Page 47 of The Viscount of Shadows

Chapter 16

Claudia crouched in a cluster of overgrown shrubs on the vacant lot next to the dilapidated house they had hidden in. She hadn’t been able to travel far, for the streets were loaded with Danaher’s men. The sycophants were easy to spot; they all had the same slack-jawed, brutish looks. At this rate, she will never make it to Westgate Terrace in Kensington.

Does she dare saunter right past them and hope her disguise is convincing enough to fool the poorly-educated hoodlums in thrall to Danaher? There may be no choice. The word no doubt tore through the streets that Danaher was looking for two people, with a reward offered for any information. Claudia couldn’t linger here. Oliver needed medical assistance.

Yes, Oliver.

That searing kiss. Claudia had felt it straight to her toes, and her heart acted like it wanted to burst from her chest. And for her to hold him close and kiss him again before she departed? Not wise. She was supposed to be dead inside. Apparently, she responded to passion like every other human. It was a normal reaction, nothing else. Undoubtedly, deeper emotions have been engaged. But Claudia refused to believe it.

Oliver said he wanted more. Perhaps she should take what he offered. Then, she could move on with this annoying, unrelenting desire out of her system. Sex. The concept wasn’t abhorrent to her, even though she had seen it used as a tool for men to get what they wanted, like holding power and ownership over women. Claudia was capable of looking after herself. She did not need a man for protection.

But being held in Oliver’s arms was a revelation. He exuded such warmth and comfort; it was easy to see how women could succumb to such a luxury. But more importantly, what was more astounding than her physical attraction to him was that she had shared so much, and he had done the same. Outside of her mother, she never allowed anyone to see her vulnerability. And because of all that, Claudia could never use Oliver to slake her now-awakened desire and toss him aside. She felt terrible for even considering it. Remaining vigilant of her rampant feelings would be one of her top priorities. If that were even possible.

The first order of business is to be free of this chaos.

Seeing a fleeting opening, she emerged from the shrubs and headed toward the Kensington area. Slouching, she rammed her hands in her coat pocket and sauntered like she had seen many poor working men do: a shuffling gait of absolute weariness. Claudia had rubbed dirt on her face, hands, and neck, hoping that would serve as an adequate disguise.

“Here! You, there. Stop!” a voice called out.

Two men hurried toward her. “Who are you, and why are you here?” One man growled. They both held cudgels in their meaty fists, ready to strike at one wrong answer.

“Higgins, be my name,” Claudia said with a low rumble. “I work at Hammersmith City Railway. Why you be askin’? What’s the to-do? I just be cuttin’ through to get to me room.”

“Where?” the taller man yelled.

“’Tis yonder, o’er on Talbot Road.”

One of the men flared his nostrils and stepped in reverse, for Claudia had not only smeared dirt on her face and hands but horse manure as well. “How come we’ve never seen you afore this?”

“I just got the job and took the room. Why?” Claudia shot back.

“And what’s your job at the railway?” The other man asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Claudia scratched her head under her cap. “I shovel what they tell me. Coal. Dirt. Horse shite. Today it be shite.”

The men moved farther away, disgusted looks on their faces. “Don’t cut through here again, you follow? And wash, for Jaysus’s sake.”

As if they couldn’t use a thorough cleaning as well. Claudia touched her forelock and shuffled off. Once she rounded the corner, she stopped, holding her hand over her rapidly beating heart. One hurdle completed. Westgate Terrace in Kensington was not that far. There was a communal water pump near the new Avondale Park, if memory serves. Hopefully, it wasn’t removed during construction.

Because of the deadly, mid-century cholera outbreaks, most common water areas were dismantled when discovered as the source of the epidemics. Claudia would have to wash some of this muck from her, or she would be run out of Kensington by the coppers. Best to stay in disguise, Claudia couldn’t allow her red hair to be seen at all. Who knows what people were watching?

Taking a deep breath, then exhaling, she continued her shuffling pace toward the pump.

* * *

Jedidiah Danaher was a lot of things; patient was not one of them. He had been roaming the cluster of streets within Notting Dale since he had come face-to-face with Claudia Ellingford. He knew it was her—no mistaking that red hair. Why was she dressed that way, and why return? Jedi had to find her. Why? No one runs from him after all he has done for her. Giving her a roof over her head and food on the table. Claudia owed him. And he would see that she repaid him—one way or the other. And that way was information. Claudia knew about this vigilante; he was sure of it.

As Jedi sauntered through the streets, his thoughts turned to the past. Claudia was long gone by the time he had learned of Aileen’s death. He had his men ask about it, and he could have expanded his search, but Jedi had moved on to other pursuits and no longer lamented the loss in income. Jedi knew that the then 16-year-old girl was untouched. He had grand plans to auction her off to rich toffs and, thereafter, use her as his top prostitute for exclusive clients.

But that all went by the wayside when she had done a runner. The girl was shrewder than he had thought. Jedi knew Aileen was sick, though the stupid woman tried to conceal it. He didn’t care. As long as she satisfied his intermittent sexual needs between her coughing jags, that is all that mattered.

Why waste his time looking for that termagant when he had other pressing concerns? Like that masked nutter acting a hero, or the fact more and more rooming houses were being pulled down and people evicted. Jedi had experienced clearances firsthand in St. Giles and, later, in the Seven Dials. Although he only had a few years of education, he was shrewd enough to realize he would soon have to shove off and find another place to do his business.

But until then, this was his home, his kingdom. Jedi was the boss, and no one attacked him or his men. He couldn’t allow it to stand. He rounded the corner to see two of his men standing close together, sharing a cigarette. A fat lot of good they were, too busy seeing to their comforts than watching the street. Jedi marched toward them and grabbed the shorter one by the scruff of the neck.

“You bleedin’ bastard. You’re supposed to be at the other end of the road, not here gossipin’ and smokin’ like a couple o’fishwives. Who’s been by here?”

The man cringed. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”