Page 50 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
It was a standing rule that his private rooms be undisturbed until he had risen. Aaron hated to be disturbed by chamber maids or a butler until he was out of bed and dressed, rejecting the idea of being helped to garb himself.
He walked along a hallway that connected the various rooms of his private suite, bare foot against the burgundy carpet, and entered the last door on the left. It let into a morning room, whose east facing window was bathed in pale morning light.
A pile of correspondence had been placed on a side table beside a window seat for his inspection. It was the only intrusion into his suite that he allowed before waking. As he took a seat in the window and began to sift through the letters, he came upon one that had clearly been hand-delivered.
It bore no post mark or address, simply the name Ashenwood. He frowned as he examined it. It was a folded piece of rough paper. The writing on it was crude, not merely rushed but written with an inelegant hand. Unfolding the paper, he saw two words written there.
Look outside.
Aaron felt a chill at the implication that someone was not only watching him but aware of his habits, knowing where he liked to sit and read his mail and at what time. Looking up, he stared out of the window. A man stood across the road, framed in a gap between bushes that afforded the front of the house some privacy.
A very precise place to stand to be observed by someone sitting in the window of the morning room. And the man was staring directly at him. He wore a flat cap and the rough clothes of a labourer. His face was unmoving, square jawed and rough-skinned. He raised his hand to the brim of his cap in salute. Then he thrust his hands into his pockets, continuing to stare at Aaron.
With a sigh, Aaron gave a nod of acknowledgement and stood. Who knew how long the man had been standing there, he could wait a while longer as Aaron dressed himself, then went down to the front door. Stepping outside and putting on his hat he strode across the road briskly and approached the man, who turned to face him.
“Well?” Aaron snapped, putting on the air of the arrogant aristocrat.
The man grinned, showing missing teeth and no sign of being intimidated. He clearly worked for the Eel and, therefore, would not be intimidated by rank or title. He jerked his head and Aaron, following the direction, saw a black, unmarked carriage at the end of the street.
The man stepped aside to allow Aaron to pass him, heading towards the carriage. As Aaron began to walk, he fell into step behind. The driver of the carriage flicked his reigns and the carriage slowly rolled forward, turning into a side street.
As Aaron followed, he realized that once he reached the carriage, he would be screened from view by the rear walls of houses to either side of the side-street. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. At Ashenwood there would have been rifles and swords aplenty for a man to use to protect himself.
Aaron had never felt the need for weapons in London. Even the gambling den that his uncle ran was a relatively safe house catering to a wealthy clientele. There was rarely a disturbance or need to go armed.
Now, he fervently wished there had been and that he was in the habit of carrying a pistol at least. Reaching the carriage, he saw two men in front of it, standing in such a way as to block the street. Another lounged against the wall to one side of the carriage and his shadow was still following him.
They effectively hemmed him in, leaving just one direction, into the carriage itself. Reaching up, he opened the door and climbed inside. A man sat in the far corner, smoking a cigarillo, and squinting at him through the haze of smoke. He was dressed like a gentleman though with rings on every finger and necklaces hanging from his neck, bearing a variety of objects and symbols. He had an untidy beard and, incongruously, a battered shako on his head.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Sorry for the early call but I’m a busy man. Can’t wait on no toff getting out of bed,” he said.
“Quite alright, old chap. I take it I am addressing the man known as the Black Eel?” Aaron sat opposite the man, betraying no sign of nerves.
“You are sir. Bill Rivers esquire at your service,” Rivers said, jauntily.
“What can I do for you Mr. Rivers?” Aaron inquired politely.
All signs of joviality fell away and he looked at Aaron with face suddenly hard and still. “Don’t mess me about is what you can do for me. Don’t try and fob me off with less than half what was agreed. That’s what you can do for me, sunshine.”
Aaron kept his face impassive. “You’ll get your money, Rivers,” he said. “Just as soon as I have it to give.”
“Your dear Uncle tried to tell me the same thing. Very disrespectful he was. Very high and bloody mighty. You horse boys were always the same.”
“I take it you were in the infantry?” Aaron said.
“Aye, I was. Sergeant, until I dragged a bloody Captain out of his saddle and done for him. Army don’t like officer killers though they never seemed to mind killer officers.”
Aaron nodded coolly but his mind raced. Rivers would not kill him, though inflicting some pain would not be out of the question. Hard to extract money from a dead man and the amount owed by Aaron and Blakehill would hardly be carried on either of their persons. But what he dreaded was the leverage a man like this would use.
“Very good. I suspect I was just one of those killer officers, certainly gave orders that got men killed though they never took risks that I did not. My Uncle was the same. Why don’t we dispense with the reminiscences and get straight to business. You’ll have your money when I’ve raised the funds. In full. You think I like being in debt to a man like you?”
If the calculated remarks had any effect Rivers didn’t show it. He merely grinned around his cigarillo.
“I’d like my money back within a week, if you please. Or else, I’ll take it in kind.”
“In kind?”
“I believe congratulations are in order,” Rivers said, apparently ignoring the question.
