“Since when, Silas? Since you got your hands under her skirts? She ismy sister.”
Silas drew himself up. “Sincealways, Benedict. Since forever.”
Silence descended over the room, and Starling took a deep drag of his cheroot, glancing curiously between the two men.
He ambled between them, flicking the end of his smoke into the fire.
“Well, that settles it then, doesn’t it.” He clapped Benedict on the shoulder with a mirthless grin.
“Congratulations on your sister’s upcoming nuptials. I am sure she will be most agreeable, once we find her and save her from the inconvenience of being abducted.”
Benedict blinked, tearing his eyes away from Silas with a growl.
“Shall we be off then?” asked Starling, shrugging into a grimy coat and tying a soot-stained neckcloth around his throat.
“You know where to find her?” asked Silas cautiously, still watching Benedict out of the corner of his eye.
“I reckon I know where Warwick will be headed. Let us go and ruin his night.”
Benedict stepped past Silas, his silence most telling, but at least he was moving towards the door.
“Agreed,” said Silas, following Starling as the man transformed himself from a gentleman into a man of the streets.
“But what in God’s name are you wearing, man?”
“A disguise, of course,” shot back Starling with a sly wink.
* * *
Within the hour, Silas found himself hidden in the shadows behind a dockside tavern, the stench of offal and human waste assaulting his nostrils as he cautiously shifted his boots in the muck.
“Who are we waiting for?” he asked Starling, who was leaning against the alley wall with nonchalant ease, Benedict on the other side.
“There is a man who frequents this fine establishment, a well-known ruffian of the worst kind, who has been flashing far too much blunt than is good for him.”
Starling jauntily lit another cheroot, blowing the smoke up into the hazy air.
The man seemed to be enjoying himself far too much.
“After one too many drinks, I managed to get some information on the source of his windfall. A certain lord, or one of his description, had hired him to put the fear of God into some society miss.”
“Hmm,” grumbled Benedict, pushing his beaver hat down on his head. “It seems too easy.”
“Well, yes,” agreed Starling. “But his sort is not renowned for making the best decisions. Very easy to pry the tale out of him when the gin is flowing and barmaids are flashing their tits for an extra coin.”
Starling peeked around the corner, searching for something, it seemed. “It was also mentioned that the Lord in question refuses to meet with him in public, preferring to fetch him here at the back of the tavern with a coach for a more private tête-à-tête.”
“Ah,” said Silas, “and you think he will make an appearance tonight?”
Starling glanced back, the whites of his eyes flashing in the moonlight. “If you had kidnapped a woman and were holding her for nefarious reasons, would you take her home and serve her tea, or stash her somewhere no one would think to find her.”
Benedict sighed, low and frustrated. “Thank you, Starling. We are forever in your debt.”
“Now, now. Let’s save the party for later, shall we? We have work to do first.”
In the alley’s grime, the men laid out their plan.
Silas could only hope they didn’t have long to wait before Warwick made his appearance.
