Page 51 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“Indeed,” Theodore agreed, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I spoke with one of the physicians—Dr. Moseley—who often services the homes of nobility. Earls and viscounts, mostly. However, he reported that medical supplies do not often pass through that particular dockyard. He could not confirm what usually does, but he said that most medical and office supplies often go through Northward Dockyard.”
“A chink in the very tight cover the two men have,” Spencer mused as they neared Southgate.
It was a fenced-in area, overhangs of steel shadowing corners and warehouses stacked alongside one another. Jetties and short piers extended into the Thames, and moored fishing vessels swayed with the current further down.
Southgate was mostly empty, one of the many dockyards likely reserved for bigger merchant and transportation ships. But a group of men hung around the office, papers in hand.
By the looks of their uniforms, there was a shipping officer, a captain, and a carriage driver. Another man stood with them, his uniform unidentifiable.
An overseer from the ship, perhaps?
Spencer eyed him from the shadows.
“Here, come into the office,” the shipping officer instructed, nodding toward the open door. “I can have the files finalized.”
The gentlemen went in, and Spencer seized the chance to slink around the fence’s opening and enter Southgate properly, Theodore on near-silent feet right behind him.
“The journey went well, I trust,” the officer said cheerfully.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. No sinister underlying meanings. Nothing strange. Nothing that struck Spencer asodd.
“It went as perfectly as expected,” the captain answered, smiling. Spencer could see his confident stance through the dirty, smudged glass of the office. “There was a choppy spell somewhere near Spain, but it was nothing serious.”
“Did any of the cargo get damaged?”
That was the carriage driver. Spencer’s eyes flicked to him. The man sounded nervous.
Spencer jerked his head for Theodore to follow him closer to the office, keeping low and to the shadows.
“He sounds nervous,” he whispered, nodding toward the driver.
“It is not odd,” Theodore muttered. “He will likely meet the person waiting on the other end. It will be him explaining any damages before letters of explanation are offered. He could be worried about himself.”
Spencer nodded.
Perhaps the driver saw it as his responsibility if this shipment was indeed the women Eleanor had told him about. He believed her, but he needed concrete proof.
“Nothing got damaged,” the overseer cut in, his tone smooth and authoritative. “I checked the cargo myself. Not a bandage or salve out of place.”
They play the game well.
But it was the driver Spencer kept coming back to. Why would he be so nervous if the salve or bandages were ruined?
Steep cost, yes, but that won’t be cut from his wages.
“Good,” the driver said. “Good. Because we don’t want any trouble with the master.”
“There is no trouble,” the captain assured him. “Your family owns a whole fleet of carriages in the city, yes?”
“They do, Captain Griffin. We operate under the Renshaw name. No trusted company more than the Renshaws. And if you want my services around London again, just write ahead. Jack Renshaw’s the name.”
“Noted,” the captain said. “After all, we all work together to ensure a smooth delivery for the… doctors of London.”
Jack Renshaw.
Spencer paused. It was possible the captain didn’t know what he was transporting. And if the overseer had specified items, he might also be witnessing the cover that Follet and Belgrave had. After all, they could risk too many variables being involved in this operation.
Once the overseer or captain left the dockyard, they could say anything to anyone.
