Three of the siblings were gathered around the window while Aunt Eliza rested against a chair like a limp rag doll. Her ever-present gossip sheets were scattered about her with one spread across her lap like a blanket. Even as a small child, Eoin had always found her antics ridiculous. But perhaps Aunt Eliza had more cause for her behavior back then. After all, her husband had recently been killed in a duel with his mistress’s husband. His scandalous demise had left her with scads of debts. Her financial woes had only deepened when a ship that her husband had invested in sank. Shortly afterward, her brother died a traitor’s death, and her father decided to instill austerity upon his surviving children.
Of course, Aunt Joan had faced similar trying circumstances when her husband fell from his horse and broke his neck after a night of drunken carousing with her own brothers. He’d been in the middle of an awful gambling streak where, over the course of several weeks, he’d managed to bet and lose most of their sizable fortune, including her generous dowery. AuntJoan had never succumbed to the vapors as frequently as Eliza, but people handle tragedy in different ways. Eliza’s solution had been to retreat inward while Joan had chosen to become more boisterous. She was always leaving home for some gathering or long-extended house parties with her few remaining friends. Eoin was only dimly aware of her schedule. He rarely saw her at major social events, yet she still managed to be gone for longer periods of time than her other siblings.
His uncles, too, were people who Eoin barely noticed. His grandfather had paid them no heed either and considered them spoiled gadabouts. Their allowance had been instantly cut off after his death, and they had to justify any money that he gave them for clothing and entertainment. Eoin’s uncles had to ask permission before using any vehicle—even to drive to nearby Hyde Park.
Eoin’s aunts and uncles surely possessed the need for a stream of income unconnected to the duchy, but Eoin couldn’t imagine any of them presiding over London’s criminal elements. Swounds, they could barely govern their own behaviors.
Aunt Eliza seemed to notice Eoin and Hannah’s entrance first… at least that was what Eoin interpreted from the low moan that she emitted. Her eyes were either half lidded or fully closed—he couldn’t ascertain which.
It was Uncle Hugh, though, who initially turned around. He looked spitefully amused—not the expression of someone whose murderous plans had gone awry. At least, in regards to the amused part. Spiteful would still be fitting.
“I didn’t know you could run that fast,” Uncle Hugh snickered. “I suppose all those exercises that Father forced you to perform ended up having some use rather than just threshing out your wild oats.”
“What exercises?” Hannah asked.
Francis turned around to answer instead of his brother. “Oh, Father was worried that Eoin would become a reprobate like Hugh and me, or worse, a radical like our dearly departed brother. He thought a strict regimen would help release any bad humors before they festered into a permanently spoiled character. I was surprised by your athleticism, Hannah. I wonder if all women could run so quickly if they but wore breeches. Perhaps that’s why our forefathers thought skirts were best for females—to make sure they can’t dash off!”
Francis finished his statement with a jolly laugh as if he’d made a good joke rather than sounding like an unmitigated ass. Eoin debated about rebutting his uncle’s statement, but he figured Hannah could handle it better than he ever could.
“Well, if all fellows shared your level of prowess, then I would say your assessment is likely correct.” Hannah smiled so pleasantly that Francis kept chuckling for a few beats. His face crumpled and darkened when he finally realized her mocking meaning.
“That creature is eating the gammon now!” Aunt Joan grabbed Uncle Hugh’s arm. “What will happen when it eats all the food that the servants tossed at it?”
“We shall all die!” Aunt Eliza screeched before she collapsed backward again, this time throwing her hand over her forehead. She reacted so quickly and so theatrically, Eoin still couldn’t tell if she was merely playacting or if she truly was distraught enough to think that a bear could storm through the house, ravaging them all.
“One of the stableboys has already been sent to buy more meat for Ursus, and I’ve dispatched a messenger to alert a man who is well versed in dealing with wild animals,” Eoin explained.
“How do you know what the bear is called?” Uncle Hugh asked.
Eoin watched the man very closely as he answered the question. After all, he’d used the bruin’s name to see if it elicited a reaction. “Because I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?” Uncle Francis demanded, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. Was he attempting to hide that he, too, recognized the beast?
“Where do you think I would have encountered him before?” Eoin pushed the question back onto his relative.
Uncle Francis immediately puffed up his chest in indignation, but he did not unfold his limbs, choosing to keep himself closed off. “I have no bloody idea! That is why I am asking you!”
“Eoin probably encountered the vermin at some bearbaiting.” Uncle Hugh rolled his eyes. “How else would you espy a bear in London? I highly doubt this one is a member of the royal menagerie.”
“Oh my! I would be much too anxious to attend one of those bloodsports. I simply wouldn’t have the courage.” Hannah pretended to shudder. Even acting, she was less dramatic than Aunt Eliza, who emitted a faint groan as if the entire conversation was distressing her.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a female. Although I hesitate to call you delicate, you still are of the weaker sex. Unlike me, you simply do not possess the fortitude,” Uncle Francis snapped, clearly eager to redeem himself after Hannah had so handily won the last round.
“Have you really been to a bearbaiting? I’ve heard that they are becoming more and more uncommon.” Hannah was sweetness personified, and Uncle Francis buzzed straight toward her honeyed words like a doomed housefly.
“Pushaw. Although there aren’t as many as in my youth or especially as in my father’s, there are still plenty. The BlackBird in Covent Garden is particularly popular, and then there’s the Horse and…erm… Toad.” Uncle Francis stumbled a bit on the last word, and Eoin was certain that his relative was going to say the Horse and Hen.
“That means that you have seen Ursus fight, then?” Eoin swooped in now that Hannah had so expertly led his uncle to reveal that he had frequented the Horse and Hen. Still, that information didn’t make Francis the Purveyor. It was odd that he had clumsily tried to obscure the name of the tavern. If Uncle Francis was the Purveyor would he really be foolish enough to make such an obvious blunder? On the other hand, if Hugh was the mysterious leader, then Francis would likely know. The two shared everything. Of course, that meant that Francis would have managed to keep such a secret for nearly two decades, which seemed highly unlikely.
“No. What? Who? I must say I’m confused.” Uncle Francis tried to cover his discomfort with a chuckle. It did not work.
“Why are you asking my brother so many questions?” Uncle Hugh demanded, physically stepping between his sibling and Eoin. Was Uncle Hugh just trying to defend Francis or was his defensive gesture also about protecting the secrets that the loquacious man might divulge?
“I am simply trying to determine how often Uncle Francis has visited the Horse and Hen. Given its connection to my mother, it is within my interest.” Eoin stepped toward Uncle Hugh. He wanted both him and Uncle Francis to feel cornered.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aunt Joan snapped, but Eoin noticed that she nervously rubbed at her neck. “Why would Francis darken the doors of the place that corrupted our brother? Father would have had his head.”
“Gin?” Hannah asked, and everyone in the room swiveled inher direction except for Aunt Eliza. She was still flopped like a doll—this time one who had lost every bit of her rag stuffing.
