Chapter Twenty-Two
While Althea wasupstairs, Flynn raked through the ashes. Hazelton had been right. There was no cache of jewels. He doubted there ever had been. If documents were what they sought, they were gone in the fire. But somehow, he doubted it was that either. While he surveyed the damage, he gave a slow shake of his head. Enough men had perished already on this wild goose chase. Had Crowthorne killed his partners, Goodrich and Wensley, as he’d said? Or was it a mere threat? If those two men remained above ground, then Crowthorne could be with them now. He must ensure their homes were searched.
As they traveled back to London, Althea informed Flynn dispassionately of her intention to pick up the threads of her old life. She would convey to her staff that they were not married but instead on a secret mission, which required great secrecy.
“No doubt my housekeeper has kept them entertained with her own experience of being held up by a highwayman,” Althea said.
“Which might serve to make them even more nervous,” Flynn said. “You can always come and stay at my home. I will, as I have promised, stay at my club.”
“Thank you, Flynn. But I have no intention of turning you out of your home. Servants witness all sorts of things, and from my experience, always love an intrigue,” she said, gazing at him in a challenging manner.
He raised his brow, wondering again about her marriage. “What sort of intrigue have they witnessed while in your employ?”
Her lashes hid her expression. “Nothing untoward.”
“Really? Maybe you’ll tell me one day.”
She frowned. “I doubt we’ll see much of each other now that Crowthorne has absconded.”
“Perhaps.” He wanted to grab her and kiss her and persuade her otherwise, but he resisted because she appeared so brittle. So he folded his arms, nodded, and kept silent. For what could he offer her? An uncertain life in some heathen country far away from England where a furious King George would no doubt send him as a penance for failing this commission.
She raised her eyes to his. Flynn gazed into the dark sapphire depths attempting to read her expression. “Have you ever been in love, Flynn?”
He hadn’t expected that. She’d put him on the defensive. “I might have imagined myself in love once. But it was calf love.”
“Oh? I wonder why no lady has stirred your heart? You would make a very nice husband for someone.”
Right at this moment, he didn’t want to examine too closely the state of his heart. “You seem to have changed your opinion of me, Althea. I can only be grateful. I have turned from a rake into a dull dog.”
She laughed. “Never a dull dog.” She sobered. “I don’t see that anything further can be done, do you? Surely things will settle down?”
“I wish I could say that for sure, Althea. You must be careful. Don’t go about at night on your own.”
“No,” she said dryly. “I learned that lesson from you, did I not? I might end up back in Canterbury.”
He smiled and shook his head. Still, he would employ someone to watch Althea’s house. He didn’t trust Crowthorne to disappear. The man was like a dog with a bone, he had lost too much to give up now. Flynn judged Crowthorne would evade the law as long as he could while still trying to locate whatever valuable thing he sought. Once he had it, he would disappear onto the Continent.
As the carriage drew up outside her townhouse, Althea turned to him. “Flynn, I am indebted to you. You saved my life. And my cottage is now safe from Crowthorne who will soon be in prison.”
“I would prefer the matter to be at an end. But at least Owltree is no longer in danger.” Flynn thought it prudent not to question her confident assertion. She had enough to deal with, with two damaged properties and not a great amount of capital by the look of it. This business was not at an end, but any chance he might have had with Althea certainly might be.
“I intend to employ workman to repair Owltree,” he said as he stood with her at her door.
“That’s really not necessary, Flynn.”
“But it is.”
“We shall discuss it at a later time.” She nodded to him as Butterworth opened the door. “Goodbye.”
He returned to his carriage, shocked by how wretched he felt, as if he’d lost a part of himself. On reaching home, a pile of invitations awaited him on the console table in the entry, but he walked past them, silencing his butler with a shake of his head.
The next day, Flynn visited Bow Street, where he employed two of their most talented runners, one to go after Crowthorne, the other to find Goodrich and Wensley.
Flynn was relieved to learn King George was inspecting the new works at the Brighton Pavilion, and would not return to London until the end of the week. A breather of sorts, but impossible to turn things to his advantage within a few days.
He and Barraclough met to discuss the outcome of the business at Slough. Barraclough agreed with him that Crowthorne, his cronies, and a cutthroat gang wouldn’t go to such lengths for a few stolen jewels. They would’ve divided them up and sold most of them before Brookwood was killed.
Barraclough had learned, however, that Crowthorne was on the brink of bankruptcy, having lost a good deal of money on a business venture. He’d suffered a further blow to his finances after one of his ships went down in a storm off the African coast. And as he had made his fortune initially in the slave market, without the ability to raise more capital, he had to find a new way to replenish the coffers.
