Fielding boxed the drunk man’s ears. “Quiet! You’re giving me a headache.”
“Where are you taking me?” he asked once they’d tossed him into the confines of the rig.
“We need your sorry arse to save my life. And perhaps the queen’s,” Esme said.
Waters hiccuped, then he promptly passed out.
Fielding knew he could not do this alone. As much as he didn’t want to, he knew it was time to ask for help.
He’d spent so much of his adult life hating the men of Solomon’s and what they stood for because he’d blamed them for his father’s death. But he’d seen the way they’d come to Mr. Nichols’s side, the way they’d taken care of his affairs.
It was time to accept the truth. They had not led his father to his death. It had been an accident, just as his mother had said.
There was only one person to blame. The Raven. His blackmail had driven his father to chase a foolish dream, to go after the treasure himself instead of hiring someone more qualified. And that was why Solomon’s had sent those other two men with him—they’d only been trying to protect him.
Even knowing that, even having accepted that the men of Solomon’s were honorable, he was still reluctant to ask them for assistance. He’d worked alone for the past seven years. It suited him. But to protect Esme, he’d deal with the devil himself.
Fielding tapped two knuckles on Max’s study door. “Come in,” Max said. “Where did you put your cursed friend?”
“In an empty room below the servant’s quarters,” Fielding replied. “There aren’t any windows and I bolted the door, so no chance of him escaping.”
“How is Esme?” Max asked when Fielding fell into a chair.
“Sleeping,” Fielding said.
“She won’t go out again without you?” Max asked with a frown.
“I doubt it, but to be on the safe side, I put a bell on her door.” When Max laughed, Fielding explained. “It was something my mother used to do when I was a boy. I had this nasty habit of digging up her flowers.”
“Looking for treasure?” Max asked. Fielding nodded.
“I suppose you’ve inherited your father’s sense of adventure,” Max said.
Ah, but which father? The murderer whose blood flowed through his veins, or the scholar who’d raised him? Fielding had a sinking feeling he was more similar to the former. “I suppose,” he said.
“What can we do to help?” Max asked.
‘We’ meaning Solomon’s. It was time, he reminded himself, time to forgive and time to ask for help. “You’ve done plenty for us already,” Fielding said.
Max waved him off. “Your father was one of us, and we take care of our own.”
And that courtesy evidently extended to him. “The Raven is planning something,” Fielding said. “All Esme knows is she saw him studying a map of some sort, and she heard mention of guards and Her Majesty.”
“You think he’s going after the queen?” Max asked.
“That’s just it; I can’t see his reasoning for killing Victoria.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “We don’t have much time left. The lunar eclipse is tomorrow night, and we have until then to get the bracelet off Esme’s wrist.” He held his arm up with a shallow laugh. “And my own. Before we—”
“We won’t allow that to happen,” Max said firmly. “I do believe I know what your uncle’s plans might be.”
Fielding threaded his fingers through his hair. “I’m glad one of us is able to think clearly. What’s your theory?”
Max unfolded the newspaper from his desk and turned it so that Fielding could read it. He tapped on the printed type.
“The Golden Jubilee?” Fielding asked. “That’s still two days away.”
“Yes, but the celebrations begin tomorrow. Evidently a large number of monarchies and rulers from other nations have come here to join Victoria in the festivities. Tomorrow is their private ceremony at Buckingham Palace.”
Fielding sat straighter. “Which will require a greater number of guards,” Fielding said. “They’ll likely pull the extras from the Tower.”
