“He might have noted someone lurking when he drove into and out of the street. It is worth asking, anyway.”
“He will have seen nothing.” Haywood sprang to his feet, anger pushing aside courtesy. “I have heard that you are a stubborn lout and won’t let a thing go once you have your teeth in it. The description is apt, I find.”
I rose beside him. “Which is how I’ve helped my Runner friends arrest the correct murderers and saved those wrongly accused.”
“Good God, you think much of yourself.” Haywood checked his tone as the ladies, including Donata, turned heads our way. “Forgive me, sir. This whole business has upset me. I mean no insult.”
His half apology was his way of preventing me from calling him out. If he’d heard that I was a stubborn lout, he’d have also heard I was a dead shot.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I am certain it has been unsettling. If you assist me, we can restore our mutual friend home, and you will have nothing more to worry you.”
Haywood shot me a dark look. Denis likely had a stranglehold on this man, which neither Denis’s freedom nor his death would loosen.
“Very well,” Haywood said ungraciously. “I will tell my coachman to expect an army officer to interview him.”
“At a convenient time for you, of course.” I gave him a bow. “Send word to me at South Audley Street when he is free.”
“I will do so. Good night, Captain. Mrs. Lacey.” He turned to the ladies and gave them a collective bow, bidding them all farewell.
I followed Haywood from the box to the sitting room beyond, where Lady Aline reposed, sipping a glass of sherry. Haywood bowed to her with practiced deference and departed.
“Well?” Aline asked me once the footman who manned the door had shut it firmly. “Did you discover what you needed?”
I sank into the chair beside her, not ready to face any more opera at the moment. “Not really, but it was somewhat helpful. Thank you.”
“Mmm.” Aline took another sip of sherry. She might appear to be languid and sleepy but her gaze on me was keen. “You will tell me all later, won’t you, dear boy?”
I had to assure her that, indeed, I would.
I stayed with Lady Aline for a time, but my encounter with Haywood had rendered me restless, and I soon excused myself. I left the room, winding my way downstairs and out of the opera house to the cold air on the portico outside. I often did such a thing, so no one would remark upon my absence.
Brewster materialized out of the shadows as I leaned against one of the portico’s massive pillars, drawing a long breath. Covent Garden market beyond the opera house was quieter now, but plenty of people moved about the large square between me and the pleasingly simple church on the other side.
Before Brewster could say a word to me, a carriage drew close to my pillar. Several large men climbed down from its top, but Brewster so swiftly stepped in front of me that I could not see who they were.
“Go back inside, guv,” Brewster ordered. “Now.”
“’E just wants to talk, mate,” one of the men said—to Brewster, not to me.
“Who does?” I demanded. Brewster’s advice was likely sound, but my irritation at the interruption, not to mention my curiosity, kept me in place.
The carriage door opened, and a man in a wool greatcoat, calfskin breeches, boots, and a low-crowned hat stepped from it. The shade of his hair was lost in the darkness, as were the color of his eyes. Those eyes held strength, however, far more than Mr. Haywood’s had.
I’d never seen him before.
“I do,” the man said. “Well met, Captain Lacey.” His tone was friendly, his accent that of someone who’d practiced smooth speech all his life rather than being raised to it.
“Sir.” I gave him a polite nod around Brewster, who would not budge. I instinctively didn’t trust this fellow with his ruffians, but I’d learned not to disdain any source of information. “Why did you wish to speak to me?”
“Name’s Arthur, William Arthur.” Mr. Arthur seemed unsurprised when I betrayed no recognition. “I’ve come to give you a bit of advice.”
“You may give it,” I said. “It will be up to me whether I follow it.”
The man chuckled. If I’d met him in a pub, I’d think him congenial, but in the darkness of Covent Garden at midnight, surrounded by his bullies, it was a different matter.
“Let Jimmy Denis hang,” Mr. Arthur said, his manner still companionable. “He’s overreached himself, and he’s finished. Cease trying to prove his innocence and offer him your goodbyes. I promise I won’t forget whatever you do in the days to come.”
Chapter 14
