“Enlighten me,” Roswell said.
Mr. Barnard arched an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”
“You paid Samuel to break into Lord Oxley’s townhouse to retrieve the book. There must be some reason why you want it so badly,” Roswell remarked.
With narrowed eyes, Mr. Barnard turned his attention towards Samuel. “You have been rather talkative, have you not?”
Samuel swallowed slowly, the fear evident on his features, as he took a step back. “I… uh… better be going,” he stuttered before he fled from the tavern.
“Coward,” Mr. Barnard muttered.
Roswell pulled out a chair and sat down. “You are going to tell me why this book is so important.”
“I think not,” Mr. Barnard huffed as he brought his drink to his lips.
“Then I will call the constable.” It was an empty threat but Roswell hoped that Mr. Barnard didn’t know that.
Mr. Barnard looked unconcerned. “You have no proof and only a thief’s word to corroborate your story.”
Caleb sat down next to Roswell. “Why did you target my father?”
“Your father is not what he claims to be,” Mr. Barnard replied.
“And what is that?” Caleb pressed.
Mr. Barnard clenched his jaw as he replied, “Honorable.”
“What do you know of that?” Caleb asked.
“I know more than you know and I don’t have time to sit here and answer all these questions,” Mr. Barnard said, his voice growing hard. “Give me the book or people will die. That’s not a request.”
“I care little about what you want or need,” Roswell responded. “I’m more concerned with who you think will die.”
Displeasure was etched on Mr. Barnard’s face as he considered Roswell for a long moment. Roswell had no intention of making this easy on him. If he truly wanted this book, he needed a better reason than a vague explanation that “people would die”.
Leaning forward in his seat, Mr. Barnard said in a low voice, “I could take it from you.”
Roswell smirked. “I daresay that you do not know what I am capable of and that very well could be your last mistake.”
Mr. Barnard glared at him, his eyes sparking with anger. Would he try something so foolish as to draw a pistol in the crowded tavern? Roswell wasn’t sure what Mr. Barnard would do but he was ready to deal with whatever came his way.
With a glance at Caleb, Mr. Barnard said, “I would be foolish to try to take on two spies at once.”
Not wanting to dignify the Frenchman’s words with a response, Roswell held his gaze, wondering what game he was playing. He could deny it, but something was stopping him.
Mr. Barnard leaned back in his seat as he revealed, “I was sent by Wellington to stop Lord Oxley before he betrays us all. He intends to reveal the location of the base camps for our troops on the Continent, including Wellington’s location.”
“How do you know this?” Roswell asked.
“I am one of Wellington’s spies,” Mr. Barnard replied. “We have intercepted coded messages that indicate Lord Oxley’s involvement and we knew we needed to act, and quickly.”
“You, a spy?” Roswell shook his head. “You surely don’t expect us to believe that. You are a Frenchman. Why would Wellington trust you?”
Mr. Barnard frowned. “I need you to stop being such a jackanapes and listen to me. We don’t have much time. If Lord Oxley is not stopped in time, people will perish and it will be on you.”
“Resorting to threats already?” Roswell asked. “I think it would be a better use of your time if you start telling us what you know, especially if you want us to help you.”
“Help me?” Mr. Barnard repeated. “No, you misunderstood me. I don’t need- or want- your help on this. You are merely an imposition.”
