Page 53 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Down a long corridor that was far more polished inside than the house suggested outside, Edmund and Benjamin were taken to the parlor, the servant bowing to them as they entered the room.
“Charles Thatcher,” Edmund drawled by way of greeting.
He regarded the man in the corner of the room, pressed into an armchair as if it might swallow him. He was frail and far grayer than Edmund had expected. His fingers tore into the velvet chair set before the window, as if he watched and watched and watched, a paranoid man never given rest.
“I-I, please—” Thatcher stammered, shrinking into the chair. “P-Please—mercy, have mercy! I can pay as soon as?—”
“Quiet,” Edmund cut him off. “We are not here to call in a debt.”
More paranoia flickered through the man. He paled, and his eyes widened as he took both Edmund and Benjamin in.
Edmund adjusted his riding gloves. Not enough to threaten the man and make him whimper into silence but enough to let him know that he was not dealing with a fool.
“Tell me all you know about James Logan.”
A pained whimper came from Thatcher as he looked between the two of them. “N-No.”
“Mr. Thatcher, we are not here to hurt you,” Edmund said. “I simply need answers. I, too, have suffered the wrath of James Logan, and I?—”
“No!” Thatcher shouted. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Begone with you! Do not come here asking such things!”
His hands shook no matter how tightly he gripped the armrests, his watery eyes flickering to the window as if afraid Edmund had hidden men on the grounds, waiting for him to let down his guard. He looked to the side, and Edmund followed his gaze, finding a pistol locked in a crystal cabinet.
Was it a threat or a safety precaution, he wondered?
Edmund sighed, digging into his riding coat and pulling out a bag of coins. He tossed it to Thatcher, not caring for the grunt he made as the bag heavily landed in his lap.
“Will that cover your debts?”
The older man’s face colored with embarrassment as he shook his head.
Edmund clenched his jaw and tossed another bag. He could hear the cogs in his cousin’s head whirring, as if Benjamin was wondering why Edmund was paying off so many people.
Thatcher grasped the two bags, weighing them heavily in his palms. After a moment, he nodded.
“All right,” he whispered. “But I must have a guarantee of my safety for speaking.”
“You have it,” Edmund said immediately, not wanting him to back out. “I will send some of my men to guard you. I assure you, no harm will come to you. You have my word. And you were close enough to Logan to know that I always keep my word.”
Another beat passed, and his heart began to pound with trepidation of not wanting another dead end.
So he pushed forward, taking a seat before it was offered. Thatcher flinched despite Edmund still being several feet away. Benjamin shuffled to Edmund’s side, behind the chair.
“I want to know about Logan’s dealings,” Edmund declared. “I want names, and I want information. As much of it as you have. You fell out with him—do not think you owe that man’s memory anything.”
His words rang with a tinge of desperation, needing to know about the man responsible for his years of captivity.
Thatcher bit his lip, wearily meeting Edmund’s eyes. “Indeed, Logan’s criminal activities spanned many faces and names. All wreathed in anonymity, but some people slipped up. You had to be there at the right moment to hear a whispered name before it was swallowed by an alias. Silly names—Tankard Corner, for example. It signified where Logan met a particular dealer or buyer.Hay Balewas another. Logan was ever-moving, never still for long.”
“Except for the Amber Lantern,” Edmund pressed, hoping to offer some bit of knowledge to keep the man talking. “I have been told he always went there.”
Thatcher nodded. “That was his main domain, yes, but I mean that he never anchored himself to one residence for long. He had multiple offices—here, in other English cities, in country houses, in other countries. He even had a boat to hold meetings on just so he did not have to stay rooted. I have worked with Logan in the past, but—please, please, have mercy, for I am trying to distance myself. I am trying to live out the rest of my life in safety. Logan’s protection had limits, and I have left the boundaries of them.”
“Speak,” Edmund pushed when Thatcher lapsed into a thoughtful silence, trying not to show how eager he was to receive every snatch of information and scare his most promising lead so far.
“Another coin bag, perhaps, might help my?—”
“Speak,” Edmund repeated, not snarling, but not as placating as before either.
