Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“ Y ou say that it was here?” The carriage drew to a halt. Holding his glossy black top hat, Wilkes pushed down the window and leaned out to take a long look at the street.
The two men who’d been standing on the back of the carriage leaped down, crossed the pavement, and vanished into the narrow mouth of the alley.
The rain had paused at the end of the day. A watery yellow sunset lit a strip of sky above the western horizon and reflected in the puddles standing in the road so that, for a brief moment, the streets of London really were paved in gold.
“Well, well. And so this is the very street corner where Miss Talbot hit you. Miss Talbot! A chit of a girl. She hit you, with all the strength in her… mighty arms? Is that what I am to believe?” He gave a mirthless chuckle and turned back to face the man on the seat opposite. “Cat got your tongue, eh, Gooley?”
The little man’s eyes bulged with terror. His mouth was stuffed with dirty rags—one of which was his own neckcloth—and his hands were bound together. Wilkes studied him with distaste. “Do you know, Gooley, I always thought that of the two of you, I would rid myself of Fenton first.” He sighed. “But here we are, I suppose.”
The men returned to the carriage. “Leads to Lime Street and through to Fenchurch. Any number of places where 'e could 'ave gone from here, boss.”
“Ah.” Wilkes pushed the window up again. The carriage springs bounced as his bodyguards resumed their places standing on the rear platform. He gazed meditatively at Gooley for a long moment before thumping on the roof. The clip clop of the horses’ hooves rang out on the cobbles and the carriage moved on.
“Well, it is a remarkable tale, Gooley, I will concede that.” He sighed. “Oh, Gooley. Gooley, Gooley. Did you really think that I would believe such a pack of lies? I must say that I am disappointed.”
Gooley made muffled, frantic noises. Wilkes tut-tutted. “Oh, stop fussing. You have given me a headache already.”
The carriage turned south. After a few minutes, it turned east. They passed the grey bulk of the Tower. The little man seemed to become more confident. Obviously, he thought that he knew where they were going. But they did not stop. They continued east, and then wound south again through the bleak streets that led down toward the river. When he realized that they were not going back to Wilkes’s rooms, his eyes grew first worried and then panicked. Muffled cries came from behind the gag.
A damp breeze was blowing as the carriage finally stopped before a cluster of sagging wooden buildings that hung over the river, supported by pilings. Wilkes got out of the carriage and took a deep breath. The tide was going out, and the iodine and sewage stench of the muddy riverbank was the smell of easy money.
They were in the forecourt of a warehouse. At the moment, the warehouse was stacked with casks of French brandy—casks that, as it happened, didn’t bear the stamps and seals of His Majesty’s excise men. Smuggling wasn’t a large part of Wilkes’s business, but it was a nice little sideline.
And this old warehouse was useful. Goods—and other things—could be loaded directly up a ladder from small boats bobbing in the Thames beneath its floorboards, well concealed from prying eyes. If anyone asked, Wilkes would have described the man who owned the warehouse as a “business associate”—though to be strictly accurate, he was someone whom Wilkes was blackmailing.
He poked his head back into the carriage. “Come along, Gooley.”
The little man shrank back against the squabs, shaking his head wildly. Wilkes stood back and folded his arms. “Then I will have to have you dragged.” He nodded to the men who’d been on the back of the carriage. They opened both doors, seized Gooley, and pulled him out. He was already bound hand and foot, so his struggles were useless as they dragged him across the small courtyard and into the warehouse.
At another nod from Wilkes, his henchman pulled the gag from Gooley’s mouth and let go of him. Gooley collapsed onto the floor. Tears streamed from his eyes, leaving streaks on his dirty face. “Please, boss,” he croaked, gasping. “Please. I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t cross you—I swear! Give me another chance.”
“Oh, Gooley. Stop embarrassing yourself. Another chance? I am not doing this because you failed. I am doing this because you believe that I am stupid. Because you lied to me.” The floorboards squeaked as he paced closer. “Miss Talbot hit you, and Lord Alford appeared from nowhere, and then Fenton magically vanished. Did you see all of this in a puppet play, perhaps? Punch and Judy? Were you drunk?”
“I weren’t drunk, boss, I swear! And I ain’t lying, neither! I dunno where the young lord come from! We was watching for two hours and there weren’t no sign of 'im! All I know is, one minute 'e weren’t there, and the next 'e was!”
Wilkes snorted and adjusted one jeweled cufflink. “When I hired you, Gooley, it was with the expectation that you would help me with certain aspects of my London business. But you are a stupid, stupid man.” He sighed. “And now I shall have to deal with Lord Alford alone, without your help.”
“I know I cocked up, boss! But I ain’t lying! I can still 'elp you!”
“Well, you leave me in a pickle, Gooley. A pickle indeed.” Wilkes cracked his knuckles. “Tomorrow night I shall, of course, make Lord Alford pay dearly. But it has become more and more clear that not only are you not an asset—you are an actual liability. No, no. I’m afraid that it simply will not fadge.” He tsked.
“I’ll do better! I swear!”
Wilkes stared thoughtfully at him for a long moment. “Oh, I wish I could believe that, Gooley. I do indeed.”
He nodded to the men standing behind Gooley. One went to a big metal winch and threw the handle forward. The gears clicked. “No!” screamed Gooley, as he recognized the sound. “No, boss! I never did you dirty! I’ll make it up to you!”
The double doors in the warehouse floor began to open. The reek of the dark water rose even more strongly. Wilkes nodded to the other man. He put his foot in the small of Gooley’s back and shoved. Now Gooley was at the lip of the hatch.
The little man was breathing hard, sniveling. “Boss! No! Please! I swear I’ll?—"
Wilkes made a small gesture. The man kicked Gooley forward. One moment he was there—a miserable heap of sniveling terror. The next, there was a scream that cut off abruptly as he splashed into the water. Then there was nothing.
Wilkes stood a moment, listening to the gurgle of the Thames rushing through the piers that supported the building. Then he turned, walked back out into the evening and took a deep lungful of river-tainted air.
The time had come for him to rid himself of everyone who’d been holding him back. He couldn’t do it overnight, of course. But he’d made a start. Fenton was next. He’d run away—but he wouldn’t get far.
And of course, there was Celia. It was her unexpected defiance that had caused all of this. There was only so much that he would tolerate from a lady, and she had put him to trouble and expense.
If any of what Gooley had said was true, the young lord had come to her rescue once again. It was beyond a coincidence now. She must have arrived with him—though his men had been too incompetent to notice. And that meant that she was living under his protection somewhere. The little whore. He ought to have known that she was just like all the others.
Miss Talbot still had a minor part to play. But after that she could join her late sire in hell.
Church bells near and far were striking eight. As he climbed back into his carriage, Wilkes felt almost lighthearted.
At six o’clock on the morning of the ball, the housemaids had been hard at work for an hour, scrubbing the front hall and stairs. Delicate red clouds floated in the east as the morning star faded with the sunrise. The mews was already almost impassable. Tradespeople hurried back and forth between the house and their wagons, carrying boxes of strawberries, crates of champagne, prawns packed in ice, baskets of asparagus, and myriad other last-minute deliveries.
By eight o’clock, the delicate red clouds had bloated to three times their original size and turned grey. The gardeners using plumb bobs and spirit levels to trim the hedges into geometric perfection looked at the sky and shook their heads.
At ten o’clock, Lady Alford was drinking her chocolate in the breakfast room when the first fat drops struck the windows. She set the delicate Minton cup down in disbelief. “That cannot be rain!”
The pair of footmen standing against the wall glanced at each other.
“It cannot be! We cannot have rain today! Everyone said that the rain had passed and we should have fine weather for the ball. Everyone !”
She pushed back her chair without waiting for a footman to pull it out and rushed to the window just as a flash of lightning lit the surrounding rooftops and thunder boomed almost directly overhead. The skies opened. The gardeners dashed about collecting their tools and ladders before vanishing.
Lady Alford stared out at the downpour until another peal of thunder rattled the windows in their frames. “How is this possible? How ? There can be only so much rain in the world! It must already have fallen over the past few days! This goes against… science !” She turned to the footmen. “Only last night the weather appeared to be clearing. Mrs. Dodd said so! You must have heard her say it, Martin! ‘Appeared to be clearing!’ Those were her very words! You heard her—did you not?”
Martin glanced nervously at the other footman. “Yes, your ladyship.”
“Then how can this be?”
“I—I cannot say, your ladyship.”
She whirled about and glared out the window again. The flagstones below were already covered with puddles. The balustrades dripped. The white roses in the urns that adorned the terrace drooped their full heads under the weight of raindrops. Soaked petals dropped sadly onto the steps.
“No.” She turned her back upon the desolate scene. “ No . This is merely a passing shower.” She clasped her hands to her breast and took a few tottering steps back to the breakfast table. Martin rushed forward to push in her chair as she sat down again. She laid her palms flat upon the white linen cloth. “I am calm. I am calm .” She took a deep breath. “The rain will stop. The roads and pavements will be quite dry. The evening will be fine and warm. We shall have the terrace doors open. The prince will not stay home. My ball will be the success of the season.”
Her hand shook badly as she attempted to lift the chocolate pot. The china rattled.
“Shall I pour you some chocolate, your ladyship?”
She swatted his hand away. “Oh, stop fussing , Martin! I am perfectly calm !”
He bowed and retreated to stand against the wall, where the other footman gave him a swift look of commiseration. The rain beat against the panes.
The door opened.
Pomona was mid-stride, her face shining with joy, when she saw her mother. She stopped short. “Oh.”
“ What ?” Lady Alford’s voice was waspish.
“I… Good morning, mother. I did not expect to… You breakfast in your room.”
“Well, today I am breakfasting here! In the breakfast room! I have been downstairs since the break of dawn, trying to get it through Cook’s thick head that she ought to have made twice the number of salmon pies as she seems to think!”
Martin held the chair for Pomona as she sat down, and poured her a cup of coffee.
Lady Alford turned on her daughter. “You have no color at all. The earl will not look twice at you.”
“What earl?”
“The Earl of Didsbury. He is to attend tonight.”
“I do not understand. What has the Earl of Didsbury to do with me?”
“Provoking girl! The earl is a widower. It is a most eligible situation.”
“But is he not at least forty?”
“What can that have to do with anything?” Lady Alford banged her fine china cup down into its saucer. “Really, Pomona. You are not some great beauty with all of London at her feet!”
Keynsham strolled in. “Good morning. What a surprise to find you downstairs, mother.”
“ Good ? What is good about it? I had counted on having the terrace doors open. But of course, that is precisely the direction from which the rain is driving!”
Keynsham tried to catch Pomona’s eye. The previous evening when he’d told her what the publisher had said, she’d been aglow. He’d been looking forward to a longer discussion with her over breakfast.
She didn’t look at him. She was staring down at her plate, looking as though she were about to cry. The source of this misery was all too obvious.
He turned to their mother. “Well, ma’am. It is my honor to inform you that I am engaged to be married.”
Lady Alford gasped. She clasped her hands to her bosom. “My son! Oh, my son ! I knew that you should not fail me! You have never failed me. Thirty thousand pounds!” Her face was rapturous. “I knew that Miss Spry would accept your suit! I never doubted it for a single moment!”
“Ma’am, I fear that you have…”
“I could not have planned it more perfectly myself! The timing is perfect! When we announce your engagement tonight, the astonishment and envy will be so general that everyone will be talking of my ball this twelvemonth!”
Keynsham signaled the footmen, who discretely left the room. “Ma’am. I must explain that?—"
“The most eligible bachelor, and the heiress of the season! What a match! Thirty thousand pounds !”
“Ma’am, I?—"
“You must and shall order a new carriage immediately. I still do not understand what happened to the other one.” She raised a finger. “A barouche! A barouche for the ride from the church! Nothing could be more à la mode .”
“ Ma’am .” Keynsham held up a hand. “You have not allowed me to finish. I am not marrying Miss Spry. And I do not require advice on carriages.”
Lady Alford froze. One hand went to her throat. “ What? ”
“The lady I am to marry is Miss Celia Talbot, of Hampshire.”
“Who? ”
“You will meet her tonight. At the ball.”
“But… but…” Lady Alford had gone deathly pale. “ What about Miss Spry? ”
“Miss Spry has… cried off.”
His mother gulped for air. “No! That is not possible! A young lady who is compromised may not cry off ! She is ruined !”
“Not at all, ma’am,” put in Pomona. “Miss Spry is said to have an understanding with the Marquess of Ladbrooke.”
There was a terrible silence. Lady Alford rose from the table and threw her napkin onto the cloth. “I shall go lie down. After all that I have done, to be treated this way by that chit of a—a…”
Fortunately, whatever unladylike word she was about to say was drowned out by a peal of thunder violent enough to rattle all the china on the table.
“Boss wants you dead.” Comstock’s tone was chillingly matter-of-fact.
Fenton felt the grip of fear around his heart but scoffed anyway. “Nah. ‘E’s just flown up in the boughs on account of this to-do over Miss Talbot.”
Comstock glanced around the grimy-windowed riverside tavern as though someone might be listening and lowered his voice. “Shut your trap for a minute if you can manage it and listen to me. Gooley’s dead. He killed 'im.”
“ Killed him?”
“I said keep your voice down!” Comstock’s hand shot across the sticky tabletop and gripped Fenton’s wrist. “I seen it myself. Now 'e’s ranting and raving, saying as 'e’ll do the same to you. But 'e’s off to settle up with the young lord tonight.”
Fenton eyed him. “Settle up?”
“Them rum culls is 'aving a party. Boss thinks 'e can go blend in with the gentry. Mayhap he can, too—with all them fine clothes of his.”
Fenton was incredulous. “Wilkes is going after the young lord? In his house ?”
Comstock snorted. “It ain’t your concern now—believe you me. As soon as 'e’s offed the young lord, 'e’s coming for you. I’d say you got a day to get out of town.”
Fenton felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. “But… I got no money.”
“Well, that’s your problem, innit?”
“I thought you was going to talk to Wilkes for me! Smooth things over, like.”
Comstock stared at him, incredulous. “ Talk to him for you?” He stood and threw some coins down on the table. “I shouldn’t even 'ave come to warn you! If 'e finds out…” He drew his forefinger across his throat. “This is the last drink I buy you—and the last time I see you. Matter of fact, I never seen you. Understand?”
He turned, slipped between two other patrons, and was gone.
Fenton stared at the forest of masts that bristled along this reach of the river, trying to catch his breath. If only he’d taken ship for the Americas after he’d helped Wilkes dispose of Squire Talbot’s body! That would’ve been the time to disappear. But he’d been afraid to leave everything he knew behind. And now the walls were closing in. He could feel it.
Wilkes had always blamed him for staging the carriage accident on the wrong road. He’d never forgiven him for it. Fenton had thought that he could earn his way back into Wilkes’s good graces. He’d thought that he could prove to Wilkes that he was loyal.
But in the end, nobody was ever loyal enough for Wilkes.
He drained the dregs of his beer. Perhaps he should simply stay here, drinking, until Wilkes found him. What good could it do to run? If Wilkes could kill Lord Alford—in his own house, in the midst of an evening party—there was no force on earth that could stop him from killing Fenton. Or anyone else.
Grey rain blurred the river. He tried to think. Wilkes had been trying to pass for a gentleman for years. Certainly, he dressed like one. So Comstock was right—there was a chance that he could fool everyone, and walk right into the young lord’s house. But none of his men could. Which meant that for once, Wilkes wouldn’t be protected by the bodyguards who now accompanied him everywhere.
What if …
But no. What Fenton was considering was impossible. It was suicide.
On the other hand, if he were going to die anyway, maybe he should take Wilkes with him.