Page 44 of The Viscount of Shadows

Chapter 15

Oliver was not well. He might not have a raging fever, but he felt queasy, his muscles ached. The tiny bits of food he had consumed churned in his stomach like a ship caught in a storm. They must have been down here over twelve hours, perhaps closing in on eighteen or twenty-four hours. It was difficult to tell.

If the knife cut had nicked his colon or kidney, he would be dead by now. But it was apparent the injury developed a minor infection. And it would worsen if they did not escape their hiding place. What did he know of medical matters? Next to nothing. Oliver drew conclusions from books and articles he had read. There is no basis in fact.

Holding Claudia in his arms made him forget his wound and all it entailed, at least temporarily. She had cried quietly until she fell asleep. Oliver smoothed her hair from her forehead until she stirred. Her story had touched him deeply, and he understood there was more to it. What transpired once she escaped to the East End? How did she meet up with her group of ladies? Is that where she met the owner of The Velvet Vine?

Whatever the rest of her story, it was up to her to share it. Oliver would not pester her. But one conclusion he came to: Oliver wanted to see more of her, be with her. Smitten is a word that came to mind. Infatuated. Enamored. Whatever adjective fit, he felt it.

Claudia yawned and snuggled closer, causing his erection to harden further. He was injured and feeling nauseous, yet still aroused. The intimacy they had shared, all in the dark confines of a stone cellar, was part of it. His attraction toward her was not only physical—far from it. When they finally escaped, would that closeness continue in the world above ground? Oliver wanted it to endure—and grow.

“Why be The Sentinel?” she asked softly.

“Detective Simpson recently asked the same question.” Oliver repeated what he had told the detective and the man’s succinct response.

“I think the detective is right. It is a little of all your thoughts on the matter.”

“Yes. It certainly isn’t any particular incident; it was more of seeing and hearing what occurs in the slums. While attending university, my family volunteers at one of the family initiative clinics, either medical or legal. It certainly opened my eyes. I decided I wanted to be of more help than a few hours a week in a free clinic. So, I made a study of vigilantes, not that there is written history, but they have been part of oral history for centuries.”

Oliver chuckled. “Or maybe it is just a song or ballad passed down, like Robin Hood, which may or may not be fiction. But in asking around, I heard tales of ‘phantoms and certain highwaymen’ through the recent decades in London. They were more prevalent before the Metropolitan Police was formed in ’29. Not so much now. I’m young and fit, why not use it for good? There is time enough to sit in smoky rooms at Westminster and craft laws. I wanted to make a difference—now.”

“That is all fascinating, and what you just described and what you told the detective—is all part of it. It makes me admire you all the more. But perhaps boredom may be an inducement as well.”

Oliver frowned. “That makes me sound shallow, that the other reasons are trifling.”

“They are far from trifling. In fact, I believe you wish to do good more than anything. That is obvious. But you cannot deny those with money, title, and power become jaded easily.”

Claudia wasn’t wrong on that score. How many times had The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park sat around the table, expounding on the tedium of their lives? Couldn’t boredom be the primary motive for their group in the first place? They were rather arrogant, but most of them were peers, after all. Egotistical thoughts were part of the makeup. And having no purpose in life.

“Perhaps your brother is bored,” Claudia continued. “Instead of focusing his restless energy on doing something worthwhile, he internalized.”

“Internalized? I have never heard it put that way.”

“I don’t know why I said that. I do not think it is even a proper word. But it fits. You said your brother was spoiled. Bryan chose a self-seeking path despite his affectionate upbringing and fine examples of altruistic family members. How to coax him from that route may be daunting.”

Daunting, indeed.

The family may have to hold an intervention. Another generation of Wollstonecrafts cloistered away at the sanitorium? It may come to that. Could it be a familial weakness passed through the generations? Could such personality quirks or traits be passed on?

“You said before your grandfather was and is your hero. That in his youth, he suffered an opium addiction.”

How interesting her question mirrored his thoughts. “Yes, as I said, he turned his life around. He went undercover in a cotton mill as a supervisor, and all the information he gathered assisted in crafting better labor laws for women and children toiling under hazardous circumstances. He met my grandmother, a nurse, at the sanitorium and later at the mill. It is a love story for the ages.”

“So you are The Sentinel for that reason as well. To be like your grandfather, who you admire and love. To honor his memory.”

Yes, that also could be another motivation. Oliver hadn’t made the connection before, but it fit. Aidan Wollstonecraft was and still is his hero, as Claudia said. His sudden death hit the family hard. It was the first time Oliver had seen his father break down and sob uncontrollably.

“I spoke in jest about tying your brother to the roof of the carriage and taking him to Kent,” Claudia said, tearing him from his thoughts. “But you may have to do exactly that. And soon. I overheard a conversation at Olivia’s afternoon tea.”

Claudia told of Shinwell’s mother washing her hands of him. That he had been a hellion since birth. Yes, he would sink—and take Bryan with him. Perhaps Oliver should approach the Duke of Coldbridge. He was Christian, the Duke of Allenby’s stepfather, and a decent sort. The duke wanted to ensure that his second son, Rome, did not become collateral damage along with Bryan—something to consider if he ever gets out of this quandary.

“Drastic action may be the ultimate outcome. As soon as we are out of this predicament, I will talk with Allenby about how to approach his stepfather, Coldbridge, regarding his son’s involvement with Shinwell.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the conversation, but Oliver remained determined to do it to keep his mind off the rolling waves of pain coiling through him.

“How long do you plan to keep it up? Being The Sentinel,” Claudia asked, bringing him back to the present conversation again.

“I have not given it much thought. As long as I am physically capable of doing so. I am trying to recruit my cousin to join. And I probably should not have revealed that. I will keep it up until I satisfy whatever empty part inside of me urged me to take this up in the first place. I thought it prudent to remain anonymous, and this seemed like the perfect solution.”

“Why all the leather?”