Wearing a high-collared, trim fitting navy coat over a dark shirt and drab skirts, Adelaide made her way through the building. It remained full to the brim with the gang's stolen goods-booze and jewels, silks and sterling, and a collection of firearms that should have blown them all up by now, considering the group's notorious lack of sense. It had been five years since Adelaide had seen the inside of the warehouse-five years since she'd left Lambeth and begun a new life across the river-but she remembered the place as though no time had passed at all. The crew had been renamed in the wake of their violent merger on her failed wedding day with a portmanteau devised by her father-a man who knew well how an inexpensive gift could bring bad men to a cause. Her invisibility was on full display on that particular October afternoon in 1839 when, as the autumn sun crept low across the sky, she entered the warehouse that acted as the official headquarters of London's largest gang of muscle for hire, Alfred Trumbull's Bully Boys. And because of that, Adelaide remained a mystery in both places, which suited her quite well, as unnoticeable and unimaginable endowed her equally with the only quality she cared to have-invisibility.Īnd so, here is the truth. But like all gossip from north of the river, and all stories from south of it, the truth was a little of both and a lot of neither.

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