Page 47 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“At dinner,” Niall confirmed with a nod. He looked down as Kara took his hand.
“Here we are, left all alone.” She blinked up at him with innocent eyes. “Whatever shall we do?”
“I have an idea or two,” Niall said, drawing her close.
“Yes. Let’s practice,” she whispered.
“Come on,” Niall said, pulling her toward the side of the house. “Let’s go around and enter through the terrace so no one will stop us.”
*
Niall woke longbefore the sun the next morning. He lay still a moment, watching Kara sleep, loath to get out of bed. They had all had a lovely evening. Harold had seized the chance to tell everyone about his pending adoption and reveled in both the resulting congratulations and the teasing. Rob had been gracious, answering all of their questions. He seemed both nervous and excited about his new direction in life. Niall had seen how smug Kara had looked, watching the way Rob and Beth surreptitiously watched each other when they believed the other wasn’t looking.
Niall heaved a sigh. He wanted more days like that. He wanted to stay here, to wake his wife with soft kisses and exploring fingers before he slept late, ate well, then went to his forge. But after a few moments,he rolled out of bed instead. The sooner they found Glynn Foulger’s killer, the sooner he could focus on his family and his art. He crept to his own room, dressed, and went out the front without waking anyone.
John Coachman was ready and waiting at the stables. He would drop Niall off at the train station in Hammersmith. Niall wanted to approach Scotland Yard as early and unobtrusively as possible. If he were lucky, he could get his business done without alerting Detective Frye or attracting the attention of the man’s cronies. His odds of success would increase if he didn’t arrive in the ducal coach-and-four.
The coach rumbled its way down the dark, empty lanes and into the local village of Ambleburrow. The streets lay quiet, but as they passed the river quay, Niall sat forward and rapped on the ceiling. “Can we stop here a moment?”
He hopped out when the carriage slowed. “Good morning,” he said as he approached the quay.
George Armstrong, a local farmer, looked up from his work, loading crates from his wagon to a sturdy little boat. “Your Grace, good morning to you. I’m surprised to see you out so early.” He glanced eastward, where the sky was just beginning to lighten.
“I’m heading into Town. You must be going to one of the markets?”
“Aye. Hungerford.” Armstrong slapped a crate as he added it to the stack on the boat. “Sweet cherries are in early this year.”
“I’ll be happy to help you transfer your load, if you’ll allow me to sail along with you? You can drop me at the Whitehall Stairs, if it is no trouble. I’ll send the coach back for the duchess to make use of.”
“Well, I am running a tad late. I won’t mind the help getting loaded.” The farmer grinned. “Fancy a dawn on the water, do you?”
“Hard to imagine a prettier start to the day,” Niall agreed. “But I also wouldn’t have to wait for the train.”
Armstrong grimaced. “Noisy, detestable, smoky things.” Heshrugged. “Aye, then. Grab a crate, Your Grace, and we will both get in earlier than planned.”
It was true. Predawn on the quiet river was a thing of beauty. Niall put his head back and breathed in the cool mists—until they sailed into the heart of the city and the river traffic grew heavier. The eastern sky was turning pink when he shook Armstrong’s hand, wished him luck at the market, and climbed the slick Whitehall Stairs. He turned into the mazelike precincts of Whitehall and weaved his way through the mix of old and new buildings and alleys, making his way to the roadway that had become synonymous with the Metropolitan Police.
Turning right into Great Scotland Yard, he headed for the archway that led from the street into the station. He was still twenty feet away when he came to an abrupt halt.Is that—?Yes. Surely that was Stephen Jephson emerging from the police building’s public entrance. The man looked furious, his jaw set as he stalked away, his hands curled into fists.
Niall took a step behind a couple of constables who had paused to appreciate the smell of bacon wafting from a pub. Watching Jephson head for his carriage, he almost missed seeing Wooten slink out of the arch, his gaze fixed on the man. As the first scowling gentleman barked an order to his coachman, Wooten snapped his fingers at a hack driver. Running to climb inside the hack, he gestured after the departing coach, and both carriages lumbered off in the direction of Northumberland House.
Before Niall, the pair of constables finally decided to step inside the pub for breakfast, leaving him standing, indecisive, in the street alone. What had that been about? Should he follow as well? But no, Wooten knew what he was doing. Niall would do better to get inside and speak to Yardley before Detective Frye got wind of his presence. He started forward again, only to duck into a doorway as another figure appeared in the archway.
Niall’s mouth dropped open. John Yardley? It wasYardleynowmoving at a clip away from the police office.Odin’s arse!What did this mean? Had he been released? Had Jephson had something to do with it?
But no. Yardley was walking away at a steady pace, but he had just looked over his shoulder for the second time. Had Yardleyescapedfrom Scotland Yard? Absurd! What in hell was going on in there?
Niall couldn’t go in to find out now. If Yardley was free when he should not be, then Niall had to follow him. He kept to the far side of the street and a good distance behind as Yardley moved quickly away. The cobbler passed the first street to the right, but took the second—and set off at a run as soon as he was out of the line of sight from the police office.
The wharf.He was heading to the river. Cursing, Niall started after him. Yardley was already aboard a waterman’s boat when Niall drew up at the wharf. They were heading downriver. The man didn’t bother to look back, now that he had made his escape.
Niall hailed another waterman from a group gathered around the quay. “Head toward Westminster,” he told him. Niall thought he knew where Yardley would go. Surely the man would make his way through Lambeth and Southwark to Bermondsey, where he had friends he had helped—and who would likely help him in return. He kept his eye on the cobbler’s boat, and sure enough, Yardley quickly headed for the other side of the river.
“To the stairs,” Niall told his waterman. The water traffic was heavy near the bridge. They weaved through it slowly. Niall could see Yardley disembarking as they drew closer. He paid the waterman and hurried after the cobbler. As he’d expected, the man headed east on the Bridge Road. Niall stepped quickly to shorten the distance between them. Yardley would likely continue to Borough Road, but if he were heading to the rookery of Jacob’s Island, then he could cut north and east at any number of spots. Niall didn’t want to lose him.
It was a long walk, but Yardley didn’t falter. Niall stayed back as heheaded east on White Street, but inched closer when the cobbler turned north on Bermondsey Street. He had a vague notion of where the rookery lay and expected Yardley to make another turn to the east.
A stink began to grow in the air as they headed toward the river again. A tannery lay ahead. A large pub sat on Russell Street, across from the tanning yard. Yardley made to hurry past, but several men stepped away from the door to intercept him. Smiling, jesting, looking surprised, the men shook his hand and clapped him on the back. Yardley bit his lip and glanced around, his manner nervous. The men, still laughing and lighthearted, surrounded him and hustled him into the pub.
