Page 63 of King's Man

Chapter Twenty-One

By the time Sam left the Brewery, it was well past midnight. Cole had tried tempting him over to the Bowl for a drink, but Sam was in no mood for company. Heartsore after his confrontation with Tanner, he wanted only to lick his wounds in solitude. And he didn’t much care about the risks of walking alone so late at night; his blood was up, and he could use a good fight.

Better to fight than to think.

Because if he thought, it would be about Nate. About Nate dragging dissidents from their beds. About this second, eviscerating betrayal and how Sam should have seen it coming. About how hehadseen it coming but had blinded himself anyway. It would be about the humiliating stupidity of loving a man whose true loyalties would always lie elsewhere.

Well, that’s where sentiment got you: prowling the dark streets of London with your fool heart broken and bleeding on your sleeve.

Heading up to Great Russell Street, he turned east past King’s coffee house — still open for those in search of female company. Sam gave it a wide berth as revelers spilled out onto the street amid much drunken carousing.

But as he crossed Duke Street, he heard a sound and slowed enough to peer down the dark road. Was someone there? Nothing moved in the shadows, but nevertheless Sam quickened his pace. It was quieter on this part of the street, away from the riot of St. Giles. Under normal circumstances he might have carried a stick, but tonight he’d been too —

“Samuel Hutchinson.” The voice came from behind him and he spun around, fists up ready to defend himself. “Are you Samuel Hutchinson?”

“What if I am? Who the devil are you?” A noise to his left and two other men emerged from Duke Street. Hell. Sam turned in a slow circle. “I don’t have any money.”

The man who’d spoken took a step closer. It was difficult to make him out in the dark, but he looked reasonably well dressed. Not your usual London rampsman. “Name’s Groves,” he said. “Of Bow Street.”

Sam lowered his hands. He knew that name. Groves was one of Cole’s associates. Besides, Hal Foxe had Bow Street in his pocket. Sam offered a smile. “Always happy to help the Principal Officers of Bow Street, Mr. Groves.”

“Are you now?” Groves moved closer — he was a moon-faced man, fastidious looking. Cole always said he was a stickler for the rules. He made a slight gesture to one of his men and, to his shock, Sam found his arms yanked hard behind his back.

“What the devil…?” He squirmed but couldn’t fight free of the solid grip. “What do you want? I haven’t done anything.” Someone was cuffing his wrists together, the bite of iron frighteningly familiar. “Hey! I haven’tdoneanything!”

“As it happens,” Groves said, “we heard different. We heard you was at the estate of Lord Marlborough — up Liverpool way.”

“What?” His mind began to race. “I wasn’t —”

“Oh, I think you were, Mr. Hutchinson. We’ve a witness puts you there.”

The air stopped in his lungs.

“You and your accomplice.”

Nate. A wave of sick dread washed over him. Dear God, had Nate been arrested too? “I don’t know what you —”

“Come now.” Groves drew closer, studying Sam’s face. “No point in lying, is there? We know you broke into his lordship’s house…”

Sam could scarcely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. And all he could think was,do they have Nate?Did MacLeod recognize him? Have they hurt him?

Groves went on. “We know you made off with his property…”

But Sam wasn’t listening. Wrenching around against the strong grip on his arms, he peered into the shadows behind them as if he might find Nate lurking there. But that was stupid. If they had Nate, he’d be at Bow Street or the Brown Bear. Or Newgate.

His stomach rolled; Nate wouldn’t last five minutes in Newgate Gaol.

Turning back to Groves, he blurted, “There's no accomplice.”

“What?”

“I had no accomplice.”

Suspicion narrowed Groves’ eyes. “You admit it, then, do you? You admit you were at Marlborough Castle?”

Sam sucked in a panicked breath. He knew what this confession would cost. He could already feel the earth closing over his head, the crushing darkness of Simsbury Mine stripping away all hope as he climbed down, down, down into that filthy pit. Into that hell. It was an effort to keep his voice even as he said, “I was there.” Chin lifted, he met Groves’ eyes. “But I was there alone.”

“Our witness says otherwise.”

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