Chapter 9 #2
It was all the impetus Hugh needed. He charged forward. “Stand aside,” he ordered the guard, who of course, did no such thing. The unmistakable sound of a hand smacking skin and the grunt of pain followed from within the room.
“Hugh—” Thornton called from behind him. But all Hugh could see was red.
He cracked his fist against the guard’s jaw, and the man went down flat.
The door wasn’t locked, so he threw it open, sending it slamming against the wall.
The tall and corpulent Lars Vance had Sir by the scruff of his collar.
He swiveled to stare at the intruder. So did Sir.
His lip had been split, and his eyes were red with tearful fury.
“Release him. Now,” Hugh growled.
“Who the f—” Vance saw his guard sprawled on the floor. His hand went to the inside of his jacket, and he drew a snub-nosed pistol.
“Christ,” Thornton hissed as he came in behind Hugh, his arms held up in capitulation. “Mr. Vance, this boy belongs to my friend here. We don’t want trouble. Just the boy.”
Sir struggled in Vance’s hard and fast grip. “I don’t belong to no one!” At the catch in Sir’s throat, a murderous rage nearly overtook Hugh.
“Who is this man, Thornton?” Vance asked, still aiming his pistol at them.
Thornton lowered his hands and raked them through his hair. “Viscount Neatham,” he sighed.
He was certainly not getting his opium locket back after this.
“Well, viscount, your boy has been badgering my employees about his dead father. I, and my club, have nothing to do with Mr. Givens’s unfortunate fate.” He gave Sir another shake when Sir tried to wriggle free. “He’s been given his father’s last wages and now he needs to go.”
“To do that, you’ll need to release him.” Fire burned in Hugh throat, scalding his words. Vance shoved Sir away, uncurling his fists from his collar. With the back of his sleeve, Sir wiped blood from his chin.
“What kind of man strikes a boy less than half his size?” Hugh asked.
Vance laughed but left the question unanswered. “Take your lad, viscount. And don’t come back.”
Sir hung his head, stormed across the office, and pushed past Hugh. He leaped over the guard, now stirring on the floor. The scrappy imp was moving fast, running again. But Hugh had questions for Vance, and after this, he wouldn’t have another opportunity to ask them.
He turned to Thornton. “Follow him.”
His friend eyed the pistol in Vance’s hand and hesitated, but then swore under his breath. He left on Sir’s heels.
Turning back to Vance, Hugh wasted no time. “Travis Comstock. You revoked his membership.”
Vance glared. “What of it?”
“Was Harlan Givens associated with him?”
“I’ve already spoken to the real Runners who came here asking about Givens.”
The waking guard pushed to his knees, then his feet. He slurred, “What do you want me to do with him, Mr. Vance?”
“Tell me what you know about the Sanctuary,” Hugh said before the guard could receive his orders.
Across the room, Vance went utterly still. His scowl softened. But then, a hardness slid back over his features. He raised his pistol again with deadly calm. “Leave now. Make me say it again and you’ll disappear.”
The gaming hell owner had enough power and connections to make a reality out of the threat.
Hugh held up his hands and backed toward the stairs.
It was a wonder when he reached the main floor without a bullet lodged in his spine.
Across the room, Thornton descended from view as he took the stairs to the entrance at a fast clip.
Hugh ignored looks of alarm from the other patrons as he sprinted after him.
Forgoing his coat, he rushed out onto the front step, into the brisk air.
Sir was already halfway down the block, still running with Thornton on his tail.
“Sir, stop!” Hugh bellowed.
The boy ran a few more paces, enough for Hugh to begin sprinting again. He’d been searching for him for days; he wasn’t about to lose sight of him now.
But then, all the sudden, Sir seemed to give up. He quit running and started to walk. Thornton reached him first, circling around in front of him while Hugh came close enough to snag his arm and jerk him to a halt.
“Where the hell have you been?” he shouted while also heaving for air.
Sir hung his head and wiped his nose. His clothing was dirty and stained; he’d changed into street clothes at some point. Patched trousers, yellowed shirt, threadbare sack coat.
He kept his chin tucked into his neck, the brim of his cap obscuring his face. But another sniffle and another wipe of his sleeve across his face, and Hugh realized he was crying. Hell.
“Thornton, could you get our things?”
The porter at the Seven Sins would still have their coats and hats and gloves. Hopefully they would be returned, even if the opium locket would not be.
“Never. Anywhere. Again,” Thornton said, clipping each word as he stalked back toward the hell’s entrance. Hugh would try to find a way to make it up to him.
Once they were alone on the pavement, he drew a long breath. “It’s been days, Sir. I was worried.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, his voice constricted. He still stared at the pavement under their feet.
“Is that so? I just found you getting knocked around inside a gambling hell, so I would say I do.”
Sir spared him a brief glare before turning away.
At least he didn’t try to run again. Even though he was furious with the boy for disappearing for nearly three days with no word, he was equally relieved.
He was tempted to shrug it off and just be grateful he’d been found.
But in the end, that would do Sir no favors.
“You’re asking questions about your father’s murder in a way that’s going to get you hurt,” Hugh said.
“I can take care of myself. I ain’t a weak little baby.”
Hugh pulled back, surprised by the force of the response. “I never said you were.”
Sir scuffed his feet, his hands buried in his pockets.
“What is this about, Sir?”
He was silent for several moments. Hugh began to think he was being stubborn.
“I heard him, the last time I was home visiting my mum and sisters.” Sir scrubbed his nose again. Hunched his shoulders. “He said he was doing something important, but he couldn’t say what, because I was just a baby. He was always calling me a weak baby.”
Repugnance for Harlan Givens and the way he’d treated his own flesh and blood was no new feeling for Hugh.
But what was new, was what Sir had just revealed.
Givens had been doing something important?
Lucy Givens had said something similar about her husband the other morning.
That he’d had a few other jobs, but he couldn’t tell her about them lest she speak of it to others.
He’d been acting strange and twitchy, she’d said.
“You aren’t weak,” Hugh said. “You are, however, angry, and anger can lead people to take unnecessary risks.”
Sir glimpsed up from the pavement. “Like how you knocked that guard for six?”
Hugh groaned. “Yes. I should have expected to meet with a pistol when I threw open that door. But I was angry, you see. So, we are all culpable, adult and children alike.”
His disdainful grimace returned. “I ain’t a child.”
“You’re acting more like a child than you are a man. Running off like that, with no word. You’re in my care—"
“Well then, I’ll leave it!” His squeaky voice returned and bounced off the exterior of the building next to them. “Gonna need to soon enough anyhow.”
“What are you talking about?”
He anticipated him saying something about becoming the man of the house, now that his father was dead. That his mother and sisters would need him. Hugh had already started thinking of how to respond to that and what he could offer, when Sir bowled him over.
“You’re marrying the duchess, aren’t you? Already got the ring and the license. Already got a new place picked out, too. She won’t want me around once you’re leg shackled to her.”
Hugh’s next breath stuttered, and his heart squeezed.
He’d had no idea his plans to marry Audrey had fazed Sir, let alone worried him.
It had been selfish not to think of it. Blending their lives would not be without its many bumps and changes, but Basil and Sir were part and parcel to Hugh, just as Greer and Carrigan were to Audrey.
He cleared his throat. “Shows how much you know.”
With Sir, the method of delivery mattered. He responded to challenges better than anything else.
Now, he crossed his arms and squinted up at Hugh. “I know plenty.”
“Then you are aware the dowager duchess has asked which room is to be yours at 37 Berkeley Square?”
She’d done no such thing, but it wasn’t a risky lie. Audrey would balk at Sir not coming with them to their new home.
Sir perked up. “She likes it?”
Hugh had taken Sir with him when his steward, a musty old man who’d been one of his father’s, then Barty’s, remaining staff, had shown it to him. As they’d toured the rooms, Sir had shrugged as if unimpressed.
“She does,” Hugh replied.
“And she wants me to hang around?” His tone had changed from petulant and skeptical, to hopeful.
“We both do.” Hugh held up a finger. “But if you ever run away like that again, you’ll have to share a room with Basil so he can keep an eagle eye on you.”
Sir choked on a half laugh, half groan. The tension between them eased as Thornton returned with their coats, hats, and gloves.
“I suppose there are other gaming hells in London,” he said, tossing Hugh his belongings. “Mind you, none that I will ever take you to.”
Norris came around the corner and pulled alongside the curb. Sir opened the door.
“One more thing, Sir,” Hugh said as Thornton climbed in. The boy paused on the step up. “In Vance’s office, I heard you say you didn’t know anything. What had he asked you?”
“Oh, that. He wanted to know who my father was spying on. Can you imagine? Him, a spy?” He snorted in disbelief.
However, the two men from Audrey’s vision had accused Givens of speaking out of turn.
“Did Vance say anything more about it?”
Sir shrugged. “No. But he didn’t like when I called him dicked in the nob for believing my father was an informant.” He touched his split lip tenderly then hopped up into the carriage.
Harlan Givens, a spy? Or at least believed to be one. It did seem highly unlikely. He’d been the furthest thing from discreet.
And that could have been why he ended up dead.