Chapter Twenty-One
Adrian Hollingsworth had interrogated more than his fair share of unsavory individuals—criminals, spies, would be assassins to the Crown—and he found there were three different categories of men: those who held up under torture, those who caved as soon as the pincers touched their fingernails, and those who wet their trousers at the sound of his name and a well-placed raised brow.
By the smell, the man cowering in the cell before him was the latter.
How tedious.
Words rushed from the man’s mouth when Adrian entered the room. The three men foolish enough to attack Reeves were useless. Battered and bruised, broken ribs, wrists, and noses. They stuttered over explanations, too terrified to speak to him, but every group had a singer.
This one may as well have been a canary.
Bored, half not paying attention, Adrian listened to the man prattle on.
“We didn’ know it were Cap’n Reeves, mi’lord,” the man said at once. “Some ol’ codger give us coin, said ‘e ‘ad a job for us. I didn’ want nowt to do wi’ it. I don’ even like Johnny, ‘onest! I should ‘ave gone to the const’ble, I don’ know why I didn’.”
This much he had learned from the others. A man who hid his face in shadows and his body behind a cloak approached the men earlier in the afternoon, paid them handsomely, and on instruction they followed Reeves behind the bakery where he had taken Miss Cooper and waited until they emerged.
“We weren’ s’posed to hurt the lady, only bring ‘er to the edge o’ town.”
Adrian’s full attention shifted at the words.
“The lady?”
Whatever blood remained in the man’s face drained at the question.
“Mi’lord, you ‘ave to believe me, I ne’er would ‘ave hurt Cap’n Reeves’ wife.
” Shaking, he explained, “But Johnny… ‘e wanted to earn his coin. Once he seen ‘em go into that room, ‘e got other ideas. The ale was strong. Ev’ryone was drunk. I ain’t that kind o’ man, I swear! I tried t’ stop ‘im, but ‘e wouldn’—”
Adrian’s gaze landed hard on the man.
“How much coin?”
“Twenny pounds each.”
Adrian frowned. That type of coin wouldn’t cross their hands in a year.
His father instructed him not to tell Reeves of his findings.
Not from this morning’s investigation, nor from the hunt.
He couldn’t disobey directly, not that he had the opportunity.
With Reeves and Lord Lincolnshire in crisis at the manor, getting a word in would be as subtle as a lion stepping into a nursery.
Reeves’ romantic life was none of his concern, but the safety of all guests fell under Adrian’s command.
Miss Cooper’s safety was now his top priority.
He would send the seed of knowledge on the wind in Reeves’ direction, increase security in the manor, and have his scouts canvass the town for more information.
Adrian stepped from the cell and turned to his youngest scout. A promising lad, quick learner, teeming with potential.
Altogether too enthusiastic about footwear.
“What a strange rumor you heard in the kitchens this morning.”
“Yes mi’lord,” Trevor said, stepping from the shadows. “Strange, indeed.”