Chapter 11
James
James opened his eyes to a world that, for the first time in three days, was not defined by pain.
The doctor’s mandate to stay abed had been unavoidable and irksome.
James had spent much of the time in fitful sleep and endured the noxious draught that Mrs. Bates insisted would do him wonders.
She added extra honey, but despite the lingering taste, he dared not refuse.
He would rather face a dueling pistol than her wrath.
He had spent the remaining time attempting to determine the identity of the names on Henry’s list and how they connected to the delivery at the tavern.
He was unsuccessful on every count. Being confined to his bed had limited what he could do, and he was done writing discreet inquiries.
He needed to be out, gathering answers himself.
Worse than being trapped at home was knowing there was at least one person who would not sit idle while mysteries went unsolved.
Despite her recklessness, he was forced to admit that Kate’s courage and intelligence were maddeningly attractive. She was proving to be a far more intriguing complication than he had anticipated.
The memories came in a rush. Dancing at the ball, holding her behind library curtains, seeing her concern for his injury. Her expression upon seeing him in his nightshirt made him grin, but he caught himself and wiped it away. Yes, he was most certainly in trouble where Kate was concerned.
He rubbed a hand over three days’ worth of stubble. It was time to rejoin the living.
A few hours later, with help from his new valet, Stephens, he looked into the mirror and saw a changed man.
Doctor Brathwall had assured him he no longer needed to wear the bandage.
The lump had subsided and was now hidden beneath his hair.
With his face freshly shaven, his snowy-white cravat tied to perfection, his dark blue morning coat and tan breeches impeccable, one might never suspect he had suffered an injury unless they looked closely enough to detect the strain that lingered around his eyes.
Much of the tension came from worrying about Kate.
He had assumed she had outgrown her reckless impulses, but her presence at the tavern and the determined glint in her eyes during her visit made him wary.
He needed to see her, to hear her promise she was done entangling herself.
He was also overdue for a visit to Hugh, a convenient excuse to see Kate as well.
He was quickly learning that Kate did not like being watched over.
But first he had business at White’s. One of his associates worked at the gentlemen’s club and had a talent for overhearing useful things, and James had no intention of wasting another day in bed while Henry’s killer roamed free.
The distant rumbling of thunder warned that the dark sky was about to break. James paused outside his door, tugging on his gloves as he glanced at the clouds. Despite the impending storm, after three long days in bed, he had no desire to be cramped in a hackney.
The brief walk to White’s restored much of his equilibrium.
He proceeded up the front steps of the white stone building, nodding to the porter at the door before continuing on to the main rooms. He had no interest in the betting book or the gambling tables today, but there was no escaping small talk with acquaintances along the way.
He sat at a small table partially hidden in the afternoon shadows. Anthony would know where to find him.
Before he had even settled into the chair, a young servant with cropped dark hair and a face that still carried traces of boyhood approached the table.
“Lord Brenton, how may I assist you today?”
“A cup of tea with honey, please, Anthony.”
When the servant returned, he took careful time to prepare the tea. “I haven’t seen you here in a while, my lord. Word around the club was that you were occupying yourself with wedding preparations.”
Anthony gave James a lopsided grin as he passed him the teacup. James sighed. Kate was not wrong when she said their expected betrothal was the worst-kept secret in London.
James cleared his throat. “Yes, well, not quite yet. But there is something I am hoping you can help me with today.”
Anthony produced a small towel and meticulously wiped down the table, leaning closer under the guise of his duties. No one was nearby, but James lowered his voice anyway.
“Does the name The Sentinel mean anything to you?”
Anthony froze before continuing to clean the nonexistent spill.
“I’ve heard rumors, mostly from my cousin and his friends who work at the docks. They say he is ruthless and won’t let anyone stand in his way.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Only those who work for him seem to know, and they are not talking. Anyone else has not lived to tell. And they say the other gent is even worse. The one giving the orders.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
Anthony shrugged and wiped the table more forcefully. “I don’t know why you want to find these men, my lord, but you should stay far away. Nothing good will come of it.”
James ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “And suppose I did want to find this Sentinel. Where should I begin my search?”
Anthony checked over his shoulder before answering. “There is a fighter named Charlie. Word is that he works for The Sentinel now.”
“And how do I find this fighter?”
“He comes and goes through town, but he has a prize fight tonight. Out at Moulsey Hurst.”
The exhaustion of the last three days vanished, replaced by a driving focus.
Moulsey Hurst was outside London and only a few hours away by horseback, less if he took Apollo.
It was still early in the day, and if James left after his visit with Hugh, timing wouldn’t be a problem.
Finally. A solid clue to Henry’s killer.
Footsteps neared and Anthony straightened, wiping the table with one last flourish as Lord Markham came into view. Though gray touched his temples, his father’s friend remained more fit than many gentlemen half his age.
“Thank you, Anthony. That will be all.” James pressed a sovereign into the boy’s hand. Anthony bowed and removed the tea tray, leaving James alone with his cup of tea and his unexpected companion.
“Brenton, care if I join you? I was going to send my card around to pay a visit as soon as possible.”
James offered a tight but polite smile. “I’m sorry, Lord Markham, but if you’ve come to discuss the upcoming vote on trade restrictions, I’m afraid I don’t have time. I am due to visit Lord Rutherford this afternoon.”
“Dashed business about his fall. Lady Sutherland mentioned it at the ball. Can’t believe the lad was thrown.” The older gentleman shook his head. “But the vote isn’t what I needed to speak with you about. There is something more pressing you ought to know.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I know a fair amount about your father’s investments since we frequently sought out opportunities together. He put a great deal of money into shipping and trade, as did I. Have you heard news yet about the lost shipment?”
James was instantly alert. A lost shipment? As in envoi perdu?
“I haven’t. What happened?”
Lord Markham sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “There was a merchant vessel returning from the West Indies laden with sugar, molasses, and cotton. She was due to drop anchor in the Downs last week to await a pilot to steer her to London, but the ship never arrived.”
“Unfortunately, ships are often lost at sea. Between the storms and the privateers, the route from the Caribbean is especially dangerous.”
“I would think the same thing, except there were reported sightings of the ship several miles west near Beachy Head. The weather and winds were fair. There were no reports of French sails in the Channel that day, and even the Navy patrols saw nothing to explain her fate. She has simply . . . vanished.”
Uneasiness stirred in James. “I appreciate the news. I will consult with my solicitor. Has anything been done to discover what happened to the ship?”
“Yes, but to no avail. It’s like the ship never existed.
” Lord Markham stood and James followed.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Brenton. It’s such a shame.
All those sailors. I even heard there were a few passengers on board.
But I will leave you to your visit with young Rutherford. Please give him my best.”
James spent the walk to Lord Sutherland’s home appearing every bit the relaxed gentleman out for a stroll before the rain, but his mind was occupied with the troubling information he had learned. He needed to get to Dover, but only after he followed the trail to The Sentinel.
The need for a true network of trusted agents had never felt so urgent.
One man alone could not chase every shadow before it vanished.
His encounters with Anthony and Lord Markham reminded him just how serious this business was and how dangerously close Kate had come to it.
He was anxious to see her, to know she was safe.
He needed her to stop asking questions before she got herself hurt. Or worse.
He lengthened his stride, unwilling to dwell on the unwelcome realization that he was eager to see her, and arrived on the Marquess of Sutherland’s doorstep as the first drops of rain fell.
His knock was quickly answered, and after handing his hat and gloves to a footman, he inquired after Hugh.
The butler informed him that his friend was awake.
James took the stairs to the familiar bedchamber.
He knew this house almost as well as his own.
He was unsure what to expect, but his friend was shockingly pale. The room smelled of laudanum and wool, the bed-curtains drawn closed against the pale light. Bruises marred Hugh’s face and bandages were wrapped around his chest. The man looked like he had been in a prize fight and lost badly.