Holding his other pillow to her chest, Bridget whispered another prayer that William would be safe and that he would return unscathed. For once that night, cocooned around his scent and presence, she finally slipped off to sleep.
Colin glared fire and brimstone at William as the carriage sped off to Whitechapel.
“That was a winning hand of whist you pulled me from,” Colin grumbled. “A winning hand!”
“You were going to win, what, fifty pounds?” William shrugged. “A pittance.”
“I was going to win a townhouse in Grosvenor Square, you lummox,” Colin replied heatedly. “Couldn’t you have waited ten minutes for me to deal the blow? No, I had to follow you on this investigatory crusade to some apothecary in Whitechapel at damn near midnight.”
“It is ten twenty-seven,” William corrected him. “Have you been drinking so much you cannot tell time?”
“My point is, you have all the power and the money to hire people to do these things for you,” Colin’s mouth twisted. “Private Investigators, Runners, Bow Street Men, you have all the manpower you can have but yet, you choose to do all this messy work yourself. Need I remind you, we are not in Arthurian times, you do not need to put yourself in danger when ye needn’t to.”
“And where is the honor in that?” William asked, propping an elbow on the windowsill while keeping an eye on the neighborhood they were in. “You know the only thing I do by proxy is govern the dukedom.”
“You’re a madcap,” Colin huffed.
“Hopefully, we can get you back to your precious game after visiting this apothecary,” William replied.
“But you brought me here for what exactly?” Colin asked as the carriage turned down a dark lane.
“I hope we won’t have to get to that,” William remarked as the vehicle stopped at a doorway. The faded paint on the door glinted blue under the flickering gas light above it, casting menacing shadows over it.
Stepping out, he knocked on the door while Colin joined him, angling his body so he could peer into the shadows. He saw no one, William knew because he had looked there himself.
A sliver of a peephole shot back and dark eyes stared at William. “What do ya want?”
“Your… special laudanum,” William replied, hedging his bets. “I am told this is the only place I can get it.”
The eyes shifted. “Who’s that wif you, guv?”
“A friend,” William replied. “A trusted friend.”
Once again, the eyes shifted, “If you willnae tell the Runners, come in…” a series of locks and chains slid away and the door pulled in. A man in worn clothes and an apron wiped his hand on the cloth. “Name is Gibeny, now, what can I get you?”
CHAPTER 25
Inside, William took a moment to look around the makeshift shop instead of replying. Vials of powders and liquids rested on the shelves—he even spotted some with feathers, red dirt, black oil, and bat wings.
He’ll probably have an eye of newt in the back too.
“You’re not after the laudanum, are you?”
“I need to ask you about a previous patron of yours,” William finally said. “This man was sickly with his heart, and he came to you for help. You’ll be compensated for your time.”
“Compensated how?”
“Say, five pounds?”
“Five pounds sounds mighty fine to me,” Gibney said. “Incentive first, eh?”
Reaching into his jacket, William counted out five sovereigns in front of the man and offered them. Gibney took them and gestured over his back at a room beyond. “I will set these down in my lockbox. Give me a minute or two.”
William nodded and Gibney slipped into the room beyond, while Colin looked around. “Is this an apothecary or does MacBeth’s witches live here?”
Snorting, William added, “I was thinking the same.”
Returning, Gibney dusted his hands off. “Does this gent of yers have a name?”
