Page 54

“Orris, does he not look remarkably similar to Mr. Fain?” Mama practically whispered the question directly into Orris’s ear.

“Yes,” she said. The exhaustion of her encounter with Abram had tired her of upholding any ruse. “He is his brother, Mama.”

Mama stepped back and eyed Orris, her nostril flare and slitted eyes advised of her pondering. “And how would you know such a thing?”

“Samuel,” Orris lied, realizing to reveal any more would prove she had spent more time with Abram than she should have. As much as she wanted to untangle herself from the web that tied her to Abram, to have a row with her Mama was more than she could stand at the moment. “He said he was working against his father’s wishes. That was why he misrepresented himself to us.” At least it was a partial truth.

“When I get my hands on Samuel, he will regret keeping me in the dark over such a thing. The nerve,” Mrs. Gray blustered. “I am retrieving more ratafia. Should you like another?” she asked in a huff.

“Yes, Mama.”

Orris had not begun the evening wanting to drink to excess. Oh, how life had a way of changing one’s perspective.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Samuel searched throughout the city for the better part of the day and into the late hours of the night. He could not find Grady Easton, even as some of the dockworkers recalled the name, his appearance, and his ability to be quite quarrelsome.

Aside from being unable to locate him, he also struggled with the most annoying yearning to see Orris Gray, even if just once more.

There was no point to the fascination with her until he found who had ended Rowan’s life. And who exactly had written his name along with a list of locations the man had visited. Orris would not be safe with Abram. It was a rational conclusion. What was more, even when the ordeal was over, after the way he had spoken to her, would she even have him?

There was no answer to any of his questions, and he feared an inevitable descent into madness. The elusive Easton infuriated him. He’d seemed one step ahead for the entire day.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said to a dockworker who walked by him in the dark.

The man turned around, soot and grime on his face paired with a weary expression. The skepticism Abram had encountered from most of the people when approached by someone they did not know. “Yeh,” he muttered, taking a step back, as if to distance himself from a stranger.

“I am searching for a man by the name of Grady Easton. Is there any chance you have encountered him?” Abram maintained the distance, though he knew the two shared no characteristics. Easton was apparently a man with a swarthy look to him, his complexion olive green, and hazel-colored eyes, one with a patch over it. This man was a Moor, like Abram, with a thin build, and large, calloused hands from what was likely years of loading and unloading cargo.

For a moment, Abram was sure he would not provide a response, judging by the way he regarded him, head to toe and back again.

Finally, the man shifted on his feet, then after staring off into the distance, he scratched at his chin and nodded. “No, I have not seen him recently, but I do know who he is. He frequents the brothel on Ninth and Ferrier streets. Ye cannot miss it. There will be a red door. There’s no name on the outside of the building, but it is row-house styled and has coverings over all the windows.”

Abram could have hugged the man if he were not convinced he would be knocked out cold. “Thank you,” he said. He went to reach for his pocket to offer the man some money, but the stranger held out his hand to stop him.

“Not necessary. I owe him one for swindling me in a street card game. This one is on the house.” He turned, glancing both ways before walking off into the darkness.

They had been beneath the viaducts, and Abram was not even sure where the man had come from. At the moment, however, he considered him an angel.

It was not smart of him to go to the brothel alone. No part of the plan could in any way be considered intelligent. However, Abram needed to find out who had hired him, or whether it was some sick scheme for money. Who knew when there were individuals who killed for fun in these parts?

With that thought crossing his mind, he sped up his ascent to the surface streets. There was no time to waste, even if he was considering asking Samuel to accompany him into the unnamed brothel.

He had not wanted to include Samuel, a married man, in any plans to enter a palace of ill repute. He had a reputation to uphold. And even if the brothel he was investigating was a short leap from somewhere like the Dove and Hound, there were standards to be maintained.

Of course, Barrett would have been a better option, but Abram did not know him as well. He would be on his own for this adventure. While he did not prefer it, he prayed he would not encounter anything he could not handle.

The brothel was about four furlongs in distance. There were no carriages to be had, but it was close enough for the walk. Abram understood why the location had been chosen. When ships docked, oftentimes seafarers sought companionship after long journeys. Travel into the city for nefarious acts was not generally advisable. Coppers busted ladies and patrons alike, oft times requiring inspections prior to release from jails. There were fewer patrols near the docks.

The closer Abram drew to the brothel, the more people he encountered carousing in dark corners and spilling from the row of drink houses adjacent to the brothel. Standing out in front of it, he noted the multiple floors. He certainly hoped Mr. Easton was in attendance, as well as not coupled off for the evening. If he was occupied with a woman, it would be far harder to find him. The sound of offkey piano chords and yelping spilled onto the street from inside the establishment.

Abram tugged on the latch tied off with leather, and the door came open. There was a man there who took up the entire expanse of the doorframe. He must have been as large as an ox, and immovable without the help of six men. “One crown,” he groused. His voice was gravely and most assuredly meant to give any bad actors second thoughts before entering.

Abram fished in his pocket, thankful he’d had the forethought to place his wallet separate from a few pounds and bobs. He pulled out the money and placed it in his hand. “There,” he said before returning his attention to the man’s sunken eyes.

Without replying, he stepped out onto the street so Abram could pass, then closed the door behind him. Abram did not see a chair, but perhaps he simply stood there waiting for the next patron.

After making his way through the close confines of the hall, he turned into the loud and vibrant brothel. Women danced atop the bar and on the piano. Some were topless, and others were draped over men with their petticoats draped over laps and spilling onto the floor.