An Irresistible Alliance by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Savdek Management Pty Ltd
Published: 2017-05-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Webb Street was only a few blocks away down Bermondsey Street; Tom had, indeed, known the location. He drew the carriage to the curb in the larger street, just past the corner with Webb Street.

Cleo waited for Michael to hand her down. Once on the narrow pavement, she straightened her skirts, then looked around. The area was solidly working class, the buildings an eclectic mix of shops, small factories, and row houses. From the smell in the air, the leather market with its associated tanneries wasn’t far away.

She turned and looked down Webb Street. Narrow and cobbled, the street curved west. Michael took her arm, and they started along it, scanning the houses. The southern side of the street was occupied by a long row of workers’ terrace houses, each no more than twelve feet wide, built cheek by jowl with their front doors opening directly onto the cobbles. They found O’Toole’s door midway along the street.

Michael knocked on the panel. Halting beside him, Cleo noted the gravity of his expression. Neither he nor she held out much hope for O’Toole, but they had to check. Had to know.

Light footsteps approached. A bolt grated as it was slid aside, then the door opened, just a little way. A woman of similar age to Cleo looked out. Pale and wan, through red-rimmed eyes, she stared at them. “Yes?”

The fearful expectation carried in that one word was enough to tell them that O’Toole hadn’t returned home.

Cleo stepped forward, drawing the woman’s gaze. “Good morning. Are you Mrs. O’Toole?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Something pushed against the woman’s side, and she shifted, releasing her hold on the door. It swung wider, revealing a small boy who had flung himself against his mother’s legs. Clutching her skirts, he looked up at Cleo and Michael with big, wide eyes.

Cleo smiled at the boy, then raised her gaze once more to Mrs. O’Toole’s face. “We’ve just been to the warehouse, and we’re trying to find out what’s happened to Mr. O’Toole. I take it he’s still missing?”

Mrs. O’Toole nodded, her anxiety easy to read. “I told Henry—the man Mr. Ellis at the warehouse sent to ask. Eddie didn’t come home last Wednesday. Normally, he’d be home to tuck Joe here into bed, but…he didn’t come back.” The woman’s gaze had dropped to the boy. With one hand, she smoothed his hair. “I know something’s happened.” Her voice had lowered; it sounded raw. “Eddie wouldn’t not come home to me and the young ones—he’s not that sort of man.”

Cleo’s heart contracted. O’Toole had been missing for five days; there was little likelihood of him turning up hale and whole, and Mrs. O’Toole knew it. She was trying to manage—to cling to normality for her children. Cleo glanced at Michael.

His voice gentle, he asked, “Mrs. O’Toole, did Eddie ever mention working for someone else on the side?”

Mrs. O’Toole blinked. She raised her eyes to Michael’s face, her expression puzzled. “No. He never said anything about working anywhere but at the warehouse.

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