She looked down at her gown. A circular scattering of crimson droplets stood out against the pale blue muslin where he leaned over her. Rising from the bed, she lifted the candelabra from the table. She crossed the room to the chair he used while he waited for her. Blood marred the cream fabric of the chair back.
He’d opened his wounds. Threats or no, she couldn’t forget about him now. She had to seek him out. To know for herself he was taking proper care of his injuries. To know she hadn’t failed again.
****
Olivia looked over the list of questions generated by her encounter with Lazarus. She glanced up as the Bow Street Runner entered the room and hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. The man, dressed in a plain dark wool suit, looked as though he could have been a footpad himself. His nose had been broken in the past as it sat slightly off center, and a small scar in the shape of a semicircle sat near his temple.
She stood and gestured for him to take a seat in front of her desk. “Mr. Durant. Thank you for coming.”
“Heard you wanted someone investigated.” He sat down and pulled a small battered notebook from his pocket. He produced a stub of a pencil, licked the tip, and looked up at her, his expression inquiring.
“Yes.” Olivia returned to her chair.
“Anything on this person you wanted to know in particular?”
“Whatever you can find out.”
“A rival for a man’s affections?”
She frowned. Why did men always assume women were willing to fight over them? “No. I’m interested in learning more about a man.”
Durant’s eyebrows rose. “What’s his name?” he asked, though it was apparent he clearly wanted to ask something else.
“I’m afraid I don’t know his name, only a moniker.”
“That’ll do.”
She stared at the man, trying to gauge how much she should divulge about the Lazarus’ appearance at her home. “Lazarus.”
Durant burst out laughing. “You sent for a Bow Street Runner to find out about him?”
Olivia frowned again. “I fail to see the humour in the situation.”
“Everyone knows about Lazarus.” Durant shoved his pencil back into his pocket. “He leads the biggest band of criminals London has seen in many a year. Theft, smuggling. If it’s illegal, he’s got men involved in the process.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Except prostitution and the opium trade. Never heard anything connecting him to that.”
“If what you say is true, why isn’t he in Newgate or some such place?”
“That’d be the sticky part.” Turning serious, Durant leaned forward in his chair. “You see, everyone knows Lazarus is a criminal, but we’ve never been able to actually tie him to anything.”
“Why not?”
“His men are more loyal than most. They protect him, go to gaol themselves rather than turn him over to the magistrates.”
“What does he do to inspire such loyalty?” She couldn’t understand why a man would be willing to be sent to gaol or worse in the place of another.
Durant shrugged. “He is fiercely loyal himself. Will go to any measure to protect those he considers family.”
Olivia asked the one question she wasn’t certain she wanted an answer to. “Is he dangerous?”
“There’s a number of rumours about him. Hard to know which ones to believe. None of them are fitting for a lady’s ears.”
“For example?”
Durant hesitated.
“Please do not worry about my delicate sensibilities,” she said in a dry tone. Heaven knew anything delicate about her sensibilities had long ago disappeared.
“It’s said he once took a man’s eyes just for looking at a woman under his protection.”
She stared at the Runner in a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Is it true?”
He took a deep breath. “Can’t say for certain.”
“But?”
“But it wouldn’t knock me off my feet if it were true. I’ve heard and seen the results of Lazarus’ work whether we can prove he did it or not.”
Olivia glanced at the window. Given her own recent experiences with the man, she was inclined to believe the rumours as well. But even now, after learning the type of man he was, she still felt compelled to find him. To ensure he had at least sought medical care after reopening his wounds. She
needed
to know she’d cared for them properly, that she’d done everything possible. And to find out why he had said those horrible things about her brother.
She took a deep breath. “If you know of a way to contact him, I’d be grateful to learn of it.”
Durant stared at her as if she belonged in Bedlam. “I can’t be giving a fine lady like yourself such information.”
“Please.” One more death that she could have prevented would be one more than she could bear. “It has to do with my brother, Sir Phillip.” She linked her hands under the desk in an attempt to look frightened. “He’s missing, you see.”
“I’ll look into your brother’s disappearance,” Durant said, digging out his pencil.
“No.” Olivia almost shouted the word. “I need to meet with Lazarus. It was the one name Sir Phillip mentioned before he left.” The lie rolled off her tongue with surprising ease.
“Ye won’t be going alone if I tell you a place?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Lord Riverton will escort me. Have you heard of him? He is quite well known in the House of Lords. I imagine a number of footmen will be accompanying us as well.”
“If you’re certain?”
Pressing her advantage, she put a hand to her chest and did her best to look earnest. “Oh, very certain.”
The Runner stared at her for a long moment, then bent his head and scribbled something in his notebook. He tore the page out and handed it to her. “Lazarus won’t be there, but some of his men will be. You can make arrangements to see him through one of them.”
Olivia read the address, folded the sheet in half, and set it on her desk. A sense of relief flooded over her.
Durant stood. “If you’ll pardon me for saying it, I have a piece of advice. Don’t do anything to draw his attention.”
Olivia rose. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
Chapter Three
Olivia stood outside the Lamb and the Lion. She checked the name of the alehouse against the note in her hand, then stared back the way she’d come. Maybe she shouldn’t have insisted the footman remain with the carriage to help safeguard it against thieves. Who would safeguard her? Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea. She bit her lip and looked back at the building.
Raucous voices filtered out of the grime-encrusted windows and into the early evening dusk. The creaking sound of the wooden sign as it swung back and forth in the wind drew her gaze. She found the name of the tavern rather ironic. There probably wasn’t a less peaceable place to be found in all of London.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. A wave of silence gathered and grew until it washed over her in its very stillness. Afraid to maintain eye contact with the men who stared at her with lust growing in their eyes, she focused on the man behind the counter, his meaty fist drying a tankard with a dirty rag. Surely, he would be willing to help.
“Miss St. Germaine.”
Olivia turned toward the voice. Relief poured through her at the sight of the man called Fingers making his way through the crowd. As though sensing she was no longer vulnerable, the men turned back to their ale. Voices rose and fell as conversations resumed.
“What are you doin’ here?” he asked in a low voice. He took her arm and angled her around so he faced the crowd.
“I need to see Lazarus.”
“You shouldna come. This is nae place for someone like you. You coulda been robbed, or worse.”
He seemed genuinely upset at her presence. She couldn’t believe it. Not after the way they’d parted company four nights ago. Her fingers crept up to touch the lump she still carried.
“I’m sorry, but I need to see Lazarus. I was told this is the place where arrangements are made to see him.” She glanced around as raised voices came from a group of men in the corner. “It’s important.”
Fingers dodged a flying tankard. “You shoulda sent a footman.”
Olivia flinched as it crashed in a shower of ale against the wall. Shouts and laughter continued unabated. The liquid streamed down the wall to puddle on the floor. “Yes, I see that now.”
She sighed and rubbed her temple. The yeasty smell of stale ale, unwashed bodies, and smoke, not to mention the noise, were combining to give her a headache. “Will you take me to him?”
“I canna do that, but I’ll tell him you want to see him.” He opened the door and gave her a gentle push. “Someone will bring you to him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” She dug her heels in. What if an infection had set in and had already done too much damage? It would be too late. “No. I need to see him tonight. Now.”
Fingers opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could utter a word. “If you won’t take me, I will find him myself.”
“Ye won’t find him.”
“Perhaps not, but I must try.”
“It ain’t safe fer a woman like yerself.” He gestured to the men who watched her with hungry eyes.
She shivered and turned away from the lascivious gazes. “I realize that, but it is a chance I’m willing to take. The question is—are you willing to explain what may happen to me to Lazarus?”
Fingers took her arm and bundled her through the door. “He’ll have my head for this, ya know.”
“I’ll tell him I didn’t give you a choice.”
“That ya didn’t.” He gave her a quick once over. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered, then looked back over his shoulder. “Come on, then,” he said and led the way into a nearby alley.
The smells of urine, vomit, and heaven knew what else assailed her as soon as she stepped into the alley. Taking shallow breaths, Olivia hurried after him, praying she could keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.
The fetid air grew stronger, thicker. Unable to control the urge any longer, she gagged. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she rushed past Fingers to the end of the narrow street. She turned the corner and leaned against an abandoned storefront, breathing in the cleaner air.
He rounded the building a few minutes later, a small smile playing about his mouth.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“Did what?” He feigned innocence, but the laughter in his eyes gave him away.
“Chose to take me down that wretched alley instead of any of the others.”
He put his hands in his pockets. “You asked me to take ye to Lazarus. Not how to get there. Funny sight you were.” He laughed. “Would a wagered me last pound that ye wouldna made it out a there without gettin’ sick.”
“You almost won.”
He looked up at the darkening sky. “We shouldna dawdle. There’ll be rain afore too long.”
She followed his gaze. Thick clouds gathered overhead, yet the wind was calm. She started to ask him how he knew when he took hold of her arm and pulled her across the street.
“Feel it in me bones,” he said in answer to her unspoken question.
He led her through a maze of narrow streets, twisting alleys, and overgrown gardens. In a matter of minutes, she was completely lost. She would never be able to find her way back on her own. Sometime later, they stopped in front of a large warehouse.
She looked around but didn’t recognize the area as part of the business district on the docks she was familiar with. “Where are we?”
“It’s of nae importance to ye.”
She scanned the dark windows, the peeling slate blue paint, and heavily locked door. “Are you certain he is here?”
“Aye.” Fingers released three locks, one after the other, dropped the set of keys back into his pocket, then opened the door. He walked in and was swallowed by looming black shadows.
Pushing her uncertainty aside, Olivia followed him. She needed to make sure Lazarus was all right, and she meant to do so. They walked down a long hall, stopping in front of a closed door. Light spilled from beneath it. Fingers gave a series of knocks and waited.
“Come,” a voice called.
He turned the brass knob and opened the door blocking Olivia’s view of the interior. “You be alone?”
“Yes. Why are you here? Did Wilkins fail to appear?”
Fingers stepped aside, leaving Olivia in the opening. “She insisted on seeing ye.”
Her gaze focused on the man in front of her. The heavy oak desk he sat behind, the branch of candles sitting on the corner, it all faded away until there was only him.
He wore no waistcoat or frock coat, only a white linen shirt open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms.
Relief that Fingers had actually brought her to Lazarus and that he seemed well coursed through her.
He looked from her to Fingers. His black gaze blazed with anger. She felt her stomach jolt.
He rose and walked around the end of the desk. “Wait for me outside.”
With a nod, the other man moved to the door.
“Don’t be angry with him. I insisted he bring me.”
“I don’t care,” Lazarus shouted. “I told you to forget about me.” He took a deep breath as though fighting for control. “You should have heeded my warning.”
“I couldn’t. You were bleeding. I had to find you.” She heard the desperation in her voice and hoped he was too angry to notice. She couldn’t, wouldn’t explain why his life, any life, was so important to her.
He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand and retook his seat. “I’m fine.”
“May I check your wounds?” She produced a package of fresh bandages from the pocket of her cloak.
“Why?”
Of all the things she had expected him to say, “why” wasn’t one of them. “When you broke into my home the other night, you were bleeding.”
“Fingers and I knocked you unconscious when we left your home that first night. You’ve been warned, not once but twice, to forget we ever met, so why the continued concern?”
Because I can’t handle the death of one more person on my hands.
Of course, she couldn’t say that, so she lied. “Blame it on the rules passed onto me by my brother—always provide follow-up care for any patient.” It wasn’t a true lie as he did tell her that when she first began caring for the wounded soldiers on her own.