Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel (13 page)

The crush of people he found on Flower and Dean Street didn’t surprise Ben. With so many common lodging houses on the road, it had become one of the busiest, foulest, and most dangerous thoroughfares in the East End. But as he approached the building where he’d last seen Rose, he noticed several dome-hatted constables among the throng. Swallowing down a wave of bile, he pushed his way through the crowd.

Just on the threshold of the building, a constable pushed him back. “Step aside, sir. We’ve an injured person to remove.”

Ben recognized the constable as one from Leman Street station. “Constable Watkins, it’s Quinn. What’s happened here?”

Before the man could answer, two more constables emerged through the doorway carrying a prone figure wrapped in linen. Blood seeped through the fabric, but Ben breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the hands hanging limp on either side of the body. Large-boned and massive, they were a man’s hands, beyond all doubt.

“This one attacked a couple ‘a women what’s still inside. Got a bit more than he bargained for. One of ‘em bashed his head to get him off the other. Knocked him out cold. If we can clear the crowd, we’ll get him to Samaritan Hospital.”

Ben started across the threshold as the constable finished his explanation. A wet, crimson trail of the man’s blood dotted the dilapidated stairwell leading to Rose’s door. He stepped into disarray—furniture broken and overturned dishes shattered into jagged pieces across the bare wooden floor—and found Kate and Rose huddled in the corner, holding each other, rocking back and forth as they sobbed.

Slipping from his overcoat, Ben approached the women, knelt, and wrapped them in the warm wool as best he could.

Kate snapped her head up and looked at him. “I hit him. I couldn’t let him hurt her.”

Her voice was strong, even as she sniffed back tears.

Ben reached out to touch her, careful not to disturb the abrasion on her cheek, and stroked a strand of her hair. “Well done.”

She grinned at that, and Ben heard Rose chuckle before she lifted her head too.

“Braver than I ever was. Why did I never stand up to ‘im?”

As Ben looked at the gaunt girl and remembered the man’s large frame, he considered offering her reassurance, but Kate spoke first.

“He bullied you, overpowered you. You were terrified of him. You didn’t fight back for fear of making him angrier.”

Kate’s words didn’t sound like guesses to Ben, but more like the words of a woman who knew Rose’s terror firsthand. Had someone hurt Kate in such a way?

“We should get Rose to Fieldgate Street or the hospital. I think he broke her arm.” Kate pointed to the girl’s twisted limb.

Rose hissed as Kate helped her to stand just as a constable entered the room.

“All’s done and dusted ‘ere, then?”

When Kate was on her feet, Ben winced at the sight of her torn skirt and bloodied shirtwaist. Her hair had been wrenched from its pins on one side of her head and hung in twisted waves, but beyond the single angry-looking mark on her cheek, she appeared uninjured.

“This young woman needs a doctor. There is a clinic on Fieldgate Street. Can you take her, Constable Jones?”

Though the room was dim, the young constable recognized Ben and tipped his head at his sergeant’s request. “Yes, sir.”

“I should go with her.”

Ben heard the insistence in Kate’s voice but leaned in to whisper near her ear.

“Come with me instead.”

He could envision her at the clinic fussing over Rose and never taking a moment to recover from her own ordeal.

She gazed at him and then at Rose.

Rose lifted her chin before speaking in the cocky tone Ben had grown used to hearing from her. “Go on, then, miss. This ‘ere peeler’ll take care o’ me. Won’t ya, bobby?”

Ben thought he saw the young man flush before he reassured Rose. “I will, miss.”

Kate pulled Rose into a quick embrace, mindful of the girl’s injured arm, before letting her go with Constable Jones. Kate swiped at her cheeks as the constable led Rose away.

Ben’s coat still rested on Kate’s shoulders and he approached to begin buttoning it around her.

She watched his fingers work rather than meeting his gaze.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace warm. Someplace safe.”

****

Kate expected to walk with Ben to his lodgings on White’s Row, but he led her down the street and hailed a cab. He took care with her, as if he was afraid to exacerbate any injuries she might have sustained during the attack. But she wasn’t aware of any pain, just overwhelming gratitude for his presence. She leaned against him in the tight confines of the carriage, absorbing his heat, and he kept an arm around her, chafing his hand against her arm and shoulder to keep her warm.

“Are you taking me back to Moreton Terrace?”

His deep voice was quiet. “No. Is that where you want me to take you?”

She didn’t have to consider her answer. “No. I want to go with you.”

Explanations would come soon enough. She’d have to go back to the townhouse eventually. But she couldn’t speak of her foolishness in seeking out Rose in the most notorious East End slums, alone, at night, and recount details of John Sharp’s attack. Not yet.

A moment later the hansom cab rattled to a stop, and Ben led her into a public house. Everything about the pub sparkled—the brass at the bar, the gleam of dark, polished wood, and the frosted and etched glass forming partitions between different sections of the establishment. Kate feared Ben might wish to sit and eat or drink, thinking she might need the comfort of a meal, but she knew her unsettled stomach would reject anything she consumed. Instead he led her to a sumptuous staircase near the back of the pub and up to a second floor landing. An intricate mosaic beneath her feet drew her eyes as she followed him to a door halfway down the hall.

“I take it we aren’t in Whitechapel anymore.”

“No. A bit nearer the city. On Fenchurch Street. My lease on the room in Whitechapel was up, so I’ve taken temporary lodgings here.” Ben unlocked the door as he spoke.

The room couldn’t have been a greater contrast to his place in Whitechapel—a fire burned low in the grate, giving off a flickering glow that limned two richly upholstered wingback chairs, a spacious desk covered in books and newspapers, and a large elegantly carved four post bed in golden light.

“It’s quite a change from your room off Commercial Street.”

Ben grinned at her as he approached, and then reached up to unbutton his overcoat, peeling it gently from her shoulders.

“You should sit by the fire and keep warm. I’ll return directly.”

“Wait, where are you going?” She heard the tremor in her voice as she spoke. She needed him to stay.

He drew close to her and reached up to slip a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew she must look frightful.

“I knew you were with Rose because I’d gone to seek you at home. Your brother told me where you’d gone. He’ll be mad with worry. I would be.”

Kate knew he was right. He should get word to Will and Ada, allay their worries, but she wanted him near. The firelight had turned his eyes silver blue and the tenderness in his gaze eased the knot of anxiety in her chest.

“You’ll return soon?”

“As quickly as I can.”

He would hurry. She could see the eagerness in his gaze. Lifting up on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his. She’d only meant to wish him Godspeed, to remind him why he should return to her quickly, but she couldn’t resist tugging at the lapels of his coat, slipping her hand up and grasping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He leaned into her, deepening their kiss, but Kate sensed hesitation in his touch.

“I won’t break.”

He grinned against her mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you. What did he do to you?”

Kate pulled back. “I’ll tell you when you return. Now go, so you come back.”

Ben didn’t seem any more eager to leave than she was to see him go. He nuzzled her uninjured cheek and placed a soft kiss there before leaving the room.

When he was gone, Kate sank into a chair before the fire, stretching out her legs to warm her feet. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. John Sharp’s angry sneer rose up in her mind’s eye. He’d turned on her so quickly and pushed her so forcefully she’d fallen against the table, scraping her face on the edge. When he’d yanked her up by her hair and reached around to rip her blouse, she’d instinctively reached for the cudgel Sally had given her. But then he’d released before she’d had a chance to strike, more interested in attacking Rose than bothering with her.

Kate opened her eyes and focused on the glowing coals in the grate. Far more appealing to contemplate the snug comfort of Detective Quinn’s room than her recent ordeal. She looked around the space again, breathing in the scents of clean linen, beeswax polish, and the distinct masculine smell she associated with Ben. It was a far finer accommodation than most Whitechapel police officers could afford, and she wondered about Ben’s family’s circumstances. His sister had married well. Had he come from a family of similar means? And if he had, why choose such a dangerous, thankless profession?

She smiled into the firelight. How could she question his desire to work in Whitechapel when it was the only place she ever felt useful?

Glancing back at the invitingly plush bed, Kate ran her tongue along the seam of her lips. Would she share that bed with Ben?

Her desire for him was unique. She’d loved Andrew with a kind of innocent foolishness, as much to do with her own dreams of marriage as with anything to do with his character. He’d been handsome, charming, but most of all she’d be so very eager to fall in love. But she’d met Ben Quinn as a woman with few illusions, and from the first moment in his presence, she’d been drawn to him—and not just to the virility he exuded but to the pain in his gaze he couldn’t quite hide. Though he hadn’t divulged his identity to her in those first moments, she’d trusted him, perhaps because he could not hide his emotions. She’d felt safe with him, despite how he towered over her.

Yes, she wanted him. And her attraction to him had only bloomed with each moment spent in his company. Yet the sum of those moments was so small. She’d known Andrew for months before marrying him, and even then her feelings had been as much agitation as passion. She’d been so young, so unsure of who she was and what she was worth. So naive about what passed between a married man and woman. And then her dreams became a nightmare—and the man she’d idolized became her tormentor.

Andrew wasn’t there where he usually lurked at the edges of her mind. When she sought the memories, only John Sharp’s face came into view. And yet he held no power over her. She’d struck him and he’d fallen, impotent to hurt Rose, unable to strike at either of them again. The power of her relief in that moment had altered her, lightened her, as if she’d somehow freed herself of Andrew by standing up to Sharp.

The snick and slide of a key turning in the lock drew Kate’s attention to the door. Ben swept in, carrying a tray. As he set it on the desk, she cataloged a porcelain teapot wrapped in a pretty knitted tea cozy, two cups, a knob of butter, and a plate of scones.

“The message has been sent, and I thought you might be hungry.”

Kate watched him shrug his overcoat from his broad shoulders and trapped her lower lip between her teeth. The hunger she felt had nothing to do with food.

“Not at the moment. Perhaps after a while.”

He slipped free of his suit jacket and laid it over the back of the chair before sitting and reaching for her hands. When she lifted them into his, he began rubbing her skin, attempting to warm her. But she was already warm. His presence kindled a delicious heat low in her belly.

“Tell me what happened.” He asked the question quietly, gently, but with a tone of cajoling. She suspected he knew how much she wished to speak of anything else.

“At first he didn’t realize I was there. I’d gone to fetch water and rags to clean Rose’s wounds. They’d just had a row when I arrived. Rose said he wouldn’t return for days. That was the usual way. They’d argue, he’d attack her, and then he would disappear for days at a time.”

“But he came back.”

“Yes. I came into the room and found him with his hands at her throat. I shouted and he turned on me, snapping and snarling like an angry dog.”

“He hit you.” Ben’s voice turned steely, a muscle ticking at the line of his jaw.

“He pushed me and I fell.”

Ben squinted, as if dubious that the whole ruckus was so simply explained.

“Then he pulled me up by my hair.”

Ben whispered an expletive under his breath. She thought he said the word
bastard.

“He ripped my shirt. I didn’t know what he intended, so I reached for my cudgel and—”

“Pardon? Your what?”

Kate pulled her right hand from Ben’s and reached into her skirt pocket to lift the short, weighted object out for his inspection. “Sally gave it to me. Our maid. She said her brother had given it to her to use for her own protection.”