Page 43 of The Chef and the Countess

Chapter 14

Liam loathed returning to the Earl of Darrington’s house, so he decided to collect information on the earl and his slimy son before he did. One acquaintance that Liam, unfortunately, came to know before he took over ownership of the restaurant was Lucian Sharpe. Lucian was a rookery outlaw who’d often gone to The Crowing Cock for a meal and a visit to the brothel upstairs. He was about eight years older than Liam and had lived and survived on the streets since he was nine. He had bragged to Liam once that he had many contacts with aristocrats dabbling in illegal schemes to keep their legacies and titles afloat. Liam wanted to discover if Darrington was one of the toffs in that clandestine underworld league. The earl had a corrupt look in his eye and acted too smug by half. Would Sharpe have started the fire at Darrington or even Shinwell’s say so? It was entirely possible if he’d been paid enough. Or maybe the miserable aristos had hired someone else, someone Sharpe might know of. One thing he knew for certain. If Darrington or his son were behind the fire, Sharpe would know about it.

Tracking down Sharpe was a nerve-wracking task, as the man was constantly on the move. Clearances were underway in several slums where the disadvantaged gathered, including Sharpe’s usual haunts in Devil’s Acre around St. Ann’s Lane. The late author Charles Dickens had described this area as ‘The most deplorable manifestation of human wretchedness and depravity,’ and it was rumored to have inspired Oliver Twist and its infamous characters. The task of finding Sharpe seemed increasingly daunting.

Since the construction of Victoria Street in 1851, which cut through the heart of Devil’s Acre, the evicted population has crowded into even less available property and housing. The continued but slow clearances significantly diminished Sharpe’s criminal kingdom and influence, transforming the once thriving area into a shadow of its former self.

Liam rode in the hansom cab with Bruce, marveling at the stark contrast between the notorious area of Devil’s Acre and the grandeur of Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. As they turned onto Pye Street, the stench hit him like a slap in the face. This expanse was rampant with marshlands, and he could smell the fetid dampness mixed with odors from the gasworks. Dirty, barefoot children dressed in rags stood on the street corners, staring at him with suspicious eyes. He swallowed hard. Liam had once been one of those children.

Construction was everywhere. Old tenements were being torn down, and new buildings were being erected. It seemed to Liam that Sharpe was king over a pile of rubble. But there were still enough grimy dark alleys, courtyards, and side streets for him to lord over. But for how long? Liam guessed Sharpe had a couple of years—if that. The cab turned onto Duck Lane, and when Finnian’s Chop House came into view, Liam pounded on the roof.

“Bruce, stay with the cab. I won’t be long.” Liam exited and closed the folding doors. Then he stuck his hand in his pocket, keeping it firm on his money folder—not that he carried that much.

He stepped across the threshold into another era, just as he had described to Celia, down to the wooden tables and benches and sawdust on the floor. The lighting comprised of oil lamps, tallow candles, and two gas sconces on the wall. A fire crackled in the ancient hearth in the corner. The dubious odor of frying onions and old meat filled his nostrils.

Scanning the cramped pub, Liam located Lucian Sharpe sitting in the darkened corner near the fire. Sharpe could see the entire tavern from his vantage point, including those who walked through the doors. Sharpe looked like a feral alley cat, ready to pounce on his prey.

A man as wide and solid as an oak tree stepped before him. “And who are you, then?”

“Liam Hallahan. Sharpe knows me.”

The man turned and looked at Sharpe, who gave a quick nod. As Liam stepped forward, the bullyboy laid his hand on Liam’s chest, effectively stopping him. “I’ve got to search you, yeah?”

“Then have at it,” Liam growled. Still holding his wallet, he raised his arms partway to allow the man to do a pat down. This was an intriguing new layer of security. With the search completed, Liam walked over to stand before Sharpe’s table.

“Hallahan. I never expected to see you again since you banished me from your place of business. And you didn’t bring me any stew? I’m insulted.” Sharpe smiled with a cruel twist to his lips. Lucian Sharpe might be a product of the streets, but he didn’t look it. Besides the clean, straight teeth, he wore an expensive suit, though it was garish, with a bold black and tan plaid pattern. His left knuckle had a fresh tattoo, but Liam couldn’t distinguish what it was from this distance.

“I’ll send a pot tomorrow. It wasn’t ready before I left.”

“How’s Junie?”

Lucian Sharpe had come around The Crowing Cock to see June on numerous occasions, and she’d confided to Liam that Sharpe had tried to convince her to come to live with him.

“June married and left England some months ago.”

The only reaction was a slight twitch of his mouth. “Sit there and speak your piece,” Sharpe said, pointing to a chair directly in front of him.

Liam took his seat. “There’s lots of activity outside. Where will you go once the last remaining streets are cleared?”

“What’s it to you? I’ll find a place. There’s always business to be done.”

“True enough. Speaking of business, I came to ask if you do any commerce with the Earl of Darrington or Viscount Shinwell.”

Sharpe snorted. “Billy Buck? Aye, plenty of business. Why?”

Billy Buck. Interesting. “His son owes me a gaming debt. I want to know what I’m up against before I stick my nose in to collect.”

“Billy Buck is rich enough to pay. Don’t let him give you any excuses. He’s paid Shinwell’s debts for years, some in the thousands of pounds. If old Billy hadn’t been born on the right side of the blanket, I swear he’d be one of the most notorious gangsters in London town. Does he keep his word? Mostly, especially if he can profit from it. His son, on the other hand, is a sniveling toad.”

Liam nodded. He knew that for a fact. “I had a fire at my place, in the storage shed.”

“And? You think Billy Buck is behind it?”

“Or his son. I wondered if you’d heard anything, or know of anyone who’ll start fires for a price.”

Sharpe shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Billy Buck or his spawn. But I’ve heard nothing.”

Sharpe probably knew a number of arsonists, but he wasn’t about to tell Liam. Criminal types tended to cover for each other.