Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabriel and Phoebe stood in Bow Street outside a tall and narrow building proclaiming itself as the Brown Bear hostelry.
Atkins waited a little way behind them, no doubt eyeing their destination with a somewhat more jaundiced air than either of her charges.
As she’d been told Lord Gabriel was taking Phoebe out driving in the park for an hour or two, this busy street near Covent Garden must have come as something of a surprise.
It had not to Phoebe. She was staring at the rather dull brick building in somewhat fevered anticipation, for a great deal rested on the success of their mission today.
Her heart pounded with suppressed excitement, and she had to school herself not to rush headlong in through the inn’s front door.
Did Gabriel feel the same? She couldn’t tell. Atkins just looked puzzled.
She squared her shoulders. It was within these innocuous walls, so the Sherborne House coachman, Donald Newhouse, had assured them, that they would be able to engage the services of a reliable private inquiry agent.
How a coachman was familiar with this nugget of information, Gabriel had not asked, and Phoebe didn’t care.
Just the thought that they were taking another step in the direction of discovering Gabriel’s origins was enough to spur her on and make her cast aside all concerns.
What they would do after such a discovery had not even crossed her mind, beyond hoping that knowledge of his parentage might make him less self-deprecating where marriage was concerned.
She was clinging on to the hope that it was his not knowing that encouraged his reluctance, and that once he knew for certain, all would be well.
Thanks to the ruse of going driving in the park, they had arrived in Bow Street in the carriage Gabriel had borrowed from his brother’s stables.
This vehicle was a smart landau with the hood up against the February chill, drawn by a matched four of grays and complete with a driver, Lovat.
As it wasn’t raining, for once, Atkins had traveled up beside the groom, which had given Gabriel and Phoebe a degree of privacy.
He’d been unduly silent though, as if he had much on his mind, and Phoebe had contented herself with taking hold of his hand to express her reassurance, even though what she would have preferred was to have been taken in his arms and kissed passionately as he’d done at the ball.
She’d had to be content, however, with him tightening his fingers around hers as though he needed her support.
They were, after all, creeping ever closer to the heart of his mystery.
And now they’d reached their destination and Lovat had positioned the carriage at the side of the street, much to the annoyance of those wishing to use it to actually go somewhere.
With the enormous, porticoed Covent Garden Theatre at one end, and the magistrates court along the eastern side, there was a great deal of traffic about, both horse-drawn and on foot.
“This is it?” Phoebe asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “You’re sure we have the right place.” Compared with some of the other buildings the Brown Bear appeared a shabby relative.
Gabriel nodded. “Donald assured me we would find retired Runners within, all of whom have received good training in carrying out searches for not just missing belongings, but also missing people. This is the favorite haunt of thief takers. We should not make the mistake of calling them Runners to their faces. Apparently, they don’t like it. ”
Might he not be a little worried that some, if not a large number of them, would have been hired to locate and apprehend the Mayfair Highwayman?
Was it not a little like walking into the lion’s den?
Phoebe decided that as he didn’t seem to have thought of this, it would be wise not to pass on her own fears.
They were no longer holding hands now Atkins was with them, so Phoebe slipped her hand into the crook of Gabriel’s arm.
“Well, we’d best go inside then. Standing out here staring won’t get us anywhere.
” Easy to be decisive when this was not about her.
She looked over her shoulder at Atkins. “You may wait here with Lovat and the carriage. His Lordship and I won’t be long. ”
On Gabriel’s arm, she walked through the front door of the tavern.
*
Gabriel had been in a fair few taverns in his time, and this one was little different.
It had a higher ceiling than most, but was equipped with the same array of well-worn wooden tables and chairs, bench seats against the walls and a long bar on one side.
The floor was made of large slate slabs and the walls were hung with a variety of odd decorations, from manacles to truncheons, that hinted at the occupation of most of the regulars.
Easy to see it was close to the headquarters of the famous Bow Street Runners.
And it was crowded, almost exclusively with men.
He could see at a glance that this was not the sort of place ladies frequented, not even those of the lower classes. Phoebe, in her pretty sprigged muslin gown and warm pelisse and bonnet, rather stood out.
Heads turned. He experienced a fellow feeling with Phoebe, as this must be how she felt at balls.
Only here it was true. Everyone was looking at them, and it wasn’t just his imagination.
But he had to do it. He had to try. He’d waited sixteen years for this and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.
He recognized the dark uniform of the Runners on a number of the occupants straight away, but the rest were clad in a variety of mufti and were a variety of ages.
Possibly they were the retired officers, many of whom offered their services privately.
Donald’s advice had been to ask for Abraham Coolidge, so he made his way across the room and up to the bar, Phoebe keeping close behind him.
If she’d felt everyone at the ball was looking at her, which they hadn’t been, here she was going to find out what it was really like to be the center of all attention.
But she lifted her chin and ignored the stares.
Brave girl. He had a feeling she might be braver than he was, despite his nocturnal escapades as a burglar.
They’d never frightened him so there’d been nothing to overcome.
But right now, he acknowledged only to himself, his whole body was a mass of anxious nerves.
The barkeeper was polishing glasses with a linen towel. A huge man with a somewhat intimidating looking patch over one eye, he fixed Gabriel with a hard stare from out of the other one. “Good day to you, milord.”
As Gabriel had been turned out by his valet this morning in a fine suit of clothes suitable for a drive in the park and not for frequenting dubious establishments, he was not surprised the man thought him a lord. Well, just at the moment, until they found his mother, he was one.
“Good day to you, sir,” he returned. “I’m told this establishment is one frequented by a gentleman by the name of Abraham Coolidge. I have need of his services and would be grateful if you could point him out to me and my companion.”
One of the uniformed officers, who’d been leaning on the bar, turned his head to look at them.
Of early middle-age, he possessed thick brows above a nose so bent and disfigured as to suggest its owner was not unknown to pugilism, or perhaps street fighting might be more accurate.
“What does a fine young sprig like you want with a man like Coolidge, if I might be so bold as to ask?” His forthright approach indicated he was well used to being bold, so this was merely a nicety of speech.
Gabriel, who’d not so far had to deal with upholders of the law, held out his hand. “Lord Gabriel Wycliff, at your service, sir. And my companion is Lady Phoebe Nicholson.”
The officer took his offered hand. His was large and rough and the veins on the back stood out like corded ropes. “Jack Whiteley, milord, of, as you can no doubt see for yourself, the Bow Street Runners. Only we prefer to call ourselves Mr. Fielding’s Men.”
Gabriel nodded. “I had indeed taken note of your uniform, Officer Whiteley.” The notion that his new friend would be cock-a-hoop with delight if he were to discover he was shaking hands with the Mayfair Highwayman refused to leave him.
What if a real thief-taker like this had the power to sniff out a thief?
What if he was exuding guilt like sweat?
Best not even to think about his secret life. “May I buy you a drink?”
“That would be most hospitable of you,” Officer Whiteley said. “A cove after my liking.”
Gabriel ordered another brandy for the officer, as that was what he was drinking, and one for himself, but Phoebe shook her head when offered.
He very much doubted she’d ever been inside an inn or tavern before.
Well, apart from the Rat’s Castle, and that hardly counted.
As she only had that for comparison, she was probably thinking this place far more civilized.
Officer Whiteley, having downed his brandy, gestured around the crowded bar.
“This is our local hostelry, milord. It’s where we come to meet up with those that can help with our investigations.
And you’re right, Mr. Coolidge comes here every day.
He used to be one of us but has retired on a pension that he supplements with work as a private inquiry agent.
I take it that’s why you’re looking for him? To offer him some work?”
Gabriel nodded, not wanting to say too much as the anxious sensation that the man could see into his inner soul wouldn’t go away. “I am.” The brandy helped a little with his nerves.
“Then that’s him over there in the corner,” Officer Whiteley said. “I’ll take you over to him and introduce you.”