Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,126

retrieve your son, but we have no evidence he’s there. If we spook the kidnappers now, we might—”

“I’m not a fool, Tommy. I’ll wait here and keep a lookout. You go notify the constables and have them ready and waiting—at a distance—when the time comes.”

“Of course.”

“And—” Here Gabriel heaved a heavy sigh. “Pick up the money from Drusilla and bring it in time for the meeting. Let her know—” He broke off. Let her know what?

Byer laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her we have things well in hand. Now, I know you can watch out for yourself, but this is one of the most dangerous spots in the city. I’d advise you not to leave the taproom until I return.”

“You watch yourself, also, Tommy.” They’d hired a hack but had dismissed it hours ago. Finding transportation in this area was not without dangers; finding reliable transportation was all but impossible.

“I will, Gabe. See you in a few hours.”

That was over four hours ago, and it was now eight o’clock.

They’d left Visel’s lodgings and spent the day searching the area around the pawn shop. Nobody had heard of Rowland or Visel—and they’d distributed enough bribe money to loosen tongues.

They’d decided, just after five, to follow Rowland’s plans with a few important exceptions.

So Gabriel sat, waiting. He’d ordered a pint of home brew and a meal. He’d stopped drinking the second pint when he noticed the fly smashed on the bottom of the glass—the inside. He’d not touched the meal.

The waitress, whom he tipped far too well, drifted by his table. “You ain’t touched yer food, sir.” She exposed a gap-toothed smile. “Not ’ungry? Or maybe not for food.” She put a foot up on the chair opposite him, her dirty green skirt slipping enough to show her battered half boots and a scabby shin. “Maybe it’s somefing else you want?”

Gabriel forced himself to smile. “The necessary—where is it?”

That made her hoot. “The necessary,” she repeated in a dialect he supposed was meant to be his own. “That be the back wall—out in the alley.” She flounced away, pausing at another table, where two sailors looked more interested in her wares.

Outside a dense fog had drifted up from the river and it was drizzling. He walked around the corner, not wishing to do his business out in front of the building. The alley was narrow and dark, and the stench . . . Lord, it was enough to make a man’s eyes water. It was littered with rubbish, and rats as big as cats were scurrying between the refuse piles, making no effort to hide from humans. He’d never spent any time down at the London docks even though many young men liked to frequent the area to drink too much and enjoy rough sport. He’d done enough of that kind of thing back in Oran, where the wharf had been a favorite spot for getting into trouble.

He was about to face the wall when something flickered at the end of the alley. It was the bar wench.

“Oi there, pretty. Ye left this on the chair.” She held something up but it was too dark to see.

“What is it?” he demanded, walking toward her. He got close enough to see, and she dropped her hand into her skirt. “What—”

He was alerted by a slight scraping noise behind him, but then his head exploded.

Chapter 26

Gabriel woke up tied to a chair with a pounding skull that felt as if it had been cracked like an egg. He was in a small, dimly lighted room, the only illumination coming from the gap beneath the door. As his vision sharpened, he saw piles of something—rope—covering most of the floor. It must be the rope-making business on the other side of the pawnbrokers. So, somebody from the inn must have alerted Rowland, who—

The light beneath the door flickered, and it swung open. Gabriel squinted against the lamplight, which was not bright but still made his head throb. The man in the doorway was not Rowland.

He grinned, an expression that did not communicate humor, but rather sadistic enjoyment. “ ’Ello, me lordship!”

“I told you, he isn’t a lord. He’s a bastard.” Rowland hove into view and frowned at Gabriel, his face twitching with worry, anger, hate, and a half-dozen other emotions. “And you shouldn’t have let him see your face. It will not be safe for you now. He may be a bastard, but his mother is a marchioness and his grandfather