Page 73 of The Viscount of Shadows

“Aye, Tommy boy,” Oliver replied, mimicking a working-class accent.

“Not bad, Alfie, old sock,” Rett replied in an even better rendition of the accent. “We’d best crack on afore I’m skint like.”

“You are really taking to this, aren’t you?” Oliver whispered.

Rett chucked as they crossed the street, staggering a bit to give the impression they were half in their cups.

“Hold up, you two blighters,” one of the men called out. “What’s with the weapon?”

“On our way ’ome from work, over yonder. Laborin’ at one o’ those toff ’ouses. We be needin’ a drink,” Oliver said, ending on a hiccup.

“Goin’ to the Black Moon for an ale or three,” Rett nodded. “Let us through, yeah? What’s all the to-do?”

“Never you mind,” answered the second man, who looked Oliver and Rett over thoroughly. “Go have your drinks, then leave. No wanderin’ around.”

Oliver gave a drunken salute. “Aye, Cap’n. We be as quiet as mice.”

Rett snickered loudly. Then sobered. He leaned in toward the two men. “Aye, don’t want to rile Danaher, yeah? He still be the boss hereabouts?”

Oliver froze. What in hell was Rett doing?

The tall man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be mentioning his name again, you follow me? Or we’ll be using that pickaxe to dig your grave.”

Rett snorted. “Steady on, mate. No need to go all argy-bargied on us. We’re not complete eejits. A few drinks and out. Ta!” Rett grabbed Oliver’s arm and pulled him forward as they staggered down the street.

“Look back, are they watching us?” Rett whispered.

Oliver turned and gave a silly wave to the men. “Oh, yes,” he replied quietly. “Watching our every move. Continue down this street and take the first right.”

Once they rounded the corner, Oliver halted and faced his cousin. “Why mention Danaher?”

“To see their reaction. The fact that they threatened harm shows the situation is dire. Rooting out that bastard will be next to impossible. Again, I say that it’s best left to the police. Miss Ellingford has made her official complaint. Now it is up to police to follow through.”

Yes, Rett was correct. This place was locked down tight. But he would pass on the information about where the sentries were located to Mitchell.

They continued onward. It wasn’t easy to see as the sun had all but set, and hardly any street lamps were lit. They were about to cross the cobblestones to the pub when the door burst open, and Shinwell, Tolwood, Bryan, and one other man stumbled out, loudly laughing and generally acting like complete—what working-class word fit—plonkers? Pillocks? Prats? Cretins? Imbeciles? Morons. That was the word. It fits them to a tee.

They crossed the street, passing a bottle of cheap gin back and forth, walking by Oliver and Rett without giving them a second look. Rett stuck his long pickaxe low to the ground, and Shinwell tripped over it, sprawling to the dirty cobbles.

The other men burst out laughing, and judging by Shinwell’s look; he was livid.

“Oh, sorry, me lordship, sir,” Oliver said, making a pretense of trying to assist. He purposely stepped on Shinwell’s hand, causing the man to yelp in pain. Then Oliver reached for the lapels of Shinwell’s expensive wool coat and started to bring him to his feet, dragging him toward a large muddy puddle. Then Oliver released him, and Shinwell tumbled facedown into the putrid water. “Sorry again, me lord. ’ard to see in the bloody dark. Lemme ’elp—”

The men laughed harder. “Be quiet, you cretins!” Shinwell shouted angrily at his companions as he tried to stand. They silenced. Then he looked toward Oliver. “You drunken oaf! Don’t touch me again with your greasy hands, or I will have you flayed alive!”

Rett took Oliver’s arm and led him away. Shinwell was still yelling as they stepped into the dimly lit pub.

“Well done,” Rett said. “Do you think he will come after you?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. He is too drunk and too humiliated. My manhandling of him was not gentlemanly and reeks of school-age shenanigans, but I know this much. The sooner we tear Bryan out of that man’s clutches, the better.”

And Oliver felt all this would come to a head sooner than anyone believed.

* * *

“Gentlemen, we leave you to your brandy and cigars, that is, if any of you even smoke cigars,” Olivia smiled.

“Not usually,” Gideon replied, giving his wife a wink. “But we might tonight.”