He picked up his sjambok, tucked it behind his back, then trotted to the massive curved stairs that ended in the center of the wide hall.
His cousin Nicholas Wilkinson and Captain Steward, one of the ship captains who worked for Uncle Soulden, stood in the midst of the marble tiles and piles of Blaren House’s gaudy furniture ready to be sold. Lawden waved them toward the door.
His man didn’t realize Wycliff had expected them today, just not this early.
“Gentlemen.” His voice sounded hoarse and raw. He hated that, almost as much as the putrid yellow paint on the walls and the broken pieces of chair rail moldings of the abused house.
“Adam!” Nicholas waved at him. “I need to talk to you.”
“Nickie, you’ve tracked mud intomyBlaren House.”
“Adam, we must have a word with you alone.”
“I’m not in the mood. Come back in a month.”
Nickie tapped his dirty boot on the floor. More muck came off. “I won’t be in business next month.”
Good. Wycliff folded his arms, trying to look as if he wanted to consider the request. “At such an hour, gentlemen? This had better be good. I was quite busy.”
Nicholas laughed. “Yes, I heard. Madame Talease has the best girls.”
Good. The horrid bed wench comment had worked. “What do you want?”
His cousin stuck out his hand, and Wycliff left it to hang in the air.
Older than Wycliff by three or four years, his cousin looked mostly the same. Same height, same beady, light-blue eyes, same bulbous mole above his lip. New—a swirl of gray strands in his blond hair and a gut not in want of a meal. Living off stolen money must taste sweet.
Situation assessment time. “Lawden, once we are done here, make sure we have a good breakfast this morning. Something with fresh cream.”
“Adam, we are not here for breakfast.”
“But I am. It’s the only reason to leave bed. Isn’t that right, Lawden?”
“Yes, my lord. No oranges, my lord. Will that be a problem?”
That was code for the men had come alone.
“No. Not at all, Lawden. But what of bread? I want bread.” This chatter asked if he was armed.
“Only the best bread for you, my lord.”
Good. Lawden was armed. The fellow’s short blunderbuss was loaded and ready, hidden in his coat.
“Beef steaks, my lord?”
Great. This meant beef steaks for breakfast. The delicious cuts of meat made every meal delicious. Wycliff hadn’t gotten enough of them since being back to London.
“Adam,” his cousin said. “I do hate interrupting you, but this is important.”
“Well, you never cared if I ate before. Why start now, Nickie? What is it you want?”
Nicholas spun his hat, gripping it tightly with fingers that reddened more and more with each rotation. “For days, we’ve been trying to see you at your father’s cottage. You disappeared until you secured a writ of eviction.”
“My whereabouts are my own. If Blaren House becoming a gaming hell is an example of your stewardship, I dare not seek your advice.”
“That was my income. I needed it to break free of my father. You know how I hate what he does.”
“No, I don’t. You know Uncle Soulden is horrible, a cheat, a liar, a murderer, but you stay. How many deaths is enough to be your own man?”
