Gilley, who worked the floor with Robert as a wolf, had at least four inches on the younger man and outweighed him by more than ten stone, but he dipped his head as if Robert were the king himself. Clad in woolen pants with suspenders over his frayed cambric shirt, Gilley twisted a flat cap in fists the size of hams. He looked at Robert with a grudging respect and stepped away. “Yeah, well, that were wrong too. It just kinda came out when I realized Mr. Barfield—Lord Broxley—was still losing so much money.” He glanced at the man behind the large cherry desk that was the heart of the office. “And you’re still advancing the credit.”
William Dutson Campion, a freed slave who had used an entrepreneurial spirit to turn his skills as a bareknuckle boxer into one of the richest businesses in Covent Garden, shrugged one shoulder, his words even. “You know how it is, Gilley. Sometimes, the debt is so great, you need to let them keep digging the hole until they put up something truly valuable. That’s when you close the door. That’s the way this business runs.”
Bill Campion had come to England with his American master in 1785, and had been freed when that master returned to the New World. His time boxing in the streets and salons had given him an appreciation of the mindset of men who were drawn to gambling. Eventually he won big, and used his head for business to turn a series of abandoned warehouses into one of the most successful emporiums in the city for entertaining men of all ranks. The gambling floor of Campion’s Gentlemen’s Emporium brought in the most money, but the adjacent brothel contributed handsomely to the bottom line, as did the boxing salon.
“And Mr. Barfield has something you want.”
“He may, in fact, have several things I want, especially if what you told Robbie is true.”
Gilley shook his head.
Robert leaned closer to Gilley, his words a cajoling stage whisper. “And you wouldn’t lie to me, would ya, Gilley?”
The guard’s eyes widened. “No, sir! You know I’d never—”
“So when you told me that Broxley was in business with your other employer...” Robert let his words trail off, urging Gilley to complete the rest of the sentence.
Which he did, with a resigned sigh. “Yeah, all right. I work days for Mr. Bentley, making sure his warehouse workers don’t wander off for a smoke and not come back. But he treats me good, Mr. Bentley does, even gave me an extra guinea at Christmas. I don’t want to cause him no trouble.”
Robert passed in front of Gilley, glanced out the window to the floor below, and passed behind the man again. “You won’t. Indeed, if you what you said is true, it might mean good news for Mr. Bentley. You heard him say...”
Gilley’s shoulders hunched. “Something about shares. About buying more stock. But I don’t know what he meant by that. He has a guy who usually handles all the stock. I don’t know why Mr. Barfield would be wanting to do that.”
Robert held his arms wide. “Who knows how some of these posh blokes think? They’re all a bit daft, if you ask me.”
Gilley nodded. Then he glanced at the “posh bloke” in the corner, his eyes darting from Thomas’s top hat to the silver wolf’s head on his cane. “That’s for bloody sure,” Gilley muttered.
“You can go now, Gilley.” Bill Campion was the calm voice of reason. “And thank you.”
Robert escorted Gilley to the door, but at the last moment, Gilley wrapped his arm around Robert’s shoulders and bent to whisper in his ear. Robert laughed and shook the man’s hand.
The door closed, Robert turned to face Thomas and Bill, his congeniality vanishing along with his Cockney burr. “So now we know who Bentley’s silent partner is.”
“What did Gilley say to you?” Bill asked.
Robert shot a quick grin at Thomas. “He told me not to trust the bloke in the corner. Something about him being too quick to bloody that wolf’s head.”
“Damned fool.”
Bill shot Thomas a twisted grin. “All it takes is once, and they’ll talk about it for a lifetime.”
“Evidently.”
With a deep breath, Bill sat down again. “So if I understand this, the two of you plan to use this establishment to bring about the ruin of one of the more successful businessmen on the docks.”
Robert sat as well. “Yes. The man, not his businesses. If all goes according to plan, those will continue, just under better management.”
“Bentley is also a respected client here. He gambles, never overreaches. He uses the brothel and the boxing salon. You need to give me a damned good reason for this.”
They did. Bill listened as they laid out the reasons, the plans, and the people involved. He listened, looking from one brother to the other until they had finished. Then the office fell silent. After a moment, Bill stood and went to the window overlooking the gambling floor. He remained silent, hands clasped behind his back, for several more long moments.
Thomas scowled at Robert, who merely shook his head.
Bill finally turned his head slightly, speaking to Robert. “You know I have two daughters.”
“Yes.”
“Hannah has an exceptional skill with a needle. She wants to work with one of the modistes who caters to the elite. I don’t want her anywhere near those people.”
