Chapter Thirty
The rain had stopped, but the puddles left behind were many and massive. Jackson sidestepped a wide pool as he closed in on the Old Jewry station, attention snagged by a black-lacquered landau with gold trim parked out front. Not a speck of mud marred the shiny coach, for the driver even now was buffing a fender. Quite the eye-catcher for this neighbourhood. Some toff either had gotten lost and needed directions or was filing a complaint of some sort. Hopefully not the latter, for he had other matters to attend…namely slapping irons on Child’s thug who’d bailed from the carriage.
And once again he thanked God for sparing little Bella.
Inside the station, the usual afternoon hubbub filled the corridors. Smitty hailed him before he could make it to the stairs. “Oy, Chief! Two men up in yer office. Might wanna brace yerself.”
The clerk’s warning juddered through him. Sweet heavens. “What day is it?”
“’Tis the seventeenth all day, Chief.”
His heart sank clear to his muddy shoes. Hammerhead expected his report today…a report he’d last seen going up in flames thanks to Harvey. If the fancy carriage outside were any indication, not only was the superintendent tapping his toes up in his office but so was the commissioner. Jackson took the steps two at a time, heart pounding. He may as well box up his personal belongings and call it quits right now.
Pausing before shoving open the door, he inhaled deeply, lifted a prayer, then strode in to his own execution. Two steps later, he stopped, blinking. Not only was his office immaculate, but neither of the two finely dressed gents rising to their feet were the superintendent or the commissioner.
They were mirror images of each other.
“Come in, come in, my dearest of friends.” The squeaky voice was Catchpole’s. The rest of him was not. His hair had been trimmed and neatly slicked back. The bodacious red coat was replaced with a modest navy-blue suit of worsted wool. And most surprisingly, his clean-shaven face was not hidden by a masquerade mask. Though still woefully thin, Ezra Catchpole looked every bit the nobleman as the man standing next to him.
“Please”—Ezra motioned him in—“allow me to introduce you to my brother, the Viscount Eldridge Suthmeer. Brother, this is the man who saved my life, Chief Inspector Jackson Forge.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lord Suthmeer.” Jackson dipped a formal bow.
“The pleasure is mine, Chief Inspector.” The viscount gave a sharp nod.
Jackson looked beyond them, still stunned to see the chairs were cleared of papers. “Do have a seat, gentlemen.” He rounded his desk and took his own.
The viscount settled deeply into the wingback while Ezra perched on the edge of his. Jackson hid a smile. He may be spit shined outwardly, but it was oddly good to see he yet retained some of his eccentricity.
“We will not keep you long. You are surely as busy a man as I.” The viscount sniffed, his Roman nose bunching with the movement. “Yet I wished to extend a personal thank-you for taking my wayward brother under your wing.”
Underhis wing? Hah. More like he’d been trying to bat the man away, or at the very least avoid him. “I wouldn’t be so generous as to say that, my lord. Nonetheless, I am happy to be of service.”
“Such modesty is commendable yet misplaced. Because of you not only has our relationship been restored but so has our family honour.” He swiveled his head towards Ezra. “Would you like to tell him, Brother?”
“Indeed.” The same crooked teeth flashed full force in a huge smile cracking across Ezra’s face. “You, Chief Inspector Forge, have been such an excellent example to follow that I have decided to leave behind my vagabond ways and pursue the law.”
He swallowed lest he choke. Stars and wonder! Pursue law? A terrible picture formed in his mind, that of trying to make an officer out of Ezra Catchpole…and his viscount brother had all the clout to make that happen. “Mr. Catch—er—Suthmeer, it is in your best interest when I say that I really don’t think you are well suited for the rough-and-tumble life of an officer.”
“Oh!” Ezra chuckled, slapping the arm of the chair. “As always, you could not be more correct. No, no, I intend to become a solicitor. When you asked me to check into that criminal Mr. Child, I acquired quite the taste for rooting out injustice. I hope to help others right the wrongs committed against them, and as a solicitor, I can do just that.”
Relief shot him to his feet, and he rounded the desk to shake Ezra’s hand. “That is brilliant news! I wish you all the best.”
The viscount stood as well. “Thank you, Chief Inspector, and on that note, we shall bid you good day. Come along, Ezra.”
Ezra gave his hand an extra shake before releasing his hold. “Goodbye, my friend. Perhaps I shall see you in court someday.”
Jackson grinned. “Perhaps you will.”
But as the door shut behind them, that grin faded and he plopped into the recently vacated wingback, face in his hands. That report was due today and he had nothing to show for it. Nothing! He’d be dismissed before he could muster enough resources to track down that villainous driver who’d nearly killed Bella.
Huffing a sigh, he dropped his hands, and then his gaze focused on a thick but neat folder atop his desk, one he hadn’t noticed before. He reached for it and paged through, his jaw dropping lower with each swipe. Smart penmanship filled row upon row, each one stating concisely an offender’s name, date of apprehension and charges, time of hearing and sentence, and the accompanying prison information if applicable. Closing the cover in disbelief, he stalked to the file cabinets. Yet he didn’t need to rummage through drawer after drawer, for each one bore a clear label for what could be found inside…and not a blessed one of them was in code. All made sense, were alphabetized, and were even ranked in chronological order. Harvey had done it. The rotund little meatball in a suit had made order out of chaos. The man was a miracle worker. A genius of administration. A valuable asset that he ought to have employed sooner as his own personal assistant.
And yet he’d dismissed him. Blast! What a mistake. Worse still, he could almost hear the Almighty chuckling at his realisation. Hadn’t He warned Jackson not to be so quick about judging someone’s appearance but to actually stop to listen? For Harvey had told him—repeatedly if memory served right—that his gift was paperwork. Jackson cast a glance heavenward.
I get it, Lord. Don’t judge. Listen.
Snatching the report off the desk, he dashed out of the office and jogged down the stairs to the front counter. “Smitty, I need this sent by courier to Superintendent Hammerhead’s office immediately.” He set down the folder and glanced at the clock. An hour to spare before Hammerhead would call it a day. He tapped his finger on top of the pile. “Make it top priority.”
