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Boyd unloaded three more cases of gin.
The men drank on.
Boyd eased his way through the storage room door at the rear of the tavern, confident that his now thoroughly inebriated patrons wouldn't have noticed if Wellington's troops had defeated Napoleon before their very eyes.
"Is it safe?"
Boyd closed the door behind him, giving Rem a tight-lipped smile. "I'm down to one quart of gin, but yes, it's safe." His smile faded. "What did Briggs say?"
In a lightning-quick motion as natural as breathing itself, Rem swerved his head from side to side, scanning the empty storeroom, assuring himself that they were indeed alone. Temporarily convinced, he nevertheless remained attuned to every sound lest the situation change.
Leaning against the stockroom wall, he regarded Boyd through penetrating gray eyes. "British ships are vanishing. Foreign enemies have been investigated ... and all but ruled out. The same applies to privateers and foul weather."
Rem's terse explanation was more than sufficient for Boyd, who had served by the earl's side for a dozen years, primarily by sea, ultimately by land. "Napoleon?"
"Impossible." Not a flicker of emotion registered on Rem's face. "All our information has been dispatched to Wellington, Napoleon's demise will be a reality by Season's end."
Boyd inclined his head. "America?"
"No."
"You believe the culprit is right here in England," Boyd concluded, unsurprised. Through experience, both he and Rem had learned that when it came to the issue of financial gain, most men would abandon both principles and allegiance for the overpowering allure of securing great wealth. "Briggs is turning the problem over to you."
"Yes."
"Who do you need?"
"Give me a day or two on my own. I'll head for London immediately."
Boyd nodded. "I guess this determines where you'll be spending this Season."
"Evidently. I'll go directly to my Town house and get a few hours' sleep. At daybreak I'll visit the docks—gather whatever facts I can. Then I'll contact you . . . and Bow Street. By then HI know exactly who I'll require, and for what."
"Good."
Rem straightened, all heightened energy and staunch resolve. "I'll find you tomorrow."
"Before or after you deliver the Barrett carriage?"
The pointed taunt struck Rem full force. "Dammit! I forgot all about that."
"I'll take care of it. What's the address?"
"No." The word was out before Rem could recall it, much less understand it. Seeing Boyd's stunned expression, he added, "Samantha Barrett may be young, but she's not stupid. Let's not feed her curiosity or incite her questions by sending you in my stead. I told her I'd deliver the carriage— she's expecting me to arrive between two and four o'clock. That still gives me all morning to poke around the riverfront. I can cover the West India and London docks in that amount of time. Meet me in front of Covent Garden Theater at half past one. By then I'll be able to tell you which Bow Street men to notify. In the interim, I need you to make arrangements for the Barrett carriage to be repaired. Can you manage it?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Good. Bring it with you tomorrow." Rem frowned for a moment. "As my own carriage is currently on loan, I'll need to borrow your horse to take me to London."
"Help yourself." Boyd gestured toward the rear door. "I'll see to my tasks and meet you as planned."
Rem nodded, regarding Boyd with unspoken warmth and respect; a bond that had been forged over long, trying years and dangerous, adverse conditions. "Get some sleep, Boyd."
"I'll do my best."
Forty minutes later the Earl of Gresham poured himself a brandy and tried to relax in the sitting room of his Town house. The chill of the rain was still in his bones, but he ignored it, for it was a condition the brandy would soon extinguish. Besides, the storm's lingering effects were nearly eclipsed by the fiery thrill of the chase, which had already begun pumping through his veins, heightening his senses, honing his instincts. It was like this with each assignment, a mental metamorphosis that seized him, pervaded him, and ultimately prepared him for the grueling, disciplined weeks that lay ahead.
The danger, the challenge, unraveling the ugliest of lies to find the core of truth buried within—Rem relished it all. For it satisfied not only his relentless craving for adventure, but his equally compelling need to see justice served.
