(There’s a new part of this story dropping Saturday in the Broadsheet, so it’s time to give last month’s part it’s own post so it can be found more easily.)
Chapter 3 (Part 1)
One week later, Richard rubbed his neck, bending it from side to side in an attempt to eliminate the kinks and stiffness. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. If only he could find the information that he needed to put this whole ordeal behind him and spend a great deal more time with Harriet.
As it was, he’d only seen her once since returning from Hertfordshire – the day on which he had been given the task he was now trying to see done. Maddening task that it was. Sitting at a window watching the comings and goings of the people below him. Listening to the noises and conversations that passed by his door.
He had never felt such a desire to be done with an assignment before this. And not just because being confined to one location was torturous. Nor was it due to the only barely adequate furnishings and fittings of his hideout. However, on that subject…
He stood, threw his arms wide, and then reached over head. Every movement caused pain. The bed in this room needed a better mattress because it was most decidedly uncomfortable.
He was glad for the few days reprieve he was about to receive. His partner had already left about two hours ago. It was best for them not all to leave at once you see. Things needed to appear to be somewhat normal for the type of living arrangements that were found here. Transient behaviour was not unusual, but looking too formal in how things were done was.
Therefore, he had been left alone to see the next man take up his post.
When his replacement arrived, he would be able to leave this little hovel from which he watched the world, see Harriet, and sleep in a proper bed – whether that be at Darcy House or Matlock House. It really did not matter. As long as it was well stuffed and tied.
A key turned in the lock of the small first floor room that sat above a store front, but Richard ignored it and turned to shove the last of his articles into his bag.
“I must say I am pleased to see you, Samuels. It has been a long and uneventful week …” His voice trailed off as he turned and saw that Samuels was not alone. To say he was shocked by who accompanied Samuels was akin to saying a bullet though the thigh was not but a scratch.
He looked first to the man behind Samuels and then to his fellow officer. “Why is he here?” His voice was low and menacing as he struggled to rein in his fury. “Why is he not on a transport ship well on his way to some god-forsaken location far from England’s shores? Or better yet, why is he not dangling at the end of a hangman’s noose?”
“You know why he is not dead,” Samuels replied. “Reputations and questions.”
Richard blew out a breath. Hanging was too public a death for a scoundrel like this one. “Could he not have slipped and cracked his head somewhere? There are ways to be rid of him that do not involve anyone questioning how he died.” Unless the man had a sister like Harriet. Then, there would always be questions. The thought nearly made him smile. Nearly.
This man, however, did not have a sister. He was an only child. In fact, he did not even have a father or mother any longer and very few true friends. Associates? Yes. Employed henchmen? At one time, yes. Friends? That thought deserved a derisive snort. Mr. Wickham did not seem to know how to keep friends.
“It appears I have skills that you do not,” that very miscreant said with a mocking smile.
“If you mean a life that is expendable, then, you are correct,” Samuels spat. “Remember what you were told and what you saw.” This part was growled in a whisper. “We have just come from the great house,” he added to Richard, who nodded his understanding.
He had heard of the place, though he had never been there himself. As he understood it, there was an entrance that led to a study of sorts and a few “accommodations” that came with locks and guards on a lower level, where one would normally expect to find servants and the workings of a grand London townhouse.
“This is not Lillesley’s doing then?”
Samuels shook his head. “Though, I suspect he will know about it soon enough.”
“Oh, he will,” Richard muttered. For Lillesley House was first on his places to visit when he left here.
Samuels chuckled.
“I hope you were promised a reward of some sort for taking on this blackguard.”
“Rest assured, I was. I only hope it is worth the effort.” He tossed the bag he carried on the bed. “You may have the floor,” he added to Wickham. “Not that it will be much more comfortable than the bed.”
“There’s a truth if I ever heard one,” Richard agreed. “Now tell me. What skills do you have?” He moved a step closer to Wickham as he asked his question.
The smile on Wickham’s face faltered a moment. It was a small tell, but a tell none-the-less. The man had never tried to challenge Richard. Darcy, he would taunt and torment, but not Richard. That was likely because he knew that Richard would act without overthinking. Darcy would not.
“I know people.”
Richard stepped closer. “What kinds of people?”
Wickham’s throat moved up and down as he swallowed. Richard found it gratifying to make the man fearful.
“Unsavoury sorts and traitors,” Samuels answered. “Along with a certain shopkeeper.”
Richard cocked an eyebrow. “The one found near the Thames?” He darted a look at Samuels, who nodded.
“Did you kill him?” Richard asked Wickham.
“I have never taken a life,” Wickham spat back.
Richard made a scoffing noise. “Maybe not with your own hands, but there was a footman who came near to death recently, and the men you employed were behind that. It is enough for me to condemn you with them.”
Wickham’s eyes narrowed. “I sold him some goods some time ago. He was a jovial fellow who asked very few questions. Not the sort whom I would remove from my network.”
“Then, you know who killed him.” It was not a question. It was a fact. There was no other reason for a man like Wickham to be included in this operation. And still he was not sure the benefit outweighed the risk.
“I may,” he admitted. “Though I do not know his name, I would recognize his face.”
Richard turned from him. “What becomes of him once he identifies the person we need.”
Again, Samuels chuckled. “Well, for one thing, he gets to keep all his fingers. That is, he does if I say he does.” He sent a devilish grin in Wickham’s direction, while that man looked a touch ill at the mention. “There is a jar…” he added in a whisper to Richard
Truly? Richard had thought that the story of a jar filled with severed fingers was a myth, circulated to create a sinister mystic around the man who lived at the great house – Lillesley’s superior – a name that was rarely mentioned. He would have to ask Samuels about that jar later. Surely, a lord of the realm did not go around slicing off fingers and thumbs from those who crossed him. Did he?
“Beyond that, things have not been decided, but cooperation will likely mean he does not get transported… or worse.” Samuels sank down on the bed next to his bag and smirked. “Fredericks is to join us, and Wickham here is not pleased with that since Fredericks knows so much about him.”
Richard chuckled. “Give him my regards. I will leave you to things.”
“Congratulations to you,” Samuels said. “I hear you are to be married.”
“You have a lady?” Wickham asked with no little amount of interest.
“He does,” Samuels replied. “And she is both pretty and clever – or so, I hear from her brother. Well, the pretty part I have seen with my own eyes. The clever part is what I have on authority from her brother.”
“She is both,” Richard agreed. “In fact,” he said, turning to Wickham, “she is at least as clever as the soon to be Mrs. Darcy, though perhaps a bit more daring.” The mention of Elizabeth made Wickham scowl.
Samuels let out a low whistle. “That is impressive.”
“I will not argue with you about that.” Richard placed his hat on his head. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must call on Lillseley.”
“And his sister,” Samuels added with at laugh as Richard merely acknowledged the truth of his statement with a wave of his hand, while leaving the apartment.
