“Darcy, do you really think I won’t shoot him myself before anything happened to Miss Bennet?” Fitzwilliam gave him a long look. “You will be impulsive because your nerves are fractured, and that could put everyone in danger. And there is no way you are steady enough now to hit the broad side of that timber shed.”
Darcy wanted to argue, but he felt his hand tensing on the pistol handle. His cousin hated everything about this scheme, but he was still here by his side and willing to do anything asked of him. Silently, Darcy handed it over.
“Let these men do what they came to do,” Fitzwilliam added.
“Not much longer,” Mr Sullivan said while coming to them and clapping Darcy on the shoulder. The man was alarmingly pleasant. “I sent a man ahead dressed as a warehouse worker to survey the timber yard and see how many men are about.”
“Do you think Markle suspects we are coming?” he asked, afraid to express the whole of his fears for Elizabeth.
“He showed no fear of immediately being traced when he kidnapped the lady?” Mr Sullivan asked Fitzwilliam, who shook his head. “Then we will take him by surprise, and he will surrender. They load timber in an open shed on the water, and with offices above. She is likely in there. All the yard workers are gone. Nearby there is only the river and a large dry-house.”
“A dry-house?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“A tall brick structure, an enclosed room where green lumber is subjected to the heat of a fire.” Mr Sullivan’s voice lifted with enthusiasm. “Fascinating process. It dries and hardens the timber. The furnace fire burns and the dry-house gets hotter, and the hot air and smoke leave through the chimney while cool air enters from the firebox at the bottom. The process takes a few days. It can take a full day for the fire to get hot enough to dry the timber.”
Fitzwilliam nodded interestedly. “How do they keep the sawn planks from catching fire?”
“Oh, they stack the timber on a slatted floor.” To Darcy’s annoyance, Mr Sullivan sounded as though nothing in this life could be more interesting than drying wood. “The fire is below and is stoked from the outside.”
Mr Sullivan not only could not stop moving his feet or his hands, but when he found a subject of interest, he would talk at length. Darcy was of half a mind to be grateful for the distracting chatter and in the next moment was ready to strike him.
Maybe itwaswise that he not carry a pistol.
Darcy blew out a breath. He could not allow his anxiety for Elizabeth to cause him to lose his wits. He had to be calm for her sake. When it was dark, he would confront Markle. Markle would be arrested, and Elizabeth would be back in his arms.
“The cut timber sits atop the slats, you see, through which the heated air from below circulates more or less freely. Fascinating,” Mr Sullivan repeated. “Such an element of danger,though. They are built in isolated positions close to water to mitigate risk.”
Just when Darcy felt certain to lose his patience with Mr Sullivan’s singular interest, they heard someone coming from the yard. They had not lit their lanterns yet, and it was not until Mr Sullivan’s man was near that they saw he was not alone, and was dragging along a small boy.
“Kirby,” Darcy whispered.
The man who found him gave him a rough shove into the centre of their group and said, “I found him lurking by the woodshed. Two men were at the bottom of the stairs and were joined by Markle before I got there. I might have seen more had this one not been underfoot.”
“Did you see Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked hurriedly.
The officer shook his head, but Kirby answered, “I heard her voice, though. She was talking to my uncle before this one?—”
“Markle is your uncle?” Mr Sullivan interrupted.
“We fear the boy is helping him,” Fitzwilliam said. “He might have told them we were coming.”
Mr Sullivan swore while Kirby gave Darcy a bleak look. “I did not!”
Darcy wanted to believe him, but there was too much at stake to let his decisions be influenced by his wishes. “You were supposed to be on your way to Sheffield.”
“I had to help,” Kirby said, raising his chin. “I know where my uncle works along the Thames. He stores brandy casks in Lett’s warehouse in return for leaving one behind. I came to see if he brought Nan here, and then I was going to tell you where to find her. Then I could help you pretend to trade us.”
Fitzwilliam scoffed. “You cannot take Markle by surprise now, Mr Sullivan. Miss Bennet may not even be here if Kirby told them Darcy was coming for her.”
“Sheishere.” Kirby insisted, a few angry tears in the corner of his eyes. “I heard her voice, and I might have heard more if that man had not pulled me away.”
Mr Sullivan idly flipped the shutter on the dark lantern open and closed. He was muttering to himself, and it sounded to Darcy as though he was arguing the pros and cons of pursuing Markle tonight. The man could keep neither his hands nor his mouth still.
The excise officers were huddled together, and Fitzwilliam had his arms crossed and was glaring at Kirby. Out of the side of his mouth, his cousin said, “You thought you could control everything in this situation, and now look where it has got you.”
Darcy drew back. “This plan to stop Markle was not about a need for power or my subjugating anyone else.” That sounded more like the murdering smuggler than him.
“But you do like to have your own way.”
