Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

I nside, William took a moment to look around the makeshift shop instead of replying. Vials of powders and liquids rested on the shelves—he even spotted some with feathers, red dirt, black oil, and bat wings.

He’ll probably have an eye of newt in the back too.

“You’re not after the laudanum, are you?”

“I need to ask you about a previous patron of yours,” William finally said. “This man was sickly with his heart, and he came to you for help. You’ll be compensated for your time.”

“Compensated how?”

“Say, five pounds?”

“Five pounds sounds mighty fine to me,” Gibney said. “Incentive first, eh?”

Reaching into his jacket, William counted out five sovereigns in front of the man and offered them. Gibney took them and gestured over his back at a room beyond. “I will set these down in my lockbox. Give me a minute or two.”

William nodded and Gibney slipped into the room beyond, while Colin looked around. “Is this an apothecary or does MacBeth’s witches live here?”

Snorting, William added, “I was thinking the same.”

Returning, Gibney dusted his hands off. “Does this gent of yers have a name?”

“Frederick Wycliffe,” William replied. “He had a bad heart.”

The man’s face twisted. “I remember him. Thin, scrappy lad with brown hair. I sold him Centauris Maior, or as others call it, Cornflower. The tea helps the heart. Also helps cleanse the blood.”

“What else?”

“Hmm. I recall selling him some Feverfew too, to reduce his muscle spasms when he started his prizefighting bouts,” Gibney shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“A fortnight, no, three weeks ago, yes, but after that, nothing,” Gibney said.

“Do you know any hideaways he has around here?”

“Not that I can think of, guv.”

Colin nudged William. “Thank you, kind sir. Now, come on, Arlington. I can probably wheedle Brookstone into another hand.”

“You’ve given me something to work on,” William nodded while he flicked his hood up.

“And you have given me a fortune,” Gibney grinned widely. “I’ll see you gents out.”

As they stepped out to the waiting carriage and boarded—a barricade of men blocked the alley mouth, and it didn’t take a sharp eye to see the blade glistening in their hands.

Instantly, William’s guard went up. From his periphery, he saw Colin’s jaw tighten at the now tense situation.

The door at their back creaked open and Gibney stood there, smirking, twirling a blade. “See, the fortune you just gave me covered half of the debt Wycliffe left me with, and the boys and I figure ye and yer laddy there are good for the rest of it.”

“Hand over that purse, nice an’ slow,” one man hissed, approaching menacingly.

William clenched his fists.

“More company,” Colin murmured, nodding to two men who blocked the other half of the alley.

In a move they had perfected over the years of boxing—and brawling at Oxford—they pressed their backs together. William wrenched his head and saw the two other men block off their exit from the alley.

The gas lamps from the street made the men’s shadows stretch long against the side of the church. “Six to two. It could be worse.”

William rolled his neck. He had been in worse situations over the years. Many times. In fact, one of those times had led him to meet his wife.

“Would you gentlemen care to introduce yourselves?” William asked while assessing the first man he would take down.

“Didn’t ye hear what the man said? Hand over the purse,” one, wearing an eyepatch over a wicked scar, sneered, his blade flicking from one hand to the other. “We wouldn’t like to deliver yer guts to yer pretty wives.”

“No names? I’ll remind the gravediggers to put scarface and pegleg on your stones then.”

A man barring the entrance lunged forward, blade flashing, and William spun while Colin slipped his coat off and twisted it over the arm with the knife, placed his back to the man with the blade trapped, flipped him over, and slammed him to the ground in one smooth maneuver.

Facing the other man behind them, William swatted his hand away and sent the blade into the wall. He grabbed the attacker's wrist and twisted it until something went— snap .

A ripple went up the back of his head and he ducked in time for Colin to punch another man away from him. Mirroring the help, William slammed a hand to the ground, and quick as a snake, he swept the man’s legs out from under him before launching and delivering a blistering uppercut to another.

A third man grabbed a discarded knife and swung the blade in a wide arc that William easily dodged, but he opened himself for a fist to the face. Reeling back, he shook the blow off, and while vigor pounded through his body, he launched into another attack, falling another man with a blow to the temple that sent him to sleep.

A flash of silver—

“Argh!” he snarled as the knife sliced through his coat and scored his arm, and the acrid smell of iron and copper met his nose.

The pain in his arm spurred him to fight harder and he decided to stop tempering his punches and slammed the blade of his hand into an attacker’s throat, crushing his windpipe and then added a blow to his exposed center while Colin had a fourth man on the wall.

Two men were on the ground while another two had run off. William faced his last opponent, blocked a hammer punch from him, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back. With a yank, the man’s arm popped twice, broken in two places, and he fell to his knees screaming.

Pressing a hand to the wall, William sucked in a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t suppose you will catch Brookstone tonight.”

With his back to the wall, Colin burst out laughing.

It's dawn and William is not home yet. Why…

Uneasy, Bridget rose for the morning, washed and dressed, then stepped into the breakfast room. Smoothing the skirts of a simple but elegant peach morning gown, she poured her tea while Lucy arranged her breakfast.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Lane said from the door. “You have a visitor.”

“Pardon me?” A woman’s gasp came from behind him. “Lane! I am no visitor . I am family and I would like to meet my daughter-in-law, if you’d please. Now, step aside.”

William’s mother! Oh dear. I never expected this so soon…

The slender lady swept elegantly into the room not a moment later, wearing a dashing aubergine-and-cream striped carriage dress, while pulling her cream gloves off. Bridget was on her feet in moments, heart pounding beneath her breastbone.

Beneath the brim of the feathered leghorn hat, her face was a study of planes and light, with high cheekbones, pale sapphire-colored eyes, and full lips.

“Your Grace!” Bridget bowed clumsily.

“Call me Estelle, dear,” the lady smiled. “When I had heard my nuisance child had chosen to finally marry, I feared for the worst—”

Bridget tensed.

“—that he would marry one of those vain London darlings that has nothing between her ears than grandiose ideas of wealth, privilege, and silk net. But you, you are not so, are you?” Estelle smiled warmer this time.

“Lane told me all about how you managed to wrangle the menu into something that won't have my son wasting away by the time he is forty. God knows that boy lives on coffee and air like his father used to.”

Relieved, Bridget gave a soft laugh, “William seemed to be all right before I came along.”

“Oh, darling, you don’t know the half of it,” the lady moved over and poured her own tea before adding a drop of cream. “But then, I have not been here for some time now. He has respected my privacy and independence beyond what he needed to. Sadly, it has made me a little out of touch.”

“I do not think William has intentionally pushed you away, I believe he simply got caught up with demanding affairs,” Bridget said enigmatically. She was not sure if his mother knew about his prizefighting and did not want to disclose it without his permission.

“And where is my son this morning?” the lady asked, before taking a graceful sip of her tea.

Bridget felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth as she had no answer. Scrambling for one, she took a long taste of her tea too. “He went out with one of his friends, Baron Thornbury, I believe, to… erm… Tattersalls.” The lie felt foul on her lips, but she would do as much as she could to give William some time.

“The races,” the lady tutted. “Another thing he and his father had in common.”

Crisis averted —hopefully—Bridget listened with half an ear to the lady and watched the door, praying William would step in any time soon. Instead, Lane re-entered the room, holding another tray of breakfast foods and Bridget dearly hoped he had been close enough to hear her lie.

After setting it on the table, she held his eyes, and he gave her the tiniest of nods. Relief flooded her like the Thames breaking its banks. “Thank you, Lane.”

Stepping into his home after an emergency drop-in to his physician to get stitched up, William only wanted three things, a bath, his bed, and Bridget in both , preferably. Getting cornered by Lane the moment he stepped through the door was not on that list.

“Your Grace,” he said. “Your mother is here.”

William cursed under his breath. “When did she arrive?”

“Earlier this morning, and Her Grace has implied that you were at Tattersalls with Lord Thornbury,” Lane quickly added. “She is a quick thinker, I must say.”

As exhausted as he was, William still felt it in himself to chuckle. “She is, indeed.”

“What are your orders?” Lane asked.

“Run me a bath and tell my mother and wife that I would not like to ruin their sensibilities with me smelling like horseflesh and their manure,” William replied while heading up to his room. “Tell them that I’ll be down soon.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”