***
Frobisher’s, a well-frequented gentleman’s club and establishment of some ill-repute, hummed with conversation, which stopped abruptly when Rawden burst through its elegant rooms, shouting. ‘Sharp! Where is Caville Sharp?’
The members turned and stared in outrage at his interrupting an afternoon of cards, brandy and pompous chit-chat.
‘I want to know where I can find Caville Sharp,’ said Rawden, spotting George Sanders in the corner. He rushed over and grabbed him out of his chair by his collar. ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘Unhand me, Rawden and I might do so,’ said George. Rawden relented, and George brushed smooth his lapels. ‘What on earth has brought on this attack of the vapours, my good fellow? You are positively savage,’ he added gleefully. George had always relished drama.
‘Speak or lose some teeth,’ said Rawden.
‘Alright, I will, but keep your voice down or you will be barred from this club. We are not at some back street brawl now, Rawden. You must at least feign being a gentleman. You will find Sharp in the private rooms above, entertaining a certain redhead.’
‘Redhead?’
‘Oh yes. He’s been up there some time, too.’
Rawden flung George back down in his seat and sped away, with the slimy man calling after him with laughter in his voice, ‘Some discretion might be advisable, Rawden, and a cool head, if you can manage it.’
He took the stairs two at a time and was confronted with a long corridor. An anguished shriek led him to a room at the end of the hall. Rawden burst in to find Caville gripping a red-haired woman by the neck. He tore them apart and was relieved to see it was not Grace but another, less comely woman with a plump face and teary eyes. The woman scuttled into a corner, sensing violence. One of her cheeks was bright red, and Rawden supposed it to be from a slap.
‘What the devil are you about, Voss?’ cried Sharp. He was half-dressed and began stuffing an engorged member back into his breeches.
‘Where is my wife?’ snarled Rawden.
‘How should I know?’
‘You were stalking her like a predator, Sharp, so I ask again, where is she?’
‘If you have already lost your wife, then that is your affair, so I suggest you leave me to my business with this whore.’
The woman’s eyes widened, darting from one to the other of them. It seemed she was not enjoying her liaison with Sharp.
‘If you know anything and don’t tell me, I will kill you, I swear,’ said Rawden.
‘I do not have your wife, and if I know anything of Grace Howden, it is that she is fickle with her affections. First, one brother, then the other. Did your rough charms finally fail you, Voss?’
‘Stop talking.’
‘Perhaps she has left you for another, moved on to a man instead of a beast. I must get in line, for when she is unattached, I will give her exactly what she needs.’
‘You will leave her be,’ shouted Rawden.
‘Why? If she is alone, she is fair game,’ sneered Caville. ‘She is a loose little bitch, and it is only a matter of time before I get her under me.’
In a blazing fury, Rawden hurled a fist at Sharp’s face. It connected with a sickening crack, and the man fell back against the bed, bounced off it, and back onto his feet. The whore shrieked like a banshee. Caville was on Rawden instantly, barrelling into him, sweeping him off his feet. A table overturned, sending a vase crashing to the floor as they rolled around. Sharp got a good right hook into Rawden’s face, dazing him for an instant before he managed to haul the worm to his feet and rain punches into his face.
‘Enough. I concede,’ whined Caville, but Rawden’s blood was up, and he would not relent until firm hands took him by the arms and hauled him off Caville.
‘Leave him, you fool,’ shouted one man as they tried to restrain him.
‘You have almost killed the fellow,’ cried another.
Caville swayed to his feet, his nose bloody and eyes beginning to swell.
‘Unfortunately not,’ spat Rawden, shaking himself free. ‘The rat still breathes.’
‘This club is for gentlemen, which you clearly are not,’ said a whiskery old man. ‘Leave, Sir, of your own volition, or I will have you thrown out.’
