Page 31 of Blackmailed (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #2)

“ T hat Littleman woman went to the meeting place today,” Jeb said to Horatio Clement in the saddle room of the carriage house he used for meeting the men on his payroll who did the more dangerous and sometimes unpleasant tasks.

“I’m not sure I needed to be roused from my wine to hear this. It could have waited until tomorrow. I have one of the city council members arriving anytime now,” Clement said to Duncan and Jeb, the two men he reserved for the dirtiest work.

Neither man had a conscience, nor any aversion to thieving or murder.

What a lucky chance he’d caught them breaking into his neighbor’s house and convinced them that steady pay and their very own set of rooms in a less salubrious part of town were more desirable than the random job.

Neither were very bright, but both were dangerous and loyal to the hand that fed them, and paid them, including an occasional young woman delivered to their rooms.

“Word was down on the docks that Littleman is getting something real special,” Duncan said.

“Real special. Valuable,” Jeb added.

Clement closed his eyes. “All right. Spend some time and some dollars finding out what Mrs. Littleman has acquired.”

He handed each man a wad of bills and sent them on their way.

He didn’t need anything new in his collection, and he’d promised himself to lay low after threatening that stupid Virginia Wiest on her high horse.

Which would be the right thing to do as long as Brown was sniffing around her skirts.

He’d best put Littleman and her trinket out of his mind and focus on bribing the city councilman who was due to arrive anytime.

“Word on the street is that Littleman has an item she’s asking ten thousand dollars for,” Jeb said to Clement several days later.

“Ten thousand? Are you sure? Some rummy from the docks drop that in your ear?”

Duncan shook his head. “No, sir. The ragman down that way hears everything, and he heard from one of his regular customers that Thomas, that big brute that stays close to Littleman, told the customer that, in fact, he thought it might fetch more.”

Clement stared at the two of them. Whether it was true or not, these two believed it. “See if you can find out more. Like what it is. And who’s bidding on it. I want to know something by the end of the day. And if it’s not true, I want to know that too.”

Clement busied himself with orphanage business as he must keep up the appearance of a man devoted to children. He had neglected the paperwork and was still signing documents when Jeb and Duncan appeared at his study window. He met them in the carriage house a few moments later.

“Well, what did you find out? All but a rumor?”

“No, Mr. Clement. The exchange is to take place at the meeting room on Saturday. They’re saying there’s less coppers around that day.”

“And she’s asking fifteen now.”

“Fifteen thousand?” Clement asked.

Jeb nodded. “It’s something about the first president.”

“Washington? George Washington?”

“That’s it. A letter or something,” Duncan said.

He stood quietly for a moment. “You must find out the details about the transaction. You must find out everything. Time of the exchange. Who the buyer is. If the deal is finalized,” he said and handed them each more coins. “They’ll be a special girl for you if our plan is successful.”

“Maybe that snooty girl? The pretty one?”

“Virginia Wiest? I’ll see what I can do. We will need some additional men. Loyal ones or they go in the bay, understood? And you along with them.”

He’d have to know who the buyer was so he could figure the best place to surprise him.

And then it would be off to New York City to sell it.

He didn’t want it in his possession any longer than necessary, although it would be quite the coup to have an item once belonging to the first president in his collection.

He could just envision Baltimore’s wealthy and influential citizens clamoring for an invitation to one of his parties and being invited everywhere.

Not a door in Baltimore would be closed to the son of a washerwoman and a mason.

Virginia drank several cups of coffee in lieu of eating anything substantial, which did nothing but make her stomach roll, worried as she was about what was taking place at the docks this very Saturday morning.

She could not think of anything but whether Phillip was dead or alive.

And she worried if he was alive, he’d never speak to her again.

She had just spoken to Mr. Smith and Mrs. French at length about the upcoming week’s menus.

“Mr. Smith? Are you feeling well?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, miss. I have a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Smith. You’ll go directly to your rooms and get some rest. Mrs. French, make sure that Mrs. Barkley has broth for him. I insist, Mr. Smith.”

“I don’t have anyone to be here on the door, should we have callers. Fredrickson is off purchasing supplies.”

“I doubt we will have any visitors this morning. I’m not expecting anyone, and I have nothing on my calendar. I can answer the door, if necessary, until Fredrickson has returned. Likely less than an hour.”

“Miss, please don’t answer the door yourself. Mr. Brown was quite insistent. Wait for Miss Hughes or Mr. Pointer to be with you.”

“I’m sure he was insistent. And I doubt anything will happen in this short amount of time.

I’ll be in the parlor reading if anyone is looking for me, Mrs. French,” Virginia said.

She doubted she could read for two minutes together, but she’d make a good show of it if it made the staff less worried.

She could not decide if Horatio would be on the docks himself this morning or keep to his home and wait for his prize.

Virginia had her answer several minutes later as she stared out the front window and one of the Shugar children waved at her from just past the portico where the rhododendrons were blooming.

The girl, Beth, looked terrified. Virginia wondered what could have happened to make her look that way and opened the door.

“Are we ready?” Phillip said.

“I think so,” Timothy replied. “Never know with these types of operations, though. If somebody lets something slip, we could have trouble.”

Phillip nodded and stared off as they sat together at Phillip’s kitchen table going over the last of the details. They’d be heading to a room they’d rented near the docks to change into disguises very soon.

Timothy was staring at him. “What?” Phillip asked.

“You can’t have your mind a million miles away while we do this. You’ll get us both killed,” Timothy said.

“Killed?” Sarah said as she walked down the two steps into the kitchen.

“Thought you were at Dolly’s this morning?” Phillip said.

“Forgot something here,” she said. “What is going on? Where is Eliza and Jenny? And Uncle Patrick?”

“He took them to the market.”

She turned to Timothy. “What is going on?”

He shook his head. “Not something I can talk about.”

“Because you’re worried one of you will be killed?” she whispered.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about, Sarah,” Phillip said.

“Nothing to be concerned about? Nothing to be concerned about? You are a fool, Phillip Brown. What will happen to this family if you are killed? Uncle is up there in years. What will happen to us?”

“Sarah, you’re getting upset over nothing,” Phillip said.

“Am I? If you think the thought of losing my brother and a man I ca—” She glanced at Timothy, her cheeks a brilliant red.

Both men watched her run out of the kitchen, and Timothy stood.

“Maybe I should talk to her,” he said.

“You just said no distractions. Let’s go.”

The two men arrived at the back stairs of the house where one of Timothy’s fellow officers had rented a room for them. He’d paid the rent to the landlord, delivered the cloth bag with their disguises, and given them the key. The building was located two blocks from the dock and the meeting room.

Phillip dumped the contents of the bag on the thin mattress.

They both pulled on the clothes, and Phillip donned a gray-haired wig.

He used some gray color he’d bought at a theater he’d passed many times on his way to the cannery to make his eyebrows match his hair.

He stuffed his shirt with a pillow, pulled on an overlarge coat, and tapped a top hat on his head.

He picked up the cane and limped around the room.

He glanced in the mirror and thought he might get away with the disguise in front of Clement, if he was one of the men that came to rob them, although he doubted Clement would dirty his hands.

Timothy finished knotting a tie at his neck and pulled on a flat cap. He wore the checked pants typical of the flashy men he often arrested, with a dark jacket and vest. He looked exactly like who he was supposed to. Muscle for hire.

They climbed in a hired carriage waiting at the back door and traveled several blocks away from the docks before turning around and heading to the meeting place.

They remained in the carriage once it had stopped, two men on the back, the driver, and he and Timothy inside.

The driver tapped behind him on the carriage slide, the signal that Littleman was approaching.

Timothy climbed down first, surveying the street.

Phillip followed, taking his time, an old, crippled man, carrying a satchel in his left hand and limping along with his cane in his right.

Phillip felt eyes on them both, and there certainly were; people across the street glanced at them and then hurried away, surely anticipating violence.

Phillip walked slowly, pulling one leg along, as if crippled, and held the satchel tight against his chest. The two men on the back of the carriage jumped down to follow, purposefully staying six or seven feet behind, enough to be separated from the men they were supposedly guarding.

Phillip kept his head down, watching his steps on the cobblestones, and Timothy signaled with a few hand gestures that the gap in the buildings ahead of them was probably where they would get jumped.

He thought about Virginia at that moment, about her smile and her kindness.

He heard a noise behind him and knew the two officers following had been attacked. Timothy shouted at their attackers and grabbed Phillip by the arm, hurrying him along.

“Clement’s regular men aren’t back there,” Timothy whispered as they went toward the meeting place. “They’ll be ahead.”

As predicted, Jeb and Duncan and two others Phillip had never seen before stepped in front of he and Timothy. Both men were holding pistols.

“Watch it, there, big boy,” Jeb said to Timothy as he began to put his hand under his coat. “No need for any more weapons.”

“Just give me the bag,” Duncan said and pointed at Phillip’s chest. “Give it up, old man, and nobody gets hurt.”

“No,” Phillip said. “No!”

“You want a bullet in the head instead? Just give me the bag.”

Phillip acted as if he were crying, tightening his grip on the satchel and dropping his cane to the ground.

He tucked his free hand behind the satchel, got a grip on his gun, and shot Jeb in the leg.

Duncan froze as he watched his partner drop to the ground, the man shouting in pain, his gun spinning away.

The two other men hurried back between the buildings.

Timothy had a hand on Duncan’s gun before he could react and quickly had him subdued.

Two men from across the street broke away from the small crowd and grabbed Duncan by the arms.

Phillip looked at Duncan before he was dragged away. “We’ll see what you have to say about your boss when you’re heading to the gallows.”

Phillip looked up when he heard a voice from the crowd. Clement walked toward them, Virginia Wiest tight against his chest with one arm and a gun at her head with the other. Every nightmare that Phillip ever had was playing out before his eyes.

“I doubt he’ll be saying anything,” Clement said as he walked closer to the two men holding Duncan.

“I ain’t saying nothing, Mr. Clement!” Duncan shouted.

“That is very true,” Clement said. He moved the gun from Virginia’s head and shot Duncan in the chest.

There was a momentary stunned silence as Duncan slumped to the ground, the two officers still holding his arms. Bystanders ran away in every direction and Jeb was crying and trying to drag himself away. Phillip had his gun trained on Clement, but there was no clear shot without hitting Virginia.

“Lower the weapon, Brown. I should have known you were behind this little farce,” Clement said. “I wasn’t positive, of course, but I trust my instincts and stopped by to see Virginia just in case. She kindly agreed to come with me peaceably.”

Phillip dropped his gun to the ground, as did Timothy. Virginia’s face revealed nothing, but she did glance toward Irene Littleman, still slowly walking toward them.

“Let her go,” Phillip said. “Your fight is with me, not her.”

“I’m not a fool. Get out of my way so I can take care of poor Jeb there and be on my way. You have my word as a gentleman that Virginia will be released as soon as I am far enough away.”

“Your word as a gentleman? How ridiculous!” Phillip said, inching to his left to shield Jeb and keep Irene Littleman out of Clement’s line of vision. “You were never a gentleman, even with all your stolen valuables and your fancy parties.”

“Who are you to say who’s a gentleman and who’s not! I’m not elbow-deep in oysters every day, working alongside the dregs of this city!”

Phillip moved one more inch to his left. “Dregs of the city! You just shot your own man! You’re no gentleman and never will be!”

Clement aimed his gun in Phillip’s direction, gesturing wildly. “You’re scum, you’re?—”

But the end of the sentence was lost in Irene Littleman’s gun’s report as well as a good portion of Clement’s skull.

Virginia screamed as she was dragged to the ground by the dead man.

Phillip pulled her away from the awful sight that was Horatio Clement and held her close.

There was shouting from the police and bystanders and movement all around them, but neither moved.

He glanced down the street, but Littleman and her men were already gone, other than the big hulking one, Thomas, who tipped his hat before he turned to follow his mistress. Phillip didn’t think the gesture was for him, but rather for the unshakable woman in his arms.