Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

T HE MAN WHO opened the door to Sloane Rutherford's house the next morning didn't look like a butler—or, indeed, like any sort of servant. But naturally that was exactly the sort of butler Sloane would hire. Nathan handed him his calling card. The man looked doubtfully at it, then doubtfully back at Nathan, but he turned and disappeared into the rear of the house.

Nathan had never been inside Sloane's house before. He wondered if it had always been like this or if the attractive furnishings were due to Annabeth's presence. As he waited, Sloane's father, Marcus, came down the stairs.

"Nathan? My, this is a surprise," Marcus said, coming forward to shake Nathan's hand. "It's good to see you."

"I'm glad to see you, as well. Mr. Rutherford, could I ask you a question?"

"Of course, of course," Marcus said expansively. "Can't say I'll know the answer, though."

"Did you know Lord Stanhope? Around your age or a bit younger, perhaps?"

"Basil Stanhope? My goodness, I haven't seen him around for many years. Don't know where he is now. He was always a rum'un, though. You'll want to stay away from him."

"Yes, I'm sure I will."

Marcus went on, "If you've come to talk to Annabeth, I'm afraid she's gone to call on her grandmother."

"Lady Lockwood has returned to town?" Nathan asked in surprise. It hadn't been a fortnight since he'd seen her at Stonecliffe.

"Of course she has," Sloane said as he strolled up to join the two men. "Stonecliffe, even with a great-grandson, is boring compared to an illegitimate heir popping up."

"Yes, Eugenia always does love a mystery." Marcus smiled fondly.

"She brought Mrs. Dunbridge with her," Sloane added, a glint of humor in his eyes.

"My mother?" Nathan asked, startled.

"Mmm. And your aunt."

"Whatever for? She didn't tell them about Malcolm Douglas, did she?"

"Good Lord, no," Marcus replied. "Her ladyship loves holding a secret as much as she loves hearing one. Well, boys, I must be off. I promised Eugenia I'd take the ladies shopping."

He strode to the front door, picked up his hat from the stand, and left the house. Sloane and Nathan stood for a moment, looking after him.

"Eugenia?" Nathan repeated, raising his eyebrows at Sloane. "Your father seems to be terribly friendly with Lady Lockwood."

"Yes, they're thick as thieves. I can't explain it. But I'm not about to raise any questions. Lady Lockwood is the only person I've known who can control him." Sloane turned and started back down the hall, saying, "Come to my office. I assume this isn't a social call."

"No." Nathan followed him. He found it a little strange, as he had earlier at Lady Lockwood's party, to be around Sloane without feeling resentment or jealousy. Sloane was still sarcastic and arrogant, and of course it was galling to have to ask the man for help, but Sloane no longer seemed an enemy. Not that he was a friend, either. Nathan wasn't sure what they were anymore...which fit with everything else in his life these days.

Sloane closed the door behind them and went toward his desk. He stopped and turned toward the conversational grouping of two chairs, then finally sat on the edge of his desk, stretching his legs out to brace himself. Clearly he had as little idea as Nathan how to act around him now. "I assume you're here about Malcolm Douglas."

"No. It's about Verity."

"Verity Cole?" Sloane stared at him.

"Yes. She's helping me investigate Douglas."

"Oh. I see."

Good. Then perhaps you can explain it to me. Nathan didn't voice the thought but said, "The thing is, someone attacked us last night. They threatened Verity with a knife at her throat and wanted me to tell them something or give them something. We're not sure what."

"You think it's Douglas?"

"Not really," Nathan replied. "I can't see how it helps him. And there are others who have reason to come after her."

"I'm shocked." Sloane's lips quirked up derisively.

"Yes, well, I—there are some men from her past, but the likeliest to me seems Lord Arden."

"Arden?" Sloane arched an eyebrow.

"Yes. Verity says he's something of a blackmailer. The thing is, we stole something from his safe. It didn't bel—"

"Wait. You're saying you helped her steal something? Nathan...what has happened to you?" Sloane grinned. "Stealing? Chaps popping up claiming to be your brother?"

"Malcolm Douglas is hardly my fault," Nathan protested.

"Nor, I imagine, was stealing from Lord Arden. That has Verity written all over it."

Nathan ignored the remark. "So you can see that there are a number of people who could have hired these two men. I want to find them and question them. I want to know who paid them. That's why I came to you."

"Despite what you may think, I don't know every criminal in London," Sloane said drily.

"I'm sure you know more than I do," Nathan retorted. "And I'll wager you know where we should go to learn who they are."

"Nathan, you astonish me." Sloane looked at him for a moment, then stood up. "Very well." He went behind his desk and pulled out a drawer to take out a small pistol and stuck it into a pocket of his jacket. He followed up by removing a knife and sliding it into place inside his boot. "Did you come armed with anything other than your charm?"

For answer, Nathan removed his dueling pistol from the side of his waistband and a short club from inside a pocket.

"I'm impressed," Sloane said, closing the drawer and beckoning Nathan down the hall. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Parker."

"The man you threatened to murder a few months ago?" Nathan's voice rose in astonishment.

"The very same."

"But...why?"

"Because he does know every criminal in London." Sloane grabbed his hat and settled it on his head as he went out the front door.

"Are we planning to attack the man again?" Nathan asked.

"Nonsense. I'm a respected citizen now, didn't you know?" Sloane hailed a hackney to take them to the docks. "Parker and I have an understanding. I trade in legal items, and he trades in the illegal, and we stay out of each other's way."

Despite Sloane's assurance of a truce, Parker's men appeared none too happy to see them when they arrived at his headquarters. But, after a sullen glare or two, one of the men went into the back and returned a few moments later to lead them into Parker's office.

Parker didn't stand up or offer them a chair, merely folded his hands across his stomach and looked at them questioningly. Sloane returned the gaze steadily, also not speaking. They'd be here all day at this rate.

"We are looking for two men," Nathan said.

"What's it got to do with me?" Parker turned his truculent gaze on Nathan.

"We thought you might be able to help us," Nathan replied pleasantly. "One of them was my height and the other one short and square. They had on caps, so I don't know their hair color, and they had the lower halves of their faces covered."

Parker snorted. "Don't know much then, do you?"

"The tall, thin one had a rather distinctive scar on the back of his left hand." Nathan's eyes had been riveted to the hand holding a knife against Verity's throat. "Large. Shaped like a crescent." Nathan traced the shape of the scar on the back of his own hand. "And I think he was left-handed because that was the hand in which he held the knife. His eyebrows were thick, almost grown together above his nose. He called the other man Shoe, I think—though that doesn't seem like a real name."

"They're none of my men," Parker said, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm not going to press charges," Nathan said. "I just want to find out who hired them."

"Still don't know them."

"I imagine you do know Sir Philip Dobbs, of the Board of Customs." Nathan paused, pleased with the wary look in Parker's eyes now. "As it happens, so do I. A word in his ear about your business practices—"

"Here, now!" Parker protested, turning to Sloane. "We have an agreement."

"You and Mr. Rutherford have an agreement," Nathan told him. "You and I, however, have none. Of course, should you help me find whoever attacked my companion last night..."

Parker let out a long-suffering sigh, then said, "The tall one with the scarred hand will be Hill, and the short one's Shoemaker. They always work together, hire out to whoever pays them. They work out of the Blue Swan, up in Cheapside. That's all I know. You'll have to go there to find out anything else."

As they left Parker's office, Sloane murmured, his eyes glinting in amusement, "Nathan, I am impressed. Coercing Parker. You have unexpected depths."

"That would be the thing that impressed you," Nathan retorted.

*

T HE B LUE S WAN turned out to be exactly the sort of tavern where one would expect ruffians to gather—a small, seedy, dim place that stank of ale and other unsavory things that it was probably better not to think about. Every eye turned to them the moment they walked in, no doubt sizing up their potential as marks to be robbed.

Sloane sent a long, assessing look around the place and nodded to one of the men. "Bellmont. I'd heard you were in Newgate."

The fellow let out a bark of laughter. "Not me, guv, it were me cousin."

They chatted for a moment in jargon that Nathan found largely unintelligible. After a farewell nod to the man, Sloane and Nathan wound their way through the tables to the bar.

"Rather impolite of you not to introduce me to your friend," Nathan commented. "Now that you're a respectable citizen and all."

"Yes, but he hasn't received his latest boots from Hoby's and I didn't want him to feel embarrassed when confronted by a dandy of your prominence."

The barkeep loudly disclaimed all knowledge of the men they sought and even shoved their coins back across the bar. Sloane shrugged and took Nathan's elbow, steering him out of the tavern.

"Damn it, Sloane, I need to find out where they are," Nathan protested, jerking his arm out of Sloane's grasp. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Negotiating." Sloane nodded his head to the left. "Come on." Once around the corner, they walked partway down the street and stopped at a narrow alleyway. "The barkeep can't be seen giving out information about his regulars."

After a few minutes the barkeep appeared, looking cautiously around him, and stretched out his hand. Sloane held up a gold coin, raising an eyebrow, and the man gave him the directions to a house.

"Third passageway off St. Mary Hill to the left. Before the Workhouse. Number's 8 but..." He shrugged, indicating how little one could rely on the flats showing numbers.

"Has Lord Arden ever hired them?" Nathan asked.

"Dunno. I've never heard of him hiring them. They're not the best, but he could have taken them in a pinch."

"But he does hire men of that sort?"

"'Course. Are you daft? A gent like him don't do his own dirty work."

"What sort of dirty work?"

"Here now...that's not enough coin for all this," the man whined.

"Just answer, Cartwright," Sloane growled.

He sighed. "He gets bruisers, you know, to make sure the marks pay."

"The people he blackmails?"

"Aye. And that's all I know." He plucked the coin from Sloane's hand and started to turn away.

"What about a man named Douglas?" Nathan asked, taking a step after him. "Scottish fellow, with an accent."

"No." The man pivoted back to face him and said in an aggravated tone, "No Scots. Now. Are you through?"

"Stanhope?"

"Who?"

"Never mind." Nathan handed the man another coin, which brought not quite a smile, but at least a less belligerent expression, to the barkeep's face.

It didn't take long to reach the pathway the barkeep had given them, but finding the correct place in the warren of houses was another matter. It took a good deal of fruitless wandering about and finally a few more coins to a street urchin to find the right flat.

The door eased open a crack at Nathan's knock, then immediately slammed. Putting their shoulders to it, Nathan and Sloane burst into the room, only to find that the sole occupant was a frowsy woman screeching at the top of her lungs. Her words were almost imperceptible at that pitch, but Nathan could make out one word. Hill. The man with the scar. The man that had cut Verity.

Nathan charged up a narrow set of stairs behind the screaming woman and Sloane followed.

The room above was empty, but a knotted rope hung out the open window. Nathan ran over and looked out in time to see a tall, lean man madly dashing toward St. Mary Hill.

"How'd you know he was up here?" Sloane looked surprised and impressed—an altogether irritating combination that Nathan unfortunately was getting used to seeing on the man's face.

"There wasn't anywhere else to go and she was clearly trying to alert someone," Nathan answered as he gave a sharp tug on the rope.

Sloane quirked an eyebrow. "Think it'll hold us?"

"It better," was Nathan's terse reply as he grabbed hold of it and backed out of the window.

Sloane grinned, and he followed Nathan's lead. Once on the ground, they took off at a run. When they reached the outer street, they spotted their quarry nearing the docks. They pursued him as he turned left at the Workhouse and cut across St. Dunstan's churchyard. Swerving around people and dodging through traffic on Thames Street, they continued after him and were closing in on the man when suddenly he veered into a ramshackle building.

Sloane's jagged breathing matched Nathan's and the sound was all Nathan was aware of in the darkness of the room. The windows had been knocked out long ago, and between the dim light diffusing through them and a partially collapsed roof, his eyes adjusted enough to see a hinged wooden cover beside an opening in the floor. A faint light came up from beneath it.

"Trap door?" Nathan asked, his breath still coming in pants, and Sloane nodded.

They lifted the cover, peered into the hole and saw a ladder leading down to a dirt floor, with stone walls on either side.

"It's a tunnel." Sloane looked over at Nathan. "Shall we?"

"Of course we shall," Nathan replied and started down the ladder.

Nathan quickly moved aside so that Sloane could come down after him. The light, he saw, came from a spot ahead of them where the roof of the tunnel had caved in. The debris had been pushed to the sides, and the threat of collapse obviously didn't deter the man they were pursuing, for Nathan could see his form disappearing into the dark in the distance.

There was a narrow gap in the floor, but two planks had been laid across it. Nathan started toward it, Sloane on his heels, but before he reached the planks, there was a loud crack, and the floor gave way beneath Nathan. Sloane lunged forward to grab Nathan's arm, and for a moment Nathan dangled there. And then the floor completely collapsed beneath Sloane, and they both tumbled down into the dark.