Chapter Seventeen

Jack watched the carriage disappear out of sight, unsure how to process what had just occurred between them. Meredith had been desperate for help and while he hadn't wanted to make it seem as if he was offering her money for anything, the entire encounter had been intoxicating. In fact, it was the single most powerful afternoon of his entire life.

He knew that Clyde had threatened Meredith and he wouldn't let her suffer beneath his presence anymore.

"Braxton," he said, calling to the head footman.

"Yes, sir?"

"Ride to Canterbury club. Find a man named Bishop," he said. "Tell him to meet me at the Swan on Stokes Pub immediately."

"Yes, sir," he said, as he began saddling a horse.

"And, Carlton," he said, causing the boy to spin around. "Carlton, was it?"

"Yes, sir?" the young man asked, appearing rather surprised that Jack should know his name.

"I want you to follow Miss Taylor. I don't think she'll go anywhere today, but on the off chance she does, I want you a step behind her. Don't let her out of your sight."

"Yes, sir," Carlton said. "What should I tell Mr. Archer's coachmen?"

"Tell them nothing. Simon won't give them any grief and if they're interested, tell them they can come talk to me directly."

"Yes, sir," Carlton said. "When shall I return?"

"I'll send word."

The young man nodded as Jack returned to the house in a troubled state of deep thought. Their coupling had been more than he had ever expected, and he felt a deep concern down in his bones. He wanted Meredith in every way. It had been damn torturous to let her go, but he knew on some level that she half expected him to bully his way into her affairs.

He couldn't explain it, but he wanted Meredith to know that he believed she was capable of handling herself. He truly had faith in her, but he simply couldn't allow her vile husband to threaten her anymore. He would make sure her efforts to banish him were successful.

After bathing, Jack dressed and left explicit instructions to his staff that he should be notified at his offices should Carlton return with news—only Jack wouldn't be at his offices.

He was going to the Swan on Stokes Pub.

Even if Meredith wouldn't know what he had done until it was too late, he simply refused to let her go back to that pub. Without hesitating, Jack headed down his staircase and exited the house, and within moments, he was on Drachma, racing down the drive towards the city.

Dodging carts and pedestrians as he went, he wasn't sure why it was imperative for him to move at a break-neck pace, but he knew he needed to get to the pub as soon as possible. He only had a few hours to complete his task.

Upon arriving, Jack tied Drachma to a post and entered the pub, only to be met with a crowded, boisterous group of people. Bishop stood up from his table when he spotted Jack, but at the shake of his head he sat back down, watching Jack with bemused concern.

It seemed a sort of celebration was going on and a man in an ill-fitted suit was sitting on the bar, flanked by two barmaids as he cheered to the crowd.

"Another round!" he shouted as everyone cheered.

Jack made his way through the crush as the man came down off the bar, kissing one of the cheerful maids on the cheek to shouts and cheers of people around him. As Jack pushed his way through, he found himself face to face with the smiling man.

"A drink, friends?" he asked cheerfully. "That scowl of yours could do with a drink."

"No, thank you," Jack said, waving off a tankard.

"I insist."

"So do I," Jack said stiffly. "But thank you for the offer."

"Tis the least I can do," he said before turning back to the crowd. "My life has finally begun!"

A series of congratulations and well wishes drowned through the chatter. Jack glared at the man.

"I would have guessed your life started some thirty years ago."

The man laughed, spitting out his drink as he did. Obviously, he was in very good spirits.

"To be sure, sir, to be sure, but my actual life has just begun."

"How so?"

"I've been cut free from a baggage that has weighed me down some six years." He winked. "Finally free from the old ball and chain."

"A divorce?" Jack asked. "Or have you become a widow?"

The man spit out his drink.

"Divorced, my good man, divorce! And better off than most. Had she died before, I wouldn't have received much."

"But wouldn't you receive her property as inheritance?" he asked. "Providing you didn't already claim it?"

"I doubt it," he said, slyly adding. "Not the way I have it set up now." The man leaned towards him. "My wife's family wasn't particular about me and I'm sure they would do anything in their power to keep us apart."

"They didn't condone the marriage?"

"No, but then again, neither did I." He winked again. "That's not to say she wasn't worth it, for well, the first two weeks," he laughed, elbowing a drinking companion in the ribs who howled at the joke. "If you catch my meaning."

Jack felt his blood begin to boil at the man's implication. For a moment he hoped the man wasn't Meredith's ex-husband, simply for his sake.

"I believe I do." His tone low and deadly. "But now you're free?"

The man glanced side to side, both seemingly drunk but willing to divulge a secret.

"Well, not exactly," he said, leaning over. "I've got a bit of a plan. You see, the old bird thinks she's paid me for a divorce, but should I ever need anything else, I've got an ace up my sleeve." He took a sip of his beer before continuing. "You see, we aren't divorced at all."

Jack watched him with undivided attention.

"You're not?"

"No, not really," the man said smiling smugly. "See, if I ever find myself lacking funds at any point, I've got the old girl on a string. I'll simply pinch the bird for more money when I need it," he said with satisfaction. "It's a very clever plan, if I do say so myself. Don't you think?"

Jack could barely contain the very real need to grab this man by the throat and beat him bloody. But instead, he took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand.

"A bold idea," he said. "Tell me, would you ever consider working for a living?"

"Certainly not," the man said offended. "I don't need to now anyway."

"A shame for me, for I could use a man like you," he said, standing. "Well, good luck in your ventures, Mr…"

"Peterson. Clyde Peterson," he said, nodding.

"I thought so."

Without giving the man a moment to reply, or even think, Jack pulled his arm back and, in a blink, knocked him out cold.

A scuffle nearly broke out, as it usually would when the prospect of violence reared itself in public drinking houses. Luckily, the brawl was large enough for Jack's task to go unnoticed as he grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him to the back of the bar, down a narrow hallway that led out into the back alley. Seeing as the man who owned the bar used to be a sparring partner of Jack's, he was able to pull the man out of the pub without much notice. He tossed Clyde's body into the brick wall of the neighboring building just as he began to wake up from his stupor.

"I'm-I'm being robbed," he said weakly as his head lolled back.

"You should be," Jack hissed at him. "But no. I'm going to let you keep all your money." Jack pulled a wad of folded bills from his pocket and tossed at him. "But not for nothing."

"Wh-what?"

"You're no longer allowed in the city limits of Bristol, Clyde Peterson," he said as a large, bald man came into the room. It was Bishop. He nodded at Jack, who crouched down in front of Clyde's face. "In fact, you may wish to leave England all together."

"Why—"

"But that won't do, either. What if you go to France or Italy? Too close, I feel. No, I think the other side of the world would be the best place for someone like you."

"Excuse me?" Clyde said, struggling to stand as Jack threw him bodily against the side of the hackney. "Why are you doing this?"

"To spare your life," he said, his voice dangerously restrained. The memory of Meredith's words echoed in the back of his mind and he longed to end him. To squash him like a bug. Instead, he leaned closer and made his voice low. "Because if I see you again, hear from you again, I'll kill you."

Unadulterated fear and confusion shone in Clyde's light eyes.

"But why—"

"This here is Bishop. He's a friend," Jack said, ignoring him. "He's going to take you to the law offices of Compton and Andrews. They're going to have you sign a few papers and then Bishop here is going to escort you to the docks. You're getting on the first cutter headed for Australia."

"Australia?" Clyde repeated in a daze. "I can't possibly go to Australia."

But that was the wrong thing to say, because Jack's hand was on his throat in an instant, tempted to choke the very life out of this vile man who had once laid a violent hand on his Meredith.

"But you will," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Because if you don't, I'll take an insurmountable pleasure in breaking your bones and burying you in a shallow grave."

Clyde shook his head, trying to comprehend everything that was happening to him.

"W-who are you?"

"Your saving grace," Jack answered as he shoved him back, standing up. He nodded at Bishop. "If he tries to run, kill him."

"Right," Bishop said as he grabbed Clyde and pulled him to his feet.

Jack followed Bishop as he unceremoniously threw Clyde into the vehicle. With a final glare at Jack, he nodded and climbed in, slamming his fist onto the side of the vehicle as it pulled away.

Jack took a deep breath, exhaling erratically as he spread and flexed his fingers at his sides. He watched the hackney disappear out of sight before turning back to head towards the tavern's stables to find Drachma. He hadn't physically laid his hands on anyone like that outside of the ring since his attack. Unconsciously, he touched the corner of his mouth, grazing his fingertips over the raised, unnaturally smooth mutilation.

Meredith's husband would no longer be a trouble for her and as much as he wanted to tell her, he knew to do so would make her feel indebted to him and he didn't want that. Perhaps he should have spoken to her before his actions, but he knew she would have stopped him, hoping to believe Clyde in a misguided attempt at civility. But Jack knew the kind of man Meredith's husband was, regardless of his station of birth. He would never stop unless he was managed properly and Jack was more than willing to handle the bastard.

Jack rode fast and returned to the offices where he spent the rest of the afternoon alone behind his desk. He was agitated and confused. The longer he stayed alone, the more uncomfortable he became and unsure what he was waiting for, he had a drink and then another and another until he was stinking drunk. Sometime after the sun went down Bishop showed up.

"He's gone," he said, coming into the room to pour himself a drink. "I watched until the light of the ship was over the horizon and told the captain that he would be compensated to make sure that he made it to Australia."

"Thank you, Bishop."

He handed him a folded punch of papers.

"These belong to Miss Taylor, I suppose," he said as Jack took them.

"They do." Jack took the unopened documents. "Thank you."

"Not at all," he said, taking a sip of his scotch. "I'll tell you, he didn't want to go, but he went." He finished the drink. "So, what do you say about a round next Thursday?"

But Jack had passed out.