Jackson grinned and opened the door, where, indeed, a young man stood waiting with the same woman attendant from before, this time in a sky-blue turban.
For the third time, Jackson touched the brim of his top hat and offered his best advice to the other man. “Do yourself a favor and don’t resist.” After all, he’d been soundly defeated and all the happier for it.
Whistling, he strolled down the hall to see to his consolation prize.
“A fine jobwrapping up this case,” Home Secretary Sidmouth said.
Jackson twirled the glass of whiskey the secretary had handed him and sat in the red leather chair in the man’s office. “You can thank Mrs. Dove-Lyon for the arrest and Roberts for the rest.”
The older man chuckled. “You are too modest, Your Grace. I have it on good authority it was your quick thinking during the pub operation that saved the duchess’s life.”
Jackson raised a brow. “You’ve been keeping tabs on my investigation. I think I’m insulted.”
Sidmouth leaned back in his chair behind his desk, a grin on his white-whiskered face. “Don’t take it too hard, my boy. It wasn’tyouI was watching. I see you are confused.” The man barked a loud, “Come in.” His gaze on Jackson, he said, “Let me introduce you to our newest recruit. A man who just passed his last test.”
The inner office door opened, and a young man in a ridiculously high top hat stepped inside.
Tall, reddish hair, dark-blue eyes: Jackson knew the man on sight.
William Greene, Viscount Brixby.
“You look well for a missing man,” Jackson said. He turned in his chair to give the Home Secretary a hard look. “If you’d informed me, I would not have wasted men on the case.”
Sidmouth shook his head. “Given the nature of Lord Brixby’s assignment, no one was to know.” The assignment being covertly observing Jackson’s case, clearly. “Bow Street was warned off, the press was bought off, and all other inquiries were shut down.”
Jackson snorted. “Thorough.” Except for one minor detail. The man clearly hadn’t prepared for one lock-picking duchess.
Jackson found his feet and reached out a hand to shake his brother-in-law’s hand, his tone congenial when he said, “Even a pig farmer would leave his loved one a note.”
Lord Brixby took his hand and smiled. “Are you calling me a swine handler, Your Grace?”
Jackson’s grip tightened. His responding smile bared his teeth. “I do believe I was implying you were lower.”
To his credit, Lord Brixby didn’t wince. “How strange. I’m sure I left my darling sister word that I was to be out of the country for a few weeks.”
Whatever Lord Brixby’s contribution to the Crown, it clearly wasn’t his ability to lie. And yet Roberts hadn’t uncovered Lord Brixby’s involvement with the Home Office in the two weeks he’d been on the case; there was a more cunning and manipulative mind beneath that bad hat than William Greene wished anyone to see.
Jackson was happy to hear it, but that didn’t mean the man was forgiven. “I would be remiss if I did not invite you to supper at the house. Mydarlingwife will surely give you a king’s welcome.”
This time, Lord Brixby flinched. “A kind invitation. I will, of course, come. I’ve but a short errand to run beforehand.”
“Excellent. Six sharp.” Jackson clapped the man on the arm, harder than necessary. “Make sure you aren’t late.” He smiled again. “I’d hate to have tohuntyou down.”
Lord Brixby’s smile shifted into something genuine and feral, and Jackson had the unsettling feeling William Greene may have been the more dangerous of the siblings. “Not to worry, Your Grace. I’ll be there. I never turn down good company.”
“Nor a bloody brawl,” Jackson said.
William Greene, war hero and now agent for the Home Office, laughed, as if Jackson’s quip were the funniest thing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Bogart was transferredto Newgate this morning,” Roberts said.
Charles Bogart, alias,The Printer, was responsible for undermining British currency, and, since his arrest, linked to several local print shop deaths.
“Good,” Jackson said from where he stood by the fire in the library. “The bounder give us any names of his conspirators before the handoff?”
Roberts smiled. “Sheets and sheets.”
