Three men gathered in the back room of a house. The candles shone from the windows in the front rooms, casting welcoming light onto the street below, but here in the back, the curtains were drawn tight and the men gathered by the light of only one candle.
“You should have killed the Princess when you had the chance, Pete,” One of the men whispered. It wasn’t his house and he didn’t want to attract the attention of the servants. He was dressed, as were his companions, in his evening finery. The white of his shirt picked up the light of the candle and glowed into the darkness of the room.
Peter snorted low in his throat. “There was a witness, Charlie, if you failed to notice, so unless you want to leave dead bodies all over London, I suggest we do this my way.” He drew in on his cigar, sucking in his cheeks to fill his lungs with smoke. “Besides”, he said blowing smoke rings into the air, “we need the Princess alive, she didn’t have the papers on her and she is the only one who knows where they are.”
“She delivered them already, you think?” Charlie asked.
Harry, the third man in the group, walked away from them and started looking at the books in the small bookshelf against the far wall. Peter quirked an eyebrow at him. He hadn’t hired him for his brains, but rather for his bulging muscles. Peter didn’t even know Harry could read.
Getting Harry to come out in public, especially to events such as this with high society present, was nearly impossible. Harry was a great hulk of a man, standing head and shoulders over everyone else, and easily recognisable.
Strains of music drifted through the closed door of their hiding place, indicating they needed to wrap up their meeting and head back out to the ballroom before they were missed.
Peter turned his attention back to Charlie. “We can only assume she was unsuccessful in her delivery. For one, she would’ve returned instead of running and two, nothing has happened. You know as well as I, there will be consequences if she is successful.”
“You’re sure you searched her well enough? What about her horse, she could have stashed them in its saddle.” Charlie pulled at the tightly knotted cravat around his neck.
“Possibly, but when I returned a few hours later, the horse and tack were intact.” Peter walked to the corner of the room where the light from the candle didn’t reach, and lifted something onto his shoulder. He carried it over to the table and threw it down. “See for yourself.” The saddle lay in a mound in the centre of the table. It was clear that he had ripped all the seams apart to look for hidden objects.
“And you found nothing?”
“Only this.” He pulled a long chain from his pocket and let the pendant swing back and forth. “It may be hers, but I thought she would have something a bit more reserved.”
The other man caught the swinging object and stared at the nude silhouette of a lady on the pendant for a moment longer than necessary. A grin crossed Charlie’s face for an instant. “Our Princess won’t be going anywhere then, will she?” He laughed. “No papers then?” he asked after he got his laughter under control.
“I just said there weren’t,” Peter snapped. This gathering had gone on long enough.
Charlie wasn’t done yet. “How did you get the saddle? Surely someone saw you.”
“I bought it. The Bow Street runner there wasn’t concerned about evidence. In fact, he assumed some gent broke his horse’s leg and then shot it before high-tailing it home so he wouldn’t have to dispose of the creature. All I had to do was offer money for the saddle. I love London. They make this all too easy.”
Charlie stroked the beard on his chin. “Except for our witness. Have you found out who he is?”
“That’s exactly what we are doing here.” Peter wondered why he surrounded himself with idiots. “You and Harry make some inquires about who he is. He’ll know what happened to our Princess.”
Charlie looked over towards the far end of the room. “Are you sure about Harry, boss?”
Peter turned to look at the man in question just in time to see him sniff his handkerchief. “On second thought, maybe you and I should go out there by ourselves. Go home, Harry.”
Harry nodded and waited for the other men to leave the room before he snuck out the back door of the house, a smile on his lips.
Dear Readers, it is with great concern I write this to you today. It has recently been brought to my attention that Lord Eaglestone was seen in the company of a particular lady two mornings past. Unfortunately this author has been unable to procure the identity of the young lady in question, however I am of the understanding that all is not as well as it seems at No. 7 Park Street. Not long after the lady and gentleman (if one could call him that) arrived at the door, so too did a doctor and it was some time before he departed. No one other than Lady C has left the residence and I am assured that Lady C is not the lady in question. So who is this mystery woman was in need of a physician and why, oh why did Lord Eaglestone kiss her?
“It’s bloody well in the papers!” Philip stormed across the room with a newspaper in his hand. He flung the paper down on the table in front of his sister. “Who saw us? You didn’t tell anyone she was here did you?”
Cressandra adjusted the surplice sleeve of her white morning dress. “No of course not, brother,” she said and calmly moved the paper away from her breakfast plate. “I know all too well what state she was in when she arrived. It was clear to me someone wishes to see her dead. It would be most irresponsible of me to say she was under our roof.” She bit into a pastry with relish. She did love her breakfast.
“It wouldn’t be the staff.” He was certain of that. He knew where their loyalties lay.
“Oh no, Philip, you know they would not say a word.” Cressandra tipped her head at him and asked, “Did you really kiss her?”
“I did no such thing. Whoever saw us obviously thought they saw something they didn’t or this writer,” he pointed to the offending the paper lying discarded near the poached eggs, “is trying to sell more copies.” Philip ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he might be lying. He had wanted to kiss Harriet, her lips begged him to, but he would’ve been a cad to take advantage when she was in the state she was the night she was attacked.
They looked at each other for a moment. “Mrs Barrett,” they said at the same time.
It would be just like her to spread something like this. Mrs Barrett lived next door and she had a lot to do with the reason Philip’s reputation was what it was. She loved to put her own twist on any gossip she could lay her hands on and if she had indeed been up early enough to see Philip bring Harriet into the house, she wouldn’t have been able to keep such a juicy gem to herself.
“If anyone is looking for Harriet, it won’t take them long to find her now. I will call on Lord Harrison this morning and see what kind of measures we should put in place. In the meantime call for Dr Brown to see if she can be moved and ask Murdock to stand guard outside her room. No one in their right mind would try to get past that brute.”
“Are you sure he’s the best? He’s so gentle.”
“Be that as it may, he looks the part. I for one wouldn’t want to meet a man that looks like him in a dark alley.” Philip slumped into a chair. “No, anyone that comes looking for Harriet will think twice about trying to get past him.”
***
When Harriet next opened her eyes she was alone in her room. A quick glance at the chair showed her a rumpled blanket and discarded pillow, but no Lord Eaglestone. More’s