Page 2 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
“Good. You may return below with the others.”
Kit wondered if his status as the son of an earl had caused him to be singled out or if the other prisoners would be similarly called. He joined his surly escort in the corridor outside the cabin and was escorted back to the dark belly of the ship where the sights, sounds, and smells of human despair threatened to drown him. He was defeatedfor now, but he’d begun to count down the days of those seven years. When he was a free man once again, he would return for revenge.
* * *
Captain James Murraystared thoughtfully at the papers that concerned the young lordling’s crime. The boy was barely nineteen and would likely not survive the voyage. Despite the beatings he must have suffered at Newgate before he’d been put aboard James’s ship, he was still a strong young lad, and that would make him a target.
James had been paid handsomely to see that Hollingsworth didn’t survive the crossing. The terms were that he’d be killed and tossed overboard. Normally, James would see it done, but not with this boy.
Hollingsworth was an earl’s son. That carried some weight, regardless of the boy’s conviction. If the lad died while on the ship, James would have to give an accounting of the incident to the authorities, which was far more than he would do for the other convicts. It would put him in the path of powerful men like the boy’s father, and he didn’t want an earl out for his blood. Better to let the boy reach Sullivans Cove and allow the wild and untamed country and its criminal inhabitants handle the matter for him.
James tried to focus on the stack of papers on his desk, but his mind kept drifting back to Hollingsworth.
What bothered James the most was the boy’s eyes. He’d never seen such a look in a man’s eyes before, and he’d been taking some of England’s worst criminals as prisoners to penal colonies for nearly ten years. The lad’s eyes held such a fury that James had no doubt that, if given the chance, it would seal the doom of whoever stood in his way.
Those eyes held the promise ofdeath.
1
Seven years later
London, 1817
A ship docked under the cover of darkness. The moon was shrouded by storm clouds, concealing the ship’s entry as it slipped quietly into port just after midnight.
Kit Hollingsworth gripped the railing so tightly that the faint scars on his knuckles turned white. He scanned the docks, listening to the creak of the ship and the light wind rustling through the canvas sails as sailors rushed to the rigging to finish tacking them.
Seven years. He hadn’t seen London in seven years... but those seven years felt like a century.
The young nineteen-year-old Christopher was long dead. Kit’s body was hard from years of physical labor—breaking stones, building settlements, and working fields. His life in Sullivans Cove had driven out any weakness within him. He had grown another three inches, making him taller than most men, and the slender muscles of his body had become thick and tight. A roughly trimmed beard covered his jaw, and his dark hair was longer than he guessed was fashionable—not that he knew or cared what was in fashion in this part of the world. He doubted his own mother would have recognized him if she’d been alive.
As the crew ran a gangplank down to the dock, men began unloading crates of goods. An officer from the Thames River Police came aboard to oversee the proceedings and make sure the goods on the ship went where they belonged and were not stolen or dropped into the water to be collected later by thieves. It didn’t escape Kit’s notice that he had been framed for a crime that was now easily prevented. He’d lost seven years of his life because he’d been accused of hiring “scuffle-hunters” and “lumpers” to steal nearly an entire ship’s transport of tobacco.
A tic worked in Kit’s jaw as he slung the canvas bag that contained his meager belongings over his shoulder and descended the gangplank. His boots landed with the agile grace that he’d gained over the last two years, working in a house as an indentured servant.Seen, not heard.That was the most valuable thing he had learned: the ability to move quietly, quickly, and without being seen. He nodded at the ship’s crew as he passed, then walked alone toward the distant smoke-hazed taverns that ringed the wharf.
As he passed old places that should have been familiar, he felt he was an outsider looking in on a place he no longer recognized. He dug in his purse for a few coins and flagged down a hackney once he reached a street with more traffic. The driver raised a brow at Kit’s coarse clothing and rough appearance, but he took the money nonetheless.
“Where to, then?” the driver asked, punctuating his sentence with a yawn.
“Knightley Street,” Kit said.
The man gave a little shudder. “The Devil’s Square?”
“The what?”
The driver peered down at him. “Where ye been living? That’s what it’s called, innit?” the driver said in a hushed voice. “Devil’s Square, on account of them lords that live in those fancy houses being dangerous. You sure you want to go there?”
“Dangerous, are they?” Kit’s dark grin made the driver shut his mouth and settle into his perch. He doubted anyone in this city could frighten him anymore. Not after the things he’d seen... the things he’d done.
Kit opened the door to the hackney and climbed in. He eased back against the cushions of the coach, reflexively flinching, but no pain came. The whippings had stopped several years ago, but his body remembered every lash, every laceration, and he had gone for months without being able to lean back against anything. Old habits were hard to break.
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath. In some ways, London hadn’t changed. The scents and sounds of a city full of people, industry and vice all tumbled together in the atmosphere, making his head throb. It was so different from Australia. He’d spent the past seven years in a wild land with dangerous creatures of all sizes and some of the most dangerous criminals who’d escaped the noose. But beyond that, the landscape had been open, with clear blue skies and clean winds that tasted only of freedom.
London was no less dangerous than the colonial settlements in its own way, but here, in this city, he was now one of the creatures to be feared in the dark. His innocence, his boyish charm, and his entitlement as a rich young lordling were gone forever. He honestly didn’t know who he was anymore. Kit only knew what hewasn’t.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, he leapt out onto the sidewalk.
“Good luck.” The driver hastily tapped the reins against the backs of his horses, and the hackney pulled away, vanishing quickly into the darkened street.
