Page 12 of The Return of the Rake

King stopped in his tracks, momentarily at a loss as he looked at the man in front of him with no sense of recognition. Bull-necked and balding, the man’s thick lips were curved into a cynical sneer, his belly putting undue strain on buttons and a belt that had been made when he was a good deal younger and fitter. An unwelcome breeze delivered the pungent stench of stale sweat and alcohol, and King moved position, preferring not to stand downwind of the fellow.

Small, belligerent eyes regarded him with something that looked a deal too close to avarice for comfort. “Too good for the likes of us now, Jasper? Or don’t you remember your old pal?”

“Bill,” King said, finally putting a name to the man but hardly believing it. William Jenner had been a good-looking fellow once, strong as an ox and never sick a day in his life. This man, red-faced and aggressive, put him in mind of his own father, and he noted the florid complexion and blood-shot eyes with misgiving. Bill had always been a quarrelsome drunkard, and King doubted he’d improved with age.

“I’m flattered. Didn’t think such a fine gentleman as you would speak to the likes of me.”

King sneered, wishing he had kept away from the past. “If you think I’m a gentleman, you’re in for a shock,” he replied easily, allowing his old accent to creep in, though it seemed not to impress Bill, who snorted.

“Done all right for yourself, I see,” he said, making it sound like an accusation.

“Aye, reckon I have,” King replied. “You still taking the boat out?”

“Nah, I married the old duchess and live at the hall these days. A proper toff, I am,” he said, grinning and showing too many rotten teeth. “What d’ye bleedin’ think?”

King nodded, eager to get away from the fellow and wondering at the fact they’d once been friends. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve things to do—”

“Too busy to stand an old pal a drink, are ye, then? Or too good to be seen with me?” There was challenge in Bill’s eyes and King sighed inwardly. It would be easy enough to knock the fellow down, but he didn’t want trouble, and he certainly didn’t want word getting about that he’d not been here above five minutes before he’d begun brawling, though it would surprise no one.

“Neither,” he replied tersely. “As I said, I’m busy.”

“Later, then. No rush, is there? Come to the Dog and Duck and we’ll drink to old times. You can raise a glass to your old man, eh? Dead close on five years now, maybe more.” Bill eyed him, his gaze speculative.

“I’ll not drink to that miserable sod,” King replied evenly. “But I’ll buy you a drink if you want one. See you later.”

He strode off, not looking back nor hanging about long enough for Bill to object. The last thing he wanted was to drink with the man, but he had to admit he was curious about the people he had once known, and Bill would be more likely to talk freely to him than anyone else. Certainly, once he’d had a few drinks.

King walked briskly, shaking off the lingering ghosts of his miserable childhood, echoes of his father’s irate voice chasing him like the waves surging over the sand and shingle. Leaving them behind on the shore, he forced his mind to the present, refusing to think of the days when he’d been helpless to fend off his sire’s fists, and made his way back to the town.

He hurried up the steps towards the terraced house where Alfred Marwick lived with his sister. It had amused King no end to suggest to the crafty jewel thief that Little Valentine was the perfect place to live in obscurity, close enough to town for convenience but so far from anyone’s notice that he could live peacefully among the respectable residents who thought him such a nice, polite young man. Not that he wasn’t. Markwick was a personable fellow, decent too, from what King had gathered. Sly, though, and sharp as a blade. He’d thought the fellow had more sense than to try another such audacious job so soon after the last, but some fellows couldn’t wait to get their necks stretched.

He was in sight of the building, a neat little two-up-two-down in red brick with a green front door. The windows sparkled, and the front step looked freshly scrubbed. As King drew closer, the door opened, and a woman stepped out, locking the front door before turning.

He was close to her when she caught sight of him and he noted the slight widening of her eyes, the quick gasp. The resemblance to her brother was clear, and King bowed, wondering how much she knew about Alfie’s occupation.

“Miss Marwick?” he said pleasantly, doing his best not to appear threatening, though she did not appear particularly intimidated, which was interesting. Most gently bred ladies found it hard to meet his eye, not that he’d met many of that type in his line of work.

“Mr King,” she said, her tone giving nothing away.

King admitted himself surprised. “You know me?”

Her lips compressed as she cast a glance at his earring. Was that disapproval? “Few men wear diamonds in their ears, Mr King. It did not take any great powers of deduction on my part. Alfred is not here, I’m afraid, so whatever it is you wished to say to him, you’ve had a wasted journey. You may, however, speak to me, and I shall pass on any message.”

“It’s rather a delicate matter, and one I prefer to speak to him about directly. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I do not,” she said crisply. “Is he in trouble?”

“Not as far as I know,” King replied carefully, for if he wasn’t in London, he wasn’t in trouble yet. “Where is he?”

“How should I know?” she said with a snort, folding her arms. “I’m not his mother and, for all the consideration he gives me, he could have been dead in an alley this past week and I’d be the last to hear of it.”

“I see.” King frowned, annoyed now. He’d wanted to execute his good deed and be done with it. Whilst hanging around to get to know the lovely Mrs Adamson was a tempting idea, he doubted any good would come of him staying here for long. “Well, could you take a guess at when he’s likely to return here? Are we talking of days, or weeks?”

“You really need to speak to him,” she said, eyes narrowing. “And he’s not in any trouble?”

King shook his head, not wishing to frighten her. “Not with me. In fact, I’m here because he once did me a kindness, and I wish to return the favour.”

Miss Marwick considered this as King studied her. She had fine features, high cheekbones and cool grey eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Her hair was scraped back in an unbecoming style, however, and her pelisse was a drab shade of brown that did little for her. Was that a lack of taste or a deliberate choice?