Page 26 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
Chapter Six
Nicholas spent the next morning in one of the more squalid parts of the Ratcliffe Highway, asking questions that might lead to answers about his uncle’s involvement in his lost years.
Once he might have felt out of place in such a location but the forces that had shaped him in the Americas were the same as those he now trawled through in the pestilent dark alleys of Stepney. Destitution, filth, poverty and overcrowding abounded here and criminal activity was a direct result of that.
The smell of the river was everywhere and the toil of those who lived by it easily seen, the scavengers and mudlarks who survived on what they could find on the bottom of the Thames when the low tide washed in various pieces of coal, rope, bones or copper nails if you were lucky. Nicholas knew this because the James River had held the same desperation and there were times, especially in the early months there, when he had wondered about crawling into the sludge himself.
Those who held the run of the docklands were steeped in beggary and with no other means available to them were unlikely to overlook opportunities that might keep them from the workhouses.
Opportunities such as the kidnap of a viscount and his subsequent disposal. He’d had the name of a man who might have some information about such things, given to him quietly, of course, and taking the last of his gambling winnings from Frederick’s soirée to obtain.
He’d dressed accordingly, but there must have been something in the lines of his face that spoke of menace and experience because walking through the mean streets of the place he had been completely unchallenged. Perhaps the scar did him a service here.
Mess with me and I will deal with you, as others have dealt with me.
The White Horse Tavern stood on the corner of East Smithfield and a smaller unnamed street, the river visible from its front portal. Those who watched him enter were miserably clad with barely a boot between them and the stench of the streets followed him inside to the bar where he recognised the look of some of the cheaper liquor he’d dispatched himself in Richmond.
A stranger approached then, a man in his forties with an eye that was patently false in its deformed socket, as well as being poorly fashioned.
‘You’d be the one who has been asking about the details of a snatch in Jermyn Street some years ago?’
‘I am.’ Words were not things to be bandied by the starving in the same way as thetonwas wont to. The less said the better.
‘Join me over there.’
The very position of the man’s seat told Nicholas two things. He liked his back to the wall and he felt safer near a further exit. A small door was visible beside the table, three steps running down to it.
The newcomer held his hand above his belt as he sat and Nick knew there would be a knife there. There was probably another one on the outside of his right boot given that was the side he favoured as he gestured to Nick to also sit.
‘Did you bring money?’
‘I did, but the amount depends on what you might tell me.’
Neither of them used names. The parish constables and the Night Watch were noticeable by their absence in these parts of London, but there were other means of maintaining order. Should the need arise for violence Nick knew the man would not hesitate and there were those close undoubtedly involved in the same scam. The lad in the corner tending to the fire, the bearded fellow behind the bar, the two older patrons to one side who were stiff with focus.
He turned back and waited, his breath quiet and even, but nevertheless relieved when the contact fumbled in his pocket to bring forth a small book.
Turning over the pages to find the right entry, the glass-eyed man read quickly.
22nd August 1812
Jermyn Street, Mayfair
Viscount Bromley
Twenty pounds
Paid
The shock of the words made Nicholas’s breath come shallowly. ‘Who paid?’
‘An older fellow named Bartlett and an arrogant toff he was, too. The mark was put into a hackney coach and thrown into the river as per instructions and then left for the tide to take.’
Or to crawl out? To be picked up? To find a ship to faraway shores?
‘Did Bartlett pay again later when it was discovered that the man was still alive? Did he have someone follow Viscount Bromley abroad?’
‘No. That was the end of it. A simple drowning. No amount of gold would be enough to entice those I hire out to cross the seas to hunt further.’
