Page 68
Nathaniel nodded. “Right. That is exactly what we’re after.”
“The duke is my brother,” Calliope added. “And we now know he’s not dead.”
“Duke Ironfist is not dead?” demanded Harvey.
“No. And we’re trying to find where he is. Do you remember a man being undressed by someone?”
Harvey nodded. “As it ’appens, I do. Legged it outta the buildin’, tryin’ to stop some of the blokes bein’ dragged towards the ship. In the alley between Portside and that old warehouse, I saw some lads yankin’ someone’s shirt off. I reckoned it was just some of the ruffians usin’ the ruckus to rob someone. I couldn’t ’elp as I was too busy scrapping with them press-gang lot. Why do you ask?”
Calliope’s heart drummed so fast she thought she would swoon. For the first time in days, she had heard something concrete that might help her find out more. She could feel it. “Because the body we believed was Spencer was dressed in his clothes.”
“Ah. I am chuffed to hear Duke Ironfist may not be dead. But I didn’t see who it was that they were strippin’. It was chaos. One moment, it was like this—two men boxin’, a crowd watchin’ them, drinkin’, enjoyin’ the match. The next, an army of men dressed like Noble Knuckles here barged through the doors, yelling, ’ittin’ men, draggin’ them outside. No one was safe. People legged it. The whores tried to leg it. The place was ’eavin’ with bodies movin’ everywhere.”
Calliope looked at Nathaniel, who shot a worried glance at her.
“Navy men beat everyone, dragged ‘em outside by their shirts. Those who put up a fight? Knocked ’em out cold. I’d bet my last penny some of those wealthier folk who like to come ‘here and bet got their pockets picked in all the kerfuffle.”
Calliope could feel it—the information was right at the tips of her fingers. She clutched the edge of the bar to stop them from shaking. Nathaniel’s body next to her was as rigid as a tree.
“Did you, by any chance, recognize the men who undressed him?”
Harvey’s hand, which was rubbing the surface of the bar, went still. “Um…”
“We wouldn’t prosecute,” Calliope hurried to add. “We’re just looking for my brother to try to save him.”
Harvey’s eyes lingered on her like two dark cherries. “As it ’appens, I remember.”
Calliope couldn’t breathe. “Who was it?”
He sighed deeply. “I didn’t know ’e done that to Ironfist, or I wouldn’t ’ave let the bloke back here. I knew ’e was a ruffian, but all kinds of folk come here.”
“That’s all right. Just please tell me who the man is.”
“He comes here every Wednesday to watch the women boxing.” He chuckled. “We got our regulars, don’t we?”
For the first time in months, a lightness filled her stomach. They had never been this close to finding Spencer. She felt Nathaniel’s hand move to her lower back, warm and reassuring.
“Today is Thursday, so it’s another week,” she whispered. She looked again at the owner. “Thank you, thank you! Do you happen to know his name?”
“No.”
“What does he look like?”
Harvey shrugged. “Tall, slouchy. A black eye patch.”
“How old is he, would you say?” Calliope asked.
“About forty.”
“Any accent? Distinguishing features? Anything that stood out to you?”
Harvey narrowed his eyes. “Yes. He did yell somethin’ about his brother being from the rookeries of Whitechapel once. Reckon ’e was givin’ someone a warnin’.”
“Whitechapel…” Calliope murmured.
She could ask Thorne Blackmore for help. He was Jane’s brother and Richard’s brother-in-law. That made him family. She’d try to find the man that way first, and if she didn’t manage, she’d have to return here next week.
Harvey leaned against the bar with both arms. “If you dare to tell ’im it was me who told you, you won’t be steppin’ foot in ’ere again. And no one else will talk to you. I don’t think whoever it is would take kindly to it.”
