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George Ruthven had been recruited by police to join the group as a spy, along with several other men.
“Where is this log kept?”
Tyler shifted, glanced over his shoulder as a burst of raucous laughter came from the far end of the alley, then turned back with a shake of his head.
“We don’t know. Carlisle was the last one known to have it in his possession.”
“John Carlisle?”
“No, his brother James. The log disappeared. Ruthven thinks he hid it somewhere a couple of months ago. There was an argument he overhear
d about the missing log, and it being a possible danger to them.”
“And no one has been able to find this log.”
Another shake of Tyler’s head and a furtive glance down the length of the black alley indicated growing disquiet. “At the last meeting, Thistlewood said high treason had been committed against the people at Manchester. He’s resolved that the lives of the instigators of Peterloo shall atone for the souls of those murdered innocents. It’s a dangerous situation.”
“We have to find the log, Tyler. It’s more vital now than ever.”
“I’m working on it. Any ideas?”
“We’ll both work on it. I’ll keep you posted as to what I find out. Check back at the Swan and Stone.”
Christ, this news would set Mowry on edge.
White’s was a world away from St. Giles, separated by more than just city blocks. The only stench here came from expensive tobacco and even more expensive imported scents men applied far too freely at times. Brummel was right, a man should smell only of clean living. But even the impeccable Beau had his failings, exiled now in France after one too many insults directed at the prince.
Not that they weren’t deserved at times. The regent cared more for fine art and architecture than he did the state of the country or his subjects. It wasn’t calculated indifference, but hazardous all the same. Men like Lords Castlereagh, Liverpool and Sidmouth were left to make the royal decisions about policy. That kind of power bred dangerous men.
Mowry was seated at a table in the gaming room, alone and waiting.
“Do you have news for me, Northington?” Mowry’s cool tone was low, meant to be confidential.
Colter met that opaque gaze with a faint smile. “Yes, but you already know that. You were right about Arthur Thistlewood. The bloody fool has munitions stashed all over London.”
Mowry swore softly. “Do we know where? It’s vital we learn all we can. This came from the usual source?”
“Yes. Look, you know I don’t agree with government policy in regard to some of the social issues, but this is anarchy. He has to be stopped at all costs, or it will end up even worse than Peterloo.”
“Those damned Spenceans again! Thomas Spence and his idea of a radical transformation of society incites mobs, not reformation. The fool. He’s been dead five years and is still causing trouble.”
“Some men just need a cause to excuse their love of brutality. Rather like politicians in that area.” When Mowry’s eyes narrowed at him, he shrugged. “We’ve known for years that the Spenceans are radicals in search of social equality. Yet a charge of high treason convicted not one single man of them.”
“You know the reason for that. Their defence counsel was able to show that John Castle had a criminal record, and his testimony as a spy in their group was unreliable. That’s why you’ve been employed. You may have a reputation as a buck of the first head, but you’ve no criminal record in your past.” Mowry’s smile was sardonic. “A war hero can be forgiven much, it seems.”
Ignoring that, Colter said, “There’s a log that’s turned up missing. Ruthven thinks it’s important, perhaps detailing the hiding places of their munitions.”
“Then why don’t we have it in our possession?”
“Carlisle was the last man known to have it. He was overheard arguing with his brother John about its loss.”
Colter fell silent, then he added softly, “I believe I may know what happened to that log. What I don’t know is the connection.”
Tapping his fingers thoughtfully atop the green baize table, Mowry regarded him through hooded eyes. “You were following Carlisle when he boarded the Liberty on its stop in Liverpool this past September. We know he made the acquaintance of Miss St. Clair. You saw them conversing aboard the ship, though they didn’t disembark together. It’s quite possible that he knew he was being watched. Indeed, when you had him searched as soon as he set foot in London, nothing incriminating was found on him. Yet perhaps you’re wrong. I begin to think that their brief shipboard acquaintance was not as innocent as we assumed.”
“Miss St. Clair is not involved.”
“How can you be so certain?” Mowry’s smile was cool, his gaze unreadable. “I’m making inquiries.”
