Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

U pon arriving at Nettlethorpe Iron, Archibald learned that the Bow Street Runner, Mr. Thomas Daubney, was waiting in his office.

Unfortunately, Mr. Daubney hadn’t had much in the way of news to impart.

“Three out of the four men you incapacitated have come around,” Mr. Daubney said, nodding his thanks as he accepted a glass of port. He gave Archibald a wry look. “The fourth remains disoriented. Just how hard did you hit him?”

Archibald bristled. “Not half as hard as he deserved. They were trying to kidnap my wife! Or possibly”—it was difficult to say the word—“kill her.”

The Runner set his glass on the desk. “At least I can shed some light upon the question of their goal—kidnapping versus murder.”

“And?” Archibald’s heart was in his throat, dreading the answer.

“All three men confirmed that they were directed to kidnap Lady Isabella if possible but kill her if necessary.”

Archibald surged to his feet. “Kill her?” Darkness swam around the edges of his vision. “They’d better stay the hell away. If they lay so much as a fingernail on my wife, I will tear them limb from limb!”

“You certainly seem qualified to do the job,” Mr. Daubney mused.

Archibald stalked across the room, unable to sit calmly with fury coursing through his veins. “Who is behind this?”

“That, we do not know. The four men we brought in are well known to their local magistrates. Petty criminals with a reputation for running with the wrong crowd, willing to do all sorts of things for the right price.”

“Then why were they at liberty to roam the streets and threaten my wife?” Archibald snapped.

The Runner held his hands up. “They hadn’t done anything this serious before. Or at least, the charges hadn’t stuck. But they’ll get transportation this time, at the very least.”

“Good,” Archibald muttered, pacing back over to his desk.

“All four said they heard about the job from one of the other men there that night. Hugh Jacoby, the one whose wrist you broke. He’s of the same ilk as the others—a common street ruffian. I doubt he’s the mastermind behind this, but it appears he might have made contact with that person.”

“And do you have this Jacoby in custody?”

Mr. Daubney shook his head. “He’s gone to ground. We’re looking for him,” he added when Archibald growled.

“Spare no expense. He must be captured, and I will pay whatever is necessary to see it done.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill. “And write down everything you know about him. Lady Morsley will have contacts in the neighborhoods he frequents. Perhaps she can dig something up. My wife is her little sister, you know.”

Mr. Daubney took up the quill. “Her contacts will be as good as ours. It’s certainly worth a try.”

Once the Runner had left, Archibald tried to sort through the mound of paperwork that had accumulated in his absence. But he couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing.

Those bastards would have killed Izzie. They’d better hope they got sent to New South Wales. It was in their own best interest to put as much distance between themselves and him as possible because if he ever got his hands on them…

Suffice it to say, when McPherson knocked on his door a quarter of an hour later and announced the King of Salaria, Archibald was not in the absolute best mood for receiving visitors.

King Charles Filiberto had a long, thin nose and bulging eyes. He was taller than Archibald by several inches but probably weighed five stone less. He was dressed in full military regalia, which Archibald found ironic—although his island nation had a navy of some repute in spite of its small size, their king had never led it into battle.

The king minced into the room, wrinkling his nose at Archibald’s plainly furnished office. “Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, it is about time, yes? I have called five times. Five times, and only now do you deign to receive me! You must think very highly of your cannons to keep a king wait—”

This was the moment the king turned and beheld the dark scowl upon Archibald’s face. He recoiled, his expression a mix of alarm and offense.

“I believe you were informed that my wedding occurred three days ago? Your Majesty,” Archibald remembered to add.

The king drew himself up. “I was told.”

“And that someone has been trying to kill my wife ?” Archibald was unable to keep his voice from shaking with rage as he uttered those words.

“They did say something about your troubles, yes.”

Archibald’s voice emerged as a low growl. “As sorry as I am to have kept Your Majesty waiting, perhaps you can appreciate that these are exceptional circumstances.”

The king looked affronted at the notion that he should be expected to appreciate anything. “Exceptional circumstances or not, royalty should not be kept waiting. Now, regarding my order of cannons. I do not wish to wait six months.”

Archibald had reached the limit of his patience. “I understand completely. I will, therefore, be more than willing to cancel Your Majesty’s order and refund their full purchase price.”

“Cancel?” The king bristled. “I do not wish to cancel! I insist that the full fifty cannons be delivered immediately!”

“Well, they can’t be delivered immediately. Your Majesty .” Archibald drew in a breath. He couldn’t be rude to a king, even if he was a self-important boor. “I’m afraid the cannons we are making today have already been spoken for. Your choices are to wait your turn or not to receive any cannons at all.” It was all Archibald could do to stop himself from adding, as my office manager told you four times .

The king raised his nose in the air. “I see it is no use speaking to you. You are as bad as the other man. You leave me no choice—I shall go to your king!”

Archibald nodded gravely. “Please do. Tell him of your desire to jump the queue. Assuming he agrees to push back the delivery date on the order we are currently working on, which is for the British Royal Navy, then I suppose we can accommodate you.”

The king’s eyes darted around. Archibald knew damn well he wasn’t going to demand that the King of England push back his own country’s order of cannons, and he was trying to come up with some other card that he could play.

There was a knock at the door. McPherson poked his head in. “Robert Smalley from the Office of Ordnance is here to see you, Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, sir.”

“Excellent.” Smalley entered, and Archibald ushered the king toward the door. “This is in regard to my wife. I did mention that someone is trying to murder her?”

“Yes, b-but—”

“And, of course, I would never dream of detaining Your Majesty. You’re on your way to speak to the king.” Archibald bowed deeply. “Do let me know what he says.”

It was unthinkably rude to shut the door in a ruling monarch’s face.

Archibald did it anyway. He was that eager to find out what Smalley had learned.

In defiance of his name, Smalley was a bear of a man with a stocky frame from days spent inspecting cannons and moving them around, with pale blue eyes and a ginger beard.

“Well?” Archibald asked, too eager to bother with pleasantries. “What have you learned?”

Smalley held up both hands as if not wanting to get Archibald’s hopes up. “I think we have him.”

Archibald collapsed in his chair, relief washing over him. He gestured for Smalley to take the seat across the desk. “Who is it? How did you catch him?”

“There are four warehouses in the London area where small arms are stored. I had to hire enough men to watch all four of them. I hope you don’t mind if I send the bill to you. You did say no expense was too great—”

“I’ll pay it. What did you find?”

“Last night, one of my men saw him. There’s a small storehouse down at the Royal Dockyards… thank you,” Smalley said, accepting the glass of port Archibald had handed him. “One of the overseers, a man by the name of Roderick MacDonald, came back to the storehouse just after midnight and unlocked the building. Had a pair of men with him. They loaded three crates onto a cart, then the men and the cart went one way, and MacDonald went the other. That has to be him.”

Archibald slumped back in his chair. “It certainly looks suspicious.”

“It does.” Smalley leaned forward. “I went over the books, and MacDonald has marked a suspiciously high number of guns as damaged upon receipt. But only one hundred in the last week. I think you mentioned his contact was expecting two hundred.

“That’s correct.”

Smalley nodded. “I’ve arranged it with the local constable—he and I are going to keep watch for the next few nights. See if we can catch him in the act and make the arrest.”

“Good, good. I’ll advise the Bow Street Runner working the case. He’ll likely want to be on the scene as well. And I’m going to send some men from Nettlethorpe Iron to fan out through the neighborhood. I don’t want to give them any chance to escape.”

“We could use the extra muscle, I’m sure. There’s an inn on High Street where we can meet. The Brown Bear. Say at ten o’clock?”

“Ten o’clock.” Archibald stood and offered his hand. “I’ll arrange it.”

After he left, Archibald asked McPherson to recruit a few dozen men to reinforce Smalley that night, offering a generous bonus to volunteers, as there was some degree of danger associated with the task.

Archibald had hoped he could make today’s visit quick so Izzie wouldn’t be alone at the house all day. But as soon as he emerged from his office, Draycott, the foreman who oversaw the blast furnaces, waylaid him.

“Beg pardon, Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, sir.”

Archibald carefully kept his face neutral. “What is it, Draycott?”

Archibald could tell by Draycott’s cringing expression that he was aware that his employer had somewhere he would rather be. “We’ve been having problems with one of the blast furnaces. I’m sorry. I’ve tried everything I could think of. Would you mind taking a quick look?”

Archibald nodded. “Of course.”

It took him a half-hour to diagnose the blast furnace. After that, a veritable parade of men requested “just five minutes” of his time. Of course, most of the requests took more than five minutes, but none of them were unreasonable. He’d been away from the forge entirely for four days. Problems were bound to have arisen in that interval.

By the time he finally managed to get away, the shadows were growing long. He hurried out to his waiting carriage, wondering how Izzie had fared on her own.