“That does not sound like Whitton,” interjected Morray. “He is more liable to react to events. And, despite the nasty attack on you, his reputation is one of duplicity, not maliciousness.”
“I agree, although that only makes this entire episode more troubling,” Colin conceded.
“Let us find Whitton first. He issued what appears to be a warning. He knows something that we need to know,” Bergen suggested.
Fifteen minutes later, the three men arrived at a three-story residence on Cleveland Avenue. The tall, shabby pink building at the corner stood in stark contrast to the mostly white ones that dominated the street.
“I assume that makes it easy to spot,” teased Bergen.
“The pink building enjoys a reputation based on the lack-luster women who live there—not that I have ever frequented this building,” Morray added, “However, it has often made my business easier, as I have found many targets of my investigations here.” He sniggered.
They took the stairs to the third floor. Four shabby red doors faced the hall, with only a number to distinguish them. They knocked on 3B and a small opening in the top slid open.
“What can I do for you fancy gentlemen?” a woman’s voice asked.
Colin recognized the raspy voice as belonging to the woman from the hell. They had the right place. “We would like to talk to you. I will make it worth your while.” He held up a gold coin. “Not for your services—for information,” he clarified, to Bergen’s amusement. The door opened and a woman with reddish hair and a red velvet wrapper stood in front of him, not saying a word. She waved them in and closed the door behind them. Her hair looked like an enormous bird’s nest, being uncombed and unrestrained. Lip color remained on her mouth and black kohl lined the underside of her eyes. It was obvious they had awoken her.
A bed stood in the corner; it sagged in the middle and was covered with what appeared to be dirty laundry. It was obvious she had slept on top of the linens. The rest of the sparsely furnished room looked dusted and well-ordered—a cabinet, a small table, a chair with a side-table and a lamp. An almost threadbare carpet covered the floor. It was hard to make out anything but blue and pink for the colors. Except for the bed, it appeared she cared about a neat home.
“What do you toffs need?” she asked sharply.
“We know Lord Whitton stays here and we need to speak to him,” Morray stated. “I am Lord Morray, this is Lord Bergen and Lord Shefford. We are not here to cause you distress.”
At the mention of Bergen and Shefford, her face went pale. “I don’t need no trouble. This ’ere’s my ’ome.”
“We only want information.” Colin quickly explained the note, withdrawing the slip of paper and showing it to the jade.
“He did it!” she uttered. “He cares. I knew it.”
Unsure of what she meant, Colin noticed her speech was more refined than before.
“We merely need to speak with him. Wait. What did you mean, he cares?”
“There was a boy, ’bout eight, what I saved from the chimneys and took to an orphanage. A man overheard me telling a close friend about the boy. He used to work for the cove, see…”
“Doing chimneys?” Colin inquired.
“Tom Sneed is his man and a right villain. A regular brute. Whitton come over furious with me for telling ’im, although like I said, I did not mean to. It just happened. Sneed is awful dangerous, and I be worried about Benjamin.”
“You care about the boy.” It was more of a statement.
“I do, but I don’t have the wherewithal to help him. He already coughs. I wanted to save him—not have him have to make a living like me, doing something he hates…” Her voice faded.
“I know of Sneed,” Morray said.
“Thank you.” Colin passed the woman two gold sovereigns.
They left and met Whitton coming up the stairs. Colin smashed him against the wall, holding him by the throat.
“Why were you at the orphanage today?” he demanded.
The man’s face swelled red from lack of oxygen and he stammered incoherently.
“Cannot breathe,” he choked.
Colin relaxed his hold and let him slide down the wall. Crumpled on the floor, Whitton looked up at the men.
“What are you doing here?”
“Do not make me regret not beating you to a pulp. Tell me what you know,” Colin demanded.
“I went there to warn my niece. Sneed is looking to make off with some of her children. My visit was to protect her. My mother will be furious if anything happens to her.”
Colin angrily cut him off. “You worthless shit. You should have had the ballocks to warn her of this rogue. Instead, you nearly killed my man and threw a stone through the window—frightening the women and children.”
No one said a word for a long moment.
Whitton appeared to process the information. “I did not hurt anyone. I only threw the stone. Sneed did it. He was there. I tried to find him—to tell him to leave off or…”
“Or what?” Colin sneered. “You will throw a stone at him?” He grabbed Whitton by the scruff of the neck. He wanted to hurt him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and reluctantly dropped the miserable excuse for a man. Breathing heavily, he stepped back.
“We need to return to the orphanage,” Whitton croaked. “Without your guard, they are in trouble. Sneed is ruthless. I love my sister and even though Honoria is difficult, I do not want to see her hurt.”
“We need to stop him before he makes his move. You can help us with his address.” Bergen spoke up.
“This is all my mother’s fault. If she had not placed me in the position of having to beg for a farthing, I would not be in this situation…”
“Silence! What is
