But the earl and Charlotte had already disappeared around the corner of the corridor.
* * *
After resettling his hat a little lower on his brow, Sheffield took a swig of ale and slanted a look around. Smoke shrouded the taproom, the flickering oil lamps doing little to penetrate the haze. Given the less-than-pristine state of the tabletops and pewter mugs, that was perhaps by design. It appeared that the Golden Galleon had lost its shine several centuries ago.
Sheffield winced as he watched a barmaid hurry by with a tray heaped with bowls of fishy-smelling stew—the only identifiable signs of its contents were several eel tails sticking from the soupy broth. He had not yet given himself the pleasure of dining at the tavern.
“Anudder drink, ducky?” asked the barmaid, pausing on her return to the kitchen. “Or a platter of mussels?”
“Thank you, but no.” However, Sheffield did slide several coins across the sticky wood. “If an urchin comes looking for ‘Sheff,’ bring him to me.” He had chosen a table tucked in a shadowed corner, allowing him to survey the room without drawing notice.
“My pleasure.” She leaned low and tucked the coins down her bodice. “Anything else I can offer you?”
“Not at the moment.”
His reply earned a throaty laugh. “What a pity.” She gave a flounce of her skirts. “Just wave if ye change yer mind.”
As he waited for Raven, he kept an ear cocked to the jabbering voices around him. A group of sailors—one sounded vaguely American—was playing darts in the alcove behind him. The rhythmicthumpof steel against the painted board punctuated the curses uttered in several different languages.
He was so caught up in his surroundings that he wasn’t aware of Raven’s arrival until the boy jabbed a fist rather sharply against his shoulder. “Never woolgather in a public place, sir,” whispered the boy. “You’ve got to stay alert. Trouble can sneak up on you when you least expect it.”
“I’ll remember that,” muttered Sheffield as he slapped the boy’s hand away from his mug. “Any luck?”
The question drew a smug smile. “Swill the rest of your ale and come with me.”
CHAPTER 23
Hawk climbed down from the hackney. “Mr. Tyler, are you sure we shouldn’t send for Lord Wrexford? If you think the ship carrying the specimen might have been delayed—”
“I’ve merely said it’s a possibility, and an unlikely one, so I’d rather not disturb His Lordship until we know for sure,” replied the valet. They had stopped several streets away from the dockyards in order to make their way into the area via one of the many cart paths leading into the loading areas. “There are any number of reasons for a sailing to be put off for a day or two. Shrouds can snap, spars can break . . .”
He led the way into a narrow alleyway. “If perchance the ship is still here, I need for you to corroborate the identity of Becton’s specimen, so we can demand that the shipment be held until word is sent to Wrexford and he is able to arrange for the proper authorities to take official charge of the plant.”
“But—”
Tyler stopped and turned. “Look, you need not come along if it goes against your conscience. However, I feel responsible for all of you being mired in yet another murder, and at a time when Wrexford and Lady Charlotte ought to be free from worries.” A pause. “If I can find the specimen and ensure its safety, then perhaps the two of them will agree we’ve done our part in bringing justice for Becton, and we’ll leave the capture of Daggett to the Bow Street Runners.”
Beneath the brim of his hat, his expression turned even more shadowed. “The sketch will be good enough for me to work from. And I feel that I must at least try.”
Hawk made a rude sound. “If that’s how you feel, then, of course, I’m coming. Friends don’t leave friends in the lurch.”
* * *
Charlotte squinted through a hazy fugue of smoke and stale ale.No luck.Sheffield wasn’t among the men eating and drinking in the wharfside tavern. Wasting no time, she retraced her steps through the fishmonger’s alley and turned into a passageway behind the ship chandlery yard, where Wrexford was waiting.
Her first impulse on catching sight of a ragged stevedore standing in the shadows was to draw the pocket pistol hidden in her jacket. Her second was to choke back a laugh.
“Wherever did you get those disgusting clothes?”
“I traded mine with a fellow who was more than happy to make the exchange,” answered Wrexford.
“No doubt, as he got far the better of the bargain.” She covered her nose. “You stink of mackerel.”
“Lords can’t be choosy when in the territory of beggars.” He readjusted his hat. “I take it you had no luck.”
“No,” she answered, “but if Raven and Sheffield are involved in some intrigue, one of Raven’s urchin friends may have an inkling of what it is. Strings, who picks apart old rope for ship caulking, works not far from here, so let us go ask him.”
Charlotte took the lead and soon spotted the ragamuffin sitting in his usual spot on the Great Wapping dock. “Wait here. I won’t attract undue attention if I go on my own,” she said to the earl. “Oh—and give me a few coins, assuming you didn’t hand over your purse, along with your clothes. Strings looks like he needs a decent meal.”
