“Come here, boy,” she said urgently.
When he didn’t respond, she dashed to the other rooms, looking for him. No luck. She sprinted back into the main room as voices and heavy footsteps approached the front door. Simultaneously, she heard a soft squeak from overhead; FF II was perched on one of the beams. Snuffing the lantern, she left it on the ground and ran to one of the posts, climbing it quickly. She reached the safety of the shadowed rafters just as the door opened.
Looking at FF II, she placed a finger to her lips. He seemed to understand and scurried to the safety of her shoulders. She pressed into the nook where the wall met the ceiling, her heart pounding as two men entered the room. The blond one with the beard was holding a lamp, and she recognized him from the flash house: Jimmy Bryant, Scott’s right-hand man.
“The room needs to be bigger.” Bryant’s tone was brusque. “Last month, coves were nearly trampled trying to watch the fights, and this time we’re expecting an even larger crowd.”
“But you said the event is this Friday.” The other man scratched his head. “That’s three days from now, guv. Not sure I can—”
“The Wolf’s orders. Do you want to be the bloke who upsets ’im?”
“N-no, sir.” Even in the dimness, the man’s fear was visible. “I’ll, er, take down a wall, expand this room into the others—”
“Mary’s tits, I don’t care ’ow you do it. Just get it done.” Bryant sounded annoyed. “While you’re at it, put in some extra seats. Scott upped the admission ticket to twenty pounds and says the swells expect somefing soft beneath their arses.”
The door squealed open again, and another man appeared. With a rush, Glory recognized the pugnacious face and stocky figure of Farwell.
Bryant looked none too pleased to see the newcomer.
“What the devil are you doing ’ere?” he hissed.
“M-my apologies,” Farwell stammered. “But I ’ave an urgent matter to discuss, and I didn’t know what else—”
“Shut yer bleeding gob. We’ll talk in my carriage.” Turning to the other man, Bryant said tersely, “This place be’er be fixed up by Friday, or ’eads will roll. Understand?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Bryant stalked out, Farwell trailing at his heels.
As the remaining man went to investigate the other rooms, Glory took the opening to clamber down and exit out the back door. Fi and Livy were waiting for her on the gallery.
“Thank heavens you’re all right,” Livy whispered. “We couldn’t see what was going on.”
“That bastard Scott is holding illegal dogfights,” Glory said grimly. “The next event is Friday—the perfect opportunity for us to rescue Sir Barkley and the other dogs.”
Seventeen
Shirtless and seething, Wei took out his frustration on the wooden dummy. Sweat dripped down his face as he punched the inanimate figure. His knuckles were raw and burning, but he didn’t care. The sensation was nothing compared to the pain of letting his family down again.
I thought I picked up a trail. But it led to another dead end. He clenched his jaw. Yet another failure…on today of all days.
Before his lesson with Glory yesterday, he’d gone to Newgate to find the tattooist known as the Don. A guard had stopped him at the gate, stating that an appointment was required for all visits. When he asked to schedule one to see the Don, the guard eyed him suspiciously and questioned his relationship with the prisoner. Wei could only say that he was an acquaintance, and the guard had refused his entry pending an interview with the warden, which could not be scheduled until this morning.
Chomping at the bit, Wei had complied with the bureaucracy. He’d contemplated breaking into Newgate but discarded the plan for being too high risk. Besides, a part of him had believed that yuan fen, or destiny, was at work: today was his sister’s birthday. It would be fitting that on the day Ling Ling had taken her first breath, Wei would finally discover who had made her take her last.
Simmering with anticipation, he’d shown up to meet with the warden…who’d informed him that the Don was dead. Apparently, the cove had passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago. As no kin had come forward to claim his body, he’d been buried in a pauper’s grave.
Progress is an illusion. I think I am getting closer to my vengeance, but it slips like water through my fingers. All this time and I have accomplished nothing.
Wei punched harder, trying to block out his spiraling thoughts. He couldn’t give up—wouldn’t give up. But he didn’t know what to do, how to give his family the peace they deserved. Years of rage welled inside him, and with a roar, he jumped into the air, issuing a spin kick. His foot connected with the dummy’s head, sending it flying across the courtyard.
He landed on his feet, panting, hands fisted at his sides.
“Are we, er, interrupting anything?”
He twisted around to see Hadleigh at the entrance of the courtyard. The duke wasn’t alone. His wife was there…and Glory. She was staring at him with wide eyes, looking so pretty and concerned that desire joined Wei’s swirling emotions.
He struggled to compose himself.
