Chapter 25 #2
Even though Adrian had plans for a busy day and wanted to get on with business as quickly as possible, he chose to have Harlowe wait. Ten minutes wouldn’t make much difference, but it would send a message about his opinion of the man who’d raised Samantha.
So he took his time with the last of his coffee while finalizing the first task of the day with Edward. “Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?”
“Certainly. But does that give you enough time to speak with Harlowe?”
“I doubt he has anything to share that requires a longer meeting. He’s probably here to check on Samantha, in which case I can provide an update in under five minutes.”
They agreed to reconvene later in the foyer, upon which Adrian strode to the parlor. Jaw clenched, he greeted the man who’d pretended to care for the girls he’d raised, when all he’d been interested in was his own agenda.
“Harlowe. You’re up early today.” A jab that would not go unnoticed.
Instead of apologizing, Harlowe raised his chin. “I thought you might have a busy morning, after the fire last night. Wanted to make sure I caught you before you left the house.”
No point in asking him how he’d known where to find him. Adrian crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “For what reason?”
Harlowe produced a small chuckle of incredulity. “To make sure Samantha is all right. That you and the baby are too.”
“Samantha and Alexandra are fine. They’re still sleeping. I, as you can see, am also well, so if that is all…”
“Why must speaking with you be so damned difficult?”
Adrian arched a brow. “Perhaps because I dislike you intensely. On account of the fact that you abused the trust my wife placed in you.”
“You know bloody well why I did what I did.”
“What I know is that you cared more about your stupid mission than you did about her.”
Harlow pressed his lips together, his gaze holding Adrian’s for a long moment before breaking eye-contact with him.
He sighed, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders.
“One of my informants was in the square last night. He remarked on seeing a man who kept to himself — a man whose lips were curled into a satisfied smirk while he watched your house go up in flames.”
Adrian’s stomach shrank as his pulse made a leap. “What did this man look like?”
“Slim of build, dark hair, perhaps a few inches shorter than you.”
“Finn O’Leary.” The name seemed to pull Harlowe’s features into a tight mask of anger. “I saw him myself, from the roof. By the time I returned to the street, he was gone.”
“I take it you’ve no idea where he is?”
“If I did, he’d already be dead.”
“Hmph.” Harlowe’s eyes gleamed with a quiet kind of self-satisfaction. And then he said, “In that case, you’ll be glad to know that this informant of mine decided to follow him when he left.”
“What?”
“He returned to an address on Hanson Street. Number Twelve, to be exact.” When Adrian merely stared at him, Harlowe gave a smug smile. “You’re welcome, Croft.”
“I knew he was well-informed when he figured out O’Leary’s last location,” Adrian said to Edward later while they walked the short distance to Number 5.
“He had to have been in order to send Samantha’s foster sisters to rescue her.
It just bothers me immensely that he’s helping me yet again with something that I should be able to handle without him. ”
“You’ll manage the part that truly matters in making sure O’Leary sees justice,” Edward replied, not mentioning what he surely must know — that Adrian would mete out O’Leary’s punishment himself.
“Of course, but that would not be possible without knowing where he is. Harlowe provided key information, which means I am now in his debt. Again.”
“Or you could choose to look at it as him doing something for Samantha’s sake.”
Even though Adrian responded with a snort of disagreement, he knew Harlowe might be just as eager to take O’Leary down. He was just less able to get his hands dirty and had therefore chosen to pass on the task to Adrian.
And the truth was, Adrian was grateful. He could not wait to make O’Leary suffer for what he’d done to Samantha.
Unfortunately, he had to pause his fantasies regarding O’Leary’s punishment while he perused the remains of his home. It looked like a charred skeleton rising from its grave. Like a monochromatic image against an otherwise colorful background. Surreal, to say the least.
Gone was the entire right side and back corner, the bricks that had once stood there, now a pile of rubble. Holes gaped where the windows had been, like empty sockets in a skull.
Most of the interior – the flooring and furniture – had fed the flames and were now mostly gone. So was the roof. Whatever remained formed a mound of jagged debris that filled the basement all the way to ground level, with part of it spilling onto the pavement.
Steam rose from various parts. According to the fire chief, it could take as long as a week for the rubble to cool, considering all the hot bricks trapped beneath.
Keeping a safe distance, Adrian looked toward the area where his foyer had been less than twelve hours earlier.
One of the entryway columns still stood there by some strange miracle, though it leaned slightly sideways and was blackened by soot.
“What will you do?” Edward asked. “Level the place and rebuild, or sell the plot and move elsewhere?”
Adrian glanced at his friend, whose expression reflected what he himself felt. Hopelessness and utter devastation.
“Rebuild,” he said and swung his gaze back to the wreckage. “I’ll design the house myself, with every modern convenience available, and with more thought put toward safety.”
Workers would have to be hired to clear the area first. He’d make arrangements for that later. Right now, the next chore was to meet with Murdoch, from whose home he would also send out a message to his associates.
The information provided by Harlowe changed things.
A counter-attack on O’Leary could now be planned with effectiveness.
The sooner the better. Tonight, Adrian decided during the coach ride to Upper Thornhaugh Street.
He had no intention of letting the Irish bastard slip between his fingers again and looked forward to the good night’s sleep he’d enjoy once O’Leary was dead.
“I was just about to come see you,” Murdoch said when Adrian and Edward arrived at Number 8 and were ushered into the foyer.
His wide-eyed gaze seemed to search Adrian’s face for evidence of the ordeal he’d been through.
“One of the servants I’ve installed at Number 1 Portman Square came to tell me what happened. ”
“A travesty,” Adrian said, then indicated Edward. “This is my close friend, the Earl of Marsdale. I don’t believe you’ve ever met.”
“A pleasure, my lord,” Murdoch said before addressing Adrian once more. “After what was described to me, it’s good to see you in the flesh. I hope your wife and daughter are also well?”
“They are,” Adrian assured him. “Thank you. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of our scullery maid. The fire claimed her life.”
“Fires are always a ghastly business. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“I’m sure the blame lies with Finn O’Leary,” Adrian said.
Murdoch’s lips parted. “He was there?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I was in no position to stop him, but I mean to resolve that later today. If you have some writing supplies I can use, I’ll pen a missive to the rest of the…” He glanced at Edward, cleared his throat, and chose to amend what he’d been about to say to, “…our friends.”
“Certainly.” Murdoch swept his hand toward the nearest door on the right. “Let’s have a seat in the parlor. I’ll fetch the writing supplies and ask the servants to prepare some refreshments. Which do you prefer? Tea or coffee?”
The question was mostly directed at Edward, whose preference Murdoch was not familiar with.
“Tea would be welcome,” Edward replied.
He followed Adrian into the parlor while Murdoch went to inform the servants and gather the writing supplies. When he came to join them a few moments later he brought a lap-desk containing all the necessary items.
Adrian prepared several pieces of parchment, then selected a quill and dipped it in the available inkwell. Meet me at the usual spot. Three o’clock. Don’t be late. One message, re-written seven times. Each one sealed with a blob of red wax and stamped with his signet ring.
He handed the pile to Murdoch who went to make sure they were dispatched by one of his errand boys.
“As I’m sure you can imagine,” Adrian told him when he returned, “I’m in need of a place to live.”
“It’s no rush,” Edward said, leaning forward slightly in his seat. “The Crofts are welcome to remain with me and my wife for as long as they need.”
“There are also my servants to consider,” Adrian said. “I’d like to get them out of their temporary lodgings and into something more permanent. So they can be together and help each other recover. So things can return to whatever state of normalcy is possible after something like this.”
“Of course,” Murdoch said. “I’m happy to provide you with a list of available properties for sale in the Mayfair area.”
“I’d rather rent,” Adrian said. “Even though it will probably take a few years to build a new house at Number 5, that is what I intend to do. Wherever I live until then will be temporary.”
“Understood.” Murdoch wove his fingers together in his lap. “I’ll find a few options and deliver them to you tonight.”
Adrian and Edward finished their teas, then set off to meet with The Globe.