Page 79 of Thief Taker

“Yes. How do you know?”

Briefly, Elias closed his eyes, the images from yesterday morning coming back to him. “Because I happened to be there yesterday, calling on an acquaintance,” he said grimly. “Bow Street was there too because a man was dead. Bludgeoned to death in his own offices.”

“Good God,” Kit gasped. “Hawker?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, but that was the name on the door.”

Kit pulled away and paced across the room. “My fault,” he said shortly, fists clenching. “I told him not to send the deeds to Salter. I made him promise, but I never imagined…” He turned back to Elias. “It wasn’t James. Whoever did this, it wasn’t my brother. However low he’s fallen, he’s never been violent.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Elias said. “I see another’s hand in this.”

Kit’s lips thinned. “Marlborough.”

“I believe he’s capable of it.”

“I know he is. I’ve seen him bludgeon a man with that cane he carries.”

Surprised, Elias said, “You have?”

With a curt nod, Kit moved restlessly towards the fireplace. “Unfortunately, so.” He stopped, set his hands on the mantelpiece and took a breath. “I think I told you our paths have crossed before,” he said. “It was in the colonies—in Jamaica. We met socially, and he invited me to visit one of his plantations. I was newly arrived from London and unfamiliar with…” He trailed off. “It was a dreadful place, until then I’d never thought much about the reality of the sugar trade.”

Elias stayed silent.

“There was a man. Pompey, Marlborough called him. That’s his idea of humour, you see? To give an enslaved man the name of an emperor.” His fingers tightened on the mantel. “Anyway, we were walking the grounds, Marlborough and I and two other men from Kingston. I don’t recall their names; I scarcely knew them. Marlborough was obliging, perfectly cordial, pointing out the improvements he’d made to the mill. I suppose he wanted our investment. And then one of his men crossed the yard, going about his business. And Marlborough just…stopped. He called him over by name—Pompey—and spoke to him, quite quietly. I didn’t catch the words. And then he raised his cane and beat him about the head and shoulders. Four, perhaps five hard strokes. Pompey made no sound as he fell to the ground. And then it was done, and Marlborough turned back to us and continued talking as if nothing had occurred. As if he’d dealt with a disobedient dog.”

“God’s teeth,” Elias said softly. “What did you do?”

Kit stared into the fire. “To my shame, nothing. I was…oppressed by what I’d seen. Horrified. But the other men seemed to think nothing of it and I…” He lifted his eyes to Elias. “Had I done the Christian thing and challenged him, spoken out, perhaps I wouldn’t be here, facing my family’s ruin.”

“Aye, true,” Elias said, “you’d probably be mouldering in a shallow grave in Jamaica.” He crossed the room, took Kit by the shoulders again. “Listen. If we’re right, Marlborough murdered a man last night. And I’ve reason to believe Hawker wasn’t the first.”

“Then we must go to the law.” He gave Elias an uncertain look. “Bow Street were there, you say? If we were to tell them what we suspect…”

Elias snorted. “What can they do against a man like Lord Marlborough? Nothing without solid evidence.” And even then, he’d try to lay the blame elsewhere, as Hutch well knew.

“But we can’t let this stand. The man’s a devil.”

“Aye, but we need something we can use against him.”

“Such as what?” Kit said. “He’s unlikely to be walking about holding a blood-spattered cane.”

This was true, but if Hawker’s murder was bound up with Rowsley it was unlikely to be Marlborough’s only recent crime. “There may be something else,” he said. “Something involving more evidence.”

Kit frowned, listening.

“Marlborough corrupts those around him.” Elias paused, edging in on the truth. “Including your brother.”

Kit went still. “What are you suggesting?”

“Marlborough has made your brother desperate, that much we know. And a man that deeply dipped might be pressed into anything to raise funds.”

“And what is it you think James has done?”

Taking a breath, Elias said, “Have you heard of the highwayman who calls himself Wessex?”

Chapter 27

Kit held himself still, his attention fixed on Elias. A couple of seconds passed; it felt like an hour. His heart raced, sweat prickled beneath his shirt, but his mind staggered along, reeling. Too slow.