Chapter 1
Spring 1819
BROOKS ATKINSON, VISCOUNT ALESBURY, also known as the Crown’s spy Red Knight, currently on assignment in the village of Billericay, was listening to the taproom chatter of the local inn. He’d been tasked by the spymaster in London, Lord Edgerton, to try to find out why the Earl of Carlisle was buying up local farms in this southern Essex County. So far, he’d only heard complaints from the locals about rising corn prices, although since the mill would soon be back in operation again and some common land belonging to recently renovated Blakely Manor was being opened up to the local farmers, there had been fewer dissenters of late.
However, the question still remained. Why Carlisle’s sudden interest in these farms, especially since his Country Seat was nearly a hundred miles away in Worcestershire County? Red Knight listened intently as the two men at the table behind him got into a heated conversation. He pulled his coat collar up and slouched down in his chair. With his back to them, he hoped they wouldn’t notice him and would continue their conversation.
“When will the operation start back up?” the farmer asked.
“I don’t know. There’s been no word since the magistrate disappeared.”
“I depended on that money and can’t really wait anymore. The mill is being repaired and will soon be looking for workers. After I finish with the spring planting, I’m going to see about a job.”
“You shouldn’t do that. Must I remind you what will happen if you abandon the operation?”
The first man’s voice rose with frustration. “There is no operation at present. My family’s on the brink of starvation, and the mill job will provide a steady income. That’s what I know.”
“Think about what you’re doing. What will your family do if you suffer an unfortunate accident?”
“Are you threatening me, Ray? I won’t take kindly to that.”
Ray threw up his hands. “It’s not me you should be wary of. There’s nothing I can do at the moment. The old magistrate was my contact, and there’s no word on who will replace him. I’ll send word when I can, but right now, I need to get back to London,” he said, rising from his seat.
Red Knight turned slightly and watched as Ray threaded his way through the tables to the door. The farmer was busy drinking his ale and didn’t see Red Knight get up as well and discreetly follow him out of the tavern. He’d seen Ray around town a few times, but this was the first time he’d met with one of the local farmers. Who was he? Local gentry? Minorton?And exactly why did he need to return to London so quickly? Who was he working for?
Outside the tavern, Red Knight kept to the shadows as he followed Ray to the inn stables, where a team of horses and a carriage waited. There was no insignia on the door, but it was a shiny black carriage—no one in Bellericay had any need for such a fine carriage, so Ray definitely wasn’t a local. He watched as Ray jumped into the carriage and rapped on the roof. The driver slapped the reins, sending the horses into motion.
Red Knight followed the carriage at a distance until it reached the edge of the village, then doubled back to the stables. He’d wondered if Ray would meet with anyone else, but the carriage had rolled out of the village without any stops.
“You be needing something, mister?” the stable boy asked as Red Knight walked into the stables.
Red Knight pulled a coin out of his pocket and held it out to the boy, whose eyes widened. “Just some information.”
“What information? I don’t know nothin’. I do what I’m told. Nothin’ else.”
“Maybe you did something and didn’t realize it. Whose carriage was it that just left?” he asked, pointing to the black spec in the distance.
“Some fancy lord from London.”
Red Knight held out his hand with the coin in his palm. “A name, boy. What name did he give?”
The boy shrugged, and Red Knight started to pocket the coin.
The boy’s hand snaked out and grabbed the spy’s wrist. “Wait. I remember now. It was something like Carly.”
“Are you sure?”
The boy nodded so hard, Red Knight nearly laughed. He put the coin in the boy’s hand. “Don’t mention this conversation to anyone, understand?”
“Yes, sir. Like I said, I don’t know nothin’.”
“Good boy.” Red Knight turned on his heel and left the stables. The boy had helped tremendously, even though he didn’t get the name exactly right.
The Earl of Carlisle.
It was the first time he’d been able to connect Carlisle with the Bellericay locals. According to the conversation he’d overheard, there was some kind of operation going on in the area. The town wasn’t near the coast but was a convenient stop on the main thoroughfare for folks traveling north out of London. He needed to return to London and report back to Edgerton about this new development.
PHILLIP STEVENSON, THE EARLof Carlisle, looked up from his newspaper when his butler entered, holding out the silver salver.
