of London. He looked over his shoulder continually, terrified of being followed, and avoided the coal vendors and street sweepers, who were already about their business in the dark morning.
When he reached the Waterloo Bridge, the meeting place stipulated in Mr. Gordon’s invitation, a man was already there. He was bearded, slight, and dressed in the clothes of a common man. Lord Damion in disguise?
The man pushed away from the wall and approached him. There were too many lines around his eyes for him to be a nobleman playing a part. “Mr. Harry Stillman?”
Harry did not answer right away. What if this was one of Malcolm’s men? “Who are you?”
The man smiled as though he’d expected Harry’s distrust, revealing a broken eyetooth. He held out a piece of cream-colored paper like that used for the letters Mr. Gordon had been sending.
Mr. Stillman,
Jack will take you to the meeting place with Lord Damion. You can trust him.
Sincerely,
Mr. G.R. Gordon
Jack waited until Harry had refolded the letter, then began walking toward Covent Garden without looking to see if Harry followed, though he did. Harry’s heartbeat sounded in his ears with every step. Jack led him first along main streets, then side streets, and eventually cut through alleyways, looping and turning until Harry lost his bearings.
Finally, they reached a door tucked in an alleyway somewhere east of Drury Lane, Harry thought. The streets weren’t like the East Side locations of the best—or worst—gaming hells, but neither did the shops and offices cater to the upper crust. Was there such a thing as a middle crust?
Jack produced a key and unlocked the door, waving Harry to enter.
Harry ducked beneath the lintel, then straightened to his full height in a narrow kitchen thick with the smell of old smoke, fresh pork, and ripe beer. A single lamp on a sideboard cast flickering shadows on pots and knives hanging on the walls, which did nothing to settle Harry’s nerves.
“This way,” Jack said as he walked through the cramped space toward another door.
Harry followed the man into the interior of a pub set with tables and chairs made of dark wood. Front windows had been greased to keep people on the street from looking inside. It was exactly the type of establishment that would run a moderate gaming hell in the basement for those patrons who knew how to gain entrance. Harry wondered for a moment if all this effort could be an elaborate way to introduce Harry to a private gaming establishment where he could be given the chance to earn enough to pay off his debt. The instant hunger for the chance reminded him of Ward’s comment that winnings were not wages.
Jack led Harry to a single chair set at a small table placed beneath a sconce on the wall—the only light in the room. On the table was a pencil and a sharpening blade. No paper.
“What of a chair for Lord Damion?”
Jack smirked and then leaned into the paneled wall, rapping three times in quick succession with his fist.
A portion of the wall set in the center of a square of wainscoting slid back, opening a space about four inches by ten inches just above the tabletop. A piece of paper was immediately slid through the opening.
Harry looked from the paper to Jack. “What is this? I was expecting to meet with Lord Damion.”
“This is your meeting,” Jack said, smiling and nodding at the paper. “Every communication with Lord Damion is writ. When all’s done and said, you’ll sign the sheets as contract between ya both.” Then he turned and walked back through the door to the kitchen without another word.
Harry considered going after him—this was beginning to feel overly theatric—but instead turned back to the paper, waiting half in the wall and half out. He sat in the chair and hesitantly took hold of the paper, which was then released from the other side. As soon as he pulled the paper clear of the gap, the door snapped shut, making Harry jump, then look around to make sure no one had observed his reaction. His nerves were so tightly wound it was a wonder he hadn’t squealed out loud at the sharp sound.
He pulled the paper closer so he could read the scrawled words written in black pencil across the top of the sheet.
This meeting is an opportunity for us to finalize the details of our transaction. All communication will be written between us so there is no question as to what has