“Florian,” Liverpool said, his eyes locking onto him and ignoring Henry and Lady Juliette as if they weren’t even there. “A word, if you will.” He swallowed and took a sharp breath. “Right away.”
Liverpool’s urgency and blatant disregard for proper manners increased Florian’s unease tenfold. “Of course.” He glanced at Lady Juliette and at his brother. “Please excuse me a moment.” He moved a few paces away from where they stood and gave them his back as he stepped as close as he could to Liverpool. “What is it?”
“I just received word from an apothecary surgeon in the Camden area. A Mr. Tibs?”
“I’m familiar with the name,” Florian said, the unease he already felt now pricking at the nape of his neck.
“He believes we might have a serious case of typhus on our hands.” Liverpool’s words were hushed but firm. “He claims he’s already seen two patients from St. Giles, both of whom were showing symptoms.”
The unease became an all-encompassing numbness and the world seemed to still around him. A roaring silence echoed in Florian’s ears while he thought of his previous encounter with the disease. He blinked, felt his chest contract against a deep exhalation of breath. And then the rush of music and chatter from inside the ballroom, the feel of the breeze against his skin and the keen awareness of imminent danger assailed him as his senses awoke to his surroundings.
His jaw tightened and medical intuition took over, banishing the fear. “Where are the patients now?”
“The message didn’t say.”
Florian gave Liverpool a hard look. “I need to see them immediately.” Because if Mr. Tibs was right, then time was of the essence. Typhus was not the sort of thing to take lightly. It took several days for symptoms to show and often resulted in death.
With this in mind, he quietly said, “Let’s keep this between the two of us for now. The last thing we want is unnecessary panic.”
“Agreed,” Liverpool muttered.
Florian glanced over his shoulder at where his brother and Lady Juliette were still standing. Although they were chatting amicably, he noticed that her attention remained fixed on him with the sort of tenacious curiosity he’d rather do without at the moment.
“Can you have a carriage readied?” he asked Liverpool.
“Of course. Give me ten minutes.”
They parted ways and Florian took a deep breath, schooled his features and returned to his companions. “I’m afraid something has come up. A matter I must attend to right away.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope,” Henry said.
“No,” Florian told him as easily as he would deny any connection to Bartholomew. “Just a couple of patients in need of treatment.”
Lady Juliette’s eyes narrowed and he sensed she didn’t believe him. Not completely. So he hastened to bid her and his brother a continued good evening, and then strode away quickly, before she could question him further.
Bartholomew poured himself a large glass of brandy and took a seat in his favorite armchair. When he’d had to start over, he’d been prepared, killing the man he’d been for over three decades and claiming a new identity as William Mortedge. A humorless grin tugged at his lips. Bartholomew might be dead, but Mortedge was very much alive.
“Florian was there this evening, just as we predicted,” Bartholomew said, addressing Mr. Smith, his most trusted employee.
“Did he recognize you?”
Bartholomew sipped his drink, savoring the spicy flavor as it trickled slowly down his throat. “Yes. I’m sure of it. Looked like he wanted to rip my throat out.” He smacked his lips together and smirked. “I was lucky the crowd prevented him from getting to me.”
Mr. Smith narrowed his gaze. “What’s the next step?”
“We toy with him. Let him wonder if it really was me he saw. Keep him on edge.” Bartholomew set his glass aside on a table. “And we try to uncover his weaknesses so we’re ready to make him suffer when the time comes.”
“You want his punishment to drag out then?”
“He deserves it.” Bitterness made Bartholomew’s chest tighten. “Had it not been for his interference last year, I would have gotten my hands on that house Amelia Matthews bought. We’d already pushed her hard. I doubt it would have taken much more to make her abandon her dream of opening a school there.” He scoffed. “But Florian couldn’t resist the urge to hurt me for something that’s not even my bloody fault!”
“Perhaps you should tell him the truth,” Mr. Smith suggested.
“It won’t solve anything.” Bartholomew sighed. “That house, located where it is on the edge of St. Giles, offered the perfect opportunity for me to start taking over Guthrie’s territory.” He clenched his jaw. “Florian ruined everything when he chose to tell Coventry about my tax evasion. God knows how he knew about that, but it was the only thing I could be charged with at the time. It gave Coventry the reason he needed to seek the king’s help with my arrest. And after that everything fell apart.”
“You were lucky to find a man who was willing to hang for you.”
“He was dying anyway. Promising I’d look after his family once he was gone ensured his cooperation.” Bartholomew glanced at Mr. Smith. “Most people can be bought at the right price.”
