Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was well into the night before they found their first lead. The pub in town was not a place that Lydia had ever had any cause to attend herself. She was not even certain if her husband came here the few times that he was in town or not.

Given how often that he traveled, it was unlikely that he had made too many close friends there. But much to her fortune they all seemed to recognize her, even if they did not much care for the fact that she had a constable in tow.

“Greetings, my lady, can I get you a drink?” The man behind the counter offered. He had a kind face, ruddy features, and seemed perfectly pleasant as he wiped down a glass.

“No, thank you. I am here hoping that there will be somebody who can assist me in obtaining information.” Lydia spoke flatly. The stress of the day was heavily wearing on her, there was no denying that. However, she could not stop. Thinking that Weston might be out there alone, or injured… or worse? She simply could not stand for it. She could not allow it. It was all that her mind kept looping through every minute of the hours that had passed since she left her home.

The constable moved behind her, walking slowly into the pub and taking his time in looking at each and every face that he passed. It was an obvious intimidation tactic, but it was working.

“What sort of information do you need, my lady?” The bartender asked her, forcing her attention away from the constable.

“There was a bandit attack this afternoon on the main road. I am looking for information on the culprits or perhaps their last rumored locations? They have…” She swallowed thickly. “I will pay handsomely for anything that you can tell me.”

The bartender shook his head. “No need for that, my lady, if I had any information, then I would be happy to help you, but I am afraid that I have not heard rumors. It is the third attack this month, we are growing just as anxious as you likely are.”

Lydia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. They had been pointed in this direction, and if nobody here knew anything then she had no idea what she was going to do. “The third attack?”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the constable who was still checking tables and patrons. One would think that if there had been so many attacks that something would have been done. Or at least she would have heard about it.

“Was anyone seriously injured?” Lydia asked, dreading the answer.

The bar keep shook his head. “No, that is the strangest part. The first two attacks nothing happened. There was no burglaries or injury done to any of the folk.”

That caught Lydia’s attention. What was that supposed to mean? It did not make the slightest bit of sense. “Then… what was the purpose?”

“Not sure. Folk been guessing that the bandit is either new, or working himself up for something… I guess for the duke.”

That made her feel so much worse. “I see.”

“I do not mean to frighten you, my lady.”

“You have not. At least, it is not myself that I am frightened for.” Lydia answered, pulling on the fabric of her dress out of need for something to do with her hands. Just then, the constable finally looked up at her, nudging his head toward a far table and heading over himself. He took a heavy seat at the table and grinned uncomfortably at the two men occupying it.

“Careful, my lady.” The barkeep warned gently as she started to make her way over to the table to join the constable. She did not wish to rub elbows with unsavory sort, but she did not think that she was going to have much choice. Not if she wanted to find out what she needed to in order to return Weston home.

Home to her.

She wiped off the corner of the table with her handkerchief and pulled up a chair to join the men at the table, trying to keep her face neutral and calm as she looked at the two men the constable was leering at. They did not seem the frightening sort, but she had heard all sorts of stories about how looks can be deceiving.

“I was just telling my friend here that we were looking for the bandit behind a carriage heist this afternoon. I hate to inform you, my lady, but our pal Anson here is rather known for having sticky fingers. He is only fresh out. I cannot help but to wonder if perhaps he has been consorting with some of his old pals again.” The constable continued.

Anson shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I have been doing nothing of the sort, sir.”

“And I am just supposed to believe you?”

Anson and the man sitting with him exchanged uncomfortable glances with one another.

“I will pay you.” Lydia interjects and the whole atmosphere of the table shifts.

“How much?”

“Depends on how useful the information is.” Lydia says firmly. From the warning glance the constable is giving her, it is clear that is not something that she is supposed to be doing but she is beyond caring. “I assure you that it will be worth your while.”

The men stare at her, no doubt attempting to determine if she was telling the truth or not. The constable was clearly uncomfortable with the notion of bribery, but she was beyond caring.

“Fine.” Anson says, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed voice. “There was a man a few nights back, called himself Sinclair. Do not know if that was his actual name or not. He was looking for a group of men for a job. Seemed real suspect.”

Lydia could not help herself; she leaned forward as she clung to every word that he said.

“But there was something off about the whole thing. Did not feel like a real job. Seemed like the sort of thing where you do all the work and then get no money at the end of it. I know he got a team of at least five strong men, promising a real payout once the delivery was made in London.” Anson continued.

“Yeah, but he would not say what was being moved or why. Given the carriage attacks, we figured that two and two had to make some sort of sense.” The other man agreed.

“This man, this Sinclair, could you tell me what he looked like? Had he been coming here very often?” Lydia pressured them just a touch further. Anything additional that they could provide could only help them further. At least, that was what she thought.

“He was a real strange looking fellow…like his bones did not sit quite right in his skin. Was… awkward when he moved. Real flighty like, talked with a high-pitched wheeze in his nose. My grandfather used to speak like that.” Anson added, rubbing the scruff on his face.

“If we had a sketch artist come and speak with you, would you be willing to make up a drawing?” The constable pressed.

“Certainly, for an additional fee. Being so helpful makes me thirsty.” Anson grinned, his yellow teeth glinting in the dim tavern light.

Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes. “I shall settle your tab for the night, gentlemen, never you mind about that.”

“Then I suppose that I will be able to remember a fair few more details.” Anson and his friend agreed with a laugh. The constable curled his lip at them, muttering a stern warning before heading off to find his coworker.

The sketch artist made rather quick work of the whole thing. In almost no time at all, there was a very crude sketch of a very familiar looking man. Lydia picked up the paper, knowing full well that this Sinclair that they were talking about was in fact Cassian. She never would have imagined that he was capable of being so dangerous. The accord that he allegedly had with Weston was far from being due—and to go to these lengths? He was an unstable man.

Lydia took care of the tab as she promised, and rushed out of the tavern before even the constable could catch up to her and ask her about the man that she so obviously recognized. She had to go to London to find the duke before it was too late.

She signaled for the fastest carriage that she could find, right about the time that Lord Baxter and Kitty caught up with her. Her mind was spinning, she felt like she was going to be sick.

What if she was too late?