Page 84 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Samuel launched straight into the case, laying out the facts clearly but concisely. Anne knew Samuel had a knack for reading people and tailoring his approach to the person to whom he was speaking, but she was accustomed to seeing him begin with more of an effort to charm his audience. As Lord Hobart listened in stony-faced silence, she could not help but wonder if Samuel’s tactics were sound.
Once he finished his account of the malfeasance taking place at the R.M.A., Lord Hobart rose and went to the door. “Get in here, Thackery.”
Anne’s heart kicked up a notch as the clerk entered the room. “I’ll be dictating a letter,” Lord Hobart informed him.
“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Thackery replied, hurrying to a writing desk in the corner and pulling out a sheet of paper. “To whom shall I address it?”
“To the Chief Magistrate at Bow Street,” Lord Hobart said.
“Is—is there a problem?” Mr. Thackery asked.
Lord Hobart rounded on him. “Five thousand pounds of the army’s money has been stolen. Does that strike you as being a problem?”
Anne was careful not to let her face fall at the baron’s concern for the embezzled money, but not for the children in harm’s way. But her smile felt tight. Lord Hobart must have noticed, because he hastily added, “And the children. Absolutely deplorable, what’s being done to those children.”
Lord Hobart proceeded to dictate a note that was inescapably clear, for all that it was only four sentences long. “If I find out that you did not deploy every resource available to you in order to get to the bottom of this, I will not hesitate to bring the questionable circumstances under which your investigation has been conducted to the attention of Mr. Addington,” he concluded.
There was a scratching sound as the clerk’s quill skidded off the edge of the page. “Mr.—Mr. Addington?” he asked, eyes huge. “You don’t mean the prime minister?”
“Of course I mean the prime minister,” Lord Hobart snapped. “And the next time someone comes to tell us that five thousand pounds of the army’s money has been stolen, don’t send them away. Now get out of my office, all of you.”
It happened that Samuel was happy to wait for the clerk to finish transcribing the letter. “I cannot wait to see the look on their faces when I walk into the Bow Street offices with a letter from the secretary of state himself,” he mused.
“We’ll all go together,” Anne said, squeezing Michael’s arm. “That way you can loom some more. You’re so good at it.”
Michael puffed out his chest. “At the risk of sounding like an outrageous braggart, I also have an innate talent for glaring and shouting, should the situation require it.”
Such a brief missive took very little time to transcribe, and within a quarter hour they were climbing out of Anne’s carriage at Bow Street. The reaction at Bow Street closely mirrored that of the clerk at Horse Guards. Cowering gave way to outright panic after Lord Hobart’s letter was read.
“A thousand apologies, Lord Morsley,” the clerk, whose name was Mr. Hewitt, said. “We will make sure this is thoroughly investigated going forward.”
Mr. Hewitt began shuffling through some papers, apparently assuming this reassurance was sufficient and the conversation over.
Samuel leaned his elbow against the counter. “Excellent. When will this thorough investigation begin, and what will it entail?”
Mr. Hewitt bristled. “What did you just ask me?”
It turned out that Michael could loom quite effectively even when separated from his quarry by a counter. “What my personal barrister just asked is what you’re going to do to about Lord Gladstone. Tonight. Because, in case it didn’t penetrate your thick skull, a boy’s life is in danger.”
“This is the same boy who caught a glimpse of the baron’s face?” Mr. Hewitt asked.
“The very one,” Anne said.
Mr. Hewitt shook his head. “He’s probably dead already. The whole reason Gladstone took him was to eliminate a witness.”
Anne felt her chest constrict. This was precisely her fear, that she was already too late.
But she could not give in to that despair. She lifted her chin. “We must try. There is still a chance that Nick is—”
Mr. Hewitt cut in. “Although a tender heart is a credit to a woman—”
Michael leaned forward. “Did you just interrupt Lady Anne?” he all but shouted.
Mr. Hewitt physically recoiled. “I… I’m sorry, my lady.”
“So what you are arguing,” Michael continued, “is that there is no need to act tonight because Nick has already been murdered. Refresh my memory, what entity is responsible for tracking down and apprehending the murderers of children?”
“That would be the Bow Street Runners,” Samuel said conversationally.
