Page 122 of Notorious

Drusilla realized her butler was still waiting. “Thank you, Parker,” she said, staring down at the message as the door shut. Drusilla chewed her lower lip. There was no name on the delivery, only the address—did that mean it was for either her or Gabriel? She thought about how oddly Eva had behaved the last time she’d seen her—and now this about a young man. She was up to something; Drusilla knew the signs. Who knew when Gabriel would get back? She tore open the seal.

Gabe:

She paused at the name—it was to him, not them . . . But then her eye caught her name on the next line.

You’re going to wonder how I know this, but I can’t tell you. I hope it didn’t happen, but if Drusilla is gone, she will be down by the East Docks in an empty corder’s warehouse between an inn called the Jolly Taxpayer and a pawn broker called Hurley’s. If she is not gone, watch her closely because a man named Rowland has decided to take her for ransom. This might never happen as I know at least half of his plan was foiled.

Don’t believe everything you hear about me, my favorite brother. I am fine and will be happy. Take care of my best friend and yourself.

Love,

Eva

Drusilla considered the last few sentences, which were even odder than Eva usually was. What did she mean, not to believe everything she heard?

She bit her lip so hard it stung. She simply did not have time to worry about Eva, too. At least not right now. Already it was eight o’clock and she had heard nothing from Gabriel. Should she go?

If she left now, she could make it in time to meet Rowland’s instructions.

She knew that Gabriel was furious—that he didn’t wish to spend her money nor want her to be the one to deliver it. But time had almost run out.

Drusilla groaned—she just wanted it over—all of this was her fault. Rowland wouldn’t have even known of Samir if not for her.

She would never have guessed he would do such a thing. But she probably should have. She recalled his angry accusations the last time she’d seen him—that she’d led him down a false path: all those private talks, sharing their hopes and dreams. Drusilla still didn’t believe his accusations—that she’d led him along—but she did realize it hadn’t been wise to spend so much time with him. And now he’d done this. If Gabriel got his hands on Rowland, he would kill him.

She pulled the bell. “Summon a hackney, Parker. I shall be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

* * *

“You promise me you will wait until I return, Gabriel?” Byer asked for the second time. “I know you’re eager to retrieve your son, but we have no evidence he’s there. If we spook the kidnappers now, we might—”

“I’m not a fool, Tommy. I’ll wait here and keep a lookout. You go notify the constables and have them ready and waiting—at a distance—when the time comes.”

“Of course.”

“And—” Here Gabriel heaved a heavy sigh. “Pick up the money from Drusilla and bring it in time for the meeting. Let her know—” He broke off. Let her know what?

Byer laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her we have things well in hand. Now, I know you can watch out for yourself, but this is one of the most dangerous spots in the city. I’d advise you not to leave the taproom until I return.”

“You watch yourself, also, Tommy.” They’d hired a hack but had dismissed it hours ago. Finding transportation in this area was not without dangers; finding reliable transportation was all but impossible.

“I will, Gabe. See you in a few hours.”

That was over four hours ago, and it was now eight o’clock.

They’d left Visel’s lodgings and spent the day searching the area around the pawn shop. Nobody had heard of Rowland or Visel—and they’d distributed enough bribe money to loosen tongues.

They’d decided, just after five, to follow Rowland’s plans with a few important exceptions.

So Gabriel sat, waiting. He’d ordered a pint of home brew and a meal. He’d stopped drinking the second pint when he noticed the fly smashed on the bottom of the glass—the inside. He’d not touched the meal.

The waitress, whom he tipped far too well, drifted by his table. “You ain’t touched yer food, sir.” She exposed a gap-toothed smile. “Not ’ungry? Or maybe not for food.” She put a foot up on the chair opposite him, her dirty green skirt slipping enough to show her battered half boots and a scabby shin. “Maybe it’s somefing else you want?”

Gabriel forced himself to smile. “The necessary—where is it?”

That made her hoot. “The necessary,” she repeated in a dialect he supposed was meant to be his own. “That be the back wall—out in the alley.” She flounced away, pausing at another table, where two sailors looked more interested in her wares.

Outside a dense fog had drifted up from the river and it was drizzling. He walked around the corner, not wishing to do his business out in front of the building. The alley was narrow and dark, and the stench . . . Lord, it was enough to make a man’s eyes water. It was littered with rubbish, and rats as big as cats were scurrying between the refuse piles, making no effort to hide from humans. He’d never spent any time down at the London docks even though many young men liked to frequent the area to drink too much and enjoy rough sport. He’d done enough of that kind of thing back in Oran, where the wharf had been a favorite spot for getting into trouble.