“Good God, this isblood!” she suddenly exclaimed, fingering a dark patch on the front of his coat.
“Don’t get all argy-bargy. It ain’t—it isn’t—mine,” protested Raven. “I’m trying te explain—”
“If the lad isn’t hurt, let him tell us what’s happened,” ordered Wrexford. To Raven he added, “As quickly as you can, but try not to leave out any important details.”
The boy squirmed free of Charlotte’s hold. “Me ’n Pudge were the ones keeping watch on White’s. Lord Kirkland left right after eight.”
Sheffield nodded in confirmation
“He didn’t hail a hackney but headed north on foot, by wayof Dover Street. At the corner of Hay Hill, another man came around the corner from Berkeley Street and hailed him. They spoke fer a few moments—friendly-like as far as we could tell. We didn’t want te get too close and give ourselves away.”
“Wise thinking,” said Wrexford. “Go on.”
“They fell in step together and walked fer a bit before cutting through the passageway on the east side of Bruton Lane, which brought them to a cul de sac running along the back of two buildings on Hay’s Mews.”
The earl knew the place. Even Mayfair, with its elegant streets and thoroughfares, had a maze of twisting passageways threading through the neighborhood, which allowed for the coal mongers and nightsoil men to do their business without offending highborn sensibilities.
“Lord Kirkland and the other man entered the one on the right,” continued Raven. “I found a place te hide behind some broken crates, while Pudge scarpered around te the front of the place te make sure they didn’t leave that way. We weren’t there more than five minutes when the other man came out the back entrance, moving quick-like, but taking care te keep te the shadows. He passed close te where I was crouched and tossed something into the jumble of crates, then disappeared around the corner.”
“Did you see what he threw away?” asked Sheffield.
“O’course I did,” answered Raven as he drew a knife from inside his coat, dried blood still clinging to the blade.
Charlotte paled.
Thinking, no doubt, of how the boy had been within a hairsbreadth of the man who had wielded it, gauged Wrexford. But there wasn’t a moment to spare for sympathy. Time was of the essence.
“Where’s Pudge?” he demanded.
“I set him te watching the rear of the building while I came te fetch ye.”
Grabbing up the other pistol from its case, the earl looked to Sheffield. “Stay here. When Tyler returns tell—”
“Be damned with that!” cut in his friend, holding out his hand for one of the weapons. “I’m coming with you.”
“As am I,” said Charlotte.
A deciding argument would only waste precious seconds; Wrexford passed over a pistol. “I’ll allow you to lead us to the spot, Weasel, but after that you’re to come back here and wait for Tyler.”
“I ain’t!” responded the boy.
The earl caught him by the scruff of his coat. “Yes, youare. I’ll have your word on it, or in you go to the storage closet.” He swung Raven around. “As you see, it has a bloody big lock.”
Raven’s next words weren’t a promise.
“Very well, lad.” He took a step toward the heavy oak portal.
“Oiy, oiy! I swear to it.”
“Then let us fly.”
Following Raven’s lead, they scrambled out through the window and trooped swiftly and silently through the winding byways. On approaching the entrance to the cul de sac, the boy slowed and gave a low whistle.
An answering one cut through the gloom.
“That’s Pudge,” confirmed the boy. “This way.”
The urchin popped up from within the spiky silhouettes of broken slats. “Nuffink—nobuddy’s come or gone,” he reported.
