“Did you know, Mr. Bellow, that Indian cobras can be found in any habitation? Forests, plains, wetlands, dry, villages or cities, it matters not…which is why so many fall victim to the fangs of such a villain. You never know when one will strike.” He pressed the tip to Bellow’s throat. “You never know whenIwill strike. Now, about that meeting with Mr. Child?”
Bellow’s nostrils flared, his chest heaving for breath. “I shall be happy to arrange it.”
“Very good. I am staying in the club room at the Langham. Send word as soon as possible, emphasis on soon. I’ve an incoming shipment in three days. No time to spare when money is to be made. Being a businessman, I’m sure you understand, do you not?”
“Absolutely.” Contempt thickened his voice.
Jackson held the blade to the man’s throbbing vein a moment longer, then sheathed the knife with a smile. “Good day to you, then, Mr. Bellow. Come Shivaji.”
Wheeling about, his grin grew. That hadn’t been so hard…and yet every mountain climb began with easy steps. From here on out the road would be treacherous.
For he suspected Mr. Child would sooner shove him off a cliff than be as easily bamboozled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charles squinted at his pocket watch in the dark alcove of Spenlow & Jorkins’ front doorway. Ten more minutes. Just ten and this part of the plan would be over. And good thing, too. Three in the morning was far too late for standing in the shadows of a tailor’s shop, but such was the life he’d signed up for years ago. Once he married Martha, would she understand his erratic schedule?
Hand covering the hilt of his knife, he scanned the street for any sign of trouble, just as Kit did at his back. Between the two of them, any sort of ambush Child may have set would be snuffed out the moment they detected it.
Across the road, streetlamps flickered off several carriages waiting to haul home their inebriated owners the moment they emerged from the Palace Club, but Charles’ gaze kept drifting to one in particular. Jackson sat in a black enameled barouche, his inky Indian garb stark against the white leather seats and accoutrements. His Punjabi bodyguard stood like a sentinel near the coach’s door, arms folded, a veritable mountain of a man.
Charles blew out a long breath. It was a risky game they played, Jackson in particular. Once Child climbed up to that seat, a quick jab of a knife could end Jackson’s life. And yet Jackson had proved time and again he could handle himself. Charles could only pray to God his friend would once again beat the odds of life and death.
The sound of approaching footsteps stumbled his way. He tensed as a drunk emerged from the darkness and staggered past them.
“What do you think?” he whispered to Kit. “One of Child’s men?”
“Unlikely.”
“How do you know?”
“His gait is too erratic, showing a disconnect from his brain. A sober man trying to look inebriated generally has an unconscious pattern to his steps no matter how hard he tries to do otherwise. And did you get a whiff of him? His gin stink blended with sweat, indicating the alcohol wasn’t merely doused on his garments but ingested. Chances are that tosspot is legitimate, but even so, I’ll keep an eye on him until he disappears.”
Charles frowned. Jackson’s wife knew way more of life than a lady ought to. Once he and Martha were wed, he’d do his utmost to keep her sheltered from such ugly truths…and that day couldn’t come soon enough for his liking.
He shifted his stance, working out a cramp in his leg. “Did Jackson mention I proposed to Mrs. Jones?”
“What?” Kit whirled, blue eyes blazing in the night. “He most certainly did not!”
“Hsst!” He swept the area with a glance. “Keep it down. We’re supposed to be spotting trouble, not causing it.”
Kit huffed as she turned back to her surveillance position. “How did you ask her? What did she say? When is the wedding?” Though whispered, the questions peppered the air like grapeshot.
“I asked her the night I discovered the bo—” He clamped his lips tight. Jackson had asked him and Martha specifically not to mention the bomb to Kit.
“The night you discovered the what?” she pressed.
Blast it! Of course she noticed his slipup, but how to now salvage it in a believable fashion? He tugged at his collar, mind whirring.
“The night I discovered…that I should have brought along a box of chocolates. I was very ill prepared, you see. It’s a miracle she said yes.” He held his breath. Would Kit buy that explanation?
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” she whisper-scolded.
Thunderation but the woman was too keen! He opened his mouth to double down on the chocolate angle, but Kit beat him to the punch.
“You didn’t need to bring Martha chocolates to get her to say yes. It’s plain enough she loves you. You are a fine man, Mr. Baggett, and Martha is the best woman I know. You’re perfect for each other. But I wonder why Jackson didn’t tell me.” She arched a brow at him over her shoulder.
He shrugged, not really surprised his friend hadn’t mentioned the news. Jackson had much more pressing items to deal with. “First Coleman, then Carky, now Child, not to mention he’s only days away from the deadline of sorting through that paperwork for the superintendent. He’s not even been to his office the past two days. All in all, your husband has been a bit preoccupied, I’d say.”
