Roswell tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “I will send word to the coroner and I will explain everything.”
“What do I do until then?” Lord Oxley asked.
“Seal off this room and don’t let anyone in here,” Caleb ordered. “The coroner will need to do an investigation.”
“Won’t he ask questions that we can’t answer?” Lord Oxley asked.
“We will see to that,” Caleb replied. “This will all be overlooked, assuming we can all agree never to speak of this again.”
Lord Oxley’s eyes held questions but he kept them to himself. “I can live with that.”
“I will bring Anette home, Father,” Caleb asserted.
“Go, then,” Lord Oxley encouraged. “We will be here when you get back.”
Roswell headed towards the main door and was pleased to see a coach waiting for them on the street.
“I thought it would be best if we were prepared,” Caleb said as he stepped inside.
Once they were all situated, the coach jerked forward and Roswell asked, “What is the plan?”
“Should we not call in more of your agents?” Mr. Barnard asked.
Roswell shook his head. “Unfortunately, many of them are in the wind since our headquarters was compromised and I don’t have a way to contact them.”
“Do you truly intend for us three to barge into The Drunken Bear and confront whoever is there?” Mr. Barnard huffed. “That is suicide.”
“We will scout out the location first,” Caleb said. “With any luck, we can help the ladies escape without anyone dying.”
Mr. Barnard scoffed. “Why, pray tell, are you so interested in keeping the enemy alive? Do you want to give them a second opportunity to kill you?”
“I do not kill unless I have no other choice,” Roswell admitted.
“A spy with a conscience,” Mr. Barnard mocked. “That is a good way for you to get yourself killed. You would die on the battlefield with that philosophy.”
Roswell held Mr. Barnard’s gaze. “I am not a soldier; I am a spy. There is a difference.”
“Not in my opinion,” Mr. Barnard said. “We both are fighting an impossible battle and there is only one victor.”
Caleb reached under the bench and slid out a metal box. He unlatched it and retrieved two pistols from within. “I figured we could use the extras,” he said as he handed one to Roswell.
“This is madness,” Mr. Barnard declared. “We can’t go into the tavern with only five pistols between us.”
“You are welcome to leave, especially if you do not feel comfortable with the odds being stacked against us,” Caleb said.
Mr. Barnard glanced between them and asked, “Do you not understand what you are asking of me?”
“Frankly, I do not care what you decide,” Roswell replied. “You can help us, not help us, but it is entirely up to you.”
Mr. Barnard looked up at the ceiling of the coach. “I will go, but only because I don’t want to explain to Fredrick that his younger brother died being an idiot.”
Roswell leaned back in his seat. “Now does anyone have a plan for when we do arrive?” he asked.
With a dry chuckle, Mr. Barnard said, “This keeps getting better and better. We are going to our deaths, aren’t we?”
“Not if I can help it,” Roswell replied. He knew the risks that were associated with going into The Drunken Bear but he was willing to do whatever it took to free his sister and Anette.
ChapterNineteen
