“It’s just getting too dangerous,” he muttered.
Gus stirred in his cot and cracked open a sleepy eye at him. “Yes, it is. I had hoped I might be able to get a few more shiploads of cargo handled before I had to call stumps. This mess is my fault. I misjudged our rivals and how violently they would defend what they now claim to be theirs.”
Stephen gave him a rueful grin. “Promise me you won’t ever go back to Saint-Brieuc. Otherwise, I may just have to burn your boat.”
Gus sighed. “If I do it won’t be for a long time. I doubt my mother will let me leave the house for the next six months.”
Rightly so.
“The laudanum is wearing off, but I don’t want any more of it. Once we make it to Portsmouth, I need to be able to walk ashore. If anyone sees me being carried off this boat, they are going to start asking questions.”
“If we can get you to Moore Manor, then Granville should be able to find a doctor to attend you,” replied Stephen.
“No. No country doctors. We press on for London,” replied Gus.
Gus’s determination to travel while still in such pain made no sense. It only added to Stephen’s growing concern. “What are you not telling me? And if you think to concoct a lie, don’t bother. Because if you do, I will take you straight to the nearest surgeon in Portsmouth as soon as we dock.”
Gus grumbled something foul under his breath. “It’s not just France where things are getting dangerous for the smuggling game. Last month, I was almost caught by the customs militia in England. To say it was a close thing would be kind.”
One by one, the rogues of the road were having to face the reality of a changing world. With both Harry and George now moving away from the illegal side of the business, it was time they looked at other options.
“So, you, like the rest of us, are going to have to come up with some other career choices. Ones which don’t involve either getting shot or hung,” replied Stephen.
Gus clutched at his chest and let out a long painful groan. “That hurts like the devil.”
“Monsale, of course, won’t like it, but he is not going to be able to say much otherwise. Harry and I both have wives who are expecting, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if George follows suit very soon.”
Babies and new business ventures would have to wait. That was the future, and in the meantime, they were going to have to deal with the more immediate and pressing issue of what to do with the badly injured Gus.
If he couldn’t get Gus medical attention before they reached London, it was imperative that he did so as soon as they arrived. He needed somewhere to hide his friend. And just as importantly someone who had experience in dealing with gunshot wounds.
Stephen scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Bridget is going to kill me.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“They will surely put you in Bedlam asylum after this,” muttered Gus.
Stephen couldn’t argue with his friend’s opinion. Only a madman would bring a badly wounded smuggler to the house where his new bride lived. A house where he himself wasn’t exactly welcome.
It was late at night by the time they finally made it back to town the day after they reached Portsmouth. While Gus snatched whatever sleep he could, Stephen had stayed awake, wracking his brains as to other places they could go.
The searching of his mind whilst sitting in coaches and carriages was becoming somewhat of an unwelcome habit.
After arriving via the rear mews of the house at 12 Berkeley Square, he and the driver managed to get Gus out of the coach. It took several minutes for the injured rogue to be able to stand upright. Stephen told the driver to wait.
“I will be out as soon as I can. I have a pregnant wife to deal with before then.”
“Bridget is a practical woman—she will understand,” said Gus.
I hope so, otherwise this is going to be ugly.
The first piece of good fortune he had encountered in some time came in the form of the Dyson household head butler and a footman. They both happened to be outside having a smoke when Stephen and Gus started for the door. They threw their cheroots to the ground and hurried over.
When the butler didn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of Gus, Stephen recalled Bridget’s remark about her former husband having hunting accidents regularly covered up.
The butler nodded to the footman. “Go and inform Lady Dyson, I mean Lady Moore, that her husband has returned home and has a friend seeking peace and quiet.”
Stephen gave a nod. “Thank you.”
