Satisfied this was the case, he added the file to the stack Samantha would give to Kendrick, climbed back into bed, and gave his attention to his meal.
29
Rain tumbled over the roof behind the Fox’s Burrow Tavern and spilled onto Peter Kendrick’s head. The hat he’d elected to wear did little to keep him dry, the water that dripped from the brim splashing the tip of his nose.
He muttered a curse and prayed Mrs. Croft would soon arrive. It was stupid of him to head out in this weather. He should have delayed their meeting as soon as the first sounds of thunder had rumbled through the chilly night air.
Pressing closer to the building, he adjusted his greatcoat collar, then retrieved the silver cheroot case he carried, along with a flint. It took numerous attempts to create a spark, the wind and rain a constant hindrance, before he was able to savor the taste of freshly rolled tobacco.
Smoke mingled with his ghostly breath as heexhaled through his nose, his attention already shifting to the sound of approaching footsteps, of leather-soled shoes splattering water. A cloaked figure rounded the corner, and Peter took a quick final drag as he straightened then tossed the cheroot into the murky street.
“I have what you asked for.” Mrs. Croft’s voice was low, measured. Instead of pushing her hood back, she remained wrapped in shadows, like an unearthly creature without a face.
She raised her arm and Peter saw that she held a satchel toward him. He took it, a little surprised it wasn’t stuffed to the brim, full of material. “Is this all?”
“I was unable to pilfer more without drawing attention, but you needn’t worry. The satchel contains the most damning information I was able to find.”
As long as it was enough to bring Croft to justice.
An unexpected degree of concern for Mrs. Croft gripped him. He stared at her, fully aware of the danger she faced if caught. “Does Croft know you took these?”
“What do you think?” No hint of friendliness in her voice. It was clear she wanted nothing more than for him to bugger off. “I trust this concludes our arrangement?”
Reminding himself that she was an agent, trained to suppress all emotion and kill if need be, he cursed himself for worrying over what happened to her. “As long as it contains what I need.”
A quick nod and then she was striding away, her long cloak swirling around her legs as the rain closed around her. Peter chose to head in the opposite direction,toward High Holborn, from which he was able to hail a hackney.
It was already late afternoon and the files Mrs. Croft delivered last night had still offered nothing useful. Peter had been reviewing them since seven o’clock in the morning, and it was now approaching late afternoon.
So far, the most damning thing he’d found was the mention of crates containing various bottles of cognac, wine, and champagne being smuggled into the country through Deerhaven Park.
The enterprise had been titledFishing Profitsand the details of it were hardly surprising. It was one of the many ways he and Sir Nigel suspected the Crofts earned their fortune. And while it could theoretically lead to transportation or even death for those involved, the vague details contained within the file would make a conviction near impossible to obtain. A capable barrister would have the means to ensure all charges were dropped the same day.
Peter slumped against his chair with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was starting to hurt. Probably because of the difficulty he was having in deciphering the penmanship used to keep all the records. It was the messiest scrawl he’d ever encountered.
He rubbed his eyes, straightened his spine, androlled his shoulders. Eating would probably help since he’d not had more than the bread roll he’d purchased nine hours ago on his way to work.
His stomach grumbled and he pushed himself out of his chair. A couple of minced-meat pies would likely work wonders. That and a large cup of coffee.
A quick trip to the nearest bakery took care of the pies. They weren’t fresh, unfortunately, but that didn’t matter at this point as long as they eased his hunger. He returned to his Bow Street office, grabbed his cup and went to refill it, only to find the coffee urn empty.
“Everything all right?” Constable Lewis poked his head through the doorway. He must have heard Peter’s curse.
Peter glanced at the younger man in surprise. He hadn’t realized he was still here. His shift should have ended an hour ago. “Looks like I’ll have to boil more water.”
Lewis knew better than to suggest Peter have some tea instead since Peter hated the stuff. It tasted like swill.
“I can do that for you, if you like.”
“Shouldn’t you be on your way home?”
A small shrug and then Lewis stepped into the room. “The fellow I share my lodgings with has invited a few mates to visit. They’re all right, I suppose, but it does mean the space is too cramped for my liking. I’m in no hurry to return there.”
“In that case, I’ll take you up on your offer. Thank you.” Peter prepared to leave him to it but stopped toadd, “If you like, you’re welcome to help me review some files I’ve received. It’s not any fun, but it’ll help pass the time.”
“I’m happy to assist in whatever way I can,” Lewis said. He was already filling a pot with water. “I’ll bring the coffee as soon as it’s ready.”
The pies helped soothe the ache in Peter’s stomach. His headache also vanished soon after he was done eating. And the hot coffee, brewed to perfection, was precisely what he needed to chase away his exhaustion. Lewis’s company was also welcome. It made for a more tolerable work environment since Peter now had someone with whom to share his opinions. It expedited the process too.
