Page 56 of The Thorn and the Rose

“Thank you for coming,” Thorn said to the man walking beside him. He was tall and slender with hair the colour of wheat, and rather put Thorn in mind of a greyhound, built for speed. Dressed elegantly but without fuss, he cut a stylish figure. A bit too stylish for their destination, in Thorn’s opinion, but he wasn’t about to complain. He was torn between the competing desires to see Everett Branagan, Baron Childe, and deliver a little justice of his own, and simply begging the son of a bitch to tell him what had happened to his sister.

The Honourable Mr Justin Ogilvy shrugged, saying frankly, “I’m game, I just don’t know what it is I can do for you. We were never friends. He was a cold fish, you know, the kind who enjoys bullying the little fellows. So far as I know, he didn’t have close friends. He never wanted to mix with the other lads, but we were at school together, so I suppose I know him as much as anyone.”

“My sister thinks he ought to be punished for what he did to me, and seeing an old school friend when he’s in dire straits will be humiliating. I’m not sure a man who’s done everything he has done suffers from such emotions, but I’d just as soon have someone at my back. I don’t trust the bastard an inch.”

“No, and I don’t blame you for that,” Ogilvy said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard a few stories about him over the years and I don’t think he’s what one might call a gentleman.”

Thorn snorted. “That’s not news to me, I assure you.”

They paused in front of the imposing brick building that loomed over them and could be nothing else but a place of incarceration.

“Pretty, ain’t it,” Ogilvy said dryly.

“Let’s get this over with,” Thorn said, and headed for the main entrance.

There were several bribes to be paid before they were led through the grimy corridors of the gaol. The atmosphere was uncanny, making the hair on the back of Thorn’s neck prickle, but the stench was worse. He even began to pity the bastard they were going to see as he imagined days and weeks and months shut in such a god-awful place.

“I feel like I need a bath,” Ogilvy muttered beside him, and Thorn knew exactly what he meant. It was not just the state of the place, but a feeling of being tainted by association. Still, they could walk free in a few moments. Baron Childe could not.

“Here we are, gents,” the guard said, sliding a huge key into the lock. It turned with a grating sound, and he swung the door open.

“Thank you kindly,” Thorn said, slipping the guard another coin.

The fellow glanced at his hand and beamed, touching a finger to his hat. “Bless you, my lord. I’ll wait outside. Just in case he gets lively, eh?”

“I think we can manage, but I appreciate the thought,” Thorn replied as he walked past him and into the cell.

Though the walls had been whitewashed, it was predictably narrow and dark, with one tiny window high on the wall. A man lounged on the bed, apparently at his ease, a book held in one hand. He stared over the top of it with narrowed eyes and then dropped the book and sat up straight.

“Well, well, as I live and breathe,” he said, his shock apparent. “You have taken me by surprise gentlemen, I admit that you have.”

“Afternoon, Childe. Nice place you have here,” Ogilvy said, looking about him with undisguised distaste.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have tidied up,” Childe replied serenely, smiling in a manner that made Thorn desperate to break his teeth.

“Never mind the social chitchat,” Thorn said, eager to be done with this. “We know you were the one behind the attacks on our club and we know the reason why. I don’t give a damn about that, or you. For all I care, you can rot here. I do want to know about your sister, though. Where is she?”

Childe’s smile broadened, and he rubbed at his chin, the straggly beard twisted about his fingers and Thorn grimaced as he saw lice crawling in the greasy strands. “I just bet you do,” he said with satisfaction. “You’re looking well, by the way, my lord. Easy enough when you have regular meals and fresh air and a life free of care. But then I thought that the last time I saw you, at Magpie Hall last year.”

Thorn stiffened with shock. “You were there,” he growled.

The man chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. “I was. I escaped, briefly. I got myself in a bit of bother and ended up here again shortly after. But I was there that day, and I overheard your tender reunion. A good job darling Mama arrived, or heaven alone knows what I might have seen.”

Thorn surged forward and Ogilvy grabbed hold of him. “None of that,” he growled, his grip surprisingly strong. “Remember, you’re a gentleman, even if he isn’t.”

“He isn’t even a man,” Thorn said through clenched teeth. “Just a lowlife worm who can’t abide anyone else to have something he wants for himself.”

“Ah, but I have it already,” Childe said, apparently enjoying himself now. “Did you think she’d run off and left you hanging? Oh, you poor fellow. Heartbroken, are you? Well, now you know how it feels,” he added venomously.

“I spoke to my brother,” Thorn said, his voice dangerously quiet. “He told me what Jenny said of you. She said she would rather have died than become your wife, that any wife of yours would be a possession, never allowed a thought of her own or a moment of peace. She was afraid of you, and with good reason.”

Childe’s jaw tightened, his eyes glittering with malice. “Jenny was a whore, and she died a whore’s death, her and her bastard.”

Thorn forced himself not to react, knowing that’s what the devil wanted, but he frowned as he realised Childe didn’t know about Tilly. Not that Thorn was about to tell him, but he didn’t doubt that the devil had told Marie all about Pip’s mistress. He would have enjoyed telling her the part that Thorn had foolishly left out. Had Marie been taken from him, believing he had lied to her? Oh, God, what a bloody mess. And this sodding miserable excuse for a man was to blame.

“Ogilvy,” Thorn said quietly. “Step outside for a moment, and give this to the guard,” he added, handing over a handful of coins.

“Barrington, old man, I don’t think—”