“Yes.” In truth, this was one of Gideon’s strengths. Bonham often declared he had the eyes of a night predator.
They crept in and made their way toward a back room whose door was closed, but there was light slipping through the cracks.
As they approached, they heard raised voices.
Gideon hoped this was a good sign, for it could mean the accomplices were sobering and realizing what a mess they had made of Berry’s abduction.
“Get him out of here!” they heard someone, presumably the prelate, shout at Hawthorne. “How could you bring him here, you fool? This was never part of our agreement.”
“Well, our agreement has now changed,” Hawthorne replied, sounding scared and petulant. “Where’s the risk? He’s bound, gagged, and blindfolded. He won’t know where we’ve taken him.”
“But he’s seenyou,” the prelate countered, his voice cracking, as he was obviously infuriated. “He knows you were the one to abduct him. How are you going to stop him from implicating you? And now, you’ve implicatedmein your mess.”
Gideon’s heart stopped.
Were they going to kill Lord Berwick?
One of the accomplices suggested it, but the other pointed out that Berry had seen them too. “And possibly the lad who rescued her can also identify us.”
This second accomplice, whose voice Gideon recognized as Pullingham’s, must have been sobering and finally understood the consequences of what they had done. “We’ll hang for sure if we harm him.”
The prelate groaned. “Get him out of here. Find someplace else to hide him until you figure out what to do. I want no part of this.”
“You officious bastard,” Hawthorne snarled, and must have lunged for the prelate, because both of his accomplices shouted, “No!” and then something thudded to the floor.
There was more panicked chatter between Hawthorne and his friends.
“That’s it, I’m done,” Pullingham said, his bombastic voice once more easily recognized. He had used that imperious tone quite often when demeaning the stewards in Gideon’s establishments.
Gideon and Barrow ducked into an alcove just as both accomplices abandoned Hawthorne and stormed past them. However, with the carriage chased off, Gideon knew the pair might be too scared to walk the streets of Southwark at this hour and decide to return.
They had to act fast.
As soon as the two accomplices left the church by the same side door they had entered, he and Barrow burst into the room.
Gideon went straight for Hawthorne, who had just drawn his pistol. Gideon feared he intended to shoot Lord Berwick and then reload and shoot the unconscious prelate. He tackled Hawthorne and knocked the pistol out of his hand, possibly breaking that fiend’s hand when he resisted, for Hawthorne shrieked in pain.
“This is for Berry,” Gideon muttered, and landed a blow to Hawthorne’s twisted, enraged face.
He was about to hit him again, but Barrow placed a beefy hand atop his fist to stop him. “No, Mr. Knight. He is unconscious. You’ll kill him if you hit him again.”
“Who will care?”
“I will,” the experienced Bow Street Runner said with a surprising amount of compassion. “And so will Lady Berry. Do not beat this man to death.”
Gideon realized he was right.
Berry had fallen in love with the chivalrous orphan side of him, not the ruthless gaming hell owner who lived by a brutal code of the streets.
In truth, he had never killed anyone. There was never a need. Everyone knew he was not afraid to defend himself, and few were strong enough or smart enough to defeat him, although some had tried and suffered the consequences. But those consequences were a loss of business advantages or the usual injuries one might incur after a fight. He had never turned those fights into death matches.
He tempered his rage, although it was a close thing, and he silently vowed to kill Hawthorne if the churl roused and began tossing insults about Berry.
He would not care if Hawthorne insulted him. But if he demeaned Berry? Those would be his last words spoken.
“Mr. Knight,please,” Barrow said with calm authority.
Gideon lowered his arm, knowing this was the gentlemanly thing to do.
