“But . . . My sources,” Mosey said. “They say he can’t be trusted. He’s crazy too. Mr. Willingham says Ashbrook is crazy, too.”
“Willingham, that’s your source? A broke shipper whose transport business collapsed after the abolition of trafficking, that’s your source?” Daniel waved his gloveless hands. “I wonder why he would target me.”
The Lord Mayor shook his head. “Mosey, if you don’t quiet down, I’ll leave you with a man whom you’ve insulted and brought chaos to his household.”
Mr. Anthon ran through the hall. “Sir, do you need anything?”
He glared at the young man. The fellow should be with Jemina and Hope. “No. I’m waiting for these gentlemen to be off my grounds.”
The young man held the door open wide. He looked ready to spit fire, but he held his peace. Daniel was thankful for this. It wasn’t Anthon’s fight. It was Daniel’s. “Tell your source, Mr. Willingham, that his harassment must end. I will pursue legal measures.”
Mosey pursed his lips, but the Lord Mayor waved a finger at him. “Mosey, not another word or I’ll have you at Newgate tonight.”
The runners climbed into their carriage and proceeded out of Finchely. The Lord Mayor trotted down the steps and headed to his carriage.
The horrible solicitor waved his fist. “It’s not over, Ashbrook. Mr. Willingham and the St. Maurs won’t let it be over.”
“If I catch you near my house or my wife, I’ll make sure you and Willingham pay.”
“Are those threats?”
“Promises. I don’t break promises.”
The fellow frowned and leaped into the Lord Mayor’s carriage.
Daniel waited on the steps until the scourges could no longer be seen. Then he walked back inside.
Mrs. Gallick rushed to him. “I was so frightened. But, my lord, I’ve never heard you so forceful or so angry.”
“The Thackery temper does come in handy. This is where my family resides. It has to be safe.” He gripped her hand. “Brew some tea while I go get my girls. Mr. Anthon hid them in the mews.”
The young man nodded. “Is this over, sir?”
“No. But it will be.” He whistled to his pug, and they trotted straight to the mews.
There was no better sight than his parked carriage, black sleek ebony and unharmed.
His groomsmen stabled the horses like normal, as if Finchely hadn’t been stormed by runners.
He filled his lungs of the smell of fresh hay and horses’ lather.
Jemina and Hope were safe. The three of them survived.
He walked the final distance to the carriage. “Jemina, it’s over. We’re going to be fine.”
No answer.
His stomach clenched as he tore open the door.
The carriage sat empty.
No Jemina.
No Hope.
The family he built was gone.
CHAPTER 56
