“You could go tell the local constable,” Gabriel tossed over his shoulder. “But given what Lord Visel was up to, I doubt he would thank you for that.”
* * *
It was almost eight o’clock in the evening and Drusilla was half-mad with worry as she paced her study. She’d been waiting for hours for Gabriel to return or at least for a message from him. It was getting to the time when somebody should take the money and go meet Theo. What could he be doing? Why hadn’t he at least sent a message? Something must be terribly wrong—she felt it in her bones.
There was a soft tap on the door, and Parker entered. He looked as raw and tense as she felt.
“A message for Mr. Marlington, ma’am. But I thought you should have it.”
Drusilla recognized the handwriting immediately: it was from Eva.
“The messenger is from the Swan with Two Necks, madam. He said he was paid double and that it was urgent.”
“Is he waiting for an answer?”
“He said the young man instructed him not to wait for an answer.”
Young man? What young man. Oh Lord. What had Eva done now?
Drusilla realized her butler was still waiting. “Thank you, Parker,” she said, staring down at the message as the door shut. Drusilla chewed her lower lip. There was no name on the delivery, only the address—did that mean it was for either her or Gabriel? She thought about how oddly Eva had behaved the last time she’d seen her—and now this about a young man. She was up to something; Drusilla knew the signs. Who knew when Gabriel would get back? She tore open the seal.
Gabe:
She paused at the name—it was to him, not them . . . But then her eye caught her name on the next line.
You’re going to wonder how I know this, but I can’t tell you. I hope it didn’t happen, but if Drusilla is gone, she will be down by the East Docks in an empty corder’s warehouse between an inn called the Jolly Taxpayer and a pawn broker called Hurley’s. If she is not gone, watch her closely because a man named Rowland has decided to take her for ransom. This might never happen as I know at least half of his plan was foiled.
Don’t believe everything you hear about me, my favorite brother. I am fine and will be happy. Take care of my best friend and yourself.
Love,
Eva
Drusilla considered the last few sentences, which were even odder than Eva usually was. What did she mean, not to believe everything she heard?
She bit her lip so hard it stung. She simply did not have time to worry about Eva, too. At least not right now. Already it was eight o’clock and she had heard nothing from Gabriel. Should she go?
If she left now, she could make it in time to meet Rowland’s instructions.
She knew that Gabriel was furious—that he didn’t wish to spend her money nor want her to be the one to deliver it. But time had almost run out.
Drusilla groaned—she just wanted it over—all of this was her fault. Rowland wouldn’t have even known of Samir if not for her.
She would never have guessed he would do such a thing. But she probably should have. She recalled his angry accusations the last time she’d seen him—that she’d led him down a false path: all those private talks, sharing their hopes and dreams. Drusilla still didn’t believe his accusations—that she’d led him along—but she did realize it hadn’t been wise to spend so much time with him. And now he’d done this. If Gabriel got his hands on Rowland, he would kill him.
She pulled the bell. “Summon a hackney, Parker. I shall be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
* * *
“You promise me you will wait until I return, Gabriel?” Byer asked for the second time. “I know you’re eager to retrieve your son, but we have no evidence he’s there. If we spook the kidnappers now, we might—”
“I’m not a fool, Tommy. I’ll wait here and keep a lookout. You go notify the constables and have them ready and waiting—at a distance—when the time comes.”
“Of course.”
“And—” Here Gabriel heaved a heavy sigh. “Pick up the money from Drusilla and bring it in time for the meeting. Let her know—” He broke off. Let her know what?
Byer laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her we have things well in hand. Now, I know you can watch out for yourself, but this is one of the most dangerous spots in the city. I’d advise you not to leave the taproom until I return.”
“You watch yourself, also, Tommy.” They’d hired a hack but had dismissed it hours ago. Finding transportation in this area was not without dangers; finding reliable transportation was all but impossible.
“I will, Gabe. See you in a few hours.”
That was over four hours ago, and it was now eight o’clock.
They’d left Visel’s lodgings and spent the day searching the area around the pawn shop. Nobody had heard of Rowland or Visel—and they’d distributed enough bribe money to loosen tongues.
They’d decided, just after five, to follow Rowland’s plans with a few important exceptions.
So Gabriel sat, waiting. He’d ordered a pint of home brew and a meal. He’d stopped drinking the second pint when he noticed the fly smashed on the bottom of the glass—the inside. He’d not touched the meal.
The waitress, whom he tipped far too well, drifted by his table. “You ain’t touched yer food, sir.” She exposed a gap-toothed smile. “Not ’ungry? Or maybe not for food.” She put a foot up on the chair opposite him, her dirty green skirt slipping enough to show her battered half boots and a scabby shin. “Maybe it’s somefing else you want?”
Gabriel forced himself to smile. “The necessary—where is it?”
That made her hoot. “The necessary,” she repeated in a dialect he supposed was meant to be his own. “That be the back wall—out in the alley.” She flounced away, pausing at another table, where two sailors looked more interested in her wares.
Outside a dense fog had drifted up from the river and it was drizzling. He walked around the corner, not wishing to do his business out in front of the building. The alley was narrow and dark, and the stench . . . Lord, it was enough to make a man’s eyes water. It was littered with rubbish, and rats as big as cats were scurrying between the refuse piles, making no effort to hide from humans. He’d never spent any time down at the London docks even though many young men liked to frequent the area to drink too much and enjoy rough sport. He’d done enough of that kind of thing back in Oran, where the wharf had been a favorite spot for getting into trouble.
He was about to face the wall when something flickered at the end of the alley. It was the bar wench.
“Oi there, pretty. Ye left this on the chair.” She held something up but it was too dark to see.
“What is it?” he demanded, walking toward her. He got close enough to see, and she dropped her hand into her skirt. “What—”
He was alerted by a slight scraping noise behind him, but then his head exploded.
Chapter 26
Gabriel woke up tied to a chair with a pounding skull that felt as if it had been cracked like an egg. He was in a small, dimly lighted room, the only illumination coming from the gap beneath the door. As his vision sharpened, he saw piles of something—rope—covering most of the floor. It must be the rope-making business on the other side of the pawnbrokers. So, somebody from the inn must have alerted Rowland, who—
The light beneath the door flickered, and it swung open. Gabriel squinted against the lamplight, which was not bright but still made his head throb. The man in the doorway was not Rowland.
He grinned, an expression that did not communicate humor, but rather sadistic enjoyment. “ ’Ello, me lordship!”
“I told you, he isn’t a lord. He’s a bastard.” Rowland hove into view and frowned at Gabriel, his face twitching with worry, anger, hate, and a half-dozen other emotions. “And you shouldn’t have let him see your face. It will not be safe for you now. He may be a bastard, but his mother is a marchioness and his grandfather is a duke.”
>
“Safe? For me, or for ’im?” The big man gave an unpleasant laugh. “I don’t care if he’s the bloody King ’imself.” he said, the light behind him casting his face into darkness. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’m keepin’ my ’alf of the money and livin’ like a lord. Right ‘ere.”
“Half?” The word was a hoarse squawk. “But we agreed on—”
The second man spun around, and his arm shot out grabbing Rowland by the neck. “It ’curs to me I don’t need you any longer, neither. You wrote the letter and sennit, the mort should be ’ere any minnit.”
Gabriel could hear choking sounds as the big man reached down, snatched up a piece of twine, and began to truss Rowland’s hands together as efficiently as a butcher trussed a hen. There wasn’t a chair to tie him to, so when he’d finished tying his hands, he pushed the younger man onto a pile of coiled rope and grabbed his ankle. When Rowland kicked him, he swung his arm and Gabriel heard a muffled cry. Rowland’s legs were not moving as the man tied them tightly together.
“There,” he said, brushing his big paws against each other, as if to get rid of dirt. “Now the dosh is all mine.” He turned, and the light slanted across his face, his expression sending ice down Gabriel’s spine. “You’ll both wait in here till Big Paul comes back and I can fix things right and proper. Don’t think o’ yellin’. Nobody ’oo cares can hear ye, and I’ll do you like I did ’im.” He jerked his head in Rowland’s direction and reached for the door.
“Where is my son?”
“The nipper? Oh, ’e’s with my Dolly. She’s right fond o’ ’im already. ’Er own boy died lass winter and she’s too old to ’ave anovver. She’ll take good care of ’im.” He winked. “Don’t you worry none.” He slammed the door and Gabriel waited for his steps to recede.
“Rowland!” he whispered.
The man didn’t move. Gabriel’s feet were bound to the legs of the chair, but if he jerked his body, he found he could inch forward—which sent fierce pain hammering in his skull, but brought him close enough to Rowland that he could nudge him with his boot.
“Rowland! Wake up, you wretched piece of refuse.” He was just about to tip his chair over and land on top of the man when Rowland moaned. “Wake up, before your partner in crime returns and kills us both.”
“Marlington? Wh-why am I here?”
Gabriel ignored his question. “Get up and untie my hands.”
“I can’t move. My head—”
“Your big friend will be returning soon, and you will no longer have a headache or a head to worry about. The man is going to kill us after he gets the money.” An image of Drusilla showing up—disobeying him, of course—with a sack of money invaded his mind. He gritted his teeth against the horrifying thought. Surely Byer was only late? Surely he’d told her everything was fine. Surely she would not—he bit down on the paralyzing fear this line of thinking created and focused on what he could control.
“Get up, Rowland. Your crony is bringing a man named Big Paul. How many of these devils are working with you on this?”
“It—it was only supposed to be one—Jed—but he brought his friend into it and then he took the boy, keeping him with some woman—”
“Do you know where Samir is?”
“No. I never actually saw him—they had a sneak thief steal him.”
Gabriel briefly closed his eyes before continuing. “Get over here and untie my hands.”
“But how?”
“Dammit, roll, crawl, fly for all I care. Just do it—don’t you want to live?”
Rowland moved a little and groaned. Gabriel was ready to howl with frustrated rage, but then the man pushed again and slid off the coils, landing with a soft thump on the floor.
“Oh God,” he wailed.
“Keep your voice down, fool, and hurry.”
Gabriel stared at the narrow slit of light beneath the door, living a hundred years in the next few minutes while Rowland inched his way over like a worm. Their captor had tied Rowland’s hands in front of his body so he was able to roll onto his knees and reach the knots that held Gabriel’s hands tight.
His mind went to what he would do once he was free. He had no pistol, no sword, but if he could get his hand on even a stick or perhaps a—
The bonds that had been cutting off the blood to his hands loosened. He flexed his hands and felt a thousand sharp needles stabbing into his fingers.
Ignoring the pain, he worked at the ropes around each boot, each second lasting a year. By the time he freed the second knot, his hands had regained most of their mobility. He stood and stretched, working circulation into his feet and hands.
“What is outside this door?”
“It’s the warehouse where they store the rope-making supplies. Er, would you untie me?”
“I didn’t hear him locking anything,” Gabriel said, ignoring the question. “Is there a lock on this door?”
“No, he’s an arrogant bastard. He told me he could handle a toff with one hand tied behind his back.”
Gabriel’s lips curved into a smile. He hoped to use that arrogance to his benefit. “What about the warehouse—which side are the doors on?”
“You’ll see them straight ahead. A big rolling door with a smaller one cut in it. It’s the only way in. They won’t be waiting in the warehouse; they’re in the pawnbroker’s next door—they keep an eye on the street from there. They saw you come with Byer earlier and watched him leave. They knocked him on the head before he could find a hackney.”
Sudden and severe sickness almost crippled him. Good God—Byer. “Is he dead?” He had to force the words through clenched teeth.
“No, Paul said he looked like he might be worth something, so I think they have plans to ransom him.”
Thank God!
Gabriel put his friend from his mind and concentrated on the here and now. He was good with his fists—he’d trained at Jackson’s and with his stepfather—but he could hardly take on two men at once.
“Can you untie me now?”
Gabriel pressed his face against the rough wood and squinted through the crack. He couldn’t see much—although he did see something that might be a door straight ahead. He needed to get out of here before they came back. He reached for the latch.
“You can’t leave me here.” Rowland’s voice reminded Gabriel of a pig’s squeal.
“I’ll knock you on the head if you don’t shut your mouth,” Gabriel whispered furiously.
“I swear, Marlington. I swear on my life that I’ll help.”
Gabriel snorted and pushed down the latch. “That’s not worth much right now, is it?”
“I brought a pistol.”
His hand froze, and he half turned. “Where is it?”
“Not until you untie me. I swear on my honor as a gentleman.”
A pistol would make all the difference. If he could get his hands on it, that was.
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you out.”
“But—”
“That is all I will offer. Take it or stay here.”
There was a long pause and then: “There is a barrel near the entrance; it has bits of rope ends that are frayed or worn. The pistol is tucked in with the rope.”
Gabriel wanted to leave the scoundrel here, but he’d given his word. He huffed out a breath, grabbed the much smaller man under his arms, and lifted him onto the chair, untying his hands. It was less of an ordeal than his had been; Gabriel got the distinct impression the thug had considered Rowland even less of a threat than Gabriel.
He turned to the door and let Rowland untie his own feet. He checked to see if anyone had entered, but it looked the same. The door gave a shrill squeak he didn’t recall from before, and he grimaced, expecting to hear the sound of footsteps. But nobody came. They’d left a lantern hanging on a hook near the door. A big barrel stood not too far away. Gabriel ran to the barrel and began pushing through the rope.
“I lied.”
When he turned, Rowland was holding the pistol
in his hand. He hadn’t wasted time to free his ankles and they were still tied, meaning he had to hop. His mouth was set in an ugly line.
Gabriel laughed—a sound with no humor in it.
“What?” Rowland asked when he saw Gabriel’s expression. “Did you expect the honor of a gentleman?” He snorted, gesturing with the pistol to the door of the smaller room. “Honor and other lofty ideas tend to fall by the wayside when one is facing debtor’s prison and public humiliation.”
“You’d do better to worry about saving your life just now.”
“Shut up. If not for you, I’d be married to that bossy harpy and have no worries except how many mistresses to keep—just like yourself. Now, put your hands where I can see them, and get back into this room and onto your chair.” His voice had gotten louder and his hand shook with anger.
Gabriel raised his hands and walked slowly toward Rowland. “He’s going to kill you.”
“No, he isn’t. Because when he opens the door I’m going to—” He glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder at something. It was only a second’s distraction, but it was all Gabriel needed. He threw himself into Rowland’s midriff and knocked him to the ground. Unfortunately, the pistol also hit the ground, skittering across the rough plank flooring.
“What do we ’ave ’ere? You ladies ’avin’ a dance?”
Gabriel rolled onto his side and up onto his feet, immediately dropping into a crouch.
It was Jed, and he was alone. Gabriel lunged for him. For such a big man, he stepped out of the way nimbly, and Gabriel skidded past him.
He heard laughter as he turned around. Jed was grinning, rolling up his sleeves. “A milling-cove, are ye? It’s some o’ the home brew you want, aye?”
Gabriel dropped into a boxer’s stance and raised his fists, sweeping the room with his eyes, looking for the gun. Rowland was rolling and moaning on the floor, his knees tucked up to his chest.
The gun had slid all the way to the far wall.
Notorious Page 32
