Leaning forwards Lucas lowered his voice. ‘There is something else that I think you ought to know about your cousin’s mysterious widow, Hawk. She visits St Bartholomew’s Hospital once a month to speak with a doctor named Giles Touillon.’
‘French?’
‘Indeed.’
The world spun inwards. Lord, Shavvon had sent him to the warehouses in the Limestone Hole to find a French connection and a disenfranchised traitor. Could Aurelia St Harlow be the leak? After a lifetime of spying Stephen had ceased to believe in the benevolent nature of mere coincidence. It was always so much more than that.
‘You look…odd, Hawk. Are you well?’
‘Very.’ Stretching back in the chair, he smiled. Even before Lucas he erected barriers. The thought made him sadder than it ought to. ‘If you see Lady Berkeley in the next day or two, Luc, could you tell her I shall call upon them at the end of the week for I have been summoned away north.’
‘Problems at Atherton?’
‘Life is always demanding its pound of flesh,’ he returned, feeling in the answer that he had not quite lied.
A few hours later Hawk walked through the maze of alleyways between Katherine Street and Drury Lane, the stench of this poorer part of London rising in his nostrils. A woman’s fan brushed his face and he warned her away, the age-old code of the streetwalker’s offer lost in a smile where both gums and teeth had been eaten up by the mercury cure.
He was glad he had come in the guise of a sailor, the homespun of his clothes attracting little attention as he pulled the hat he wore further down upon his forehead.
Knocking on the door of a house on the corner of one of the small intertwining streets, he waited. Within a few seconds the bolts were slipped and he was allowed through, heavy locks refastened behind him.
‘Phillips said ye’d come.’ The man before him was small and wiry, a shock of red hair topping a freckled face.
‘He’s left the papers, then.’ Stephen’s words were tinged with the accent of the same slums.
‘I need the words first. The ones you’d know to say.’
‘Angliae notitia.’
A lamp flared and the corners of the modest room were bathed in light. A woman sat to one side on a small stool with a baby asleep on her lap.
‘Not a peep, mind, to anyone. If you talk, me wife and I, we’re as good as gone.’
‘I understand.’ Hawk brought the coins from his pocket, the profile of the Queen etched in bronze. ‘There’s more where this came from if you have anything else.’ A flash of greed told him that the red-haired man probably did. Settling back, he crossed his legs in front of him. Experience had taught him patience in any negotiation and the art of biding his time. Information gathering had its own set of intricate rules, after all, and the first of them was to feign indifference.
‘The one they call Delsarte and his cronies have been hanging around the warehouse. I ain’t seen the woman do nothing with them, though. She just goes late back to that fancy home of hers up in Mayfair when she has finished and returns in the morning. As early as sin, I should say.’
‘Have you ever seen her talking with them?’
‘No.’
Stephen’s glance went to the girl sitting to one side, but her eyes were cast downwards.
‘There is something that I heard Delsarte say…’ Stopping, he waited for a timely reminder and Hawk handed him another handful of coins. ‘He said that he was going to Paris and that there was more money in it than this business could provide him with. Then the rain came down heavy so’s that I couldn’t listen no more. The woman he was talking to was from Mother Spence’s place down Katherine Lane. A big dark-haired girl with patches, rouge and a long scar down her forearm. She might know more if ye asked her, though ye’d have to be careful as she was hanging on to him like he was a gift or something.’
‘Did you get into the warehouse to look over the files?’
‘No, not a chance to. The dog stops you when there’s no one in. A big monster of a hound that lets everyone know he’s there. I heard them mention a boat, though, last week, when I was following them home from the Black Boar. The Meridian. I checked and she’s in at St Katherine’s Dock.’
‘You’ve done well.’ Standing, Stephen placed a silver shilling on the table before him. ‘For the babe,’ he said as he collected his hat and left.
Nathaniel Lindsay was waiting for him in his library when he returned after eleven o’clock, and he had already finished a large amount of his best bottle of whisky.
‘You are still at the game, then?’ His eyes passed over the homespun as Stephen took off the woollen overcoat and hat.
‘If you come uninvited, you have to take what is here without comment, Nat.’ Finding a glass, Hawk poured himself a generous drink, pausing to enjoy the smooth taste of the golden liquid.
‘Cassie sent me.’
‘Why?’
‘She thinks you need a talking to over your choice of women.’
‘I thought your wife approved of Elizabeth Berkeley?’
Laughter echoed around the room. ‘You would devour everything about that poor chit within a year, Stephen, and curse yourself for doing so.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Women are like this whisky, my friend. Find a full-bodied and complicated brew and it will suit you for ever. It worked for both Luc and me.’
The words fell into the silent warmth of the library, soft harbingers of persuasion. ‘You are saying that the basis for a good marriage is a complicated woman?’
Nathaniel’s hands flailed in the air. ‘I am saying that I am worried about you, Stephen. All this…disguise and deception. It is making you sadder than you need to be.’ He paused for a second before carrying on. ‘Remember when your parents died and we were at school? How old were we then? You and Luc and I?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘Thirteen. And we said that we would always be family from then on. We made a promise cut into the skin at our wrists.’ Pulling up the sleeve on his arm, he traced one finger over a thin white line. ‘I pressed too hard and ended up in the clinic and you slept on the floor beside me for a week. I think if you had not been there holding my hand in the cold of the night I wouldn’t have survived. Now it is my turn to make certain that you survive.’
With a frown Stephen looked down at his own hands, the nails filled with dirt from where he had scraped them along the earth on the driveway before his foray into the dark alleys off St Katherine’s Row. Placing his drink down, he stood, walking to the window to look out into the darkness.
‘I have already told Shavvon I am leaving.’
‘When?’
‘After this…case.’
‘Your brother would be pleased were he still here.’
‘Considering he died for the same cause that I am quitting, I highly doubt it.’ The ferocity of the words surprised Hawk.
‘Which is the sole reason that you have stayed in for so long. Daniel was killed because he didn’t listen to reason just as you are not doing now.’
‘No. He died because I didn’t protect him.’
‘You took a bullet in the thigh and spent a good portion of that summer in a coma and have limped ever since, for God’s sake. Your brother died because neither he nor you could outrun bullets fired by a crazy Frenchman with little in the way of integrity. You did your best to save him, Hawk, and you have paid the price in