Page 3 of A Masked Lady for Mr. Kenworthy
Thomas held the cloth in place for another moment more to be sure the laudanum had taken effect. Then, he lowered the unconscious man to the ground. He took a moment to look around to ensure they were still alone in the alley. He could not calculate exactly how far away from his carriage he was, but he prayed it was within earshot. He gave a single, high-pitched whistle, the signal for his driver to bring the carriage to his location. He expected to have to give the signal again, listening carefully for an indication that the driver was struggling to find him. However, a moment later, his carriage appeared from around the same corner he had rounded before grabbing the stranger. He sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand, as the coach came to a stop in front of him.
Thomas made quick work of lifting the man into the landaulet. At first glance, the man had seemed light enough to handle on his own. However, as Thomas hoisted the man onto the floor of the carriage, he realized he had grossly underestimated the man’s weight. With a sigh, he shoved the man’s legs into the coach, groaning as he felt a terrible pull in his back. He paused for a moment, rubbing what he was sure would be a horrifically sore spot the following morning. Then, he positioned the man on the floor and slammed the landaulet’s door shut as quickly as he could. The coach began moving shortly thereafter, and Thomas sat back on the bench, wincing as the pain began to radiate throughout his entire back.This is a cursed business.Thomas cursed his superiors for tasking him with such a difficult mission, but he knew the man would prove very valuable to the current case the War Office had assigned him.They could have assigned someone to help me, though,he thought bitterly, wincing again as the carriage’s rough progress shot bolts of searing pain through his back.
***
“Look,” the man, who had told Thomas his name was Jones, said, trembling, “I have told you everything I know. I swear. I am not mixed up in anything deeply enough to know any more.”
Thomas nodded slowly, glaring suspiciously at the man. In truth, he believed him. But one could never be too confident that one had gotten all the information from someone until they had their informant, voluntary or unwilling, properly frightened.
“My tastes don’t run in that direction, lad. Why don’t you tell me again?” he asked. “Let us make sure you don’t suddenly remember something new.”
The man sighed, his breath as shaky as his body.
“The Marquess of Turlington,” he said hoarsely. “There are rumors circulating that he is working for the French as a spy.”
Thomas nodded, reciting the man’s words with him silently as he spoke.
“And how can I be sure these rumors are reliable?” he asked.
The man shook his head.
“I do not know for certain,” he said. “No one does that I know of. But he has been spotted carrying around a black leather journal from time to time, and he has been seen getting very testy if anyone gets too close to him while he has it. One man swears that he saw a page of it one day when walking past a table in a club where the marquess was sitting, though.”
Thomas nodded again. So far, the man’s account matched the few details he and Rupert had managed to gather since beginning the case. But he wanted to be sure the man’s story did not suddenly change. Rarely was that the case in such interrogations, but too much was at stake for Thomas not to be positive the man was speaking the truth.
“And what did this man say was on the page?” he asked.
The stranger sniffed.
“I have not the remotest clue, but it is said it showed a list of French names,” he said. “The man did not make a note of any of them, as the marquess noticed his presence and glared at him, but he did see a large note written in the margin beside some of them which read ‘Report to.’”
Thomas took a deep breath. He refrained from exhaling it in a sigh of disappointment. He had truly hoped the man would give up the names listed on the journal page, but it was becoming clear to Thomas he truly did not know any of them. He knew there was a chance that what the man had said could be misinformation calculated to mislead. There was no shortage of rumors in London on any subject people found interesting enough to gossip about. However, Thomas had also heard from other sources that the marquess did seem to favor one certain book and was very protective of it. And this was the most information about the book Thomas had garnered so far, so he would have to make do with it.
“And you give me your word this is all you know about the matter?” he asked at last.
The stranger nodded fervently.
“Good God, I swear, sir,” he said. “That is everything I know.”
Thomas nodded slowly, allowing his stern, professional persona to slip away. He gave the man a warm smile. This man was, after all, not a criminal. At least, not as far as Thomas knew. His presence in that seedy alley indicated he was most likely a gambler, but that alone did not make him part of London’s scum.
“Very well,” Thomas said calmly. “You are free to go.”
***
Thomas spent much of the following day in bed. His back, as he anticipated, was bothering him immensely. He used heated cloths and some herbal pain medicine he had at home from a previous injury to ease the pain and tension in his back as much as he could. By that evening, he felt almost fit enough to tackle the important task that awaited him. He rose from his bed and freshened himself up, adding a splash of some nice cologne. Then, he got himself dressed, taking great care with the mask, which matched his outfit. Once he was ready, he took one last look at himself in the looking glass. Although he had not chosen it for himself, he had to admit he looked quite dashing in the midnight-blue suit. Even the matching mask complimented his slightly triangular-shaped face rather than making him look awkward or out of place. Though he had not thought so at first, he was now certain he would blend in well with all the other guests in attendance at Lord Turlington’s masquerade ball. Thomas himself was no lord or nobleman, but he had worked with many of thetonover the years. He knew he could act the part, and now he would truly look the part, as well.
Satisfied, he hurried down the stairs, where the butler opened the door and led him to the waiting carriage. Inside, Rupert, the Viscount Daleshire, and Thomas’s partner and friend already waited for him. When Thomas entered the carriage, Rupert looked up from the paper he had been studying, no doubt a review of the notes for their mission that evening. He smiled approvingly at Thomas, tucking the paper snugly into his coat pocket.
“You clean up rather nicely, good sir,” he said, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Aren’t you glad you let me pick out your outfit for this evening?”
Thomas rolled his eyes, but he could not help smiling.
“Your taste is, as always, far better than my own, my lord,” he said, giving an exaggerated half bow from his seated position on the bench across from his partner.
Rupert laughed heartily.
“It is too bad, though, that I could do nothing about that face of yours,” he teased.
