Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

P atience thought the Fagges would never leave. She had never excelled at hiding her feelings, or pretending to like someone—especially encroaching, self-serving busybodies that could not take a hint.

She could not blame Faith for not coming downstairs to greet them. If Patience had the excuse her sister did, she wouldn't have come either.

Even Major Stuart had suffered through the ordeal with her, and been her partner of sorts, though she did not doubt that he enjoyed the way Rupert had discomforted her.

After the door had closed behind them, Major Stuart turned towards Westwood. "Please tell me you found some useful information. I feel soiled after that interlude."

Westwood raised his brows at his brother indicating he was being a touch dramatic. Patience did not think so and gave him a look of sympathy.

"Unfortunately, he was not much help, but I asked him to be on alert for any new people in the area. Renforth was able to explain that he'd been asked to investigate some suspicious activity without completely saying what it was."

"You can never be too careful. In fact, there is always the possibility that one of the neighbours is assisting the criminals," Major Stuart warned.

Westwood looked doubtful.

"I understand your hesitance, but in this instance, it might require more cunning than he appears to possess. But it is not outside the realm of possibility that he could be helping without knowing it."

"That much, I could believe," Westwood agreed.

Patience wondered if they realized they were speaking in front of her. She was not going to alert them to that fact.

"I think it's time we went into the village to investigate. Everyone knows you and me, but they do not know the others. They could take rooms at the inn and see what they overhear."

"Perhaps even across the river would be prudent," Westwood suggested. "Since it seems that might be what our man was watching."

"Good point. Hopefully, Fielding and Cholmely will be here soon to help."

Patience rolled the idea around in her head. Perhaps she and her sisters could investigate the places that the men wouldn't. Of course, she could not tell them her intentions, because they would never agree to it, or to the fact that she could have anything to offer.

Baines entered the front door with a mischievous grin on his face. Patience did not know him well, but he looked the very picture of a rake, roue, and rogue all in one.

"From the look on your face, I can see that the cat caught the mouse. Everyone is in the study. You might as well come in there to only tell it once," Stuart suggested.

Drat! Patience knew she would not be invited, but she fully intended to listen. They still hadn't seemed to notice she was standing there, so hopefully they would not close the door.

They didn't close the door, but she did not push her luck that she'd be invited inside. Instead, she stayed where she was.

"I can see that you've learned something. What did it take this time?" one of the men asked.

"I cannot divulge all of my secrets, but if there happened to be a water trough nearby, then, perhaps someone had an unwilling bath."

"So long as you did not drown him," she thought Renforth muttered.

"Trust me, I did him a favour," Baines offered, smugness evident in his voice.

"Well, who is he, and what is he doing here?"

"He goes by the nickname Devil and belongs to the 666 river gang. He had their symbol tattooed on his arm. You were correct that he was watching the docks. What for, he has yet to divulge."

"Was this the symbol?" Major Stuart's voice asked. She could hear his boots walking across the floor as if to retrieve something and then walking back. "I had completely forgotten about finding this knife the first day, and then it was too covered with mud to discern anything. Armstrong just returned it to me from cleaning it this morning."

"That is the very one."

"At least we can rule out petty crime and squatters. This is definitely an organized crime, but I'll bet Devil and his gang are not the ones who orchestrated it. To know about an arms shipment and hijacking it had to have come from a knowledgeable source."

Patience sucked in her breath. An arms shipment?

"Unless they were extremely lucky, but somehow I cannot believe that is the case."

"Nor I," one of the other men said.

"Perhaps you should consider removing the ladies from the house. I cannot think the gang would retaliate, but one can never be too certain," Renforth advised.

Patience wanted to scream.

"I have already consulted with Lady Westwood, and she does not wish to leave. If the threat becomes more palpable, then of course, everyone will be removed to safety, wishes or no."

"Did you wring anything else out of the prisoner?"

"I only gleaned much of what you surmise. It seems as though he is working for a toff—though he didn't precisely let that slip, but almost," Baines answered.

"Fielding and Cholmely should be arriving today. I have sent for them and hopefully they will bring something useful. Unfortunately, now, we must consider all possibilities."

"I was about to send off a note to my father. I can include our request for anyone with knowledge of that shipment. It should not be a long list."

Patience could not identify that voice, though she thought that was Manners speaking.

"I would make a suggestion if I may, sir," Major Stuart said.

"Of course. I am open to anything at this point," the colonel said.

"I think it prudent to expand our investigation into the village. Since the rest of you are unknown here, it would be easier for you to infiltrate with the locals. Westwood even suggested a couple might go across the river near those docks."

"An excellent notion. Very well then. Manners will request information from his father, Baines will continue to work on our captive, the rest of you will need to gather disguises, and Westwood can tell you which taverns are most likely to yield information, keeping in mind, this began at least two months ago. The gang may not be staying at the tavern, but I would wager they are stopping in for their ale."

"And more," Patience muttered in her most derogatory tone. She knew all about what men went to taverns for.

"I could perhaps go to the other side of the river and not be recognized. I've spent very little time there," Stuart offered.

"Is there a great deal of traffic back and forth across right here, as there is in London?"

"A fair bit," Westwood conceded.

"I am not certain it's worth the risk, but as we do not have Fielding and Cholmely, yet, I could use you."

"I will go and see to rounding up disguises," Stuart offered.

"There should be plenty between the grooms and stable hands. Ask Chauncy," Westwood said to his brother.

Patience realized too late that Major Stuart was leaving the room. She turned to go, but two warm, large hands grabbed her around the waist.

She gasped at not only the impertinence, but the warmth that flooded through her body at his touch.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Do not even think about going yourself." She spun about in his arms, having every intention to be indignant, which she quickly realized was a mistake. It took every ounce of fortitude she had to try to mask her reaction, and was quite certain she did not succeed.

She had never been in a man's arms, and the contrasts were striking. She felt overwhelmed by his height, his hardness, and his scent. She dared to look up into his eyes, which were darkened with an intensity she had never seen before. Was it anger? She didn't feel afraid of him. Could it be desire? Or was that only what she wished it were? He seemed to realize their compromising position before she did and stepped away.

"If I had known that was how to make you speechless, I would've done it long ago," he drawled.

Arrogant beast. He knew the effect he had on her, but now she wondered if he was not completely immune to her charms. Oh, she'd no doubt he did not wish to be attracted to her. She reciprocated that sentiment very much.

"I meant what I said, Patience. You are not to interfere. Give me your word."

"Or you will lock me in the stables with your prisoner?"

"Don't give me ideas."

With a swish of her skirts, she flashed him a devilish smile and walked away. If her hips were swinging more than normal, well, he deserved the torture.

Ashley watched her go, appreciating the show she no doubt was putting on for his benefit, then took a moment to steady his nerves.

Patience Whitford was trouble, and he needed to stay far away from her. She was not for him. But how easy it had been to forget when she was in his arms. Clearing his head of the temporary spell she'd cast on him, he set off to ask Armstrong for extra groom and stable hand attire.

"Devilish, meddling females." If she'd been born a man, she would have made an excellent officer, but it was not his fault God had chosen to make her a girl, so why should she constantly plague him?

When Ashley returned from requesting the clothing, Fielding and Cholmely had arrived. He could hear them briefing Renforth and the others, filling them in on the proceedings so far.

Ashley chuckled when he heard Cholmely's reaction to having to dress like a stable hand and move to the local tavern.

"All for a good cause, my friend," Ashley said as he strode into the room. He held up their new costumes. "We will need to dirty them a bit. Unfortunately, we will have to wear our own boots. There's no having those made in time."

"And we have the dossier on the docks here. It took much longer than expected because there's so much new traffic there," Fielding explained.

Renforth raised his brows as the only acknowledgment as he accepted the satchel of papers. "Is there any method to this? I assume you've combed through it?"

"Yes, sir."

"There was nothing unusual in it that we were able to find, but as you know, sometimes it's in patterns over a long time. This could have been the first time."

"Thank you. I suspect most of this is legitimate and will mainly serve to help us see what is not."

Closer to evening, around the time that most of the workers would be finished with their day and most likely together at the public house, they all dispersed to their chambers to don their disguises and set off to the village taverns to infiltrate themselves with the dockworkers and villagers.

As Ashley pulled on the scratchy linen shirt and buckskins, he thought ruefully about how many hours he'd spent at the local tavern as a young buck. No one would expect him to be costumed like this at least.

Once dressed, they were driven to the edge of the village before they alighted. It would not do to be seen arriving in the Westwood carriage. It was decided that Manners and Cholmely would stay in the Greenwich village, and Ashley and Fielding would head across the river. Baines stayed behind to charm the devil, and Renforth was keeping watch. But first, they all stopped for a pint at The Anchor.

A sense of nostalgia being back in the old familiar place swept over Ashley—the smell of ale mixed with the straw dusting the floor below thick wooden beams running low across the whitewashed ceiling. He stopped and pulled his hat lower. Unfortunately, the publican was still the same.

"You do the talking," he muttered to Cholmely, who did the best East End accent of them all. "They know me well."

While keeping his hat low, he led them to a large, rounded booth flanking one side of an old brick fireplace.

A young, innocent-looking barmaid came over. "What will ye be 'avin'? We've our rabbit pie or mutton stew. I'd 'ave the rabbit pie if I were ye. Once all the workers come in for the evenin', there won't be any left."

"The rabbit pie and ale for all of us then," Cholmely ordered, giving the young girl a wink.

As she left, Ashley could not help but mutter, "I feel distinctly old. I cannot help but think she is probably no older than Joy?—"

Cholmely groaned. "Now why did you have to go and say that? You make me feel like a predator, when that was the only promise of alleviating an otherwise boring night."

"She's young enough to be your daughter, Chum," Manners drawled in that quiet, superior manner that he had.

Cholmely was pouting when the girl brought back their food and ale. "Are ye new 'ere? Or just passin' through?"

"We 'eard as there might be better work 'ere with the new docks bein' built. London's gettin' overcrowded, if ye know what I mean."

"Sure do. I can say as we've 'ad some other fellows 'ere with the same thing in mind. They come in about this time every evenin'. Maybe ye could ask 'em."

"Maybe we will."

"I will point 'em out when they arrive, but I suspect ye'll know 'em. They don't exactly blend in 'ere."

"Much obliged," Chum said and tossed her a coin, which earned him a wide grin and a coy look.

"Be careful showing your coin, old fellow. We're supposed to be poor dockworkers," Fielding murmured.

"Maybe she is older than she looks," Cholmely retorted.

When the gang finally came in, Ashley would have described them more as ruffians than labourers. There were five of them, and if Ashley had seen them in the street, he would have crossed it to avoid running into them. They definitely looked out of place in the small, cosy village tavern. But if there were new docks in fact being built, then it might very well change the face of Greenwich and Woolwich.

The group settled in the other round booth flanking the opposite side of the fireplace to them. If they were quiet, they might get lucky and be able to overhear something.

It was hard not to tap his foot with impatience, but they had to wait until the barmaid took orders and served them. There was little discussion happening amongst them as if there was an unspoken agreement not to speak until their bellies were full.

As for their own table, they all knew from experience that patience was the key and they continued to sip their ale and limit their talk to soft mutterings about nothing in particular.

"Any signal today?" one of them spoke at last.

"Nothin' for two days now. I think somethin' 'as 'appened to 'im," a low voice growled.

There was a grunted response. "Well, we 'ave to find Devil. When 'is 'igh and mighty wants 'is shipment taken care of, Devil is the one 'e tells."

Ashley's gaze met Manners', and he deliberately forced himself to take a drink of ale.

"Mebbe 'e was caught," one noticeably younger, higher voice suggested.

"Devil would never let 'isself be caught, Billy," one said with arrogant assurance.

"Then why ain't 'e signalled in two days?"

"Mebbe we should go look for 'im. Search 'is lordship's place."

Ashley barely kept himself from flinching.

"Devil won't like it."

"'E will if 'e's in trouble. It's not like 'im to forget to signal. 'Specially when it's 'is only job."

"Besides, if we do not produce what 'is mightiness wants, then we've got bigger trouble than sneakin' onto that toff's land."

"Let's give it one more day. If 'e doesn't signal tomorrow, then we go in and look for 'im."

Chum pushed back from his seat. He angled his head towards the door. He was going to find the privy. It also meant he was going to get a look at their new friends. Ashley would have to change his plans and go back to Taywards that night to warn Westwood, Renforth, and Baines. Somehow, they would have to force Devil to signal his gang. But how could they guarantee he would signal appropriately? They couldn't.

They had left Renforth on watch that night, but as the gang seemed to gather at The Anchor, he did not know how useful it would be for him to go across the water tonight anyway. As long as someone followed to see where they went.

When Chum returned from the necessary, they all seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"I was able to get a good look at them, but I think two of us should follow when they leave. I think it would be useful to discover where their location is across the river."

"I need to return to warn Westwood and Renforth of their plans. Why do you not return with me, Fielding? You can help Baines with the prisoner and I will help Renforth keep watch."

Plans decided, Manners and Chum remained to follow their gang. Once Fielding and Ashley left the front door of the tavern, he removed his hat and went around back to beg a ride back to Taywards. He did not want to waste precious time walking.