“As he had picked me up close to the Rookeries, he became a bit skittish about traversing so far from the main traffic this time of night.”
“How cowardly of him. Were you looking for me?”
“I was. Now I know why I did not find you.”
“Surely you were not looking for me here. Not a place I’d frequent. Too many toffs.”
“And you are deathly afraid of the owner.”
A scoffed laugh. “Her wolves, more likely. Blighters are all former military and have no mercy at all.”
“The men and women guarding her establishment do have that reputation for how they treat miscreants and blackguards. Even toffs.”
A snort. “How about the toffs who owe her a great deal of money?”
“She has her ways.”
“So do I.” Bully Collins stepped into Cleveland Row, the streetlights illuminating his pudgy bulk, frayed woolen suit, and a flat cap atop long, shaggy hair. Behind him, three men emerged from the darkness, two of whom made the prime longshoremen on the docks appear small and weak. The other, a lean and wiry youth, had a cricket bat cradled in his arms and a twisted smile on his face. Bully’s runner.
“I am going to pay you.”
Bully shook his head. “Oh, Thaddeus, my boy, I wish I believed you.” He gestured toward the entrance of the Lyon’s Den. “But you are hardly the first toff to pay her before me. I need to send a message that such a hierarchy is not appropriate. So it is rather perfect that you showed up here.”
“I assure you—”
“Gentlemen.”
Thad ran, hoping to reach the Lyon’s Den and sanctuary before the runner caught him. He had only ten feet to go when he felt that bat strike him across his right shoulder and neck. Stumbling, Thad went down, his face slamming into the pavement as darkness fell.
Chapter Ten
Sunday, 30 April 1826
Kirkstone House
Half-past nine in the morning
Mary squinted swolleneyes as she entered the breakfast parlor, her head annoyed by the bright eastern sun. Her feet scuffed as she headed for the sideboard to pick up a plate, and she barely noticed that Kit and Beth, already seated and eating their morning meal, watched her with intense, caring eyes. With only a few morsels of fruit, bread, and cheese on her plate, she dropped into a chair, nodding her thanks as the footman poured her tea.
“How are you doing?”
Beth’s voice held kindness and concern, but Mary truly did not want to speak. She shrugged.
Kit, who had been smiling at some bit of correspondence, cleared his throat. “It might not be what you think.”
Mary added a lump of sugar to her tea. “Does it matter? He did not come. Irresponsible as well as reckless.”
Kit laid aside his missive. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon said—”
Mary clanked her spoon against her saucer. “I really do not care to hear what that woman has to say about anything or anyone. He promised. He did not come. At this point, I suspect it would be best if I accompany you to India. Where no one knows me. Perhaps malaria would be a more complete solution.”
“Mary!” Beth stared at her. “Do not think such a thing!”
Mary shrugged and the room fell silent.
After a moment, Beth spoke, her voice a soft whisper. “I feel a great deal better today. I thought a ride in the park might do us some good. In the landau. Fresh air.”
Mary shook her head. “I suspect I would be foul company for you and a detriment to any meetings along the paths.” Mary looked at her food, her stomach unwilling to accept any of it. She had pushed her chair back and prepared to stand, when the butler appeared at the door with a small silver salver in one hand.
