“Let’s have your reports,” Finn said before sipping his tea.
“Bow Street seized the stolen crates,” Sean said. “Croft never made an appearance.”
“Didn’t expect him to,” Finn said. “All that matters is that the theft put him on alert and brought him back to London. Makes it easier for us to toy with him.”
“The loss is important too,” Patrick said. “Ruins his credibility.”
Patrick wasn’t wrong, but the game had since changed and Finn intended to take advantage. Before addressing that, however, he said, “Did you also stop by the brothel?”
Finn had set up the business in a townhouse he’d rented near Covent Garden. A fancier spot than where he chose to live, it allowed him the means by which to add to his war chest. Especially since it also provided customers with a quiet spot in which to enjoy the opium sought by so many. Finn offered them a catalogue of hard-to-come-by goods that he and his men could provide. At the right price.
The place was run by two tough women. Sean and Patrick’s wives.
“The profits are more than enough to cover the rent and set aside savings,” Patrick said. “I brought twenty pounds back with me and put them in the lockbox.”
Finn nodded his thanks and invited the men to start eating. None of them uttered another word until they were done. Only then did Sean ask, “Have you decided on the next course of action?”
Finn stood and went to collect a glass from the cabinet that sat in one corner. He retrieved a bottle as well and proceeded to pour himself a measure of whiskey.
“Will we be leading Bow Street to the gaming hells and brothels under Croft’s protection?” Patrick asked after sharing a look with Sean and Brian.
That had been the next part of the plan in their effort to cut off Croft’s sources of income. To cripple him financially before going in for the kill.
Finn knocked back his drink and hissed in response to the sharp burn it produced in his throat, then gave his attention to his colleagues.
“With Mrs. Croft back in Town, I think we can do much better than that,” Finn murmured. “Especially now that we know she’s expecting.”
“Nothing will make a man tremble with fear quite as much as threatening his family,” Brian said, a sly smile curling his lips.
“Mother and child,” Patrick murmured, his expression turning thoughtful. “Handled correctly, they could be a shortcut to Croft’s destruction.”
“Right you are,” Finn said. “They’re the strings we’ll use to make Croft dance to our tune.”
Dressed in a black wool coat and his favorite beaver hat, the gentleman crossed the street and entered Hyde Park. The rain from earlier in the day had finally ceased, leaving the air crisp and devoid of the putrid smells that usually permeated it. Ordinarily, he would have remained at his country estate until Parliament was in session, but a private matter had brought him back to Town sooner than he’d expected.
Lengthening his stride as he started along Rotten Row, he hunched his shoulders against an oncoming gust of wind and held onto his hat. He wasn’t the only person who’d chosen to get some fresh afternoon air. There were others about though not many, for which he was grateful. He much preferred a peaceful walk without the need for stopping to greet those he knew, most of whom had yet to return to Town.
Until then, he’d savor the quiet.
Another gust of wind had the naked trees waving their spindly branches at him. Truth was, it was bloody cold, especially at night so chances were the ground would be covered in spots of ice later after the rain. A blessing that he would return to a comfortable well-heated home later.
Someone on an adjacent path to his right called out a greeting, prompting him to respond with a wave that allowed him to keep on moving. There were matters for him to consider, which was part of the reason he’d come here. He often found that exercise helped put his thoughts in order. At least it was better than sitting at home in his parlor or heading to his club, neither of which provided the clarity he was after.
It certainly didn’t ease his concerns. And he was concerned by the fact that Croft had spent the entire winter away from London. Had he been here, there was a chance the most recent murder wouldn’t have happened. That the killer wouldn’t have dared risk his wrath.
Supposition of course, given the nature of the crime. According to the details his Bow Street informant had described, the murder was either carried out by a madwoman, or by someone with a very personal score to settle. Either way, it was unlikely anything could have dissuaded them from their path. Not even Croft.
At least he was here now and would hopefully help that fool, Kendrick, catch the guilty party and make them pay.
Aside from this incident, the gentleman sensed a shift in the City’s criminal climate. The thefts seemed fewer and there was an overall feeling of being able to roam the streets without any threat. It was almost as though everyone had breathed a collective sigh of relief, and he had no doubt it was thanks to the keen awareness that Croft had become the protector of those who couldn’t protect themselves — that he would destroy those who threatened innocent lives.
Word had swiftly spread through every parlor and drawing room, down to the servants in the kitchen, and out into the streets beyond, faster than a raging fire. The rumors that swirled were many and it was now believed that Croft had killed Clive Newton and hung him from St. Bartholomew’s church tower, that he had deliberately murdered Benjamin Lawrence, and that he was also responsible for Mrs. Hillford’s disappearance.
The fact that he’d done all of this without anyone having concrete proof was worthy of admiration. Most importantly, it proved how powerful and dangerous he truly was, which in turn helped keep the rest of the scoundrels milling about in check.
It was what the gentleman had hoped to provide the City – the reason he’d had Croft’s sister killed. So Croft would fill the gap his father had left and thus retain the balance that was required, instead of relocating to the country.
As it turned out, the situation the gentleman had created had made Croft more capable in that regard than his father had ever been. Where his sire had once struck fear in the hearts of aristocrats who misbehaved, the new King of Portman Square sent vermin scurrying at the mention of his name.
