Chapter 7
Joshua was handed the crumpled sheet of paper. He grasped it as if he wanted to tear it into tiny pieces, but he could not. His image stared back at him as he glowered at the drawing. The two others in the room watched with interest at Joshua’s reaction.
“Where did you get this?” he growled at the young man.
“It was in the pocket of one of them nosey-beaks,” the young man responded, hoping that his find would bring him a reward. Roaming the streets, trying to make use of an opportunity had kept him alive so far, and he was always looking for the next chance.
“Nosey-beaks?”
“Those ‘cise men.”
“If the excise men have a picture of you, they’re definitely still out to get you; they’re going to a lot of trouble,” Mack said to his fellow criminal.
Joshua’s mind raced. Life had been difficult since the foiled landing in Dorset. The goods that should have been brought ashore with the French saboteurs had been seized. No funds could be raised from selling goods that did not exist! The fact that a number of his acquaintances had either been hanged or transported meant that many of the older channels of smuggling and criminal activity had been broken. There had been a lot less activity over the past weeks, and Joshua had felt deprivation because of it.
Forced to flee the Dorset coastline without any belongings and only the money he had in his pocket had meant a long hard journey back to the capital. He had managed to obtain a bed, but had been living on his wits until finally things seemed to be returning to normal. Other people had taken the place of the ones he lost, many willing to risk the fate of those gone before them in order to make money.
Just as he thought there was going to be an improvement in his finances, he was faced with the problem that excise men and goodness knew who else were still actively looking for him. He looked at the skin-and-bone youth standing before him. He had been the same once upon a time, and he was determined he was not going to be forced to live like an animal again.
“It has the printer’s name on the bottom of the page. He’s proud of his work,” Joshua sneered. “Find out who ordered these. Do that, and I’ll see you right.”
“Aw, mister, I ain’t able to live off fresh air,” the youth moaned and, instead of receiving the clip around the ear that he expected, he saw Joshua smile for the first time. It was not a pleasant sight to witness; the scar that ran the length of his cheek seemed to open as a grotesque mouth on the side of his face.
“Be off with you,” Joshua responded, flicking the boy a coin. “That’s all you’re getting until I have some more to go on. The quicker you are, the better the reward.”
The boy caught the money, bit it once and turned on his heel with a nod of acknowledgement. He disappeared into the night as quickly as he had appeared.
“How will finding out who did this help you?” Mack asked.
“It won’t, but I’ll make sure they pay for it,” Joshua responded with determination. He thought he had escaped, but it would appear not. He moved his fingers along his collar, almost as if he could already feel the hangman’s noose around his neck. No, he was not going to be led down that path without a fight.
*
Henry rubbed his hands over his face for the umpteenth time that morning. He sighed as his hands landed with a thud on his desk; he had no idea what was wrong with him, but he was out of sorts. Nothing caught his attention; nothing diverted him; all he wanted to do was hide from the world, and that was unknown for the usually sociable Henry.
He had been to visit an old mistress of his. Greeting her with a kiss he had been disappointed when opening his eyes, he had been faced with green eyes instead of the clear grey eyes that haunted his dreams. He had pushed the image to one side determined to forget her, but he had been sharp with the woman who had immediately sensed there was something wrong.
He had left her residence shortly afterwards, both of them wondering what had happened to Henry. It had cost him an expensive trinket, which he had sent around a day later to apologise for his unusual behaviour.
It was no use; he had found comfort in knowing she was close by in London; he had not felt the need to seek her out, but she had been there. Now, she was miles away and, for the first time in his life, he was longing to be in someone’s company.
After hours sitting at his desk, he slammed his hands down on the green leather-bound blotting pad. This was no good; he had to do something, only he no longer had the urge to be out seeking the enemies of the state. He would visit his estate for a while; that was bound to block out everything and would reaffirm his determination to complete what he had set-out to do.
*
Joshua was dumbfounded. “The little bitch; I know who’s behind this!” he spat as the words the boy had told him sank in.
“Why is a lord interested in you, Josh?” Mack asked, showing admiration that his acquaintance seemed to be more important than he had first thought.
“I dunno.” Joshua had not realised that two members of the aristocracy were on the beach that night, but he did begin to wonder at the issue of the picture being linked to someone he had met while a house guest. He was sure Charles had something to do with it and was curious to find out if the young man had issued some sort of reward for Joshua. “I know the old maid who did this though, and she’s going to pay for my face being all over London!”
He handed coins to the boy. “Number six Half Moon Street; find out where the family are and what’s going on there. I need to find the spinster cousin.”
*
Henry had been out for a walk. He chose to walk early these last few days, having his exercise before most of the
ton
arose from their beds. His face wore a grimace of a smile when he remembered how his peer Edmund would find the situation amusing; the sociable Henry avoiding the public.
He was to leave London on the morrow and, if his current mood was anything to go by, he would not be returning soon.
The thought of chasing Miss Holland and declaring his feelings had never entered his head; it was not the done thing as far as he was concerned. He had never lost his heart before, so he presumed this state of melancholic frustration would pass soon enough.
He handed his hat, cane and gloves to his butler and entered his study; pouring himself a large glass of wine, he took a large gulp. The rich red liquid slid down his throat, the moment of warmth providing some comfort to a man, who, these days, seemed to be permanently cold.
He sat down and started to write a missive to Edmund. He was sure to be returning to London while Henry was still absent, and he wanted to try to persuade Edmund to return to the work in which they had both been involved. Although it gave no pleasure to Henry, he was convinced that, once on his estate, his mind would be focused again; however, inevitably he would be surrounded by reminders that would cause him pain while at home. He took another large gulp of the drink; he had not returned home in quite a long time. He hoped to God the echoes of the only person he had truly loved would no longer haunt his every step. Everything at home reminded him of her and, at this moment, reminders were something that had to be faced. So, as much as he dreaded it, he had to go back to reaffirm his promise.
A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts, and he placed his glass down whilst acknowledging the sound. The butler entered the room and approached the table with a silver tray containing a card.
“M’Lud, there is a
tradesman
wishing to speak to you,” the emphasis on the word communicating fully what the butler thought of such a request. “He is most insistent, repeatedly saying that it is of utmost importance he speak to you. I have threatened to throw him out on his ear for his impertinence, but his demeanour has given me cause to consider that perhaps there is some truth in his words and he is not here just to waste your time.”
Henry frowned. “Show him in.” The card, clearly stated that it was the printer he had used to produce the leaflets who now wished to see him.
The butler left the room, and returned seconds later with the gentleman in question. He was no longer dressed in his large apron but wearing the reasonably good quality clothing of a moderately successful tradesman.
Henry nodded at his butler, and the door was closed behind the servant. “Your visit is a little unexpected, Mr Long.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, My Lord, but there’s been some unwelcome visitors to my business these last few days,” Mr Long responded.
Henry noticed for the first time a bandaged hand holding the hat that was being turned, the action revealing the discomfort of the man. “Please sit,” Henry commanded. “Tell me what has happened.”
Mr Long compiled with the instruction and immediately explained about the visit to his premises of a young boy. “At first I just thought he was up to no good, asking who had ordered the pictures to be printed, and he got a clip around the ear for his trouble and sent on his way,” Mr Long said, wanting to reassure the Earl that he had not given the information freely.
“The next morning, when I was opening up ̶ I do it on my own you see ̶ the little blighter got me from behind and stuck a knife in my neck!” Mr Long, moved his collar slightly and revealed a small cut to his skin.
“Go on.”
“Nearly gave me a seizure, I can tell you. Anyways, I’m no pushover, and I grabbed the knife; only the little blighter was too quick and pulled the blade from my hand.” This time the bandaged hand was shown as evidence.
“Not too deep a cut, I hope,” Henry responded.
“No, although it’ll be a bugger to work with for a while,” Mr Long acknowledged.
“Pray continue.”
“Well, I admit that I was a little shocked at the speed of this young ‘un, and the knife was pointed in my ribs as quick as you could say Jack Flash! I nearly came over a bit faint, I don’t mind admitting; I thought my number was up!”
“Were you robbed?”
“Well, he did take my wallet, but that was after he’d found out what he wanted to know. He forced me to tell him exactly who had ordered the pictures I’d printed.”
“Fine, so he knows I’m after him,” Henry responded nonchalantly. It won’t make much of a difference.”
“That’s not all, My Lord,” the shamefaced trader said.
“Go on.”
“He wanted to know who had drawn the picture, and I refused at first and have a cut across my stomach as a result of my foolishness. See, I didn’t want to involve the young lady, her being a proper sweet thing, and I thought you wouldn’t want her mentioned.”
Henry nodded slightly but maintained his silence. His mind was beginning to race, and an unwelcome heavy feeling developed in his stomach.
“He wouldn’t let up, and I’ll be forever ashamed to admit it, but I told him about her.”
Henry paled. Joshua knew that Milly had provided the drawing that every authority figure in London, at his command, was now carrying about their person.
“Thank you for telling me. I appreciate your coming and informing me of what has happened. Let me pay you for your trouble.”
“Why, My Lord, I didn’t come here for that!” Mr Long spluttered, but his eyes widened at the wad of notes Henry retrieved from the top drawer of his desk. There must have been thirty pounds at least.
“Take it with my thanks. I hope your wounds heal soon,” Henry said brusquely. He needed to be alone to gather his thoughts.
Eventually, Henry sent out a missive to someone who he knew could find out what was going on. There was no longer any consideration about leaving London. Joshua Shambles knew who had commissioned the picture and who had drawn it. He would not have many congenial feelings towards either party, and Henry had to find out what Shambles was planning.
It was two long days before Henry received the visit he had been waiting for. “Come in,” he said, welcoming the man into his home long after all the staff had retired to bed.
Handing the man a glass of port, Henry waited until the glass was drained. Dangerous work deserved at least one good glass of liquid before the questioning commenced.
“I hope you have news?”
“I wouldn’t be here without it. Your Joshua is hopping mad that you and your young lady have spread his face all over London.”
Henry ignored the remark about Milly being his and let the man continue.
“He’s changed from when you’ve come across him in the past. He’s more likely to be found in the shadows than trying to fleece someone in a gaming hell. The wound he’s got on his face makes it more likely people will be repelled by him, and he’s been looking for someone to blame. Your young Baron who inflicted the wound isn’t around, but you and the young lady are and have added to his ill-feelings. He has his perfect face staring at him every time he sees that picture. It’s up on the wall of his lodgings.”
“How the hell has he not been picked up if he’s in London?” Henry snapped.
“He’s good. He’s surrounded himself by loyal people. I doubt he will be seen anywhere that would risk him being seen by anyone linked to you. He’s not stupid, although he might make a mistake because of this picture.”
“How so?”
“He’s raging mad and has had someone sniffing around the address of your young Baron, trying to find out where the young lady is. I hope you’ve got her somewhere safe. I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes when he catches up with her.”