There was a knock on the window, and Aidan felt the pull of the carriage. Peering out the window, he saw the Smythe carriage exiting the mews. This was it!
Old Fred followed at a snail’s pace, drawing to a stop at the corner to wait. The front door of the Smythe home opened and Aidan’s father-in-law exited. At least, Aidan assumed it was Smythe, given the general size and gait of the cloak-covered gentleman running forward to climb the steps into the carriage interior while a figure dutifully held the door ajar. The steps were raised, the door was shut, and the servant climbed aboard.
Aidan’s heart hammered in anticipation. He was prepared to see this to the end, having spent the morning catching hackneys until he had discovered Old Fred.
Today, there would be no reckless riders to cause him to be tossed from his mount.
He had instructed Old Fred to stay close when they reached the more congested streets. Aidan could not afford to lose Smythe again.
His only consolation on this dreary day was that Lily was in residence at the much larger townhouse of the duke, who had more footmen than Filminster in addition to the brawny guards that Halmesbury had hired to protect his guests.
Nevertheless, this investigation needed to progress before someone else was hurt … or worse.
Old Fred nudged his horses forward, and soon they were following Smythe. Both carriages moved slowly as the wheels churned up mud from the puddled streets. Smythe was determined to reach his destination if he chose to brave such hard weather.
They trundled down empty streets, the citizens of London dissuaded from venturing out. When they reachedthe Strand, the traffic picked up. Riders were not to be seen, but carriages clogged the road as they moved tentatively through the downpour.
The journey to the London Docks took considerably more time than the day before. Pedestrians stood shivering beneath shop awnings and, on one corner, a wagon was mired in the slopping mud. Other drivers yelled impatiently from their perches, while the teams of men and horses toiled to unstick it, but Aidan only had eyes for Smythe’s carriage.
Old Fred did an exemplary job of keeping it in sight, and Aidan felt proud of finding the man to assist him. It seemed that this would work!
Aidan caught sight of the London Docks down the street just as their quarry stopped to pull into an alley. Old Fred dutifully drew to a stop half a block away, and Aidan quickly pulled his hat down over his ears and raised the collar of the great overcoat he had borrowed from one of his father’s grooms.
Opening the door, Aidan dropped to the ground, his riding boots squelching in inches of mud. Running forward with his hand holding his hat to his head to defend himself from the rain, Aidan reached the alleyway and carefully peered around the corner to see Smythe disappearing into a doorway.
Aidan studied the distance to where the carriage stood, then ran back down the block to the street parallel to the alley and found that the building was a tavern. He strode through the front entryway.
Inside it was dark, barely any daylight to shine in from the street and a few flickering oil lamps on the walls. Aidan carefully navigated through a maze of scarred tables and chairs, searching for Smythe. Dock workers in colorful linens, jerkins, and hardy boots sat in groups while sailorsdressed in their merchant blues drank and talked loudly among themselves.
With great relief, Aidan spotted Smythe at a corner table. He was seated across from a rough man dressed in the style of a dock worker. He had the shoulders of someone who was accustomed to lifting great burdens of weight, and several days’ growth of black beard on his unshaven cheeks.
Aidan quickly located a free table nearby and took a seat, careful to keep his hat down low and tugging his collar up to ensure it obscured his face.
He could not make out what they were talking about, but Smythe was leaning forward with an intense expression. He was knocking his hand down on the table as if his temper were piqued. The other man raised his hands in a gesture that implied he did not have an answer to what Smythe had said.
Aidan’s heart hammered loudly in his chest. There was no doubt that Smythe was up to no good. No gentleman met with dock workers and, as if to confirm his thoughts, Smythe reached into his coat and pulled out a small purse.
He placed it on the table and pushed it forward to the unknown conspirator. A hand covered in coarse black hair reached out to take it, and the rough chap swept his gaze about the tavern before peering inside. He nodded, putting the purse away in an inner pocket.
A tavern maid came up, interrupting Aidan’s surveillance. He ordered an ale to get rid of her, relieved when she walked away quickly to serve another who had hollered out.
The meeting continued for a while, and Aidan wished he could overhear what they were discussing, but the tavern was engaged in a roaring trade because of the heavy rain, and Aidan could barely hear himself think in the chaos. He nursed his drink and observed what he could, waiting for the next development.
Fumbling about in his overcoat to find the pocket of his waistcoat, Aidan checked the time and realized he had been observing them for near an hour.
There was no more to learn from the position where he sat. He wondered if he should wait it out and follow Smythe to the next destination. When he looked back up, it was to find that his father-in-law had finally risen to his feet, gesturing.
Aidan tossed a coin onto the table and quickly made his way out of the tavern. Swiveling his head around, he managed to pick out the figure of Old Fred bent over his reins. The rain had eased, but the day was still gray and dreary. Racing over to the hackney, the mud sucking at his boots, Aidan yanked the door open and embarked, knocking on the front glass.
Old Fred drove the carriage to the alleyway, where they waited on the main road. Then, slowly, the hackney entered the alley to follow Smythe’s carriage out onto the opposite street.
Within three blocks, the Smythe carriage pulled into another alleyway. As before, Aidan assessed the position of the back door Smythe entered. Running out onto the parallel street again, Aidan found the corresponding door.
He hesitated, perplexed, before entering yet another dock tavern. This tavern was more shadowed than before, with no maids and only a man behind the bar serving to a thin crowd of brooding men.
Aidan hunched his shoulders down to appear shorter and ensure his figure was not recognizable. With fewer men patronizing the establishment, it would be easier for Smythe to spot him if he was not careful.
The table and chairs close to Smythe and his new cohort were not occupied, but Aidan did not dare approach lest he be spotted.
