Page 40 of King of Rogues
“Be my duchess.”
Tell yourself all the lies you want. They are not the words she needs to hear first from your lips. She wants to hear the other three little words.
Chapter Seventeen
After leaving Coal Yard Lane, Monsale instructed his driver to head to Gracechurch Street and the rear mews of the RR Coaching Company. Once he had alighted, his carriage turned around and headed back to Monsale House. He liked to keep his household staff away from the rogues of the road dealings, and always took a hack home once he had finished with company business.
The stable hand Bob appeared from out of a nearby building, trailed by his three-legged dog, Snick. Monsale gave him a wave in greeting, to which Bob gave a nod. “Morning your grace. Will you be upstairs or elsewhere in the yard?”
“Good morning, Bob. It will be the stables today. I need to make a withdrawal.”
Monsale bent and gave the old bulldog, Snick, a friendly scratch behind the ear. The dog actually belonged to Stephen’s younger brother Toby, but every time they had moved it to the house on Berkeley Square, Snick had managed to find his way back to the coaching company.
Scraggy old Bob cleared his throat. “I was going to ask how my investments are going this quarter. I’ve been reading the financial pages and there are some new mines I was thinking I might like to put some money into.”
Monsale shook his head. “You are getting a good and safe return from Coutts Bank at present. I would caution you to steer clear of unproven mines and get-rich-quick schemes. We need to preserve your money, so you can retire to a life of leisure and fresh air in the countryside. There is a new investment opportunity coming very soon, one which will give a reliable flow of cash in the years to come. I have your name on the list of initial investors.”
Bob bowed. “Very good your grace. Thank you. If you are going to the stables, I shall get my rifle and stand guard.”
“Capital. Remember to signal if anyone arrives in the yard.”
While the stable hand went to retrieve his weapon, Monsale headed to the back of the stables. Kicking away the thick covering of straw, he uncovered a trapdoor. It took both hands to pull the door up and flip it open. It landed with a thud on the brick paved floor. Taking care, Monsale slowly descended the stone steps which led down to a secret underground room. As he entered the small space, all noise from the world above disappeared. It was almost like stepping into a crypt, but one without any sarcophagi.
There was a huge iron door, situated against one wall, it was locked and bolted. Monsale smiled. It had been his idea to build the room and install the safe. The large padlock on the front, which was a false lock, had been George’s clever innovation.
Fishing into his coat pocket, he took out a small key, then slipped it into a tiny, almost invisible, keyhole which sat to one side of the main lock. A satisfying click came from within the safe. Monsale pulled on the handle and the iron door swung silently open. Reformed thief, George had always been fastidious about ensuring that the hinges and locks were regularly oiled.
On the bottom shelf of the safe sat a large box, marked A.M. At one point there had been five of these boxes, one for each member of the RR Coaching Company. They had dubbed them their flee boxes, the jest being that there was enough money and treasure in them to enable anyone of the rogues of the road to flee England should the authorities uncover their illegal activities.
As each member of the company had married and retired from the life, they had taken their box with them. Now only Monsale’s remained.
He sat the box on the floor and stared at it. Once this box had been a source of comfort, the means to safely start a new life somewhere else, now it only served to remind him of the dark and often dangerous times he and his friends had been fortunate to survive.
Bending, he set another key to the box and unlocked it. Inside were rare jewels, gold, share certificates, and several large bundles of banknotes. He ignored them. Instead, he lifted a small blue cotton bag, untied the string around the top of it and dropped yet another key into the palm of his hand.
Back at the safe, Monsale squeezed into the space between it and the side wall. After fitting the key into a hidden lock, he pulled another box out. This one was long and narrow, but what it lacked in size it more than made up for with what it contained.
Inside were records of bank deposits and various other documents. It was his secret hoard. No other member of the RR Coaching Company even knew it existed. Adan was the only person he trusted with the knowledge of the box.
Monsale sighed. It was time to retire both it and the flee box. He would sleep better knowing that the hidden space under the stables was finally empty.
The scruff of boots above his head had Monsale quickly digging his hand into his coat pocket. He pulled out his pistol, cocked it, and with a steady hand pointed it at the steps.
“Don’t shoot,” said a familiar voice.
Gus appeared; hands held high above his head.
“Bloody hell. What are you doing here? And why didn’t Bob let out a warning whistle.”
So much for the old man keeping watch in the yard. And not even the dog had a noise.
Maybe it is time to retire Bob and Snick from the job.
Gus’s gaze fell on the secret box. “Dare I ask what that is?”
Monsale put the weapon away. “It’s the wealth I have been building from all our business endeavors. A piece of extra insurance. I figured that if the time ever came that one of us had to flee the country, the rest would soon have to follow. This fortune would allow Adan to smooth the way without anyone knowing the money was ours.”
Gus nodded. The expression on his face was one of guarded acceptance. Considering the shady dealings that Monsale had conducted over the years; Gus’s reaction didn’t surprise him in the least. He had kept his friends in the dark about this box and its priceless contents.
