Page 3 of The Gift of Patience
Perhaps he had consumed more brandy than he thought. Ashley lifted his head enough to see his companions looking equally contemplative and solemn. There was little to say that had not already been said between them.
It was often thus with their little troop. They had spent years together under Colonel Renforth with the army during the Peninsular War, but now that Napoleon was defeated for good, only six of them remained, and there was scarce little for them to do that utilized their skills. They remained under the guise of the Household Guards, but in actuality, they were an elite troop called upon to perform the odd tasks that no one else could or would do.
No one ever suspected what they were really up to since the Household Guards were nominally referred to as the window dressing of the British Army. They were usually second or third sons of gentlemen—the rich, titled and powerful, and therefore expendable. Those assumptions were what allowed them to move amongst thetonwith no one the wiser.
They flirted and charmed their way through ballrooms one night, while scaling walls and breaking into vaults the next. However, the last fortnight, there had been not one singlecommission. Coupled with the fact that Society was at their country houses for the remainder of the summer, there were no social events they were required to make up numbers for. Not that any of them was sorely missing that responsibility, but it was better than absolute boredom.
“Will this devilish weather ever end?” Fielding asked of no one in particular as he set his empty glass down with a thud that seemed to echo through the wood-panelled chambers.
“Where did Renforth get off to, anyway?” Cholmely asked impatiently.
“Hopefully answering a summons for our services,” Fielding muttered as he stroked his side whiskers.
Renforth was the second son of a duke but now a peer in his own right. His mother had been a baroness, and upon her death, was granted the request to bestow the barony on him rather than his brother, the duke, who already held more titles than he knew what to do with. In turn, Renforth had inherited this town house, which he deemed a club for this troop. Instead of hiring rooms elsewhere, they all lived here. Most of their families also had homes in Town should they need to make use of them, but no one understood their lives like each other.
Here, there was no need to pretend to be someone they were not. To a war-hardened, battle-scarred soldier, this was a refuge.
O’Malley, Renforth’s former batman now butler, entered quietly and made his way around the circle refilling drinks. Ashley was not certain about the wisdom of drinking more when the cherubs on the ceiling already appeared to be flying before his face, but he did not protest the added measure of brandy.
“Did you happen to see the letter that came for you from Taywards today, Major?” O’Malley asked quietly enough as though not to disturb the general tenor of the room.
“I have not yet been to my chambers. Was it urgent?”
“I could not say, Major. I will bring it to you,” O’Malley said, and left before Ashley could protest that he could fetch it himself.
“Do you think it is a summons?” Fielding asked. “I would not mind something to do besides this.”
Ashley agreed, but the Whitford sisters were still there, and it did not feel like home when they were present. It was an awful thought to have, but it was not peaceful for a variety of reasons. Soon there would be a little one running about—hopefully this was not to do with the baby. It was too soon for news of a birth.
O’Malley returned and handed him the letter. Ashley broke the seal and scanned the missive. “It’s from Westwood.” He read a bit more. “There’s been some unusual activity on the river.”
His brother’s property was in Greenwich, ten or so miles downriver from London. There were a fair number of ships that preferred to dock there just across the Thames and conduct their business outside of London. There was far less crime, and warehouses could be attained at a fairer price than having to compete with the likes of the East India Company.
The other gentlemen seemed to perk up at the wordsunusual activity. Ashley had to admit he was intrigued. He read on.
“There is nothing concrete, mind you,” Westwood wrote. “However, too many small coincidences. Broken glass at one warehouse, stolen goods from another, lost or missing livestock.”
“It could be vagrants,” Baines pointed out. He had excelled at extracting information from people during the war. With his size and perpetual scowl, he intimidated people before he said a word.
“True. Read on, Ash,” Fielding said.
“We’ve searched for vagrants and squatters, but thus far none have been found. As the magistrate, I can attest that this has been occurring with increasing frequency. Previously, therewould be one or two incidents per year, and now it is weekly for the past two months. I suspect it is due to new activity around the docks, but my jurisdiction is limited there, and frankly, I do not have the time to investigate myself. If you and as many of your troop can be spared to look into the matter, I would be grateful. It may be nothing of consequence, but I would be at ease knowing.”
Ashley scanned the rest of the missive and it was more personal, so he spared his friends the reading of it and tucked it away for later. “What do you think?”
“It could be one of the London gangs moving east looking for new territory,” Baines suggested. “Especially now with the planned expansions.”
“We will need a dossier on the companies that ship through Greenwich,” Fielding remarked.
“Who can be spared to go with me? Assuming Renforth agrees?” Ashley asked.
“The countryside gives me hives,” Cholmely said. “Besides, Fielding knows more about shipping and the docks than any of us.”
Fielding’s father had amassed a large fortune in shipping, but he wasn’t born into the peerage like the rest of them. He’d raised his sons as gentlemen, with the best that money could buy, but Ashley suspected Joshua never really felt he belonged—especially in such elite company as the Guards. Of course, within their elite troop, his belonging was earned with blood.
“I think you credit me with more knowledge than I deserve,” he replied to Cholmely. “We were quite sheltered from the trade.”
“It’s not in the blood, eh?”
