Page 10 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)

James shifted in his chair. Lady Carrington asked from a place of maternal concern. “I was injured two years ago in battle, and it took me months to recover. Once I was ready to return to service, the war was winding down. I have been on half-pay since then, but ready to fight again when needed.”

“I can see how that has felt like no time at all. Gabriel mentioned that you have been mostly on your own while you travel between ports. London must be quite overwhelming.”

James was surprised Gabe had told his mother about his job managing the many shipments of his friend Jack Doherty’s Birmingham enterprises.

“Indeed, especially with so many grand events.” James hoped that would be enough to satisfy Lady Carrington. She smiled warmly, and then without missing a beat, turned to Lady Bridget to discuss her daughter’s hair arrangement for tonight’s ball.

James quickened his pace of eating because he wanted to avoid any further interrogation, and also because he had never learned to eat slowly.

Between his childhood under his tyrannical uncle’s thumb and his career in the military, he had learned to never take a meal for granted.

There were no such things as leisurely meals.

James excused himself from the table and went up to his room to change into more appropriate clothing for the afternoon meeting.

He opened the wardrobe in his room and pulled out a faded coat, frayed linen shirt, and worn trousers. He did not bother with a cravat or a waistcoat. He slipped on a pair of scuffed-up boots in preparation for disappearing into the sordid masses of London.

James silently closed the door to his room and looked up and down the hallway. Luckily, it was empty, so he hurried toward the servants’ stairs and made his way out of the house.

Once he had left the property through the back gate, he picked up his pace and strode through the alleyway until it fed onto the main thoroughfare. He hailed a hackney and hopped in, closing his eyes and leaning back onto the torn squabs.

Finally, he could relax.

James had never lived a life of luxury, and pretending to be a gentleman for the sake of securing Gabe’s help was deuced difficult.

He was surrounded by suffocating cravats, social pleasantries, and feigned innocence.

Even being an officer in the Royal Navy was less oppressive than living among High Society.

Once the hackney neared the docks, the roads worsened.

The familiar smell of rotting fish invaded his nostrils and gave him a sense of solace, despite the nauseating stench.

As the din of the docks became more audible, the hack slowed, then stopped.

James paid the driver and stepped onto the muddy road.

He was home.

He pulled out his simple pocket watch and realized he was early.

To kill time, he wandered to the waterfront and watched the organized chaos of men efficiently loading and unloading ships’ cargoes.

The scene reminded him of worker ants busily marching morsels of food to their queen and returning empty-handed.

The water lapped against the great hulls of the boats while they swayed in rhythm to the ebb and flow of the Thames.

James felt a sense of longing for the camaraderie of being a sailor. It was there, with a preordained naval family, that had made him realize how much he had missed in his youth. Although he had loved his mother dearly, his childhood was wrought with unpleasant memories.

His mother had crawled to her brother, the vicar, when she found herself pregnant after the man she claimed was her husband had disappeared a few days after their wedding.

James’s uncle had taken her in, Christian charity and all, but in fact, he had ulterior motives as a widower.

James and his mother lived in an old, two-room building on the parish property in exchange for his mother tending to the vicar’s home in the manner of a servant.

Once James was out of leading strings, he followed suit serving his abominable older cousin, Herbert.

Meanwhile, his uncle fervently believed that James’s mother never actually married, and constantly reminded James by calling him a worthless bastard.

James pulled out his watch again. Fortunately, it was ten minutes to two o’clock and time to go.

He walked away from the docks toward the Prospect of Whitby, not far from the riverfront, and entered the drinking establishment.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior and for his nose to adjust to the stench of unwashed sailors.

He had not been on a ship in too long, so the latter was not an easy task.

A roar sounded, and he glanced toward the cock-fighting pit.

The spectators jostled among one another to get a better view of the fight, money clutched in their hands.

This noisy pub was the perfect place to go unnoticed.

He moved around the crowd to the back corner in the usual spot, where he saw a familiar figure sitting with his hat pulled low over his eyes.

James slid into the booth where a tankard of ale awaited his arrival. He wasted no time with small talk, knowing his partner was of a similar mindset. “Any news?”

The gruff voice of Morris emerged from beneath the shadows of his hat. “Stevens sent word that Roberts is’n’ ‘is real name. ‘E found nothin’ bout ‘im before two years ago.”

James’s brow furrowed. Morris’s news did not bode well. Roberts was his man of business, and the insurer mandated that he provide the shipping account ledgers in order to receive insurance repayment for the lost flax shipment.

Morris continued, “We looked at the books of the nobs and tradesfolk Roberts managed. Stevens looked at ?em real ‘ard and figured out Roberts was fleecin’ ‘em.”

James’s mind churned through this new information. “Do you think that had to do with his death?”

“I dunno. We still don’t ‘ave much. Stevens talked to a maid who worked for Roberts. She was scared and not alotta ‘elp, except for one thing.”

“What?” James’s interest was piqued.

“A woman in a veil came to see Roberts. Mourning or somethin’. There was a gunshot and Roberts is dead in ‘is office, lots o’ blood. The woman was gone.”

James frowned as his mind conjured an image of a woman dressed all in black.

“I went to review my accounts with Roberts earlier that day, but a woman who wore a mourning veil entered his office ahead of me. I didn’t want to wait, so I went to see Hann at the Ditherington Flax Mill to let him know about the lost shipment.

” James paused and shifted in his seat. “When I came back to Roberts’s office, he was already dead. ”

Morris gave a knowing nod. “That was ‘er, a Mrs. Gibson, she called ‘erself.”

“Gibson.” James’s lips sounded out the name of her , the reason for his current miserable existence in London. “I need those ledgers so I can get my money back for the shipment.”

Morris shook his head with a solemn look on his face. “Not yet. The magistrate is ‘oldin’ all the records until they find Mrs. Gibson. It took a lot of persuasion to get our ‘ands on ?em in the first place. We looked through all ‘is books. No Gibson. We dunno where to find ‘er.”

That was not the answer he wanted. The tension he felt stayed with him. He had to find patience…from somewhere.

Morris continued, “This woman came for one reason and one reason alone, Capt’n. To kill Roberts. Maybe it was for the blunt, maybe it wasn’t. Roberts ?ad a lot of enemies. ‘E ‘ad some funny tastes. ‘E ?ad debts from ‘Olyhead to Birmingham. Mrs. Gibson could be anyone.”

One thing stuck out to James. “Birmingham, you said? Did he owe Jack Doherty money?”

“Oh yeah, ‘e was in deep. I ?ear Doherty runs Birmingham. Bawdy ‘ouses, gambling ?ells, that sort of thing. Do you know ?im?” Morris raised his bushy eyebrows.

“He’s my best friend, and I work for him. Jack is ruthless, but he wouldn’t send a woman in his stead as a hired killer.”

“‘E still may know somethin’. You want to talk to ?im? I ?ave so many leads I need to work for other cases.”

“Sure. When I stopped in Birmingham to tell Jack about the sunken flax shipment, he said he was coming to London soon to expand his business.”

“Great. I ?ave to be off. I’ll let ya know when I ?ave more.” With that, Morris slipped out of the booth and snaked his way through the pub’s customers, blending into the shadows. He was a man of the darkness, a Bow Street Runner through and through.

James took a sip of his ale as he processed the information he had just learned from Morris.

Mrs. Gibson.

He shook his head in defeat. His life as a captain in the Royal Navy during a war was simpler than his current predicament. There, you knew the enemy. Here, it was all aliases, murder, and secrets.

Who is Mrs. Gibson?

He needed to find her, so he could get the ledgers released and be paid his insurance money. Then, he could leave the ton and this awful city.

Before she and Roberts showed up, James had begun to readjust to living on land.

Jack had known James needed a purpose, but also that he had restlessness that could not be quelled.

Jack had sent James to monitor his shipments at the various ports throughout Britain.

It provided James with direction but also kept him moving.

Jack’s former man of business for western coastline ports was Embry, a heavyset, jolly, middle-aged man whom James had trusted.

But James only worked with him for a short time, because Embry died unexpectedly. Or so Roberts said. Roberts did not waste any time taking over his predecessor’s accounts.

James did not know whom to trust anymore.

At least he could speak with Jack. His best friend would never lie to him. They were like brothers, bonded by nightmarish childhoods in Birmingham.

He finished his ale, then made his way toward the door, his height and shoulder breadth preventing a furtive exit like Morris.

He squinted in response to the daylight.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he stepped away from the pub and then hailed a nearby hack to transport him back to the hellish world of the gently bred.

He climbed into the vehicle with his head down and slouched against its squabs in defeat.

James was no closer to finding her.