When Col peered through the crack, he was taken by surprise. The Duke of Chelmsford stood there, his elaborate ducal carriage in the street with his coachman settling the finest four grays Col had ever seen.
"Mr. Colwyn, I believe? Are you going to invite me in, or should I plead my cause out here in the street?"
4
EARLY JUNE, 1826
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON
Percy held his breath for several heavy moments whilst the well known Bow Street runner, Archer Colwyn, decided whether or not to invite him inside.
In desperation, Percy finally produced the scrap of paper he'd received from Forsythe's clerk and waved it at the man. "Please, Mr. Colwyn. I need your help to rid my family of a dark influence, and you're my last hope."
The runner snatched the paper from him and then reluctantly opened the door wide. A scowl still lined his face, and Percy did not at all like the looks of the man behind him brandishing a wicked-looking pistol.
He closed his eyes for a second. Anything for his wretched family...
"Welcome to my humble home, Your Grace, although I'm afraid it's nothing like your townhouse on Berkley Square." Mr. Colwyn hastily shoved a child's hoop and a small wagon to a dark corner of the foyer before motioning for Percy to follow him up the steps.
Percy wondered, a tad too late, why he hadn't brought along John, his hulking front-of-house footman. He himself worked out with a boxing trainer twice a week, but he doubted he was up to a bout with the two dangerous men who kept him squeezed between them for the trip up to the first-floor landing. They ushered him down a long, dark hallway before Mr. Colwyn opened a door into a sort of parlor.
The furnishings were shabby, but fresh flowers in modest glass containers brightened nearly every surface. Starched white curtains covered the windows looking out on Great Queen Street. One of the windows was cracked open a few inches, and an evening summer breeze billowed the curtain a bit. Two oil lamps were placed near well worn, overstuffed chairs, each with a book tossed onto the seat cushion.
"I beg your pardon." Percy was flummoxed at having inadvertently intruded into the man's personal lodgings. "I never would have come if I'd realized..."
The second man made a sweeping motion with his handgun. "Well now y'er here, ye might as well stay, state yer business, and have a bit of tea with us." With that he backed out of the doorway, his eyes never losing contact with Percy's, and disappeared down the long hallway.
Percy stared after him, dumbfounded.
"Don't mind George. He's retired from the Royal Navy, but he was a bo'sun for many years, and I'm afraid he hasn't gotten over ordering people around." A warm smile softened the runner's face. "My daughter Dee is the only one who stands up to him."
"Now, Your Grace, please explain who is threatening your family and how we can help."
Percy stared down at his hands for a long time and then launched into his explanation. "There's a woman..."
* * *
El knewit was only a matter of time before someone caved to Perseus Whitcombe's demands and offers of obscene amounts of money to lay bare her many, um, business interests throughout England and abroad. She had to work fast to make sure she knew what he knew, before he knew it.
She looked up at a light patter of boots on the marble floor in the foyer of her townhouse. A few seconds later she said, "Come" at the light tap on the door to her sunny, private parlor.
Dickie Jones appeared in the open doorway, tugging on the hand of his sister, Olivia. The young woman was a bit older than the young runner El had come to rely on to carry her messages and keep her secrets. The girl was maybe only fourteen but a consummate genius at laundering clothing and linens that came off the drying lines in Goodrum's back gardens as sweet-smelling and soft as when they'd been newly created.
Despite her mastery of the laundry at Goodrum's, and being a teacher of cleaning secrets to other young men and women at El's many estates, Olivia remained extremely shy.
"Please, Olivia. Come sit and have some tea."
"Is there something here you'd like me to take down and soak in lemon and lavender, Captain?"
"No, Olivia, just come sit with us for a few minutes." El patted the seat next to her on a curving settee in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. The towering trees outside shaded and dappled the sunlight piercing the white lace curtains. Dickie chose a chair closer to the hall entry and sat facing the two women.
She smiled at her two young protege's fondly. "I have need of your talents to help me keep a very powerful, wealthy man from snooping his way into our business."
Dickie immediately took the offensive. "Tell me who the cove is, and he won't bother you again."
El smiled indulgently. "We shouldn't dump another body in the Thames for a while. The river police are getting suspicious. I don't want that handsome magistrate to put Col on our trail." She pushed a stubborn auburn curl behind one ear and continued. "This is going to call for an, um, diplomatic touch, Dickie." She paused a few moments, trying to collect just the right words. "We don't want to hurt this man, we just need to slow him down. He's a powerful duke."
"Cor--." Dickie exploded out of his chair and paced to El's side. "What's he done? I don't care how important he is, I won't see him interfering in your work."
