Well Kept Secrets (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 4) Read online

  The Adventures of

  Xavier & Vic

  –

  Book 4

  Well Kept Secrets

  By

  Liza O’Connor

  ∞

  Cases to be solved:

  A Trust Misplaced

  Death is a Poor Thank You

  To Bedlam Did She Part

  A Truth Hidden with Love

  The Bump That Dare Not Be Ignored

  ∞

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is allowed to be downloaded electronically per Amazon Guidelines. Sharing of the electronic file beyond that parameter is not allowed.

  If you have bought this anywhere other than Amazon, you have purchased a pirated copy. Please don’t support pirates. They often carry viruses. Instead support authors. We are much nicer.

  All characters in this book come from the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, titles or professions. While some of my characters are inspired by known historical individuals, any resemblance to the actual person is purely coincidental since I have created their personality and actions to suit the story.

  Table of Content

  Well Kept Secrets

  All rights reserved.

  A Note on Punctuation:

  Historical Facts

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  OTHER BOOKS BY LIZA O’CONNOR

  HISTORICAL

  The Adventures of Xavier & Vic

  Untamed & Unabashed

  CONTEMPORARY

  A Long Road to Love Series

  White Oak Mafia Series

  Requires Rescue Series

  Ghost Lover

  SCIENCE FICTION

  The Multiverse Series

  Artificial Intelligence Series

  A Note on Punctuation:

  I go by the English Logical Punctuation rules when it comes to commas and periods used within dialog. This means if a character says, “Then he declared me a ‘pragmatist’.” I will punctuate it logically as the English do.

  In U.S. rules, it would be: “Then he declared me a ‘pragmatist.’” However, that is illogical. The single quote only discusses the pragmatist. Thus, the dialog single tags should surround the word, before the punctuation for the sentence.

  How did we come to be illogical? Long ago, we —yes, I’m from the U.S— had shoddy printing presses. Thus, fragile, half-block punctuation was always protected by the tall dialog marks when possible, regardless of logic. Since the shoddy presses no longer exist, we need to return to logical punctuation, and I am more than willing to be a forerunner in this matter, because quite frankly, it makes us appear silly and illogical.

  Historical Facts

  (and theories):

  The 1870 and 1882 Property Rights for women allowed women to retain ownership and control of the wealth they brought to the marriage.

  Some husbands were unhappy with the change and began imprisoning their wives in locked rooms, allegedly to ensure their conjugal rights. To assume those gentlemen who had engaged in this activity also took control of their wives’ property while the women were indisposed is almost a certainty. By 1891, this abuse of conjugal laws had occurred often enough to push the Court of Appeals to declare it illegal to imprison a wife to ensure conjugal rights.

  Which meant the gentlemen determined to retain control of their wives property had to come up with another plan.

  While there is no evidence that parliament members or other upper class gentlemen of the era actually sent their wives to Bedlam or private asylums to die incognito in order to take control of their lands and property, it is a viable scenario and certainly could have happened.

  Blurb

  The great Victorian sleuth Xavier Thorn and his partner Vic Hamilton take a case close to home. Their youngest staff member, L’il Pete, discovers his mother murdered in the alley. Jacko is called up from the country to assist in solving the crime. The good woman’s murder proves to be tangled up with a much larger and shocking list of crimes perpetrated by a powerful man who may truly be above the law. Making matters more complex: Vic discovers her recent weight gain may be the result of a condition that could destroy her life and everything she loves.

  Chapter 1

  London England, September 1894

  The caterwaul of two women fighting on the street below jarred Li’l Pete awake. He rubbed his eyes, angry with himself for falling asleep. Surely, his mum should be home by now, but the icy cold of the room told him she wasn’t. Pulling the blanket tighter against his small body, he shivered in the darkness, not just from the frigid temperatures, but also from what her absence meant.

  Maybe she’s still at work.

  Her hours had been getting longer and longer, even though she wasn’t paid a pence more. He furrowed his brow at the unfairness. When he worked past his normal hours, Mr. Thorn paid him extra on the spot. But the sorry sod his mum worked for gave her nothing more for working hours past the half-day he’d hired her to do. Most weeks Pete brought home more than she did and that wasn’t right. He was only nine-years-old.

  He tugged the thick blanket about him. Victor Hamilton, one of his bosses, had given him the thick padded quilt just two weeks ago when the temperature dropped dreadfully cold. Vic said it was the warmest blanket they made. Pete didn’t know if that were true or not, but it was the warmest blanket he or his mum ever had. And without it, they would have frozen for sure this last week. According to the criers, the cold broke -15 degrees.

  Still, he shivered beneath the blanket, more from fear than cold and prayed to God to give him his mum back. “You didn’t give me a pa. I’ve forgiven you for that, but you can’t take me mum. She’s all I got.” Tears rolled down his face. He didn’t know why he bothered talking to God. The bloke never listened to him; otherwise, they wouldn’t be living in the lower docks.

  As dim light crept through the window, Pete’s stomach turned to lead. Something had happened to his mum. She was never this late.

  Maybe she was hurt and needed his help.

  With chattering teeth, he abandoned the warmth of the blanket and shoved his tiny feet into the boots Vic had bought him so he could do his job as their message boy without his feet falling off.

  To the best of his memory, he couldn’t recall anyone whose feet had actually frozen and broke off, but he knew of seven boys who plum froze to death in the cold.

  At least he didn’t have to waste time getting dressed. He’d never taken off his clothes or coat last night…much too cold for that, given their apartment wasn’t a bit warmer than outside, only less windy.

  His parched throat drove him to the table, hoping some water remained in the pitcher. He spied an inch in the bottom, frozen solid. Without a fire, he had no way to warm it up. And he had nothin’ to start a fire with.

  He put a torn, sad coat over his good one, so nobody would realize he had something worth taking. Then he tied rags around his fine leather boots to
hide them too. Otherwise, he’d be stripped bare and left to die in the cold before he got two blocks from home.

  The people who lived in this part of London would take advantage of anyone smaller, and unfortunately, Pete was not only nine, but a really small nine at that. Most seven-year-olds could take him in a fair fight, not that anyone hereabouts fought fair.

  Thus, Pete had to use his brain to keep what was his. So far, it’d worked. Nobody had any idea what a great job he’d landed at Thorn’s Private Inquiries. Both he and his mum had the good sense to keep his good fortune a secret.

  At the thought of his mum, his heart sunk. Something was terrible wrong. He could feel it.

  With no further concern to his parched throat or empty belly, he left their room and began the cautious climb down four flights of stairs.

  Some of their neighbors were dangerous men who would kill just for the fun of it. Worried that one of them had gotten his mum, he eyed the floors and walls for any sign of fresh blood. He passed several stains on the scarred and splintery grey wood, but those had all occurred before last night.

  Once outside, hugging the wall in the shadows, he studied the street for dangers. He recognized a boy of fourteen huddled on a stoop two blocks down. He’d need to avoid Teddy. The yob had lifted a knife off a dead man a few weeks ago, so he was doubly dangerous.

  Li’l Pete slipped into the alley between the two tenement buildings. Hopefully, the next street would be clear of trouble. He picked his way through the narrow, three-foot-wide space between the brick buildings. Garbage filled the alley, stuff so broken that not even the poor could make use of it.

  While watching his footing, Pete kept an eye on the windows above for pots being emptied. Otherwise, he’d be covered in crap. He hated that more than anything. That was the worst!

  His gaze fell upon the sleeve of a coat lying beneath an old worn out mattress and he came to halt. Being covered in shit wasn’t even close to the worst thing possible.

  There was nothing special about the brown coat, except it looked exactly like his mum’s, even to the patch on the right elbow. His focus followed the sleeve down to the cuff, which had the same frayed edges he saw daily when his mother caressed his face. His eyes then focused on the pale, white hand at the end of the sleeve.

  “Mum!”

  He rushed forward, tripping over a rusted metal rack, falling face down in heaps of trash. Frantic to reach her, he crawled through the filth, ignoring the hissing feral cat determined to protect its space. Tears of frustration and fear blurred his vision and spilled down his cheeks.

  Finally, he reached her hand and took it in his. Icy coldness sent a chill to his heart. He released it, shaking his head, fighting what this meant.

  His gaze left the icy hand and moved upward. The filthy, torn, inch-thick mattress stopped his vision. Grabbing a corner, he pulled with all his strength. When it still wouldn’t move, he planted his feet against a rusted-out stove and yanked for all his worth. After a firm resistance, the mattress gave way, sending him backward with the mattress now on top of him.

  He fought it off him and scrambled back to his mum. Beautiful red hair covered her sickly white face. It couldn’t be his mum. She had rosy cheeks.

  As much as Pete wanted to believe it wasn’t her, he knew it was.

  “Mum, wake up!” He touched her long pale neck. It was not just cold, but frozen stiff. A dark red gash stretched across her lower neck. A loud wail of pain burst from his body and filled the alley.

  She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t.

  “Mum, please wake up.”

  With gentle, hesitant fingers, he brushed her hair from her face and gasped.

  Her blue eyes were dull and lifeless; they weren’t happy eyes filled with love. Instead of her pretty heart shaped lips, always in a slight smile, there was a ghastly black hole.

  He scrambled back as he realized why.

  Somebody had cut out her tongue.

  He continued to stare at the body. It couldn’t be his mum. It couldn’t! The eyes weren’t right. The pretty red hair was messed up. Yes, it was her coat…and her shoes…

  This was not the first dead body he’d seen. He knew for a fact people looked different in death.

  He had to know for sure. As much as he wanted this not to be is mum, he had to know the truth. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of her coat and searched for the necklace she always wore.

  His heart sank as his fingers touched the familiar silver locket.

  This was his mum lying in the garbage. Someone had killed her. The best mum in the world and someone had slit her throat and cut out her tongue.

  Li’l Pete’s body trembled in helpless rage. Someone had killed everything good in his life, and nothing would happen to the murderer. People died all the time here and nobody ever got punished.

  “Not this time, Mum. I promise you, whoever did this will pay. I swear on my life. I’ll make ‘em pay!” With heaving sobs, he fell upon his mother’s chest; only it was nothing like the warm, soft, loving chest he had known for nine years.

  His mum was gone, completely gone. She wasn’t in this cold hard body. She was in heaven. It was all up to him now.

  With cold, numb fingers, he unclasped the locket from the chain and placed it in his pocket. It was all he had left of her.

  He stood up, knowing what he needed to do next, but not wanting to leave his mum like this. Grabbing her hand, he tried to pull her out of the pile of trash she lay in, but she wouldn’t budge.

  In the end all he could do was yank the mattress over her body. “I’m going to get help now. I’ll be back. I promise.”

  He ran down the alley onto the next street, his lungs bursting with pain, but his heart hurting so much more that he barely noticed.

  When trying to get through a group of women walking arm in arm, taking up the whole sidewalk, he got tangled in one of the ladies’ long skirts.

  “Ladies, check your purses!” a shrill voice cried.

  “Constable! Stop that boy. He’s a thief.” A lower, more mature voice boomed.

  No rozzer was going to get him, not when he had a murderer to find. Ignoring the danger, he attempted to dart across the street, but a man snared him by his ragged top coat preventing him from being crushed beneath the horse and carriage speeding by. “Slow down, you fool!”

  At first, he thought the man was yelling at him, but then noticed the fellow’s focus was on the carriage. Pete couldn’t spare the time to thank him. Not with a copper after him. The moment the man released him, Pete dashed into the traffic, barely missing another carriage before he reached the other side. He then flew down the sidewalk.

  The shrill whistle of a constable only increased his pace as he made yet another deadly dart into the cobblestone road. Normally, he’d duck in an alley and remove his torn over coat and the rags over his shoes, but not today. Today, he only had one thought in his brain: to revenge his mum’s death!

  He flew past the New Scotland Yard, and continued up the street for another two blocks. Making a hard turn at Thorn’s Private Inquiries, he leapt up the two steps and hit the door as his tiny hands wrenched the knob open. Tripping on the unraveling rags about his feet, he slammed onto the floor.

  A thundering of footsteps came down the stairs and he was pulled from the floor at once, while what seemed a thousand hands checked him for injuries.

  “Pete, what’s happened?” Vic demanded.

  He stared at Vic through blurry eyes and fought the need to burst into tears. He had to be strong. He had things to do. “Me mum’s dead. Somebody cut out her tongue and slit her throat.”

  “What?” Vic asked as he knelt beside him. The look of devastation on Vic’s face caused Pete’s pain to double. His anger raged within. He had only one purpose now: to find and kill his mum’s murderer.

  Pete focused beyond Vic to Mr. Thorn, staring down like an angry eagle with his large hooked nose and black eyes. The great man’s glare used to frighten Pete,
but he wasn’t frightened today. He was too hurt and angry: angry with God for letting this happen, but most of all, angry with the person who killed his mum. “Will you find out who did this, so I can slice them to bits and cut out their tongue?” His hands slashed wildly, showing the violence he wished to do.

  Xavier’s furrowed brow made the man look fiercer than ever. “Absolutely not!”

  Pete stopped his slashing motions and stared in silence, feeling betrayed beyond words. He never expected the police to give a damn about what happened to his mum, but he’d been certain Mr. Thorn would.

  How would he do this on this own? In desperation he looked to Vic.

  Chapter 2

  “Xavier!” Vic stared up at her partner, completely baffled by his refusal to help Li’l Pete. The boy was part of their family!

  Xavier loomed over her and Pete, his eyes intense and his jaw rigid, almost as if he were in pain. He gripped Vic’s shoulder as he focused in on Pete.

  “We will find out who did this and see them hung, but you’ll have no hand in it. Your mother would be most put out with you if you became a murderer in your own right.”

  Vic watched the small nine-year-old struggle with the fact that he would not be allowed the honor of killing his mother’s murderer. His breath was rapid and loud, his fist clenched and opened repeatedly. She understood his desire to take matters into his own hands. She’d felt the same when her aunt had been murdered.

  In fact, she had joined Xavier Thorn’s employment with the sole intent of finding and killing Madeline Hamilton’s murderer. Hopefully, matters would work out half as well for Pete as they had for her. She stroked the boy’s back, wishing to comfort his anguished soul. He normally had such a cute smile, but today his world had been destroyed and his face held only pain and grief.

  Vic had lost both her parents when she was seven, so she understood Li’l Pete’s emotions all too well.

  She pressed her hands upon his cheeks and turned the boy’s focus upon her. “We’ll find who did this and see they pay. You will have your revenge, Pete. I promise!”