Chapter 32

"A man with a scar?" Reginald asked, pacing about the parlor of his sister's home, with Catherine and Dominic seated in the chaise lounge. Timothy was standing by the open window, leaning against a wall. Everyone was listening intently. "That has to be George Thompson."

"Are you sure?" Dominic asked, while Catherine merely listened. She didn't know anything about Annabel's husband, so her opinion mattered little. However, she listened with deep focus, in hopes that she would still be able to offer her help if need be.

"Yes," Reginald nodded, stopping only for a single moment, then he continued pacing. "Annabel told me about him just once, but I do remember that she mentioned a scar. It is not very visible though. One would only notice it from up close."

"On his forehead?" Dominic asked.

"Yes," Reginald confirmed, his face growing more and more pale with each passing moment.

"That is what the boy said," Dominic concluded, inhaling deeply. "So, it is safe to assume that Annabel's husband is back and somehow, he found out about you and her."

Reginald shrugged. "We tried being discreet, but I do believe that lately, we've stopped being so careful."

"It's either that or someone saw you," Timothy pointed out another version, which was equally valid.

"That doesn't matter now," Dominic reminded them. "We don't care how he found out. The fact of the matter is that he did find out, and now he is blackmailing Reginald."

"Will we get the constable involved?" Timothy inquired.

Dominic turned to him. "What do you think?"

Timothy thought about it for a moment. "I've had dealings with blackmailers before. I wouldn't advise getting the constable involved from the beginning. Their vision of justice might not the same as yours. You always have to keep that in mind. So, my advice would be to call them once everything is done, once Rosie and Annabel are safe. Otherwise, he might not want to tell us where they are, if the constable catches him accepting the ransom money."

"That's a good point," Dominic nodded. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

"The boy told you where George would be tomorrow morning," Timothy reminded them. "I suggest the three of us go there and wait. Once he hands the boy the letter, we could follow him to see where he goes. Perhaps we will be lucky, and he will lead us right to Annabel and Rosie."

Something assured Catherine that things never went that easily, not when there was wickedness afoot. "I want to come as well." She got up from her seat, much to the surprise of all three men present.

"Absolutely not!" Both Reginald and Dominic expressed their opinion in the same words, at the same time.

"The man is dangerous, Cate," Dominic reminded her gently.

Catherine could see the look of surprise on her brother's face when Dominic called her Cate, but she chose to ignore it. That was unimportant. What mattered was finding Annabel and Rosie safe and sound.

"Yes, anything could happen," Reginald added. "I don't want to have to worry about you too while we are following him."

"I won't be a burden," she flared up. "I want to help."

"You can help by staying here," Dominic told her. "Your brother is right. We don't know what this man is capable of. We will try to follow him if we get the chance, but what if he sees us? What if he leads us into an ambush? What if there are more men than the three of us can handle? I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you, so please… for your own safety, stay home."

At first, she hated how he seemed to order her to stay home, like an obedient wife, but his subsequent reasoning revealed so much more. He was worried about her. He cared about her. That was why he was telling her to stay home. And she had to admit that it made sense.

"All right," she nodded, still a little reluctantly, but more appeased at that point.

Dominic walked over to Reginald, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to stay behind as well?" he asked. "I do not mean to offend you in any way, but like I told your sister, this man is a criminal. He is most probably armed and ready for surprises. Timothy can handle himself well in such situations. I myself… I will probably do fine. Can you remain patient and not attack him? Because that might undermine what we are doing here, trying to prevent the second letter and finding Annabel and Rosie while they are hopefully still unharmed."

"I will be all right," Reginald assured him. "I have to go. If we find Annabel, I want to be there when we do."

"But you have to do exactly what Timothy says," Dominic reminded him. "He is the one with experience in… shady business."

Timothy frowned. "Hey now, you're making it seem as if I'm the criminal here."

He said it in such mock indignation that everyone had to chuckle.

"Of course not," Dominic assured him. "No one is saying that. I am merely pointing out your, umm… connections to the underground world of London which you are familiar with."

"Still not better," Timothy frowned, but it was all in good jest.

Timothy was far from a criminal, but his parents' debt and other shady, upper-class affairs led to him have many connections in a world the upper classes frowned upon, while he kept them close and paid them off well for whatever he or his friends needed sorted out. And in the ton, there was always some sorting out to do.

"All right then," Dominic inhaled deeply. "We are set then. We are to meet here at five thirty, and we're heading to the designated street. Wear a disguise, gentlemen. The dirtier, the better. We cannot risk being noticed or even mistaken for upper class gentlemen. Everything rests on it."

Timothy and Reginald nodded at the same time. Catherine looked at them all, worried beyond description. She wondered how dangerous that man was and what he was capable of. A criminal was never to be trusted. Ever. And a man who kidnapped a woman and her child had a special place in hell.

***

A few minutes before six in the morning, the three men stood together, disguised as beggars and poor folk, their noble bearing hidden underneath layers of tattered clothing and grime.

Dominic wore a tattered cloak that hung loosely around his broad shoulders, the rich fabric frayed from years of use. Underneath the cloak, there were threadbare shits and patched trousers that seemed to bear stains of countless journeys.

He turned to Timothy, who was wearing a worn greatcoat, a threadbare waistcoat and a frayed shirt. Reginald had a patched jacket on, its seams straining with the weight of what seemed to be countless repairs, as they hung loosely from his slender frame, obviously two sizes too large.

He had to admit that all three of them had done a grand job disguising themselves. Mrs. Jenkins, a churchgoing woman, had some old clothes to take to the church, and without too many explanations, she was happy to let Dominic rummage through the bags she was to take. As a favor, he offered some of his old clothes to be taken to the church instead, for which she was extremely grateful.

None of them were speaking. They were just standing there, in the heart of the bustling street, their eyes keen and watchful as they observed the throngs of people passing by. They blended seamlessly into the teeming masses; their true identities safe.

Across the street, Charlie lingered in the corner, casting furtive glances at the passing crowds with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. His ragged attire marked him as just one of the city's forgotten youths. As Dominic watched him, a ripple of anticipation coursed through his veins. His senses were sharpening as minutes ticked away.

He knew that their target lurked in the shadows, concealed beneath the guise of poverty and anonymity. With bated breath, he watched as Charlie looked around. Any man could be George Thompson. Dominic couldn't tell. He had never seen him. But he knew that the letter had to be sent. He wouldn't risk not receiving all that money.

Then, they noticed a man walk in the direction of the urchin.

"Is that him?" Dominic murmured under his chin, but both men could hear him clearly.

"Shhh," Timothy signaled.

All eyes were on the boy and the man approaching him, and seconds felt like hours. The hunched back man moved slowly, dragging his left foot behind, like something that didn't even belong to him. Finally, the man reached the boy, but he didn't stop. He merely patted the boy on the head, then continued on his way.

"Not him," Reginald voiced his conclusion.

Dominic desperately wanted to check his pocket watch, but he didn't dare take it out of his grimy pocket and risk someone seeing it. He had to rely on his personal passage of time, which was subjective to any man and completely unreliable.

With each passing moment, he felt as if the street was mocking their vigil, its chaotic rhythm a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled over the three of them as they waited. Despite their best efforts, it seemed that the morning pursuit would remain fruitless, and that George Thompson would remain elusive.

At that moment, a church bell nearby sounded eight o'clock.

"We've been here two hours," Timothy murmured, shaking his head. "I doubt he will be appearing."

"If he hasn't appeared so far…" Reginald agreed, sounding disappointed. "I really thought we would see him."

Dominic sighed, patting him on the back. "Not all is lost yet, old boy. Keep your chin up. Something tells me we haven't heard the last of him."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Reginald said with a heavy voice. "It's Annabel and Rosie. What if he has harmed them?"

"He wouldn't." Dominic shook his head with more determination than he thought he had in him.

The truth was, he didn't know what sort of man George Thomspon was. He could have been a petty criminal who just pickpocketed old ladies, or he could have easily been a cold-blooded killer, or anything in between this spectrum. But Reginald needed reassurance. It was the least Dominic could do for him.

It was then that Timothy intervened. "And when we receive the second letter with the instructions on giving him the money, you will insist on seeing them first. You will insist on proof of life."

"Proof of life?" Reginald gasped.

Dominic frowned at Timothy, but he knew that Timothy wasn't there to sugarcoat things. He knew how these things could end, and although Reginald didn't want to hear it, perhaps it wasn't a bad idea for him to have that knowledge somewhere in the back of his mind.

"But like Dominic said, I am certain that they are fine, and all this scoundrel is asking for is money," Timothy concluded, much to both Reginald and Dominic's relief.

"We should head back home now," Dominic whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear them.

"Yes," Timothy agreed. "He won't be coming here. The morning mail has already been delivered."

Reginald swallowed heavily. "Does that mean that the second letter might be waiting for me at home?"

"Perhaps," Timothy nodded.

"We shall go with you and check," Dominic said, leading the way to their carriage.

The ride was short and uneventful, with all three men silent and lost in their own thoughts. Dominic wondered how all this would end. He didn't care about the money one bit, even if he were never to see that sum again. He wanted to ensure that Annabel and Rosie were all right.

They didn't deserve any of this. He also knew that this was partly his redemption. This was another way to prove to his wife, to her brother, that he realized his mistake and the sort of man he had presented himself to be. But that wasn't him. He wanted them to see the real him, and only dire trouble showed the real face of men.

They reached Reginald's home, and he led them inside.

"Jones, has the morning mail arrived?" Reginald inquired with his stunned butler, who didn't recognize his master immediately. His eyes were wide and incredulous. Dominic almost burst into laughter at the butler, who thought that his master's home was being invaded by three beggars. It was so preposterous that it was beyond funny. However, this was not the time for laughing.

"Why… yes," Jones finally realized that it was his master, when Reginald wiped off some of the grime off his face, revealing himself. "It is there." Jones paused, frowning. "Should I tell one of the maids to run a bath for you, my lord?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Jones," Reginald waved his hand dismissively, rushing over to a small desk with the morning correspondence.

He grabbed everything, throwing one letter after another, realizing that wasn't what he had been looking for. Then, a moment later, his hand started to tremble. He opened a letter as his eyes skimmed through the contents. He immediately handed it to Dominic upon finishing.

Lord Stanhope,

I thought you were smarter than that. Now, the price is six thousand pounds. There is an old house at the end of Blossom Street. Broken fence, border up windows. The entrance is in the back. I will be waiting for you there this evening at eight o'clock sharp. Come alone, unless you want to remain alone for the rest of your life.

"It is settled then," Dominic said, folding the letter. "We all go there tonight."

"But he said to come alone," Reginald said with a trembling voice.

"Because he won't be," Timothy said wisely. "We will come separately. Don't worry, neither you nor he will see us. But you can't go alone."

"All right," Reginald finally agreed.

Dominic knew that everything rested on that evening. If they lost that chance, Reginald would never see Annabel and Rosie ever again.