The man snatched at the bill. “’E’s in the upstairs bedchamber. First door on the right at the top o’ the stairs.”
Daffin squinted at the man. “Is anyone else here?”
The man shrugged. “’E might ’ave a bit o’ fluff wit ’im.”
Daffin cautiously entered the flat, pulling his pistol from his coat pocket. He kept his back against the wall while hiseyes adjusted to the darkness in the cramped, smelly space. “Which way?”
The man nodded toward an arched doorway and moved out of the way, clutching the pound note to his chest. He remained near the front door, obviously ready to run should the scene not unfold in Daffin’s favor.
Daffin moved through the doorway and quickly located the narrow, cramped staircase. Still keeping his back to the wall, he made his way up the stairs in silence until he stood in front of the first door. Loud snores came from inside the room. If indeed it was Vickery in the room, Daffin had got the jump on him. He smiled to himself before taking a deep breath. Then he raised his booted foot and savagely kicked open the door.
A woman’s scream was the first thing that met Daffin’s ears. Beady had been right. Vickery wasn’t in bed alone. The criminal startled awake and lunged from the side of the bed, but Daffin’s pistol was trained on the man before he had a chance to reach for his own weapon, which sat on a table near the door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Daffin said, cocking his pistol and centering it between the thief’s eyes.
The naked prostitute grabbed the sheet to cover herself. Her blue eyes were wild with fear as she stared at Daffin and his pistol.
Vickery growled and slowly lifted both hands, his eyes narrowing on Daffin. “Oakleaf?”
Daffin’s smile widened and he took a hint of a bow. “Howdidyou know?”
“Heard ye was lookin’ fer me,” Vickery grumbled.
“Not anymore,” Daffin replied.
He briefly allowed his gaze to scan the prostitute. Herdirty blond hair was in disarray, and bruises colored her neck and shoulders. She had men in her life who treated her poorly. Most likely a pimp. Or Vickery. Daffin hated to see women at the mercy of bad men. His throat tightened.
With his free hand, he reached into his overcoat and pulled out a guinea. He tossed it on the bed and gestured for her to get it. Ignoring her nakedness, she scrambled across the mattress and grabbed it. The coin was likely a fortune to her. Daffin clenched his jaw. “Use that to get away from whoever gave you those bruises. If you go to the almshouse on Clancy Street, Mrs. Dillon there often has positions for young women willing to work hard as maids.”
The prostitute nodded and the hint of a smile touched her cracked lips. “Thank ye, guv’na.”
Turning his attention back to Vickery, Daffin strolled to a pair of dirty, crumpled breeches that sat in a heap on the floor. He kicked them toward the man. “Get dressed,” he commanded, keeping his pistol trained on Vickery as the thief climbed naked out of the bed and hurriedly pulled on his breeches.
Next, Vickery tossed his filthy shirt over his head and wrapped his dirty neckcloth haphazardly around his throat. Once the thief was somewhat decent, Daffin pulled his handcuffs out of his coat & slapped them over Vickery’s wrists. He gestured toward the door with the pistol. “Let’s go.”
Vickery preceded Daffin out of the room.
“Don’t try anything, Vickery. You’re the worst kind of scum, a thief who hurts children. I’d love nothing better than an excuse to blow you to kingdom come.”
With that, he led the scoundrel at the end of his pistol down the stairs and past the beady-eyed man who had sincehidden his pound note somewhere within his questionable clothing.
Minutes later, they made it to Daffin’s waiting coach and drove off in the direction of the magistrate’s court. Daffin leaned back against the squabs, his pistol still trained on Vickery, who eyed him for any sign of weakness. Even in handcuffs the scum might try to grab his pistol and would kill him with it without blinking an eye, so Daffin kept his finger firmly on the trigger.
He had his man. Henry Vickery would find justice. He was going to gaol for a long, long time. Daffin was pleased to wrap up the case before the holiday. But what would he work on next to keep his mind off Christmastide?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“No, my lord. Nothing happened. We were perfectly safe on our outing today.”
Regina entered the salon. Mark stood near the sideboard, a drink in his hand. Nicole sat on the sofa, watching the interaction between her husband and one of the groomsmen while rolling her eyes. The groomsman stood near the door, clutching his hat, shaking in his boots.
“No one tried to run you off the road?” Mark intoned.
“No,” the groomsman replied.
“Darling, he’s told you all he can, for heaven’s sake,” Nicole said. “Nothing happened.”
“Fine. That will be all.” Mark waved away the groomsman and returned to his seat. His expression remained thunderous.
Regina made her way to Nicole and slid onto the sofa next to her. “You went out today?”
