“Now, let’s also suppose that ye’d like to gain a foothold in St. Giles.”
“Disregarding the various assumptions you are making, I don’t suppose a name comes to mind?”
Guthrie beamed. “Now that ye mention it, I do believe one does.” Crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed above a smirk. “If I’m to theorize, I’d say Bartholomew’s yer man. He ’as the means to do it. He’s also been after me territory fer years. Tried to win it earlier this summer when ’e had ’is man, The Bull, fight Huntley, but failed. I wouldn’t put it past ’im to try an’ acquire a house like the one Lady Amelia bought an’ turn it into a brothel or opium den.”
“Are those his primary sources of income?”
“Aye, but in the worst way possible.”
“How so?”
Guthrie started to look uncomfortable, which was disconcerting. “Aside from the expected romp, he’s known to offer the sort of experiences that those with particular tastes will pay good blunt to enjoy. With that house in his possession, I believe ’e’ll be lookin’ to offer the wealthy somethin’ only the lowliest bawdy ’ouses provide at the moment.”
“You imagine a twisted, drug-infused El Dorado for the rich and perverse?” Thomas asked and Guthrie nodded, his mouth now set in a flat line. “You could be wrong.”
“I bloody well hope I am, but if I’m not and ’e somehow manages to take control of that house, a lot of me people will suffer. Which is why you can count on me to do me part. I’ll try to look into the matter, now that ye’ve made me aware of it.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the help since Lady Amelia and I have no plan on quitting our own plans for that house. We intend to turn it into a school for the children of St. Giles, and not even Bartholomew is going to stop us from doing that.”
“I’ll certainly wish ye luck,” Guthrie said. “A school would be welcomed. But don’t underestimate a man like Bartholomew. He’s a ruthless villain if ever there was one, and with fewer scruples than me.”
Taking his warning to heart, Thomas left the Black Swan after offering Guthrie ten pounds for his trouble. He then collected his carriage and made his way back to Huntley House so he could brief Lady Amelia just as he’d promised.
Chapter 18
Sitting on a chair in Coventry’s study two days later, Amelia eyed the man whom her brother had only ever mentioned when referencing someone worse than Carlton Guthrie.Bartholomew. She did not know his full name, nor did she care to. When Coventry had mentioned his possible involvement in the recent events pertaining to her house, her concern had left her with a deep chill in her bones.
She looked to where Lady Everly and the dowager duchess sat and was grateful for their presence. Perhaps it would prompt Bartholomew to act with some decorum even if she and Coventry failed to do so.
“I cannot imagine why you would wish to seeme, Your Grace,” Bartholomew drawled. He was an older man and shockingly well-dressed, considering his profession. Apparently crime had served him well, and the time he’d spent in Newgate years ago had not affected his fondness for proper tailoring. Rumor had it he’d been imprisoned for only a few days because of his good connections and a few well-placed bribes.
“Really?” Coventry asked with a note of sarcasm. He leaned back and studied Bartholomew with a keen eye that Amelia found rather reassuring. The villain was not about to get the better of him, of that she was quite sure.
“I’m afraid so,” Bartholomew said. Smirking, he looked up at his associate—a heavyset man who probably served as Bartholomew’s protector when out about town.
Coventry drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment, then said, “A house was recently sold on the corner of Bainbridge and High Street. Two parties bid on it, Lady Amelia being one and the other being yourself.”
Bartholomew snorted. “You’re wrong about that, Your Grace. I never tried to buy such a building.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course it is.” Bartholomew suddenly grinned. “One house would never be enough for me. Not when it comes to St. Giles. I’m rather looking to take the entire neighborhood, you see.”
“So Guthrie says.”
“Oh? You spoke to my favorite rival, did you?” Shaking his head, Bartholomew stretched out his legs and sighed. “I suppose he’s the one who brought you sniffing around my feet, hoping to catch a scent of something nefarious. Well...” His eyes hardened, and Amelia suddenly saw the man so many people feared. “Perhaps you ought to take a closer look at Guthrie himself. That gin business he’s in may need a new location.”
“The house caught fire last week,” Thomas said, ignoring Bartholomew’s comment, “and two days ago one of the workers fell through the roof. Turns out the beams had been cut to allow for the accident.”
“And I suppose you’re going to blame me for that too?”
“I probably wouldn’t have, but Mr. Gorrell’s sudden disappearance does seem to raise some suspicion.”
“Forgive me,” Bartholomew murmured, “but who is Mr. Gorrell?”
“The solicitor in charge of the sale.” Coventry narrowed his gaze. “He mentioned another buyer—someone wealthy enough to make the sort of offer that was meant to dissuade others—an exorbitant amount, considering the state the house is in and its location.”
“Yetyoupaid. There is no doubt a long line of other individuals willing to acquire the place for whatever strange reason they might have.I, however, am not one of them.”
