But it was only a lad on the other side, holding out an envelope. “I were told to deliver this, sir.”
“And so you have.” Jackson fished out a coin in exchange for the missive with his name scrawled on the front. “Thank you.”
“What is it?” Kit asked before he shut the front door.
“I’m about to find out.” He shook open the folded paper, turning so he alone could read it.
Change of plans. Martha et al are at my flat. Details when you come to pick up your package.
~ Baggett
His gut twisted. His friend would never have chanced moving the children and Martha unless there had been a dire need. Rage fired along every nerve. If Carky had made a swipe against Bella, so help him, he’d personally wring the woman’s—
“What is it? What does it say?” Kit’s big blue eyes drilled into him.
He shoved the paper into his pocket. If Kit got wind of this, there’d be no stopping her from tearing out of here and hunting down Carky in cold blood. He forced a smile and pleasant tone, neither of which he felt. “Nothing to concern you, love.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “There’s more to it than that, I think.”
Dogged woman! Tipping her face, he kissed her on the nose. “Truly, just some business I must attend when we are finished delivering Coleman. Speaking of which, let’s see if your father has wrangled the man into the armour.”
He tromped past her, and thankfully the next several minutes of gearing themselves up with weapons and cautiously leading Coleman to the waiting carriage derailed any further questions on the matter.
Coleman paused by the carriage door. “I apologize for grousing about the armour. I know you’re trying to protect me, and I appreciate it. Thank you.” Coleman shoved out his hand to shake Jackson’s yet managed to make a muddle of that as well, for their fingers collided awkwardly.
Kit smirked.
Graybone rolled his eyes.
Jackson switched hands, adjusting for the fellow’s left-hand dominance. “You are very welcome, Mr. Coleman, but let’s get you into the carriage now.”
The second that Coleman was safely wedged next to Graybone—the windows on their side of the carriage tightly shuttered—Jackson took the opposite seat alongside Kit and pulled out his pocket watch. Two minutes to spare. So, they sat.
And sat.
Then sat some more.
“Should we not be on the move?” Sweat dripped down Mr. Coleman’s brow. “Are we in trouble already?”
“Calm yer giblets, man.” Graybone shifted, rocking the whole carriage. “If there’s trouble, you won’t have to ask about it.”
“My husband is waiting for the appropriate time, Mr. Coleman,” Kit soothed. “The route is planned so that all three carriages—ours and the decoys—begin at the exact same moment.”
“Which is just…about…” Jackson rapped on the wall. “Drive on!”
Up in the driver’s seat, Constable Quincy immediately roused the horses into a lively trot. They were in good hands with Quincy, for he’d proven himself time and again as the best offensive coach driver of all the squad. Lord knows how many times he’d guided the Black Maria through a riotous crowd with a wagonful of criminals.
Even so, Jackson lifted a prayer. They’d need more than Quincy’s skill to get Coleman safely to the barrister’s house. Kit exchanged a sideways glance with him, each of them silently reassuring the other they were ready, then they both turned to their respective windows, spying for the slightest hint of attack.
By the time they turned onto Eaton Place, stress tied knots in Jackson’s shoulders, yet there was no tangible reason for it. Though the streets were as busy as a kicked anthill, nothing in the slightest smacked of danger. That is until the carriage stopped.
Quincy unfurled a high-flying flag of curses.
And then the carriage took a hard left, veering off the route they’d so carefully planned.
What the devil?
Jackson cracked open the door, hollering up at the man. “What are you doing?”
