Page 53 of The Viscount of Shadows

Claudia inwardly cringed. “Not a chance.”

“As I said, you owe me.”

“No, I don’t—and you know it. You don’t care about me. You never did. How did it all go wrong for you? When you were a child. Abandoned on the streets, I imagine. How else to survive except by thieving and whoring? I will bet you did both to prevail. Haven’t we all? How many rich toffs paid for you?”

Danaher’s scowl turned thunderous. Provoking him may not be the soundest plan, but she must stall for time. Claudia continued, “You were a pretty boy with all that curling black hair and light blue eyes. Any humanity you had at birth—and I doubt it was much—was pounded out of you through the years, one way or another. Bent over rubbish bins in dark alleys for a three-shilling fu—”

Danaher had his hands around her throat, cutting off her words and her breath. “You mewlin’ bitch. Judgin’ by your foul words, you’ve been livin’ on the streets and all. You know exactly ’tis all about. There’s a cost. You will pay.”

Cillian grabbed his father’s arm. “Don’t harm her. You need information—about the vigilante. And why slay good merchandise? Look at her. She’ll bring a pretty penny. Those tits alone are worth gold. Your original instincts were right on that.”

The mention of money stayed his hands, and he released them from around her neck. They had removed her coat, and the loose wool shirt buttons were undone halfway down, showing her breasts all but spilling out of the top of the tightly wound chemise she had wrapped around her chest.

Claudia gasped and wheezed, trying to catch her breath. She hit a little too close to home. She knew nothing of Danaher’s past, but what she described was a tragic tale for many people in such circumstances—male or female of whatever age. Claudia cast her glance toward Cillian. He had some education, perhaps a mother or other family members who loved him. Why was he here with Danaher? Young and impressionable? Or just plain stupid?

“Gold?” Danaher said, looking at his son.

“Aye. We keep this termagant locked in a room. Charge top fees. Let those toffs have a go, two or three at a time. Think of the money. Gold sovereigns in our pockets.”

Danaher pinched his son’s cheek, then gave it a playful slap. “Oh, aye. You’re mine, sure as brass. Good lad.” Jedi turned his attention to her once again. “I’ll think on it.”

The thought of being locked in a room to serve men caused her stomach to lurch. For many years, that exact scenario made up the bulk of her nightmares. The young man was more like his father than Claudia initially believed. Apple falling, tree, however the saying goes.

“Wait. That were you with the brown hair and the scar. The yanker. I knew you were familiar.” Danaher took a step closer. “Is that what you did to survive? Pull on cocks for a shilling or two?”

“So what if I did? We all do things to stay alive. As well, you know.” God, her voice was hoarse. Danaher really would have killed her.

“And now you’re an investigator. Or so you say.”

“I’m telling the truth. I’m good at my job. I fooled you. I’m not after you or yours, so let me go. I can finish the investigation, and I’ll never return here again. You have my word.”

Danaher laughed. “You have brass; I’ll give you that.”

“My fellow investigators will go to the police if you keep me here too long. They know I’m in Notting Dale,” Claudia continued. “This place will be overrun with coppers before you know it.”

Danaher chuckled again. “Clever girl. You see, regardless of what me son says and suggests, I’m not interested in you. You were right about that. Tell me about the vigilante, and I’ll consider lettin’ you go. All I want to know about is the masked nutter. You follow? I know what he is and how he stepped into a family dispute. He beat a man unconscious because Charlie wanted what he was entitled to.”

“The laundry woman had every right to keep her hard-earned money to provide for her children. Not hand it over to her lay-about husband to spend in your pub. Yes, I witnessed the episode. It is where I first came across The Sentinel.” That is not entirely correct, as she met Oliver’s alter ego in the East End, but Claudia wasn’t planning to tell Danaher everything, and not necessarily the complete facts. Giving Danaher the name of the vigilante would persuade him even more that she was telling the truth. Her version of the truth.

“So, that’s his name, bloody stupid if you ask me. That washerwoman wouldn’t tell me. She won’t be ironin’ clothes for a long time. I broke her arm, see. And I’ll do the same to you and all. Yeah?”

That poor woman. Claudia will find where the ironer lives and compensate her for her trouble. Oliver would contribute as well if they got out of this difficulty. “I don’t know who he is.”

“Don’t make me out to be a pillock. Charlie told me this Sentinel ran off with a woman. It was you.”

Claudia shrugged. “He hid me from those angry men and then left. We didn’t even talk. I never saw him again. Until the other night.”

“Aye. Comin’ to your rescue. How convenient, that. I cut him good. Is he dead? I think not, or you wouldn’t still be runnin’ around these streets. You got him hidden away. Eh? Going for help? Or did you already? Was that you, the shite-smellin’ railway bloke? I think so.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Claudia sniffed.

“I smell a faint odor of shite. It was you. And I can prove it. Cillian, bring Birch and that other gobshite.”

Blast it.

There had not been much of the putty and grease paint left on her face when encountering those imbeciles earlier, but there may have been enough to cast a cloud of doubt. Plus, she was wearing different clothes now.

Cillian wasn’t gone long, and two men meandered into the room behind him. One was tall and slender, the other short and squat. Already, Claudia could smell the fear off of them. Fear of Danaher. Which means they will tell him what he wants to hear.