Clayton Pierce burst through the door, green eyes blazing. “Hey ho,” he cried, slamming a bumper of ale in front of Ben, the contents slopping over the side onto the scarred oak. “Bess is bringing your pies. Did I miss anything?”
Ben rolled his eyes while Roger repeated the news. He was closest to Clayton out of all his brothers, and he envied the man his natural vivacity and charm. He hated to admit it, but Ben had been relieved when Clayton had found Genie, his fiancée. They would marry next month.
“That’s demmed excellent!” Clay pulled the cap from his auburn hair. “Well done, Lynch.”
Roger beamed at the praise. “Eli’s left Bow Street, and I started last week.”
First a man of all jobs for the O’Briens, he was now part of the investigative team. One of the requirements to be a Peeler was experience as a Runner. Ben knew Roger would shine. He was clever, hardworking, and loyal.
“How’s Miss Chapelle?” asked Ben. “I assume she is making her own dress?”
“Miss Chapelle?” Clayton rolled his eyes.
“I’m still on solicitor manners. How is Genie, then?”
“I don’t know how a woman can spend so much time with a needle,” said Clayton, shaking his head.
“Because she’s a modiste, and it’s how she earns a wage?” asked Ben, arching one brow. “Will she continue running her shop with her aunt after you’re married?”
“Can you imagine me telling her no?” A sheepish smile covered Clayton’s face. “She’s already said that, even when she’s with child, she can still wield a needle and thread.”
Ben slapped his brother on the back as the three men laughed. Clayton was another reason Ben had decided to consider marriage. He’d never seen Pierce this content, this satisfied with his life. Ben envied him—and Sam and Harry.
“I’ve been lurking,” began Clayton, waving the old wool cap in the air to indicate part of his disguise. “It seems with The Vicar’s top men falling from grace—or the gallows—there is some fighting over who will move up.”
“With the way he’s losing trusted men, I’d think they’d run the other way,” said Roger. “The odds don’t seem to favor being next to the boss.”
“Exactly what the problem is. No one wants to be the next martyr. A couple of them are even trying to find a way out.” He paused as Bess entered with Ben’s meal. The pretty barmaid scanned their faces, disappointment on her face. “Sorry, luv, Gus isn’t coming tonight.”
She shoved a brown curl into her mobcap and thrust her chin out. “Why should I care whether he comes or goes?” Which they all knew was a big fat whisker. It was no secret that Bess held a torch for Gus, who could think of no other woman except Nora. But the triangle did not close since Nora only loved Gus as a brother.
Once they were alone again, Clayton continued, “I suspect the two who want to try a different path will soon be floating in the Thames. No one walks away from The Vicar’s congregation.”
“What a lovely thing to look forward to,” groaned Roger. “I heard he knows about the Peelers being involved.”
Clayton nodded. “Afraid so. We’ll have to be more careful. Seems our friend Rowlands wants to be the next napper to replace Mason. Harry will be indispensable with his talent for disguises. I’ve actually run into him before and not recognized him.”
Ben licked his fingers and finished the first pie. The crust was flaky with just the right amount of crunch. The steak and kidney mixed into the rich brown gravy dripped onto the plate. He dipped the corner of the second pie into the brown puddle and took another bite. “The sooner his identity is discovered, the safer London will be.”
Later that night, lying in bed, Ben wondered about the villain the Peelers had chased for so long. They knew he had his fingers in several pots, the largest—that they knew of—was counterfeiting. The forged banknotes had surfaced outside of Great Britain, returning to the London banks from India. A place where the Crown had interests and investments. But who had received them first and from whom?
Angus discovered the payees on the notes were difficult to track down, so they were most likely aliases. So a man accepting the counterfeit notes had to have an accomplice within a bank in order to cash them. Had those taking the notes known they were counterfeit? Or were they given as bribes for some reason?
His eyes drooped close, and soon, he was dreaming of a beautiful Indian girl with black hair and deep-violet eyes. She wore a colorful sarong that clung to her body, dancing in slow undulations, her long graceful arms beckoning. There were bangles on her wrists that clinked as she moved.
Woof!
He peered on either side of the beautiful woman, looking for a dog. Was it part of the performance?
Pop!
Woof!
He opened his eyes with a smile on his face, then realized the sound had come from the window. He threw back the counterpane and dashed to the window, throwing up the sash just as the little terrier let out another bark.
“You were sleeping sound, Mr. Cooper,” said Miss Felton, smiling up at him. “I thought I might have to ask the landlady to knock on your door.”
Gazing down on her, Ben’s mind redressed her in the clothes she’d worn in his dreams. Heat rushed through him, both desire and embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I was in the middle of a dream, but the dog’s bark was misplaced. I think it’s what woke me up.”
