Page 66 of A Duke's Scandalous Obsession
Timothy and Reginald nodded at the same time. Catherine looked at them all, worried beyond description. She wondered how dangerous that man was and what he was capable of. A criminal was never to be trusted. Ever. And a man who kidnapped a woman and her child had a special place in hell.
***
A few minutes before six in the morning, the three men stood together, disguised as beggars and poor folk, their noble bearing hidden underneath layers of tattered clothing and grime.
Dominic wore a tattered cloak that hung loosely around his broad shoulders, the rich fabric frayed from years of use. Underneath the cloak, there were threadbare shits and patched trousers that seemed to bear stains of countless journeys.
He turned to Timothy, who was wearing a worn greatcoat, a threadbare waistcoat and a frayed shirt. Reginald had a patched jacket on, its seams straining with the weight of what seemed to be countless repairs, as they hung loosely from his slender frame, obviously two sizes too large.
He had to admit that all three of them had done a grand job disguising themselves. Mrs. Jenkins, a churchgoing woman, had some old clothes to take to the church, and without too many explanations, she was happy to let Dominic rummage through the bags she was to take. As a favor, he offered some of his old clothes to be taken to the church instead, for which she was extremely grateful.
None of them were speaking. They were just standing there, in the heart of the bustling street, their eyes keen and watchful as they observed the throngs of people passing by. They blended seamlessly into the teeming masses; their true identities safe.
Across the street, Charlie lingered in the corner, casting furtive glances at the passing crowds with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. His ragged attire marked him as just one of the city’s forgotten youths. As Dominic watched him, a ripple of anticipation coursed through his veins. His senses were sharpening as minutes ticked away.
He knew that their target lurked in the shadows, concealed beneath the guise of poverty and anonymity. With bated breath, he watched as Charlie looked around. Any man could be George Thompson. Dominic couldn’t tell. He had never seen him. But he knew that the letter had to be sent. He wouldn’t risk not receiving all that money.
Then, they noticed a man walk in the direction of the urchin.
“Is that him?” Dominic murmured under his chin, but both men could hear him clearly.
“Shhh,” Timothy signaled.
All eyes were on the boy and the man approaching him, and seconds felt like hours. The hunched back man moved slowly, dragging his left foot behind, like something that didn’t even belong to him. Finally, the man reached the boy, but he didn’t stop. He merely patted the boy on the head, then continued on his way.
“Not him,” Reginald voiced his conclusion.
Dominic desperately wanted to check his pocket watch, but he didn’t dare take it out of his grimy pocket and risk someone seeing it. He had to rely on his personal passage of time, which was subjective to any man and completely unreliable.
With each passing moment, he felt as if the street was mocking their vigil, its chaotic rhythm a stark contrast to the stillness that had settled over the three of them as they waited. Despite their best efforts, it seemed that the morning pursuit would remain fruitless, and that George Thompson would remain elusive.
At that moment, a church bell nearby sounded eight o’clock.
“We’ve been here two hours,” Timothy murmured, shaking his head. “I doubt he will be appearing.”
“If he hasn’t appeared so far…” Reginald agreed, sounding disappointed. “I really thought we would see him.”
Dominic sighed, patting him on the back. “Not all is lost yet, old boy. Keep your chin up. Something tells me we haven’t heard the last of him.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Reginald said with a heavy voice. “It’s Annabel and Rosie. What if he has harmed them?”
“He wouldn’t.” Dominic shook his head with more determination than he thought he had in him.
The truth was, he didn’t know what sort of man George Thomspon was. He could have been a petty criminal who just pickpocketed old ladies, or he could have easily been a cold-blooded killer, or anything in between this spectrum. But Reginald needed reassurance. It was the least Dominic could do for him.
It was then that Timothy intervened. “And when we receive the second letter with the instructions on giving him the money, you will insist on seeing them first. You will insist on proof of life.”
“Proof of life?” Reginald gasped.
Dominic frowned at Timothy, but he knew that Timothy wasn’t there to sugarcoat things. He knew how these things could end, and although Reginald didn’t want to hear it, perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea for him to have that knowledge somewhere in the back of his mind.
“But like Dominic said, I am certain that they are fine, and all this scoundrel is asking for is money,” Timothy concluded, much to both Reginald and Dominic’s relief.
“We should head back home now,” Dominic whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear them.
“Yes,” Timothy agreed. “He won’t be coming here. The morning mail has already been delivered.”
Reginald swallowed heavily. “Does that mean that the second letter might be waiting for me at home?”
