He shook aside the memory and entered the space, his gaze immediately sweeping toward the long solid table that stood in the center. Eleven chairs surrounded it. In his mind’s eye, each was filled as it had been during his previous visit, including by Samantha. She’d claimed the spot left by Wycliff after his death — a seat located directly to Adrian’s right.
He could still see the sparkle in her blue eyes as she listened to him outline his plan. A nearly impossible attempt at clearing both his name and hers. Yet they had succeeded, only for her to…
A growl slipped past his lips.
“We’ll get her back,” Murdoch said, his voice quiet. “Whatever you need, I’ll help. I’m sure the others will too.”
Adrian nodded and crossed to the chair that stood at the head of the table. His chair. He pulled it out and sat. Murdoch assumed his seat as well. Silence ensued, until Maud arrived with their food.
They ate, neither saying much, and were almost finished when Simmons, Fitzherbert, and Aderlay arrived. Simmons, who assisted Doctor Fellowes in the St. George morgue and who’d often cleaned up an unfortunate incident for the Crofts, greeted Adrian with a solemn expression, then took his seat.
“I don’t like bein’ threatened,” Fitzherbert said.
The man, known for successfully making even the most stubborn person speak, had always made Adrian’s blood run cold. He did his best to suppress that feeling and faced him with all the power behind his name. “I needed to make sure you’d come.”
Fitzherbert held his gaze for longer than what was comfortable before quietly moving on to his spot at the table. Aderlay, the forger, appeared to gulp down a breath before sending Adrian a quick nod in greeting and rushing to claim his own seat.
“Only five more to go,” Murdoch said. Adrian sent him a sharp look and was almost pleased by Murdoch’s lack of response. While it was good to be feared, there was also a lot to be said for establishing the kind of relationship based on respect. Adrian shared that with Murdoch more than with the rest. Perhaps because they collaborated more frequently.
The sound of footsteps drew Adrian’s attention. He looked toward the door where Burton, Ellis, Lee, and Taylor soon appeared. Like the rest of the men, each had their own forte.
Burton was a thief who specialized in art. According to him, the print of St. George on Horseback by Albrecht Dürer that hung on display at The British Museum was a forgery while the genuine article hung in the Earl of Elmhurst’s private gallery.
Ellis was a master of disguise who could play any role from a chimney sweep to a French count. Lee, a veritable charmer, ran a counterfeiting operation involved in producing both banknotes and bonds, while Taylor sponsored most of the bawds in London. If there was a brothel, chances were it was opened by Taylor, who took a percentage of its earnings.
The four new arrivals greeted Adrian and took their seats. He stared at the chair that remained empty and asked of no one in particular, “Where’s Chapman?”
“I’ve no idea,” Aderlay said. “Last time I saw him was here, during our last meeting.”
“Could be he doesn’t like bein’ threatened either,” Fitzherbert suggested.
Adrian shifted his attention and sent his gaze down the length of the table. Whatever was in his expression, it made the other men straighten. No one uttered a word.
“We’re facing a new threat,” Adrian told the assembled group. It would have been good to have an explosives expert on the team, but if Chapman couldn’t be here — if he’d chosen not to come — they’d bloody well manage without him. “Are any of you familiar with an Irishman who goes by the name Finn O’Leary?”
Silence swept through the room. Stillness prevailed, and then someone carefully asked, “Why are you bringing him up?”
Adrian’s gaze shot toward Lee. “Because he’s here, in London, and needs to be dealt with.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Lee’s complexion had paled by several degrees.
Curious, Adrian folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Sounds like you’ve heard of him.”
Lee hesitated briefly before admitting, “The O’Learys are a fairly notorious lot in Ireland. It would be hard not to hear of them. ’Specially in my line of work.”
“I thought you were born this side of the Irish Sea,” Ellis said.
Lee shook his head. “I came over after my ma died. Been nearly thirty years now. ’Twas my da who brought me. Said it was time for us to start fresh but the truth is we fled. I was old enough to know it had somethin’ to do with the printing plates my da later showed me. Turned out to be the start of my career here in England, but would without doubt have gotten us killed if we’d stayed in Ireland.”
“Because he stole them,” Murdoch muttered. “From the O’Learys?”
“He was a skilled counterfeiter who helped build their empire,” Lee said. “Told me to run and never look back if one of them showed up in London.”
Fitzherbert snorted. “I doubt they’re more dangerous than any of us.”
“Finn O’Leary killed a man for no other reason than to make a statement,” Adrian said. “It’s not that he’s necessarily more dangerous but rather that he has no scruples. That makes him unpredictable. Getting rid of him won’t be easy.”
“What’s your plan?” Taylor asked.
