Page 89 of My One and Only Duke
“They say you’re from up north.”
“York, born and bred. I don’t make a secret of it.” Quinn waited while his host scraped away whiskers and made the undignified, peculiar faces men made when shaving.
The guard tapped his razor against the side of the basin. “Mind, I didn’t see anything.”
“Understood.”
“Didn’t hear anything, don’t know anything. Hand me that towel.”
Quinn passed over a less-tattered square of linen.
“I’ve been here at Newgate for more than twenty years. Other than the warden and some of the state prisoners, I have the best room in the house.”
Which spoke volumes for the accommodations at Newgate. “Go on.”
“I can sit by this window and see who comes and goes. Who’s got people waiting outside, whose children are coming around with a loaf of bread or a coin. We don’t get many swells calling here.”
“I’m surprised you get any.”
The guard patted away the stray flecks of lather on his cheeks and chin. “You work here long enough, nothing surprises you, Your Grace.”
“Point taken.”
“So a while back, maybe three months ago, one of them fancy coaches pulls up after dark. The nights were cold enough that the window was closed, but I rarely hear a coach and four stop out front.”
The main entrance was directly beneath the window. Late at night, iron-shod hooves on cobbles would make a racket.
“But one did.”
“Twice. The crests were turned, nobody got out. Warden got in. The coach pulls away. Fifteen minutes later, he’s back. I says to myself, ‘Jock,’ I says. ‘Somebody’s in for some trouble.’ Warden’s a good man, but he don’t always have a choice.”
“The warden nearly killed an innocent man.”
“It happens, and the guilty go free. Not my job or the warden’s to sort ’em out. It were a fine and fancy coach, guv.”
With crests on the doors, confirming that wealth was, indeed, involved. “What color was the team?”
“Grays, both times. If you’re trying to sneak about after dark, that’s an odd choice.”
Not if you were the Countess of Tipton, who’d always favored grays and was too arrogant to consider that they might be an indiscreet choice.
“Did you notice anything else about the coach?”
“The shades were pulled down, the lamps unlit. Just a fine coach and four matched horses.”
Which proved exactly nothing. “Then I thank you for your time.”
“They say you weren’t born rich.”
Quinn laughed. “I was born dirt poor in a room smaller than this one. All of my life, I told myself that poverty didn’t entitle me to lie, cheat, steal, or break the rules. I worked to exhaustion, got lucky, and then got luckier still, and worked even harder.”
“Until you got very unlucky.” The guard set about cleaning his razor and rolling up his kit. The interview was over, in other words, and had been a waste of time.
“I don’t consider it bad luck when somebody tries to kill me. Murder is evil and wrong, and I won’t stand for it.”
The guard tied his shaving kit with a tidy bow and set it on the mantel. “We’re stubborn, we Yorkshireman. Wish I could be of more help.”
Quinn extended a hand and shook. “If you think of anything, send word, Jock.” He passed over a card with the bank’s direction, because nobody needed to know the specific location where his family dwelled.
