lanterns lit the walkway and the stairs, but her head bothered her, and she gripped the handrail for balance as she got dizzy.

“Careful.” He slid an arm around her waist and held her up. “Maybe you need to rest more.”

“No, I’m fine.” She leant against him and didn’t want to let go, finally feeling safe for the first time in weeks.

He hugged her. What had started as a simple touch to steady her had turned into a desperate embrace. He shivered as he held her closer and she rested her head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her cheek. She sagged against him, letting his strength hold her up.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered, caressing the top of her head. “I promise nothing will hurt you here, and I hope you decide to stay.”

She took his hand. “Show me your palace.”

He led her down the stairs slowly, careful to watch her every step.

“This is where we gather or spend time,” he said when they arrived in the courtyard.

The dog sprang up and rushed to him, his tail drawing circles in the air.

“This is my beautiful Darko.” He ruffled the dog’s head. “You won’t find a sweeter dog, really. Don’t be shy. Pet him.”

“It’s not a matter of shyness but a wish to keep all my fingers intact.”

Darko closed his amber eyes as Christopher rubbed him behind the ears. Gentle cooing sounds came out of the hellhound.

She stretched out a tentative hand to pat the hound’s head, but he curled up his upper lip, and she didn’t trust him.

“Yes, very sweet,” she said, snapping her hand back.

“Darko, be nice.” He kissed the dog’s head. “Don’t be fooled. It’s all a show. He puts up a tough facade to hide his vulnerable soul.”

“I really doubt that.”

They kept walking, Darko at Christopher’s feet. “This is Finn, whom you already know.”

The young man stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Lady Elizabeth.” Finn removed his flat hat, showing a mop of brown curls. “I’m sorry for the incident. I didn’t mean to scare you although I’m pleased my tough attitude is finally coming out.”

“Shut it.” Christopher waved dismissively.

“I’m not Lady Elizabeth anymore. Just Elizabeth will suffice, thank you. And do not worry. I was scared, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did. Not with you, but there was a time when?—”

“Maybe another time.” Christopher patted Finn’s shoulder. “That’s Jane.” He pointed to a woman with deep black eyes and black hair striped with white. “She runs the place. Whatever you need, ask her.”

“Miss,” Jane said, giving her a long, assessing glance. “I’m sure you’ll find your stay here interesting.”

“Are you staying, miss?” Finn asked.

Was she? The choice was between working in a restaurant where the drunk customers groped her, the pay was scarce, and the work hours were obscene, or staying with the head of a criminal organisation in his headquarters with a hellhound who growled at her.

Christopher angled towards her. She trusted him more than anyone.

She would stay not because she was desperate—although she was—but because she felt safe with him.

“Yes, I’m staying.”