CHAPTER 6
Michael scanned the Black Cat Tavern from the corner table. This place was a refuge for him, a place to assemble and dissect their missions without prying eyes.
He emptied another glass of whiskey then slammed it on the tatty pot-hole table that smelled of old dirty rags and ale. A twinge of guilt sat heavy in his gut. He wondered if he should have taken such a drastic measure by putting a knife about her neck to prove his point to her. Of course, he’d never hurt her, but he needed to know the extent of her skills.
Clearly she wasn’t ready.
A deep sense of caution gripped him, more than he’d like to admit.
Kane Roberts, a Bow Street Runner, poured him another drink from the bottle on the table. “What do you intend to do about Miss Willoughby?” he asked.
“I’m told she’s the key to this mission. I have no choice but to protect her.” He leaned back in his wooden chair, the shouts and laughter drumming in his ears. He gazed at the amber liquid in his glass, Geoffrey’s words still haunting him: Didn’t mean for this….
What did he mean by that? It didn’t feel right to him to be traveling all the way to Tibet with the killer on the loose here at home. “I can’t shake off this feeling that something’s looming underfoot.”
“Do you suspect she is part of it?” Roberts asked, leaning back in his chair.
“I don’t know. The fact that Tomkin won’t disclose any information we’ll need once we get there has me concerned.” Michael didn’t feel he was in control of this mission, as if he were a mere puppet.
“I am certain he has good reasons, besides he’s never let you down before,” Roberts said.
“No, he hasn’t,” Michael confirmed. “Keep an eye on things for me?”
“I give you my word.” Roberts tapped on Michael’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion.
Just then an attractive barmaid sauntered toward them. Her ample bosoms, barely confined by flimsy fabric, captured the attention of half the drunken men nearby.
“Wot’s yer pleasure?” Something about the tone of her voice conveyed an innocence that had yet to be shattered by the business she was in.
“Hot ale and brandy for my friend here.” Roberts handed her several shiny coins and the barmaid’s mouth fell open.
“Fer that I can get ye several rounds.”
“Keep it,” Roberts said.
“Thank ye.” Her head bobbed up and down as she stared at the coins in her palm, then quickly walked away.
Michael saw the Earl of Blackthorn crossed the room, almost colliding with the giddy barmaid. “Pardon,” he said to her and allowed her to pass. Upon arriving at the table, he glanced around the tavern. “Colorful place.” The neighboring table shook as the men shouted at each other in their drunkenness and pounded fists against the surface, ale and gin spilling over the rims of mugs and glasses.
“I thought you were told to disappear?” Michael said.
“Indeed.” Blackthorn sat down. “But he never said where we shall disappear to, now did he? And London, gentlemen, is quite the city to lose oneself in, if one wishes it.” He winked at another barmaid passing by. “Besides, it was Roberts who summoned me here.”
“You two are the only agents with families nearby. Tomkin has informed the Magistrate to assign a Runner to each family.” Roberts watched Blackthorn get comfortably settled. “I’ve been personally appointed to the task of safeguarding your family, Michael. Tomkin has arranged it so that I will be posing as a new footman.”
“Tomkin seemed to have accomplished a lot in a very short time, hasn’t he?” At least, Michael felt relieved knowing Roberts would look after his family while he was away.
“Since we’re on the subject, have you made plans to see your family before you depart?” Roberts said, taking another drink. “It’s been years since you last saw them and I surmise a trip to Tibet may take months, not to mention be extremely dangerous.”
Roberts was right, and there was an ember of truth in that he may not return at all. The last time he was there he nearly got his head chopped off by the Chinese military. Still, it was best he’d stay away. It only brought his family grief to have him home. No doubt William, the Earl of Chatham and his twin, would agree on that regard without reservation. “They believe I’m with the East India Company and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“They don’t need to know what you do.” Roberts said. “Tell them you wanted it to be a surprise, or whatever you wish. The point is, you’ve been away for nearly a decade and I’m certain they want to see you sooner than later.”
Strange. Why the sudden interest in his family? “Is there something you aren’t telling me? You’ve never been one to concern yourself in my family affairs.”
Roberts leaned in and looked squarely at Michael. “I had hoped to convince you without revealing the news, but I see that I have no other choice.”
“What news?” Michael asked and stopped his glass midway.
“Kyra is engaged.”
“To be married?” Michael noted.
“Yes, your sister will be a married woman soon,” Blackthorn commented.
Michael shook his head. “She can’t be but—”
“She is nearly twenty.” Roberts leaned forward with furrowed brows and grimaced. “The wedding is tomorrow.”
Blackthorn chuckled. “It seems like yesterday when I saw her tromping about in the front lawn in breeches and waving her sword about. And now she’s getting married.”
Michael thought fondly of his sister. True, he hadn’t been back to Chatham Hall in nearly a decade, but he’d made an attempt and saw Kyra and his mother on several occasions while they were in London. Kyra had been quite persistent and defiant as a child. She cried bloody murder when their mother finally tossed out her favorite breeches, claiming she’d ruin the family with scandal. It was then Kyra locked herself in her room for nearly two days and vowed never to speak to their mother again.
He pitied the poor man who wanted to take on his sister’s temper.
He missed her dearly.
Still, why hadn’t Kyra mentioned the engagement to him? True, he’d been away, but he figured she’d write to him to inform him of the news, at least.
Blackthorn took a gulp of Roberts’ ale and coughed. “What in God’s name is this?”
“Our country’s finest.” Roberts grinned and poured him another.
Shouts of laughter snapped Michael back to reality. John, the owner of the tavern, walked up with a jug of ale and placed it on the table. “On the house.”
Just then a couple of young men entered the tavern. One man seemed more than half-drunk and the other man held his mate up, dragging him towards the bar. As soon as the sober one set his friend against the bar, his mate’s went face down on the bar. An attractive young barmaid passed by and the newly arrived customer grabbed her by the waist and yanked her close, attempting to fondle the woman.
She yelped.
John turned to look at her. “Pardon me, lords. I see trouble brewing.” He stomped away. “Ye there,” he shouted to them. “Get yer filthy hands off her.” John picked up his ax from the corner of the bar and walked up to the men.
“Like I said…a colorful place, indeed,” Blackthorn noted.
The young man who had just entered with his drunken friend looked in Michael’s direction and winked. Michael acknowledged him with a quick nod. What Roberts and Blackthorn didn’t know was that the two fellows who just entered the tavern were his “watch dogs” so to speak: Brandon and Row. They were his eyes and ears and they gathered vital information for him when he needed assistance. He’d meet up with them later to give instructions to them.
Soon the men finished their drinks and dispersed. The team was trained to disappear when necessary. And there was always the question whether or not he would ever see them again. Michael stepped out of the tavern and into the rain. He pulled his coat collar up and quickened his step toward the hired coach. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night, but it’d be worth it to see his sister one last time on her wedding day. After much thought, Roberts was right.
It was time to face his demons.
* * *
Tomkin looked out of the window from his study, the rain cascading down the window of his townhouse in Grosvenor Square. His entire adult life had been carefully crafted, each move manipulated to precision in order to make certain of the desired outcome, to make his enemies pay for what they’d done. This wasn’t simply about revenge. Oh, no, it was more than that. It was about taking back what was rightfully his and controlling his destiny.
A crack of lightning illuminated on the window the deep creases on his aging face and he frowned. He nearly didn’t recognize his own image. The secret door in the far corner of the room opened wide and Chester Shaw stepped out wearing a gray overcoat and top hat.
“You’re late,” Tomkin said, not bothering to look at him.
“I had to take an alternate route, thanks to you.” Shaw took off his hat and tapped the rain off, then placed it back on his head again.
“It was you who assured me that Geoffrey would be taken care of.” Tomkin turned and faced his partner. “What went wrong?”
Shaw said, “I only promised Geoffrey would be paid handsomely for his silence, not get killed in the process.” He flicked a flint off his thick overcoat and continued. “What do you intend to do about it now that Michael is bent on revenge? You know how relentless he can be.”
Tomkin soon realized Geoffrey was weak, a liability, and would have crumbled under pressure. Shaw didn’t need to know that it was he who ordered the kill. It was most unfortunate Michael had to witness the murder, a setback, but nothing that couldn’t be remedied.
Shaw had no patience, Tomkin thought after partnering with him all these months. He’d have already tossed him in the Thames if it wasn’t for his financial backing. “The plan is already in motion and Michael will be taken care of.”
“I wasn’t aware of another plan. Why wasn’t I told of this sooner?” Shaw blurted out.
“Calm yourself, man,” Tomkin hissed. “Emma is in the house and I don’t want our conversation overheard.” Glaring at his partner, he continued. “I’ve sent them on a fool’s errand to Tibet.”
“What? Tibet?” Shaw asked. “Hmm…and Michael bought it?”
“Why wouldn’t he? I’m his superior and he had no reason to doubt me. Besides, I don’t need him in London investigating Geoffrey’s death and asking more questions. I needed a reason to send him away, he has extensive knowledge of the territory, and has many connections there. Emma will keep an eye on him and make certain he does what he needs to.”
“Risky, I’d say.”
“Only thing that matters now is eliminating the spikes that hinder our path, so rest assured we won’t encounter anymore delays after Michael is out of the equation.”
“Good, but I want this done quietly and efficiently, you hear. We don’t need any more eyes on this,” Shaw said. “Michael and Wellington are chums, have been for years, even fought in that damned useless war together. If anything happens to Michael and they discover our plan, there will be hell to pay. And I will not hang for this.”
Coward. War was an essential element in survival. Shaw had no sense of the usefulness of war or loyalty to his heritage, for that matter. His partner was only in it for the power and the fame it promised him. “Don’t lecture me. Michael will be taken care of. That is a certainty.”
“Good.” Shaw paced the room. “And what about Emma?” he said, waving his hand in the air. “What have you told her?”
“She needn’t know the truth, not yet. For now, she will make certain Michael does not deviate from my plans.”
Shaw stopped dead and shook his head. “You put too much trust in that girl. When she discovers the truth, I highly doubt she will agree to assist us. You should have finished her when you had the chance.”
He recalled the day she showed up at his door after discovering her parents’ mangled and butchered bodies in their bedroom, crying and screaming and asking for his help. Paternal instinct had kicked in; after all, he’d known her since she was born. He stepped toward Shaw and glared at him. “She will not betray me. We will prevail.”
“You’d better be right.” Shaw moved toward the secret door to click it open. “As an extra caution, I’d suggest you keep a close eye on Emma, if I were you.”
Tomkin huffed, still glaring at him. “Just make certain you pay up as we have agreed. And keep your bloody mouth shut.”