Page 19 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)
I n the end, Cecil didn’t argue with Nathaniel accompanying him to Swallow Street. He did insist they continue on to Grosvenor Square and locate Bones. They quickly found him as Bones was walking the square.
Cecil opened the carriage door and asked his employee, “Do you have a weapon?”
“Aye,” Bones replied with a grin. “I could do with a change of scenery, my lord. Watching over a lady in Mayfair isn’t that exciting.”
“The men who tied up Acker and Eliza might be hiding in a building on Swallow Street. If so, there could be other Rogue’s Alliance members there.” He paused. “Confronting the men may be dangerous.”
Bones replied gravely, “Those men laid hands on my cousin Eliza. They need someone to teach them some manners.”
Bones vaulted up to sit beside the coachman on the driver’s box. Cecil’s groom took up a post on the rear outside seat.
Before closing the carriage door, Cecil called to his driver, “Swallow Street!”
The drive along Brook and Bond Streets to the northern end of Piccadilly would take some fifteen minutes with the heavy traffic along Bond Street. Cecil hadn’t been near Swallow Street in many months so he had no idea what the area looked like.
The curtains of the coach were open as they drove down Piccadilly. When the carriage approached the cross street of Swallow, they were greeted by piles of rubble. The carriage came to a halt amidst plumes of dust.
The groom opened the carriage door and said, “My lord, Swallow Street is unpassable.”
Cecil alighted from the carriage followed by Nathaniel. Bones joined them as the groom stood nearby.
As it had been the previous year, the beginning of April was chilly in Town. The day was overcast, adding little brightness to the gray, sooty skyline of London.
“Stay with the carriage,” Cecil instructed his groom and flicked a look at the coachman still on his box. “If we don’t return in an hour, proceed to Bow Street for assistance.”
Both of his servants nodded their understanding. Cecil always carried two flintlock pistols. He pulled them from his coat pockets and handed one to Nathaniel, who accepted the firearm without comment, while Cecil held the other pistol in his right hand.
“We’re looking for Hedgerow Stables,” Cecil told Bones. “I have no idea who is in the building or if it is still standing.”
Bones reached into his coat and pulled out a long knife. “Proceed, my lord.”
Cecil turned on his heel and picked his way through the mounds of rock and dirt at the entrance to Swallow Street. There was rubbish strewn about, but he spied no movement. Piles of broken timbers lined the thoroughfare, random signage scattered about identified a no longer standing pub or shop Cecil had never heard of.
Dust plumes rose from the construction of the new road several yards to the northwest where their party came to a halt in front of the only brick building within sight: Hedgerow Stables. The sound of men yelling and hammer upon stone carried on the breeze.
Cecil raised a finger to his lips as Nathaniel stood to one side of him, Bones on the other. The two-story stable was constructed of weathered brick and a slate roof. He could neither see nor hear movement within the structure.
With his companions following, Cecil walked cautiously to the cavernous entrance at the center of the structure. All was quiet inside as he stepped into the dim open space, his pistol lifted. To his left was the coach house, an ancient Cabriolet in residence. In front of him were several empty stalls, to his right, empty loose boxes.
As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he was sure he heard snoring. A glance at Nathaniel and Bones assured him they could also hear it. Between the empty stalls, there was a small room with a closed door, most likely the harness room. The snoring was coming from that room.
Bones made to step forward, but Cecil shook his head. Instead, he crept forward shifting his weapon to his left hand as he reached for the handle of the room’s door.
The door opened with a loud creak and the snoring stopped. There was only a small crescent shaped window at the top of the back wall of the room, and the interior was shadowy. Cecil jumped to his right as he heard the sound of a pistol being fired. Two men came running from the room, flintlocks raised. He fired at one man who he went down, and spied Bones trip the other, the man’s pistol skating across the stone floor of the open space.
The second man made to stand up, but Nathaniel had a booted foot on his back, holding him down. He was in his early twenties and well-groomed. Cecil turned his attention to the man he’d shot. The man was older, dressed in the grubby white shirt, trousers, and suspenders one expected to see on a dock worker.
The white shirt had a spreading crimson stain, and the man gasped for breath. “Don’t say nothing, Evans,” he rasped. “They’ll know. They’ll know, I tell...”
The man stopped speaking and lay still, his eyes wide open and staring.
Nathaniel nodded to Cecil. He walked to the man splayed on the floor and reached down a hand for one arm while Nathaniel removed his boot from the man’s back and reached for his other arm. The young man sprang up and attempted to wrestle Cecil’s gun from his hand.
A moment later, the man released Cecil. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed, with no sound forthcoming. He staggered to his left and then fell forward to lie unmoving Bones’ knife in his back.
“I wanted him alive,” Cecil muttered with a long sigh. He closed his eyes a moment, collecting himself.
“Are you all right?” Nathaniel asked faintly.
He opened his eyes. “I am. And you?”
Nathaniel had been in the Navy during the wars and had seen death many times . Cecil knew that his friend had found some measure of peace after all he’d seen and done in service to his country. He was loath to think he’d eroded some of that peace by enlisting Nathaniel’s assistance today.
“I feel foolish that the boy took me by surprise.” Nathaniel looked to Bones. “And you?”
Bones replied, “I didn’t intend to kill the man.”
“What’s done is done.” Cecil nodded to his employee. “You might have saved my life.”
“How are we to tell if these are the men who ransacked your house?” Nathaniel asked, looking down at the bodies before him.
“Acker said one was dressed like a dockworker, and the other had a red waistcoat like the runners wear.” He bent down and turned the younger man over. The dead man did have a red waistcoat under his gray overcoat, and Cecil riffled through the pockets of both pieces of clothing. While the man wasn’t wearing expensive clothes, his clothing was in good repair and of better quality than his companion’s.
One jacket pocket held a pair of flexible handcuffs, the other, several guineas, and an RA snuffbox. Nathaniel searched the other man.
Cecil held up his finds as Nathaniel said, “All he has on him is a few guineas and one of the organization’s snuffboxes.”
“They were probably meant to leave London,” Bones replied. “Rumors are that the alliance is killing fewer of their deputies to draw less attention to the operation.”
They stood silently for a few moments before Cecil said, “I’m going to take you home, Nathaniel, and after I return to Curzon Street, Bones can tip off the runners as to the dead bodies here.”
Bones nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
The sky had darkened even further as they made their way back to the waiting carriage. Rain threatened but held off until Cecil arrived home.
“Would you like supper, my lord?” Bones said after they’d entered the townhouse.
He shook his head. “I’m sure I can sort it myself.” He handed the dead man’s guineas to Bones. “Take my carriage, and after you visit the runners, you can find your own supper or return here.”
Bones turned on his heel and exited the house while Cecil ambled down the corridor to the kitchen. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but perhaps there was some bread and butter in the kitchen to accompany a pot of tea.
When Cecil entered the kitchen, it was to find a cold grate, and he realized he’d never made tea for himself. Some of the newer and larger homes in London had stoves, whereas he was faced with an open hearth.
Bottles of small beer rested on the center table, along with a crock of butter and what looked to be a stale loaf of bread. Cecil was alone in the house, and as he stood staring at the pitiful makings of his dinner, he felt discouraged by recent events.
Two more members of the RA were dead, and he’d gained no useful intelligence. He had no idea how to solve the riddle of the second clock, and after the burglary, his house no longer felt like a refuge.
He would leave a note for Bones and hail a hackney to the Clarendon Hotel. The thought of a meal cooked by an excellent chef lightened his mood.
As Cecil stepped out of his house, the golden hour was upon London. The skies had cleared, and the new gas lamps along Curzon Street glowed in the waning daylight.
Tomorrow brought another opportunity to see Lady Louisa again and put his plan for the clocks into action. Thoughts of the stylish debutante made him smile, and he began to whistle as he walked.