Chapter 13
Two days later
The Dog’s Bone
“Hope he got the worst of it,” said Ben, studying Roger’s colorful and swollen eye. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Ma kept it from puffin’ up too bad.” Lynch took a drink of his ale. “Good news and bad news. What do you want first?”
“Bad news,” said Ben and Clayton together.
“The second traitor is dead.”
Clayton cursed. “And?”
“The toady who Rowlands sent to follow the traitor is now being held at the Brown Bear. The honorable Mr. Ruthven will personally be watching over him once Harry is done with the interrogation.” Roger grinned, winced, then gingerly patted his aggrieved eye. “And this canary will sing.”
The Brown Bear was a tavern on Bow Street across from the main constabulary. The cellar of the public house contained cells for the temporary holding of criminals. George Ruthven, a third-generation—and the present—constable for the district, had his own table at the establishment.
Clayton sat back in his chair, staring at Roger. “Devilish good job. So tell us!”
Roger explained how he followed the “canary” to The Grapes near the Limehouse docks. When the bloke came out of the tavern, he was tailing another man. Then who appears behind them? Rowlands.
“Both the scallywags moved up quickly behind the traitor, grabbed an arm on each side, and forced him into an alley. I caught up just in time to see Rowlands point a gun at a man’s head and pull the trigger.
” Roger moved his hands excitedly as he spoke.
“Rowlands’s toady spotted me, holding me at bay while his boss escaped. ”
“That how you got the black eye?” asked Ben.
Roger nodded. “The lickspittle popped out of the shadow and got the first blow. Just enough time for Rowlands to run. I got the second punch, and it was over.”
Roger was known for his fighting skills, especially his right hook.
“You’re sure it was Rowlands?” asked Clayton.
“Without a doubt. His scar is very helpful,” said Roger, drawing a finger down the side of his face. “You’d think he’d be more careful. He’s as identifiable as Gus with his gigantism.”
Gus wasn’t afflicted with any disease. He was naturally large like Paddy, but Ben had to laugh.
He would be putting a case together for Marshall.
Not that the man being held could lead them to The Vicar, but the more knowledge they had, the closer they got.
It was like a long chess game, putting each piece in the correct place.
“I’m curious to see what Rowlands has to say when we meet tonight.
I’ve managed to stay with the counterfeiting duty rather than roughing up customers who aren’t paying their share for protection.
” Clayton finished his ale and slammed down the bumper.
“I’m happy not to be a party to that, but I’m also not seeing as much when I’m tucked away producing fake coins. ”
Ben could hear the agitation in his best friend’s voice but was relieved Clayton wouldn’t have to witness innocents being hurt.
The Peelers had decided against shutting down any more individual counterfeit operations since the outfits opened somewhere else within a few weeks.
Rather than waste time finding the new location, Paddy hoped the remaining few would lead them to The Vicar.
“Do you think the Feltons are safe now?” he asked Clayton.
“Let’s see what Harry finds out. If Rowlands is trying to locate any witnesses—Lynch, here, excluded—we’ll know soon enough.”
“If they are still in danger, do you think The Vicar knows of Kitty?” This was his worst fear.
Clayton shook his head. “Rowlands wouldn’t want him to know of loose ends until they’re all tied in a tidy knot.”
* * *
Next day
Chancery Lane
Ben walked from his office to Holborn, searching the heavy traffic for a hackney. He gave the direction to Millard’s East India House at 16 Cheapside. Genie had told him it was the ideal place to purchase a few special supplies for Kitty. Items she would use for herself or someone special.
He knew Kitty’s favorite color was green, and with her personality, he assumed she would prefer a vibrant shade.
Genie and Lydia had given him some advice as to what he might purchase, and he reached for his notebook where he’d written down the items. When the hackney pulled to a stop in front of the East India House, Ben gawked up at the huge building. All that space for cloth?
He entered a huge hall filled with dozens of customers.
Giant bolts of cloth, stored in hollow spaces near the ceiling, lined the two walls above the long counters where smartly dressed, all-male clerks assisted the clientele.
Long lengths were pulled from the bolts to drape across the walls so they could be pulled to an interested customer for inspection.
There were muslins, satins, silks, tweeds, and linens of all colors imaginable, and various prints sported the flora and fauna of England and countries abroad.
The noise level was high as people bickered about price or chatted with one another while they waited their turn.
I’m quite out of my element, thought Ben, joining a queue in front of a wall of shelves filled with bins of accessories. Conversations floated within hearing.
“Not that one, the blue above it.”
“You can’t really expect me to pay that much!”
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
Ben soon found himself enthralled with the hectic atmosphere. Huge swaths of brightly patterned cloth would be pulled from the wall, across a counter, and in front of the customer for inspection. Then the same would be rolled up again, and another would be unfurled.
“How may I assist you, sir?” asked the mustached, red-haired clerk.
Ben slapped down the list and gave the man a sheepish smile. “I need a variety of these for a gift.”
silk or satin ribbons
silk flowers, roses, small posies
feathers
delicate lace and netting
beads
paste gems
clusters of berries or fruit
gimp braid
He explained the purpose of the gift and what Kitty created with the items.
“Very good, sir. Give me an idea of what you’d like to spend, and I’ll choose an assortment of items for you.”
“Would a sovereign be enough?” he asked, not wanting to spend too much and make Kitty anxious.
“Yes, sir.” The man turned his back and began selecting items and placing them on a tray. He climbed a ladder that moved back and forth, like the type used in a bookshop, and soon had a nice collection.
“Would you like any cloth to go with these?” asked the clerk.
“How much and what type of cloth would make a green reticule?” He wanted Kitty to make something for herself, knowing it would be better than anything he could possibly buy.
With his purchases wrapped and tucked under his arm, Ben left the warehouse and joined the throng of people still filling the main thoroughfare. He wanted to stop in and visit with Mr. Felton, but Clayton had advised him not to be seen there. Ben might end up being followed.
Now that the mornings didn’t include Kitty’s bright smile, he’d decided he didn’t need a knocker-up. He felt silly having the older man wake him up. So unless Ben found Felton in the evening while on his route, he didn’t see him.
Once home, he settled into the parlor with a glass of brandy and a book. He’d rather be with Kitty, but the three women had an emergency order, and they were working extra hours today. When his lids drooped, he decided to go to his room and find sleep early.
As he unwrapped his cravat, idly wondering about men who didn’t dress themselves, he saw Mr. Felton passing by in his usual garb: long coat, lantern, and a thick staff for protection.
Terry was at his heels, then in front, then next to him.
As the duo progressed up the lane, he watched as the dog trotted to an opening between two buildings, staring at something.
But when Felton called in a harsh voice, Terry obeyed and followed his master, the hackles on his neck raised.
They disappeared into the night, the lantern a faint yellow glow.
Wondering what the canine had seen, Ben lingered at the window.
He was rewarded with a figure in dark clothing coming out of the alley, moving in the same direction.
The devil! He was following Felton. Ben was sure of it.
He tossed his cravat on the bed, went to his wardrobe, and retrieved his pistol, tucking it into his waistband before donning his coat.
Ben hurried down the stairs and onto the street, heading in the same direction as the trio he’d observed. It had been several years since he’d done any surveillance, and he had to slow his step once he caught sight of the lone figure. He couldn’t see Felton or the dog.
The man turned to the right. Ben heard the sound of glass breaking and hurried his pace.
When he came to the street, it was dark.
He heard the low growl before he saw the dark forms ahead.
Ben kept to the other side of the street, staying in the shadows.
Felton was pushed against the wall of a brick building, holding his hand out to quiet Terry.
He doesn’t want the man to hurt the dog, Ben thought, knowing Felton worried about Kitty.
He wasn’t sure if the assailant had a pistol or a blade, so he worked his way slowly.
If he surprised the man too early, he might panic.
A blade might slip or a gun might go off.
When he was directly across from them, Terry hyperfocused on his master’s next command, Ben slipped up behind them.
Felton saw him and began talking to his attacker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a daughter.”
“You have the dog, so you know where the girl is,” rasped the man. He lifted a hand and pointed the muzzle of a gun at Felton’s head.
To his credit, the older man remained calm. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Then I’ll kill the first witness,” said the man, turning the gun toward the dog.
Felton took the opportunity and threw his weight against the man. He fell backward into Ben, who wrapped his arm around the man’s neck. Terry sank his teeth into the man’s leg. “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” said Ben. “I’m a bit giddy with the trigger.”
“I have manacles,” said Felton, patting his long coat and producing the iron wristlets. As he reached for the criminal’s hand, the man threw his head back and cracked Ben’s forehead, then crouched and ran headfirst into the night watchman.
“Bloody Charley,” the assailant yelled as Felton toppled to the ground, running toward the next street.
Terry ran to Felton, and Ben went after the assailant. It wasn’t necessary. Gus appeared at the corner, his big form blocking the exit. With an arm held out, his meaty fist snared the man’s neck and lifted him off the ground.
“Where you off to in such a hurry? My friends ain’t finished speaking with you yet.” Gus seized the back of the man’s collar, then put him in a bear hold, rendering the ruffian harmless.
“You’ll be sorry,” yelled the man, trying to kick at Gus. “You don’t know who I work for.”
Ben could now see the zigzag scar down the man’s cheek. A weight lifted from his shoulders as his brain took in the fact that they had caught the murderer. He stumbled, righted himself, then backtracked to help Felton up.
“I’m fine, son,” said the night watchman. “Let’s get that bugger secured.”
It was another hour before Rowlands was safely locked away in the bowels of the Brown Bear. Harry Walters was summoned, and he and George Ruthven, the main constable for Bow Street, decided to keep Gus watching over the cells. Harry didn’t want to take a chance on another man dying in custody.
“It’s good to see you again, Sir Harry,” Ruthven said, holding out his hand. They had worked together a few years back, uncovering the Cato Conspiracy. Even at this late hour, the man wore his signature yellow waistcoat. “How’s O’Brien?”
“Well, sir,” said Harry. “You should stop in and have a drink with him sometime.”
“I might just do that,” he said. “Now I think I’ll return home and rewarm my bed.”
Once Ruthven left, Harry turned to Ben and Mr. Felton. “Gus and I will finish questioning the prisoner. I’ll contact you if we learn anymore. Go home, both of you, and get some rest.”
“Is it safe to bring my daughter home now?” asked Felton.
Harry nodded. “First thing in the morning.”
Ben and Felton walked out of the public house. Terry was waiting at the door for them, his tail spinning frantically when he saw them. The pup ran and jumped against his owner’s thighs, then leaped again. The night watchman caught him and held him close.
“Good boy,” he said into the dog’s scruffy fur.
“He is, indeed,” agreed Ben. “It was pure luck that I saw you pass by my house. Terry was focused on something in the alley, so I watched for a while. Someone emerged and followed you. I grabbed my pistol and decided to make sure you were fine.”
“Not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t.” Felton set the dog down and gave Ben a side hug. “You saved my life, son. I don’t think he had any intention of letting me live.”
“I’m just relieved Kitty will soon be home. Nothing could make her happier.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Felton, squeezing Ben’s shoulder.
Ben took a hackney back to his room. As he replayed the events in his mind, he remembered his words to Mr. Felton.
It was pure luck I saw you pass by my house.
Pure luck.