Caleb looked unsure as he asked, “Where are we meeting this buyer?”
“The Black Duck Tavern,” Roswell shared.
“Great, we are going into the rookeries,” Caleb said. “We are hardly dressed for that. Our clothing will mark us as gentlemen, and we will surely stick out amongst the other patrons.”
“That won’t matter since I have no intention of staying longer than we have to.” Roswell reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the book. “Does this book look familiar to you?”
Caleb accepted the book and started thumbing through the pages. “I have never seen this book before but it is in Latin. My father hates Latin.”
“It makes me wonder what is written in the book,” Roswell mused.
“I had a similar thought,” Caleb said. “Where did Samuel find this book?”
“Under a loose floorboard,” Roswell replied.
Caleb sighed. “What is my father up to?” he asked under his breath. By the way he spoke, it almost seemed as if he were afraid of what the answer was.
ChapterFifteen
The coach came to a stop and Roswell stepped down onto the narrow pavement. How he detested going into the rookeries. His heart always lurched for how these people lived here. A putrid smell hung in the air and the darkened buildings looked as if they could collapse at any minute.
Caleb came to stand next to him and asked in a hushed voice, “Do you trust Samuel?”
“Not at all,” Roswell replied. “We just need him to make the introduction and nothing more.”
“Understood,” Caleb said before stepping back.
They started making their way towards The Black Duck Tavern. As they moved to step inside, a street urchin ran up to them and held his hand up.
“Do you have any coins to spare, Mister?” the dirty-faced child asked.
Roswell shook his head. “I don’t,” he replied.
The door was thrown open and a brawny man stepped out with a broom in his hand. He swiped at the street urchin. “Be off with you,” he ordered. “Do not deprive these men of their hard-earned coins.”
Stepping out of his reach, the street urchin mocked, “You missed.”
“Next time I won’t,” the man said as he stood to the side to let them enter. “After you, gentlemen.”
Roswell ducked his head as he stepped inside. His eyes roamed over the room until they landed on the last person he expected to see here.
Mr. Barnard.
What in the blazes was he doing here?
By the look of displeasure on Mr. Barnard’s expression, it appeared that he wasn’t pleased to see him either.
Samuel gestured towards Mr. Barnard and said, “That is the man who hired me.”
Caleb spoke up. “Isn’t that Mr. Barnard?” he asked in a voice loud enough to be heard over the rowdy noise in the tavern.
“It is.” Roswell approached Mr. Barnard’s table in the corner and came to a stop in front of him. He decided it was best to be honest with Mr. Barnard and hoped the infuriating man would follow suit. “I have your book.”
Mr. Barnard held his hand out. “Hand it over, then.”
“I think not,” Roswell said. “It does not belong to you.”
“It doesn’t belong to you either,” Mr. Barnard responded. “More importantly, you don’t understand what you have.”
