Sir Henry Ainsley #2
Mr. Green’s lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “She would like that. Her sister is coming to town next week, and Beth always does like to have one over her sister.”
Henry lifted a brow. “A sister in town? Poor man, I imagine we will see more of you next week then.” Some long-buried instinct had the hairs on the back of Henry’s neck standing on end.
Under cover of stretching his neck, he turned.
One of the men near the entrance had his head turned toward their table.
Mr. Green sat again, fumbling for his cards. “Her husband isn’t a bad chap. Blasted wealthy though—coming to London to join Frampton’s shipping venture, I believe. Wanted to meet with the fellow before doing business with him.”
Henry filed that information away, though it was not likely to be helpful as quickly as he needed.
“Ah, not Frampton’s venture. That thing is rubbish. Go with Hayes—he knows what he is doing.”
Henry listened as the conversation dissolved into talk of business.
None of it would get him anywhere with his debts. Frampton and Hayes required too much to join any of their ventures. Henry was making investments where he could, but he was at the bottom of the barrel where these men were concerned.
Another two hands passed; Henry intentionally lost both but did not have much blunt on them. The men were reaching the territory of too drunk to be useful. And with newly filled drinks in front of them, future prospects were similarly low.
Instead, he took advantage of their drunkenness to win another several hands. Paltry wins, all. The money was welcome, but it would do nothing for Hastings.
Henry laid down his current hand, confident that it, too, would win, and groans dominoed about the table. With a nod, he said, “I think that spells the end of my night, gentlemen.”
They let him go, grumbling good-naturedly. That was important. One had to know when to stop before angering his playing partners or they’d not sit down with him again.
He pushed from the table and made his way through the room to the entrance.
The watcher stood as Henry passed him, following him to the door.
Henry looked over his shoulder but could not see the man’s face.
His shoulders were broad though, and he was taller than Henry.
If he intended trouble, Henry would be unlucky indeed.
As he exited onto the street, Henry increased his speed, jogging across the road and tucking himself into the shadowed confines of an alley, eyes on the entrance to the club.
The man came out a few seconds later. He stopped as he presumably saw that the street was empty. Tipping his hat up, his head swung to each side, giving Henry a perfect look at his face.
Wait. He knew this man. “Captain Carlton?” he called, stepping from the shadows.
The large captain, near about what Henry’s father’s age would have been, looked around until he spotted Henry crossing the street. “Sir Henry.”
“Just Henry,” he said through a tight throat. The last thing he needed this night was a friend of his father’s showing up, reminding Henry of all he’d lost.
“Well, Henry. Can I offer you a ride?”
No sprung just to the tip of Henry’s tongue but he stopped it. His mouth twitched into a frown, but he could not bring himself to figuratively spit upon this man’s company. Carlton was a good fellow, one of Henry’s father’s closest friends.
“I don’t see why not,” he said instead, though it pained him.
Carlton nodded, his bushy moustache dipping with the movement. He directed Henry to the carriage and had him give his address to the driver before they ducked inside.
Henry watched Carlton as he settled into his seat.
He showed all the signs of someone expectant of something.
Henry was not certain he wished to know what the man’s real reason for seeking him out was.
It was not particularly likely that he had simply run into him.
After all, Carlton was now American. As a captain in the British Navy, he’d transported Henry’s father numerous times on numerous missions, until he’d ultimately been injured, and moved his family across the ocean to seek better fortune.
He’d found it, evidently, if the man’s clothing were any indication.
“Henry, I will not mince words nor play at pleasantries with you. I’ve come seeking your help.”
Henry hid his surprise. “For what?”
“I came to London to discover what befell a ship of mine. Evidently, it ran aground just off the French coast. On an island in the Channel.”
Henry nodded.
“What I found was more than I’d bargained for. And, honestly, more than my abilities to deal with” The man clasped his hands, his gaze steady. “Piracy was the downfall of my shipment.”
Henry’s brows rose. “You are certain of this?”
“Entirely. But there’s more. My men were run aground by a false beacon.
Too late, they realized it was no lighthouse, it was a trap.
And when the ship was boarded, every officer was thrown overboard and the crew was tied up and blindfolded.
No one was explicitly hurt.” His steely eyes met Henry’s. “Remind you of anyone?”
The walls of the carriage seemed to shift to those of a shadowed room as memory assailed Henry. Memories he kept under lock and key. He swallowed back a grimace. “The Gentleman Pirate.”
“Exactly.”
Silence reigned but for the muted sounds of rolling wheels and horses’ hooves on stone. Henry fought the recollections. Fought the pain. “And you are telling me this, why?” he managed to ask. The carriage felt too small. He needed out that instant.
“They took all my goods, but left my ship and men mostly intact. And this isn’t the first instance.
After some digging, I’ve learned of a number of ships treated in the same manner.
Always off the coast of Shalk. The admiralty has begun a blockade to stop smuggling here in England, but not on the Channel Islands.
I fear they are in over their heads and I’ll find no help there. ”
Henry was about to repeat his question, but he feared he already knew the answer as to just why Captain Carlton was telling him all of this.
The bulky man leaned forward, intent. “I don’t have the skill set to ferret out the man behind this. You do.”
A quip about how Henry’s days were filled to the brim with entertainments he did not wish to miss made its way, half-formed, into his mind. But he did not say it. Could not. He could not make light of the turncoat who had murdered his father in cold blood.
“I want to hire you, Henry. I know how good you are. You are your father’s son, after all.”
“And you want me to . . . what? Take down a band of pirates?”
The man showed no outward sign of exasperation.
“If it comes to that. But more than anything, I just need concrete evidence of what happened to my ship. There is a manor house there—one central in location to the island and the general area I believe my ship ran aground.” Carlton leaned back in his seat, but his eyes grew even more intense, if that were possible.
“The owner there hosts a five-week party every summer. Island guests flock to the place—some from England proper as well. I’ll get you an invitation, and you’ll squeeze every last drop of information you can get about the goings-on from the guests. ”
Henry was shaking his head. No. In five years he’d not gone back to spying. Carlton had said Henry was good at this sort of thing, and he was wrong. If Henry had been better, his father would still be alive.
But, never had the opportunity to apprehend his father’s killer been on the line.
“I’ll pay you well, and should you lead to the capture of these pirates, I imagine your Crown would pay as well.”
Without realizing it, Henry’s head was dipping up and down in apparent agreement.
It was not about the money, though that would be welcome with his current situation.
It was about the man. The man who had caught his father that night and slit his throat while Henry watched through the window, too late to help, and dragged away by Fletcher before either could compromise themselves.
There’d been no hope for Daniel Ainsley, but if Henry had only been faster—only been better—his father would not have been left alone in that library, cornered by not one, but two turncoats. And killed.
“My sister would need to come with me,” Henry said, his voice rough, his eyes anywhere but on Carlton’s. Oh yes, bring his sister along to the pirate island. Brilliant. But he couldn’t very well leave her here, not with Hastings after him.
“Easily done.” The man watched him, Henry knew it, but he did not look up. “Thank you, Sir Henry. I know what the Gentleman . . . I know what this is to you. But it is also my livelihood on the line. My family.”
The carriage rocked to a stop, and Henry reached for the door, desperate for air.
“You have yourself a deal, Carlton. But it is only Henry. I have not earned my father’s title.”