Chapter 23 #2
Dalton sighed, but Nathaniel didn’t look the slightest bit mollified by her explanation. He still looked daggers at her.
“Did you learn anything important at least?” Dalton asked.
She lowered her gaze. “Not much. My presence was discovered almost as soon as I arrived. I recognized one of the men as Dimitri, the Russian liaison from the embassy. He was meeting with an Englishman. But I only saw the shadowed silhouette of that gentleman. Enough to get an idea of his size and build, but not enough to identify him.” She turned to Nathaniel.
“Did you get a better look at the Englishman?”
“No,” Nathaniel bit out, frustration radiating from his body. “He was in the shadows most of the time, and even when I gave chase, he eluded me. I think I would be able to recognize his voice if I heard it again. There was something familiar about it, even though I couldn’t identify it.”
“Maybe we’ll be able to learn more from the men you captured. Although I wouldn’t expect much. They are probably low-level guards.”
“Shall we interrogate them now?” Alice asked.
Dalton rose from behind his desk and led the way as they filed out of the office. “Follow me,” he said, gesturing toward the corridor that led to the back of the house. He opened a door concealed in the paneling, and they descended a narrow stone staircase. The air grew cooler with each step.
“How very medieval of you, Dalton,” Nathaniel drawled as they followed him down another corridor in the basement level. “I would have expected a dungeon in your castle, a leftover from less civilized times. But this is your London house, not old enough to have a dungeon.”
“If you think these times are more civilized than the olden days, then you are na?ve,” Dalton replied.
Nathaniel snorted. “Hardly. But I know we don’t just throw prisoners in our own personal dungeon, no matter how much we might feel tempted to do just that from time to time.”
“Would you stop calling it a dungeon? It’s a holding cell. I hardly ever use it. But it’s convenient in cases such as this. Tomorrow, I’ll transfer them to the government facilities.”
At the end of the tunnel, a stout oak door secured the entrance to the outbuilding basement. On the other side was the dimly lit cell in which the night’s prisoners awaited.
The two men were sitting on a straw mattress against the back wall, but hardly together.
The broad-shouldered Russian’s impassive face gave away nothing.
He stared at the floor, not acknowledging their entrance with even a flicker of his eyelashes, his expression as closed as a bank vault.
The other, in contrast, looked English. A rough-faced fellow with a crooked nose and the wary eyes of a man accustomed to dark alleys.
Wiry and thin, his gaze shifted keenly between them.
Alice figured, of the two, the English ruffian would be more forthcoming with information.
Dalton stood beside her and Nathaniel, his presence filling the narrow space. Apparently arriving at the same conclusion as she, he ignored the Russian and addressed the English ruffian directly.
“What’s your name?”
The man looked at him defiantly but subsided under Dalton’s hard and commanding stare.
“Them call me Boots,” the man replied reluctantly.
“Boots,” Dalton repeated evenly. “You should know that the meeting you attended tonight concerns treason. Accomplices hang for that.”
“I’ve done nofin wrong. Me and me mates were hired to provide a bit of armed protection for a transaction, is all.”
“Who hired you?” Nathaniel asked.
“An English gent. Know nofing ‘bout these foreigners. I ain’t involved in no treason,” he said, then spat on the floor.
“What’s the name of that Englishman? Where did you meet him? Was he there tonight?” Nathaniel pressed, voice implacable.
“Aye,” the man’s gaze flickered. “Only seen him twice: the day he hired us, at the pub down by the docks, and today. Always called him Lord A. That’s all I know.”
Alice leaned forward, studying him closely. “Describe him.”
“Tall, bit stout, dark hair,” he said, glancing toward Dalton, then adding with a smirk, “Looks a bit like His Highness here, only with dark eyes.”
Dalton’s eyebrow arched. “Your Grace,” he corrected dryly.
“Whatever,” the man muttered. “Can I go now? I’ve done nofing wrong, and I’ve been helpful.”
“Not quite,” Nathaniel replied, his voice hard. “You did attack two agents of the Crown.”
“Didn’t know that, did I? Me and the lads were only doing our job.”
Dalton considered him a moment, then said, “Nevertheless, you’ll stay a bit longer. You’ll be comfortable here. I’ll send blankets and food.” The finality in his voice brooked no argument. He then turned to the Russian, who had remained impassive during the entire conversation.
“What is your name?” Dalton asked the Russian.
No response.
“Did you hear what I told your cohort? We are investigating treason. I suggest you start cooperating if you don’t wish to be neck-deep in problems. Perhaps even hanging by the neck.”
Not even a glimmer of emotion from the man’s impassive face.
He might be a well-trained operative, but it was also possible he didn’t speak English, and therefore the threats meant nothing to him. Alice thought it was the latter. Even the most skilled of agents betrayed some emotion when faced with the possibility of being executed for treason.
Dalton turned to them. “No use bothering with him tonight,” he murmured. “He doesn’t seem to understand English. I’ll get a translator tomorrow, and then we will question him properly.”
They left the prisoners in the care of one of Dalton’s ‘footmen’, while the other went to fetch blankets and food. Alice figured that at least Boots might have better accommodations here in the duke’s dungeon than in his own lodgings.
On the stairs, Dalton glanced toward Alice. “Did you believe Boots?”
She nodded slowly. “From the look in his eyes, yes. He’s a ruffian, no doubt, but I don’t think he’s part of the treason.”
Dalton accepted this with a brief incline of his head and turned to face them once they reached the main floor. “I agree. Go home. Rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at Whitehall.”
Rest. It sounded like a capital proposition.
Only now, when all their duties were discharged, did she realize how tired she was.
She had barely slept in the past two nights.
And before that, not very well for an entire week, missing Nathaniel.
It was alarming how fast she had once again become accustomed to sleeping next to him, to having him in her life.
Apparently, the feeling was not mutual. He had returned days ago and had not contacted her.
Or had he? Hadn’t he said he had come to look for her, and was upset to not find her home?
If she had known he would be coming back that day, she wouldn’t have left with John.
Oh, what a tangle. But she was too tired right now to parse through the morass of their feelings.
The warmth of his hand enveloped her elbow.
“Come on, Alice. I’ll take you home.”
She wondered briefly which home he meant, but didn’t really care one way or the other. To go home with Nathaniel, wherever that may be, was a lovely prospect. Even if he was still mad as hell.