Reaching the end of their evidence, Deverell paused, then stated the inescapable conclusion. “These kidnappings are specific. They’re targeted. Not just any maid who happens to walk by, good-looking or not, but specific girls of a certain age, a certain high standard of beauty.”
“Which means”—Christian narrowed his eyes; normally a gentle gray, they’d turned as hard as stone—“someone, almost certainly someone of the ton, is, for want of a better term, identifying the targets.”
Deverell nodded. “Indeed. It can’t be any butler or other member of anyone’s staff.”
Gervase humphed. “They don’t see enough other staff to be useful in that regard, not given the fussiness of white slavers.”
“So,” Tristan said, his tone full of disgust, “it’s one of us.” He glanced at the others. “So to speak.”
“Indeed.” Dalziel’s drawl promised the darkest retribution. “Which is why it’s so fitting we should hunt him down and ensure appropriate justice is dispensed.”
Phoebe blinked and glanced around. Far from looking startled, the others were all nodding, perfectly serious, grimly so.
“Which brings us to our first question,” Deverell said. “How?”
Phoebe sat back and listened as they threw suggestions and observations back and forth. It was rather unsettling to sense—to have demonstrated so clearly—this other side of them, the ruthless, implacable side. In their pursuit of whoever was aiding the slavers, and the slavers themselves, they acknowledged no such things as limitations, only hurdles to be overcome.
In this guise, they were as frightening, as scarifying as any other man she’d ever met, yet Deverell was one of them…and listening, she could see what drove them, what fueled their driving passion in this—what ultimately would drive them to victory in this. They saw it as their right and proper place to defend the weak and the helpless against those who would harm and exploit.
That was their role, what they’d been born to do—their birthright, one they’d each long since claimed. They knew that, lived that, understood that—and now she did, too. She would never be wary of men like them again.
Gervase sat forward, his glass cradled between his hands. “If one of the ton is involved, and we know that’s so, then it’s money that’s behind it.”
Dalziel nodded. “Agreed. I can think of some rather less savory motives, but regardless, money will be the major attraction.”
“So,” Christian said, “what can we surmise about this someone? I can’t imagine they’re female.”
Tristan grimaced. “It’s possible, but is it likely? There would have to be some connection with the slavers—some agreement—and I can’t see any female regardless of her need of funds being able to pull that off. Too dangerous, too likely she’ll end up as part of the goods.”
“So our quarry is a man,” Deverell said. “One who lives in London, very possibly for most of the year, most likely in Mayfair, and given the households from which maids have disappeared, he moves in the best circles.”
Christian added, “He may not be known to be in need of funds.”
Dalziel inclined his head. “That would be too easy.”
“However,” Deverell said, “there are ways to inquire, people who would know.”
Christian grinned. “I assume you haven’t retired from the business world. How far can your contacts reach?”
Deverell narrowed his eyes. “Quite possibly far enough. I’ll have them put the word out tomorrow and see what we can learn.”
Dalziel was turning his glass between his long fingers. “I’ll see what I can ferret out by less direct means. We’re looking for someone with a hidden need of cash—there are always whispers.”
Deverell met Christian’s eyes; all of them wanted to know what “less direct means” their ex-commander had at his disposal, but none were game to ask.
“Meanwhile,” Dalziel went on, “the rest of you can see what you can learn from the watchhouses. Concentrate on those surrounding Mayfair. See what you can learn about missing maids—from there and any other sources you have to hand. We should try to get dates for all the disappearances we can find.” He met Deverell’s eyes. “With luck, if either you or I can identify a likely villain, we can check to see if he was the recipient of unexplained largesse on or around those dates.”
Deverell nodded. “Even more, it might be possible to track him through such payments. Difficult, but the more dates we can identify, the more one account will stand out—regardless of whether he’s using another name to conceal the payments.”
“True,” Christian said. “And then there’s the slavers themselves.” He grinned, but it wasn’t a humorous gesture. “I’ll ask around my underworld contacts and see what they’ve heard, but white slavers by their nature tend to be criminal nomads without strong connections to the local scene. I’ll check nevertheless—no telling where we might have some luck.”
“And then there’s the docks.” Gervase nodded to Tristan. “Between you and me, we should have that covered. And Jack Hendon’s in town, too. Whoever our villains are, there have to be ships involved, and of that someone’s bound to know.”
“On top of that,” Dalziel put in, “I’ll officially alert the water police. My understanding is that white slavers generally gather their goods on shore, then call a ship in—too suspicious to have a ship with no specified cargo simply standing out from shore. The dock and port authorities have been much more vigilant in recent years.”
Dalziel glanced around; all the others were nodding, thinking, but there were no further suggestions. He met Phoebe’s eyes. “It’s enough to start with,” he said, “but I would also suggest that keeping a covert watch on the Athena Agency premises would be wise, at least until we know who our tonnish villain is. We have no idea what insights he might be privy to, so making sure the slavers don’t call around to put the agency permanently out of business seems a sensible precaution.”
The other four readily agreed. Dalziel smiled faintly at Phoebe; she smiled, rather tightly, back. The unnerving man no doubt thought he’d done her a favor—and quite possibly he had. But all she could think of as the meeting broke up was how she was to explain to Emmeline and the still frightened Molly, let alone the other women who dropped by at the agency, that there would be an assortment of large, dangerous, powerful—but safe—gentlemen hovering, flitting back and forth, keeping a protective watch on them all.