His Mask of Retribution. Margaret McPheeЧитать онлайн книгу.
sure sign that he was trying to control his temper. ‘The day progresses and still we hear nothing.’
‘We will.’
‘What the hell is taking him so long?’ Misbourne’s upper lip curled in a snarl.
‘He means to make sure we take him seriously—and no doubt he wants to twist the knife a little. Whoever he is, he certainly does not like you.’
‘And, by God, I’ll give him good reason not to! By the time I’ve finished with him he won’t know what he likes and what he doesn’t.’ Misbourne was only slightly mollified by the thought.
A knock sounded at the study door. The butler entered, holding a silver salver with a single letter laid upon it.
‘Just delivered, m’lord, by an urchin.’
‘Does the wretch wait for a reply?’
‘No, m’lord. The boy ran off.’
Misbourne saw the servant’s gaze take in his tender swollen cheekbone and felt a spurt of annoyance. He took the letter and dismissed the man with a flick of his fingers. The seal broke easily, but his hands were trembling with impatience and fear as he unfolded the letter and read its content before passing the note to his son.
‘Aldgate High Street where it meets Fen-church and Leadenhall,’ said Linwood. ‘He’s chosen well. It’s a busy junction at the best of times; it will be pandemonium there at three o’clock. And with its links to so many roads and alleys it will be difficult to cover the whole area.’
‘Difficult, but not impossible,’ said Misbourne. ‘Once Marianne is safe…’
‘Once Marianne is safe, we’ll hunt him down like the villain that he is,’ finished his son.
From the rooms above came the sound of a baby crying and a man and woman arguing, shouting and swearing at full volume. An old man was singing a drunken bawdy song and outside, in the street, a dog was barking. Marianne sat very still on the single wooden chair and waited, just as she had waited through all the previous hours. It was the sole piece of furniture in the room. Her eyes ranged again over the pile of filthy covers in the corner that served as a bed. Mould grew on the walls and the floorboards were bare. Two buckets sat behind the door—one held water, and the other was so stained with filth that she did not want to contemplate its use. There was no coal on the fire, no pots or pans. Not so much as a cup to drink from. The dirt encrusted upon the windows made the light hazy and hid her view of the rookery beyond.
‘Who lives here?’ she asked. The filthy bed of rags in the corner gave lie to her denial that anyone could live in such squalor.
‘A family with five children,’ replied the highwayman’s accomplice from behind his pale mask.
‘All in this one room?’
‘Aye, lass. But he’ll pay them more than they get in a year just for the use of this room for a few hours. He helps where he can.’
‘I did not know such poverty existed.’ She had never seen a place the like of this, with its maze of streets and alleyways crowded with ramshackle houses. ‘The children are so ragged and thin, with eyes that seem too old for their faces, and their mothers…’ She thought of the women with their rotten teeth and low, revealing bodices, and how they had fanned their skirts high when they had seen the highwayman and his accomplice.
‘For some, it is the only way they can feed their bairns.’
She was horrified to learn it.
The light was a dull grey and the air was so ripe with rotting rubbish—and worse—that she wondered if she would ever clear the stench of it from her nose. Something small and brown appeared from beneath the mound of blankets and scuttled across the floor.
‘It’ll not be much longer,’ the accomplice assured her. ‘He’ll be here soon and then we’ll have you back with your pa.’
‘You seem to be a kind man. Why are you helping that villain?’
‘He’s not the villain in any of this, m’lady, for all that you think him. And I’m helping him because he’s a good man and he fought his way across a battlefield to save my life. Don’t judge him so harshly. He’s only doing what he must, to set his demons to rest.’
The words were spoken with such sincerity that she could not doubt that the accomplice believed them. And she thought again of the tall dark masked man with amber eyes that made her shiver. ‘Why does that involve my father?’
But the man shook his head. ‘I’ve already said too much. Pardon me, my lady, but that is not my question to answer.’
When the clock struck three, Knight was nowhere near Aldgate High Street. He was drinking champagne in the bow window of White’s Gentleman’s Club with Bullford, Devlin, Razeby and Fallingham, and making sure the ton of London knew that he was there. He knew the boy he had paid would wait for Misbourne to arrive before passing him the note.
‘What d’you make of the story of Misbourne’s carriage crash?’ Bullford was asking.
‘Maybe Pickering’s getting cold feet,’ said Devlin. ‘After all, she’s hardly good ton at the minute. It will take a while longer before Misbourne lives down the embarrassment over Arlesford. And it’s not as if Pickering needs the money.’
‘Lucky escape for little Lady Marianne, if you ask me.’ Fallingham swigged at his champagne. ‘Pickering’s so old that he’s in danger of dying on the job, if you know what I mean.’
All the men except Knight laughed.
‘What do you think, Knight?’ asked Bullford, draining his glass.
He should not give a damn about Marianne Winslow, but he did not wish to think about her lying beneath Pickering. ‘I think it’s time we opened another bottle of champagne,’ he said. ‘I’ve got better things to do with the rest of my day.’ Callerton should have the girl well in place by now.
‘Would that involve keeping a certain widow satisfied?’ Devlin asked.
Knight smiled, but said nothing.
‘Lucky bugger!’ said Razeby. The rest of the men chortled in appreciation.
‘Maybe you should be laying off the champers in preparation for tomorrow’s four-in-hand race. Do you think you’ll beat Hawick?’ asked Bullford.
‘Why? Are you thinking of wagering against me?’ drawled Knight. His eyes slid across the room to the grandfather clock in the corner.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,’ said Bullford.
‘We like to make money, not lose it,’ agreed Fallingham.
The champagne arrived. ‘A monkey on it that no one can down the bottle in one,’ said Devlin.
‘Prepare to pay up,’ said Fallingham, lifting the bottle and placing it to his lips. He began to drink while his friends stamped their feet and chanted their support around him.
Knight waited until another two bottles of champagne had been opened before he slipped away.
‘If this is a direction to yet another street…’ warned Misbourne, grabbing the letter from beneath the apple cart in Cutler Street. ‘This is the fourth note. He’s had us on a wild goose chase all over London. The villain’s intent on making fools of us.’
‘He’s intent on making it as hard as possible for us to track him…and Marianne,’ corrected Linwood.
‘Give the document to the boy by the organ grinder. Lady Marianne will be delivered to your home.’ Misbourne read the words aloud. ‘Are the men still following us?’ he added beneath his breath to Linwood, who gave a subtle nod and lifted his wolf’s-head walking cane from where it rested on the ground.
‘Then let us hope the boy leads them straight to the villain’s