Chapter Six
Blaxland fumed silently for a few minutes, then he leaned forward.
“What’s to stop your precious captain from keeping the money?
He could have me tossed overboard and keep it all himself.
And for all I know there’s no money at all.
You might even pay to have me drowned at sea.
” He sat back, raking his fingers through his hair.
“Why the devil should should I risk it?”
Marcus’s voice was icy. “I hadn’t considered those possibilities, it’s true, but I don’t actually care what happens to you.
The captain could throw you overboard with my good wishes, but that’s not our agreement.
So, you have a choice: stay and face the Greelings or take the ship to America.
Consider it a gamble. You like to gamble, don’t you? ”
There was a short silence, but Marcus knew the man would accept his offer.
He had no choice. It was a better offer than he’d get anywhere else.
It went against the grain to enrich Blaxland by as much as a farthing, but he could see no other way to permanently rid Tessa of her brother without harming him.
And without involving her in some kind of public scandal, which it would, if the matter ever came to court.
She’d suffered enough slander at the hands of her family.
“Of course, you would have to remain in America, or at least never come back to England.”
Blaxland’s jaw jutted aggressively. “Why the devil should I?”
“As I understand it, the Greelings charge quite high interest rates,” Marcus pointed out.
“The sum you owe them will be increasing daily, and they have long memories and vindictive habits, I’m told.
Should you set foot in England again, they will be sure to find out.
” He gave a cold smile. “And then your life won’t be worth living. ”
“They might not find out.”
Marcus said gently, “Oh, but should you do anything so foolish, I will be at such pains to inform them.”
“You swine!”
Marcus placed a slip of paper on the small bedside table. “This has all the details you need. Your ship sails tomorrow afternoon on the turning of the tide. My man Sims is downstairs and will escort you. If you leave within the hour, you should make it in time.”
“Within the”—
“The captain already has your booking and your five hundred guineas, so if you fail to turn up, or arrive too late and the ship has sailed, the money and the opportunity will be lost to you.” He smiled coldly. “In that event, the Greelings may have you with my good will.”
Blaxland picked up the note and examined it, then shoved it in his pocket. “How do I know you’ve sent the money?”
Marcus shrugged. “You don’t. You’ll just have to gamble on whether or not I’m a man of my word. Goodbye Blaxland.”
Blaxland swore long and horribly. Ignoring him, Marcus left.
He gave a note and a small roll of notes to Sims who’d been waiting downstairs.
“Stay with him. Make sure he gets on board this ship—I don’t care if you have to deliver him in a sack, as long as you do it.
Use whatever force is necessary, but I want him alive and on board that ship when it sails.
Jackson will meet you there, and the captain will give you a receipt for Blaxland’s arrival.
The details are here, and the money for costs.
I will pay you and Jackson the full amount I owe you when you bring me the receipt from the captain. ”
Sims pocketed the note and the money. “I’ll make sure he’s on it, guv’nor. Alive and kicking.” He added with a grin, “Or not kicking an’ tied up good and tight in a sack.”
Marcus gave a brusque nod and strode away. He was wound tight with unexpressed rage. Blaxland had simply grabbed at the money and agreed to Marcus’s conditions—albeit with bad grace. It shouldn’t have surprised him—indeed, he’d expected his plan to work.
But after all that man had done to his sister, marrying her off again and again so he could bleed her elderly husbands dry—and now, not having any idea where she was or in what condition his filthy drug had left her, he would just walk off and leave her high and dry.
He’d just abandoned her without, apparently, a single thought. Saving himself and not giving a moment’s consideration to any consequences his sister might face from his violent debtors.
Again, he wished he’d given the man a good kicking.
Marcus hoped the ship’s captain was not the honorable man he’d thought him when he’d sent Jackson to make those arrangements.
It never would have occurred to Marcus that he might toss Blaxland overboard and keep the money.
But he supposed that being a dishonorable man himself, Blaxland would expect crooked dealing from others.
Marcus would never have made such a bargain if he hadn’t found the captain to be a decent fellow.
Still, he wouldn’t mind one way or the other if Blaxland were tossed overboard.
As long as Tessa’s brother was gone for good from her life, he didn’t care what happened to him.
From what Radcliffe had told him, those Greelings were ruthless, brutal men whose eyes were everywhere.
The threat of their revenge would keep Blaxland from ever returning.
He walked home, breathing in the cold, crisp air. Getting rid of Blaxland had been easier than he’d expected. Now to wait for Tessa to recover from that drug. And then to get her to rethink her options.
He thought of the list she had spoken of. Even if she did find work as a maidservant or shop-girl, with her looks she would still be the target of unwanted attentions from unscrupulous employers. No, they weren’t to be thought of.
He hoped Blaxland would be gone by the time she woke.
#
“ANY NEWS OF LADY HEWITT?” Marcus asked his butler on returning home.
“I believe the lady is still asleep, m’lord. I have taken the liberty of assigning several of the maids to sit in rotation with her. They keep me informed.”
“Good, good.” He headed toward the stairs to check her for himself, when Peverill coughed, one of his Significant Coughs. Marcus turned back. “Yes?”
“Lady Gosforth asked me to inform you that she has gone out.”
Marcus nodded indifferently. His aunt was always going out.
“In addition,” Peverill added, “there is a Young Person, a ragged Young Person and an Animal he claims you asked him to bring.”
Ah. The boy with the dog. “I did.”
Peverill sniffed disapprovingly. “In that case you will find them awaiting you in the kitchen courtyard.”
Marcus headed for the kitchen courtyard. There he found the urchin and his equally urchin-like dog. No, her urchin-like dog, the boy had told him. He paused in the kitchen doorway and eyed them thoughtfully.
They were playing, the boy tossing a stick, the dog fetching it.
Neither of them had noticed him yet. It was doubtful which of them was the scrawniest. The boy was dressed in a hodge-podge of clothing—a shabby pair of too-short trousers that revealed a dirty pair of skinny white legs, a threadbare jacket that was too large for him, its sleeves rolled back several times, and worn over what appeared to be several knitted garments—all of them ragged and none particularly clean.
The dog at least looked relatively clean, but that was as far as it went.
It was like no breed he’d ever seen; small, one ear up, one down, and so thin that every rib stood out.
Its coat was brown but had been clipped so close it was almost shorn, except for the tail, at the end of which floated a scruffy clump of white, pretending to be a tassel. It wagged non-stop.
Marcus cleared his throat and the game instantly stopped. The boy snatched up the dog and with it under his arm, held out a grubby hand. “A bob, we said.”
“We did.” Marcus took out a shilling and flipped it toward the boy who snatched it deftly out of the air. He examined it carefully, then put the dog down. And waited.
Marcus raised a brow. “Is there something else?”
The boy’s eyes darted toward the kitchen window where Cook had a tray of fresh-baked meat pies cooling. “I ‘ad to give the dog ‘alf a sausage to catch it,” he said, as if in accusation.
“I see. And what happened to the other half?”
“Et it, din’t I?”
“I see, so you are out of pocket by half a sausage.”
“S’right.”
“In that case,” Marcus strolled to the window with the pies. “Take this as compensation.” He lifted a pie, glanced at the boy’s hungry expression and took two.
“She’ll be mad,” the child said. “She’s a right scary one, she is. Nearly bit me head off when I was only trying to have a sniff. I hardly even touched it.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “Dunno what she’ll do to you if she catches you pinching one pie, let alone two.”
Marcus repressed a smile. “She won’t mind.” Cook ran a tight ship, but she’d always had time to feed a hungry boy. Well, a hungry Marcus.
The lad gave him a skeptical look, but took the pies, which vanished into the pockets of his coat. “Fanks, mister.”
“What’s your name?”
“What’s it to you?”
Marcus picked up another pie. Neither the boy nor the dog took their eyes off it. “Your name?”
“Joey,” he said sullenly.
“And where are your parents, Joey?”
There was a short silence. Marcus broke off some of the crust and dropped it for the dog, who gobbled it up in a trice. Marcus looked at the boy, who looked at the pie. “Your parents?”
Joey shrugged. “Ain’t got none. Me dad ran off to sea when I was a nipper and never come back. And me mum died last winter.”
“So who looks after you?” The child had to be seven, eight at the latest.
He straightened and looked Marcus in the eye. “I look after meself, I do, and nobody can say different.” He reached for the pie in Marcus’s hand.
Marcus raised it higher. “And where do you live?”
“Around.” His tone was defiant, truculent.