“Your Grace,” he said. “You are wanted back in the salon.”
Theo turned to April. “Go to my aunt. I will join you soon.”
She nodded and watched him go.
Back in the salon, the servants had not moved, but one of the stable boys—a lad of no more than twelve—was weeping.
“He confessed,” the steward murmured as Theo approached.
Theo’s gaze fixed on the boy. “What did he say?”
“A man came yesterday. Rugged face. Coat all dust. Paid the boy a pound to do it.”
Theo closed his eyes then opened them slowly.
The boy sobbed harder. “He said it was just a jest. He said it wouldn’t hurt no one!”
Theo’s voice was flat. “He knew what he was doing.”
The steward nodded.
“He will not remain here,” Theo said. “He is to be escorted from Kent before sundown. I’ll not have him near my family again.”
The servants all stood stiff as he turned to them.
“If I discover that anyone else was involved—if even one of you knew and kept silent—you will wish you had confessed when you had the chance.”
Several recoiled. One dropped his eyes to the floor.
Theo turned to Redmond. “Ensure every window, gate, and door is inspected. I want a full account of who enters and exits this house. Anything out of place, you report to me.”
Redmond gave a tight nod. “It will be done.”
Theo turned once more, walking out of the salon and into the cool shadow of the hallway. The girth still dangled from his fingers.
No more shadows. No more near misses. It ends now.
Thirty-Nine
Two nights later, the hooves of Theo’s horse struck hard against the road, their beat echoing like war drums through the stillness of the countryside. A sharp wind rushed across the landscape, stinging his face and tugging at his coat as if urging him onward. Beneath the wool, snug and certain at his side, lay his flintlock pistol—primed, loaded, and cold against his ribs.
He reached the Bow Street Runners’ outpost just before midnight. A lantern swung from the eaves, casting a wavering halo of amber across the damp cobblestones. The silence was thick, the kind that suggested something was already in motion.
Elderman was waiting, flanked by two other officers dressed in dark coats and worn boots. Their breath rose in white puffs as they turned to Theo with grim expressions.
“You’re late,” Elderman said, glancing up from the pistol he’d been inspecting.
“I’m precise,” Theo replied, dismounting with ease. “Where?”
“The cove near Hawthorn Cliff. They’ve used it before. We have it surrounded, but we waited for them to begin unloading. The Crown prefers results to whispers.”
Theo gave a terse nod. “Then let’s see it done.”
The ride to the cove was brief but heavy with anticipation. The horses moved in near silence, and each man carried the burden of expectation on his shoulders. Theo’s thoughts churned beneath his outward calm.This ends tonight. It must.
The cove came into view—a crescent of cliff and shingle, black as pitch. The sea lapped at the shore with rhythmic ease, as if unaware of the violence about to unfold. Down below, ghostly shapes moved under the dim spill of lantern-light: men with crates, barrels half-buried in the surf, and a low craft tethered to a rock outcrop.
Elderman raised a hand.
