Page 37

As the carriage wheels rolled closer and closer to the docks and the scent of the Thames filled his nostrils, Andrew’s insides eased.

It reminded him of his years traveling the high seas.

It was hard, lonely, and tremendously satisfying work, even though he’d come perilously close to losing his life several times due to storms and pirates.

He was proud of what Langford, Caldwell, and he had accomplished.

Most peers would never stoop so low as to do menial work.

But it had paid off for all three of them, even if their lives were changing, and they would eventually need to hire other good men to run Mayfair Imports and Exports for them.

They already had several honest, intelligent, and hardworking retired navy captains who were worthy of their salaries and the percentage of cargo they transported.

Their ships were in good hands. Caldwell had recently hired their new warehouse manager who had come highly recommended by Mr. Whitcomb.

Mr. Warner was a retired Runner himself and trustworthy.

“Come back at dawn,” Andrew said to his driver as he took the lamp from inside the carriage and made his way to the door.

He unlocked it and entered the quiet warehouse, his footsteps echoing off the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the offices.

Once inside, he lit several lanterns and groaned at the pile of paperwork on his desk.

He was in charge of the accounts, and he’d been neglecting the invoices and receipts for over a week.

Thankfully, Caldwell came daily to keep up with the day-to-day operations, such as the banking and payroll.

It was time to find an honest and worthy accountant to replace him.

He would ask his banker, next time they met, if he knew of anyone seeking employment.

He poured himself a brandy and opened the inventory ledger to find Caldwell had already recorded their latest shipments and confirmed they tallied with the captain’s log.

Next, he sorted the invoices and wrote checks to be delivered tomorrow, recording them in the accounts payable ledger.

Since Caldwell had picked up his slack, there was actually less work than the pile on his desk had led him to believe, and before long he lay on the sofa and closed his eyes, hoping to get several hours of sleep.

His eyes popped open, and he sat up with a start.

He must have dozed off because several lanterns had burned out, and the room was cast in dark shadows.

And then he heard the banging on the door, which must have awoken him.

Extinguishing all but the lantern he arrived with, he went to the door, unbolted it, and opened it to find his driver, Avery, standing there.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but a message arrived. It’s from Mr. Whitcomb. ”

Shutting and locking the door to the warehouse behind him, Andrew climbed inside the carriage, hanging the lantern on the hook because the sun had yet to rise. His fingers quickly opened the sealed note and scanned its contents while Avery awaited his instructions.

“To Mr. Whitcomb’s office, Avery.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Once they’d arrived, Andrew bounded up the stairs into the Bow Street offices and beelined into Whitcomb’s small office. Once inside, he found Whitcomb behind his desk, two other Runners present, and a young man holding a soiled plaid cap in his shackled hands.

“I see you received my message, Your Grace,” Whitcomb said. “Please have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

“We caught this man sneaking in the servants’ entrance of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s townhouse with a dagger in his hand.”

Every muscle in his body tensed, his heart accelerated, and his now wide-awake mind screamed, “Not again.” Not another attempt on Emmeline’s life.

“Tobias admits to being hired to kill Mrs. Fitzpatrick but refuses to say by whom.”

“Give me ten minutes with him.”

“You know I cannot do that, Your Grace. You hired me, and I respect the law. However, a few days in Newgate ought to get him talking.”

“No,” the man said in protest. “’Tis likely I’ll die in a day.”

“Tell us who hired you,” Andrew demanded as he got close to the man’s foul-breathed face, nearly gagging from the stench. Even if he confessed, he belonged in Newgate for his actions.

“I don’t know who,” he cried out. “A man. Perhaps thirty. Dressed in plain clothes. Never said his name or who sent him.”

“Damn,” Whitcomb said. “It’s what he said when we picked him up. Bring him to Shorty at Newgate.”

The young man’s protests could be heard as the two Runners dragged him out of the office.

“I believe him. If he knew the identity of the person who hired him, he would have told us. He has a real fear of Newgate. As well he should.”

“Thankfully, your people were there. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”

“Just doing what you hired me to do. Meanwhile, Lord and Lady Hartford and Lady Beatrice traveled to the Duke and Duchess of Deerfield’s and returned quite late. All has been quiet since their return. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t hire Tobias through a servant or other means.”

“I know. Thank you. Keep up the good work.”

The sun, or what he could see of it through all the rain clouds, peeked over the horizon as he left Bow Street.

As soon as he arrived home he would bathe, dress, break his fast, and visit Emmeline to see with his own eyes that she was safe and unharmed.

“Please don’t let this be a daily and nightly occurrence,” he mumbled to himself.