Authors: Dark Moon
Chapter Nineteen
If Messrs. Lynch and Lowe found anything unusual or distasteful about all the blood, or the peculiar attire, or the presence of two semiconscious thugs deposited in one of their smaller offices, by not so much as the lift of an eyebrow between them did they allow such thoughts to be made known.
It had, however, taken Sir Giles Chapman a moment or two to talk his way past the chief clerk to secure the august presence of the two senior solicitors. Now they sat arrayed about the large, deeply polished mahogany table. Water and cloths had been fetched to mop up the blood, but that had only marginally improved the group’s appearance as a whole. A surgeon was on the way to see about Will’s face, which was purple and swollen, and Giles’s shoulder, which now seemed virtually useless and sounded like dice rattling in a cup when he tried to move it.
“Bringing them all to justice is of paramount importance, of course, Mr. Lynch,” Giles said, “but I would prefer to leave Lady Chapman and the children out of it completely. Were it known that they were in such a place for even a short period, it would make for social difficulties.”
“Indeed, Sir Giles,” murmured Mr. Lowe, his soothing, deep tones polished to perfection over the years, “should you wish Miss Emma to have a Season, it would present great awkwardness, even a number of years hence. Society is so terribly unforgiving, and memories are long.”
“I do believe we can proceed as you suggest, Sir Giles,” said Mr. Lynch in a lighter, mellifluous voice. He seemed the happier of the two, and Giles imagined that, in the partnership, Mr. Lynch passed about the good news while Mr. Lowe was reserved for those more funereal bits of legal result. “We do have those two most dreadful specimens of humanity, or lack thereof, trussed up in the next room. What you have described, kidnapping, attempted murder, and forced—er, yes, well, these are hanging offenses. The courts would lose no time in stretching their necks. But if they will give evidence for the Crown, and implicate those who are the real backers of the scheme”—he gave a shudder of distaste—“perhaps the courts could be persuaded to commute their sentences to some sort of lifetime of penal servitude.”
“Mr. Lynch, I must implore you to send the constabulary right away to that—establishment,” cried Joanna. “I cannot bear the thought of what will happen to those Irish girls tonight. Why, some were no older than Emma. It is deplorable!” She held Emma on her lap. The child had not loosened her grip on her since they had first gotten into the carriage.
“Indeed, Lady Chapman, we understand,” said Mr. Lowe—it seemed to Joanna that when one was addressed the other answered. “We did not wish to distress you further by discussing it, but we have dispatched word to the chief superintendent. You must understand that these things must be done at the proper levels. Otherwise we will run into the very corruption that permits these sorts of places to thrive in the first place, and we do not wish any of these people to be given warning. I must say, Sir Giles,” he went on, “there will be quite an uproar over Lord Beeson’s involvement. I may tell you that he is not held in the highest esteem by most of society. His, er, proclivities”—he cast an abashed look at Joanna—“are known to some and not overlooked. But to have involved himself as an owner of one of these sorts of places—it will simply ruin him.”
“I want him hanged, not ruined, Mr. Lowe,” growled Giles. “A man like that slithers across the face of this earth on his belly. He has ruined innocents without qualm and had every intention of doing the same to my wife and my niece. In addition, he was planning to kill Will and myself. I don’t give a damn whether the ladies cut him at soirees. I want him hanged.”
“It may come to that, Sir Giles, but he will have to be tried in the House of Lords and we have no way of predicting the outcome. Nevertheless, I can assure you that there will be nothing left of his name or his fortune when this is done. If he is not hanged, he will be penniless and no doubt stripped of his title.”
There was a soft knock at the door and a rather timid looking clerk entered when bid to do so.
“If you please, Mr. Lowe, there’s a Chief Superintendent Wicker here to see you, and Mrs. Oldham has brought the dresses you asked for.”
“Thank you, Carstairs. Show Superintendent Wicker into my office. Lady Chapman, Mrs. Oldham is the proprietress of a small dress shop nearby, catering to the merchant class. She will have brought a few ready made items for you and Miss Emma to wear until more suitable clothing can be obtained. Would you care to remain here and be fitted while we speak to the superintendent?”
“I
want to see the superintendent, too,” said Joanna, her tone sharp. “I want to assure myself there won’t be any of this corruption you’ve been talking about. I’ll not stand for all of this to be hidden tidily because they’ve paid off the constables, not if I have to go to the papers about it myself!”
“Oh, dear me, that would never do,” murmured Mr. Lynch. “You may assure yourself, my dear, that the corruption is at much lower levels and isn’t as bad as all that. And we really would prefer that you and the children not meet the superintendent, isn’t that right, Sir Giles?” He turned his helpless eyes on Giles. The thoughts of the firm of Lynch and Lowe featured prominently in the next issue of the
Gazette
in connection with a whorehouse for virgins now made him pine for a cup of tea.
“Stay here with the children, my love,” whispered Giles, leaning over to speak into her ear. “I will tell everything I need to tell, and it will be enough to bring them all to justice.” He squeezed her hand, then winced as the pain of the small movement tore through his shoulder.
“All right, Giles,” Joanna said, mutiny in her eyes. “But only because of Emma. If you think I care what a bunch of overdone old harridans think of me....”
He chuckled and touched her cheek. He stood with difficulty and walked slowly from the room, followed by a nearly somnambulant Will and Messrs. Lynch and Lowe.
For a moment the room was silent, then a small lady bustled in carrying several boxes. Joanna and the children busied themselves selecting a few things that fit, including shoes. Mrs. Oldham made one or two attempts to inquire as to their singular attire, but Joanna, very nicely, led the conversation elsewhere. It did not appear that the woman even knew their names. So much the better. Scandal could percolate from any source, and the fewer who knew, the better.
It did feel good to be decently gowned again and freshened up. Joanna had sponged off the children and herself with the fresh water that had been brought in. They now looked like a highly respectable middle-class family, and if Joanna’s shoes pinched a bit, she was not going to complain about it.
They were no sooner presentable than a knock on the door admitted the gentlemen again. Giles gave her a reassuring smile.
“The house will be raided this evening, Joanna,” he said, taking her arm. “Whoever is there, peers on down, will be taken in. The superintendent has taken my evidence, and it will be enough without involving you and the children at all. And Bobby and Teddy are on their miserable way to the station now. I do not think they will be out of leg irons ever again.”
Joanna smiled in return. Now that it was done, she was relieved that she and the children would not be dragged through the court system as the ones who had spent hours as prisoners inside a brothel.
“What about Hawton?” Joanna asked, her face clouding again.
“He is likely to still be there tonight. If not, a warrant for his arrest will issue. Don’t worry about Hawton, my love. He will not bedevil you again.”
She did not ask about Eleanor. She had noted that throughout all of the explanation to the solicitors, Giles had carefully avoided mentioning his stepsister’s involvement. She knew something would have to be done about the madwoman, but perhaps Giles was right in keeping that part of it in the family. Eleanor had her own devils to face now, from within and without.
* * * *
A few hours later, Joanna lay back in a steaming tub, soaking away the perfumes and oils from the brothel. Emma had been bathed, Joanna scrubbing as hard as she dared at the last traces of kohl about the girl’s eyes. Tom, too, had been forced into the tub, never one of his better moments. Now the children lay sound asleep, tucked up in the next room, an elegant little bedroom in the small but exquisite townhouse Messrs. Lynch and Lowe had magically procured on such short notice. A rather imperious cook had come with the establishment, and Joanna and Giles had enjoyed a sumptuous meal, just the two of them, staring into one another’s eyes so much that it was difficult to remember to eat. They would be here for a few days only, long enough for Giles to wrap up the legal matters and see to a few business matters as well, since he was here.
The door opened softly behind her. Startled, she turned, only to meet the dancing brown eyes of her handsome husband.
“I came to see if Madame wished her back to be scrubbed,” said Giles, his tone dripping with haughtiness.
“Oh, Giles wasn’t she just awful?” Joanna giggled. “Standing there asking if there’d be anything else and looking at my ready-made gown as if she knew quality when she saw it and this wasn’t quality. I thought the way she said ‘madame’, she meant to imply ‘you offal’.”
“I believe she did, my dear. You haven’t met snobbery until you’ve dealt with London servants. They’ll size you up and toss you out on your ear in the space of a heartbeat.”
“Well, I’ve been judged and found wanting, I suppose. Perhaps it’s a good thing we changed at the solicitors’ office and didn’t wait until we got here. She might have had a seizure.”
“Oh, never fear that Lynch and Lowe would have allowed any of us out of the front door looking the way we did. As it is, I’m sure they’ll have some explaining to do in Lincoln’s Inn.” He had picked up a soft bath sponge and was rubbing it gently down her back.
“Not that you and Will looked any better, mind you,” Joanna mused. She was drowsy with the heat of the water, but his touch felt so soothing. “I wonder whether the woman will come downstairs at all tomorrow. Perhaps she will, if only to give notice.”
“Cook jobs are not that easy to come by, and she knows we are here only for a few days. If she annoys you, I’ll have someone else come in.” The sponge dipped lower.
“Oh, heavens, I don’t care how offended she is. It’ll give her something to be in a nice snit about. And the food was delicious.”
“Madame’s back is clean. Shall I wash Madame’s front?” Without waiting for Madame’s permission, he slipped the sponge around to the front of her. Joanna smiled and leaned back. She could feel the heat of his chest against her hair. The sponge had disappeared. His warm, wet hands rubbed soap gently into her skin, pausing over her slippery, taut breasts. His lips were in her hair, working their way down to her neck. His hands slipped lower, sliding across her belly, then lower still, finding the sweet place that so craved his touch. Joanna arched her back, pushing herself against him. His fingers played below the water and the water felt like fire.
“Madame is as clean as she needs to be just now,” he whispered, nibbling her neck. “Shall I dry you off?”
In answer, she stood slowly. He could not take his eyes off of her, her body wet and gleaming pink in the lamplight. He seized the large square towel and wrapped her in it, rubbing her briskly, then propelled her toward the bedroom.
Laying her gently on the bed, he unwrapped the towel. He stared at her while he divested himself of his clothes. Then, naked, he stood before her, and it was she who stared at his hard, sculpted body.
He lowered himself beside her and pulled her to him. The heat flared between them. His hands roamed while his lips sought hers in fierce possession. Joanna felt the fire building as his tongue played gently against hers. Forsaking her mouth, he let his lips slide along her throat, down, down to where he seized her nipple, circling it with his tongue, causing her to gasp out his name and arch herself closer against the length of him, his desire for her plain and hot and hard.
Joanna heard a moan deep in his throat as she put her arms around him, stroking his back softly, then lowering her hands to his taut buttocks, pulling him tightly to her where she badly needed the pressure of his swollen shaft.
Then his hands, too, moved lower, gently trailing along the soft pink and white of her, coming to rest at last against the secret place. She cried out as his fingers found the spot and she arched against him again and again. Then abruptly his fingers were gone as he stretched himself on top of her and she felt the hard bulge of him. With a cry he buried himself deep, then lay still for a moment. Joanna could feel their two hearts pounding, and his breathing was ragged in her ear. Slowly, rhythmically, he began to move. She could feel the slippery hard heat of him and matched his rhythm, thrusting herself up to meet his thrusts.
Again his lips found hers as his tongue plundered her mouth, matching the rhythm below. His hands were around her, hard against her buttocks as he pulled her tightly to him with every thrust. Joanna could hardly breathe as the heat built within her, until with a sobbing cry she shuddered against him. For a moment he let her finish, then he, too, cried out and thrust forward, spilling himself hard within her slippery heat.
They lay quiet for a moment, breathing in jagged gasps. Giles pulled his weight off of her, but holding her tightly, rolled her with him, nestling her in the cradle of his arms.
“I don’t think I will ever let you out of my sight again,” he whispered in her hair.
“That’s good,” came her whispered reply, “because I hadn’t intended on letting you out of my sight ever again.” His lips trailed along the back of her neck, sending a delicious shudder through her.
They made sweet love again before they slept, tangled in each other’s arms all night long.
* * * *
It was a week before Giles and Joanna and the children were able to get away. The coach had needed repair, and Giles had taken the opportunity to purchase a rather splendid team to draw it. Will had knitted up nicely and was judged fit to be the coachman.