“No need for haste. That price is somewhat negotiable,” Porter anxiously assured him.
“Where did you acquire the book?”
“A private collector who wishes to remain anonymous.”
Though he once again held doubt Porter spoke the truth, there was no way to prove it. After another round of offers and counter-offers, they settled on the cost. While Mr. Porter wrapped the book in brown paper to protect it, Oliver perused the rest of the shop but didn’t find any other books he wanted.
“Were you looking for something else I could help you with?”
“Where do you acquire the majority of your goods?” Oliver asked. Hawke had spoken in detail of the contents of one of Smithby’s warehouses in which he’d been. The goods offered for sale in this shop weren’t so very different from what Hawke had described.
“From a variety of sources,” Porter responded with a frown. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you ever purchase wares from Jasper Smithby?” The inquiry was a long shot but worth asking.
“Never heard of him.” He smoothed his expression as though trying to act nonchalant.
Oliver was almost certain the man was lying, yet there was nothing he could do about it. His response might only mean he’d heard of Smithby, not necessarily that he bought items from him.
Though the authorities had implemented new methods to prevent the entry of illegal goods into the city, it still occurred on a regular basis. They couldn’t monitor each and every crate that was removed from a ship. Ringleaders like Smithby made it all the more difficult as he had men in his employ at all levels, from dock workers to shipmates and those in between, each on the take and eager to pocket more money for themselves.
“I know of someone who would pay well to learn more about Smithby, should you hear of anything,” Oliver offered after careful consideration. Though this was a risky move as Smithby could very well get wind of it, they had to shake up the man somehow. This seemed like a good place to start.
“Oh?” A gleam of interest caught Porter’s eye. Or was it worry?
“Quite well,” Oliver confirmed, wondering if the man would say anything helpful.
“I’ll keep that in mind should I hear anything. Is there anything else that caught your interest, or shall I put only the book on your account?”
“The book is all.” Oliver retrieved the wrapped text from the counter and headed toward the door, pausing before he opened it to glance once more at the tapestry before holding Porter’s gaze. “Send a message if you have anything of note on Smithby.”
“Yes, of course,” the man agreed. The way he looked away so quickly had Oliver wondering what he knew.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a way to keep an eye on the man and his shop. As Hawke had often mentioned, having more men to aid them would be helpful.
Oliver departed with the book tucked under his arm, muffling an oath as he stepped out onto the crowded walkway. He hoped Tubbs would arrive soon with the carriage but didn’t yet see him. He walked down the street, watching for it, wondering if any similar shops were nearby.
Someone bumped hard into his back, and Oliver turned to see a scruffy lad with big brown eyes looking up at him.
“My apologies,” the boy said as he lifted his hand palm up to show he meant no offense. “I lost my balance.”
“Quite all right,” Oliver muttered. He’d nearly turned back around when a familiar unease filled him. But this time, it wasn’t simply because of the many people around him.
He wasn’t given to believing in odd powers, but he’d met an elderly man in Ethiopia after that terrible battle who told Oliver he had the power of premonition. Oliver had dismissed it, but the man had insisted, explaining that many people had such an ability though most suppressed it or chose to ignore it. The old man had claimed Oliver happened to be more attuned to the power and that he should welcome it.
The sense of knowing had served him well in the past though he never knew exactly how to act on it. Following his instincts, he returned his gaze to the boy.
The lad gave him a quick grin, his eyes wide with innocence. Far too much innocence for a boy familiar with these rough streets. “Meant no harm, sir.”
“Of course not,” Oliver agreed then latched onto the boy’s arm with his free hand. “Hand it over.”
“What?” The perplexed look the lad offered was quite convincing, but Oliver continued to listen to his instincts.
“The object of mine you took.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” the lad denied as he attempted to tug his arm free of Oliver’s grasp, his expression growing warier by the moment.
“Either you figure it out, or I’ll find a policeman who will do so.” Oliver glanced about as though searching for one. Chances were slim one would be walking about in this neighborhood, but there was a possibility.
“No need for a copper, sir.”
“Excellent. Then hand it back.”
“I don’t—”
“Now,” Oliver interrupted the boy’s sputtered denial and shook his arm for good measure.
“All right, all right. Ye don’t have to get rough.” The boy’s grin returned. “I was only seein’ if ye were payin’ attention.” He reached into his dirty, tattered coat pocket and held out Oliver’s pocket watch. “See? No harm.”
Oliver returned his watch to his pocket then gestured for more.
“What?” Those brown eyes went wide once again.
The lad was convincing, but Oliver shook his head and continued to hold the lad’s gaze.
“Oh, very well.” He reached into his pocket again and laid several coins into Oliver’s outstretched hand.
“All of them,” Oliver insisted.
The boy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Just trying to feed my mum and me.” Now he sounded as though he was nearly in tears.
“Well done,” Oliver said dryly. “I almost believed you.”
The boy glared up at him, all traces of sadness gone replaced by a wisdom far beyond his years.
“What’s your name?” Oliver asked.
“Samuel.”
“Your real name.”
With a glare, the boy reluctantly changed his answer. “Victor.”
Oliver eyed the lad, deciding he was finally telling the truth. “Are you by chance interested in a position?”
“What sort?” he asked, his nose scrunched in derision.
“Honest work that pays fairly.”
“Sounds like a scam of some sort to me.”
“I suppose it does,” Oliver said with a smile. The boy had obviously had a rough go of it on the streets. But something about him made Oliver decide to take a risk.
Odd, but only a week ago he wouldn’t have bothered to venture from his home, yet today he was standing on this busy street, offering a job to a thief. After having read The Seven Curses of London, he couldn’t help but look around a street like this one with new eyes and pay more attention to those walking by.
Perhaps Victor was one of the professional thieves noted in the second chapter. From what Oliver had read, he knew few who took to a life of thievery at an early age were able to change their fortunes and find honest work. It made him want to assist Victor. Plus it could aid the fight against Smithby.
“I need someone to keep an eye on that import-export store.” Oliver nodded toward the shop he’d just left.
“Mr. Porter’s?”
“Yes, and him as well.”
“What fer?”
“Anything unusual. He might be selling illegal wares.”
The lad raised a brow. “Ye don’t say.” His sarcastic tone biting.
“We’re looking for specific wares, or rather, the person supplying Porter with them.”
“Who?”
“Jasper Smithby.”
“Haven’t heard of him.”
“Good. He’s a nasty fellow, so keep your distance. We only seek information. No need to risk your neck to obtain it.”
“Then
how do you expect me to find anything?”
“Observe and report. You know enough to realize when something isn’t quite right.” Oliver handed him two shillings.
Victor’s eyes widened in surprise as he reached for the coins. “What makes ye think I won’t just take the money and be gone?”
“Because you realize there’s more where that came from should you report back with anything interesting.”
“How do I find ye?”
Oliver gave him his address. “I look forward to hearing anything you discover.”
“I still don’t know what I’m watchin’ fer.”
“Nor do I. But I believe you’ll know it when you see it.”
Victor nodded but eyed Oliver as though not certain he believed him. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ask. If nothing of interest happens in three days’ time, come and see me. We’ll decide what the next course of action should be. That is if you’re interested in continuing the work.”
“I’m interested.”
“Stay out of trouble,” Oliver warned. “You can’t watch the shop from prison.”
Victor grinned up at him. “True enough. I’ll see ye in a few days, guv.”
“I look forward to it.” Oliver gave a curt nod and looked up to see Tubbs and the carriage nearby. When he glanced back, the lad was gone. He hoped Victor would do as asked. It might prove helpful to hear what the lad had to report.
~*~
Julia entered the dining room for luncheon, surprised to find it empty.
“Where is my father?” she asked James, the footman.
“He asked that his luncheon be taken to him in the library, my lady.”
Well aware he’d gone directly to the library following breakfast, Julia decided to check on him. “I’ll return in a moment.”
She found her father crouched over his desk with the all too familiar book open as he penned notes on a piece of paper. His meal sat untouched on the corner of his desk.
“Father, aren’t you going to stop for luncheon?”
He glanced up with a vacant expression. “I’ll be along directly. No need to wait for me.”
Julia frowned with concern as she glanced at the covered plate on his desk. “James brought your meal already. You should at least pause long enough to eat.”
He raised a finger in the air. “Can’t stop now. I may have found something.”
“What is it?” Julia stepped around his desk to read over his shoulder.
“Nothing that would interest you, dear. But Frost should find it fascinating.”
As she skimmed his notes, she found little that made sense. She didn’t know Latin, so the page of the book he studied was of no help. From what her father had previously explained, he was searching for references to rocks or herbs that contained strange elements or supposedly gave the bearer power.
Looking over his desk, she realized her father had taken page upon page of notes. Surely he was working far too hard on this task. He seemed to be obsessed with it. Especially if he wasn’t stopping for a meal. He hadn’t gained back any of the weight he’d lost during his previous illness. She’d prefer a smile on his face rather than the intent look he always seemed to wear since he’d started this.
“Father, you should stop and eat. That way, you can keep up your strength.”
“Yes, yes, Julia, but not yet. The food will keep until I finish this chapter. Frost is counting on me, you know.”
He waved her away and looked back at the book, following his finger’s path across the page.
Julia scowled with displeasure but did as he asked, not certain what other option she had. Should she speak with Oliver and explain this was too much for her father? But that would only put Oliver in the position of taking away the book from her father instead of her. That didn’t seem fair to Oliver. Nor did she care to have a private conversation with him about it. Heaven knew where that would lead.
She wasn’t certain she could trust herself when she was alone with him. His chivalrous behavior the previous evening still made her heart pound like mad. And when she thought of his kisses...
When she returned to the dining room, Aunt Matilda was seated, waiting for her.
“Where’s your father?”
“He won’t leave his project no matter what I say.”
“Oh, dear. The man’s thin enough. He needs to eat.”
“James brought him a plate. With luck, he’ll grow hungry and do so.” She took her seat. “I’m not certain what to do about his obsession with this project.”
“It would be so much better if there was more than one copy of that book. Or if the other book, what was it called? The Book of Secrets? If that was found, surely we could convince your father to ease back on the time he’s spending on this.”
“Perhaps I should make some inquiries of my own. I’ve found a few unusual bookstores while locating books for Father.” Though well aware Oliver was an expert in ancient texts, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might be better at finding them. Based on the gruff way he’d acted when she’d first met him, bookshop owners might not enjoy doing business with him.
“That’s an excellent idea, dear. Shall I accompany you?”
“If you wish. Lettie Fairchild made some inquiries about The Book of Secrets. Perhaps I’ll visit with her to find out with whom she spoke, so I don’t duplicate her efforts.”
Aunt Matilda beamed at her. “You have always been a clever girl. Your smile could charm honey from bees. I’m certain if the book is in London, you’ll discover its whereabouts.”
Confidence filled Julia at her aunt’s words. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Did you decide which gathering we’re attending tomorrow evening?”
“I was waiting to make certain your father would be all right by himself.” She frowned, worry in her eyes. “Somehow we’ll need to find a way to pry him out of the library and away from that book before we leave.”
“Indeed.” She took another bite of the potato croquette the cook had made with roasted chicken. “I will place that in your capable hands.”
“If you find another book that might diffuse his interest in Viscount Frost’s project, be sure to pick it up. We may need it to lure him away from the intensity of his research. Do you think we should speak with the viscount?”
“I’d rather leave that as a last resort.” Well aware of her aunt’s watchful gaze, Julia put on a bright smile. She didn’t care to discuss why she’d prefer to avoid visiting with Oliver. That would only lead to a complicated excuse. After all, lies were always complicated, and she certainly couldn’t reveal the truth—that she was far too attracted to Oliver. Her aunt would latch onto that without hesitation and do all in her power to encourage it.
But Julia wasn’t about to allow her feelings for Oliver to develop further. It would serve no purpose and only lead to pain. How could she ever leave her father? Keeping him healthy and happy required both her and her aunt’s abilities. If she wasn’t here, checking on him several times a day, spending as much time with him as possible, he might fall into despair.
Directly after luncheon, she stopped in the library, frustrated when she saw her father had still not eaten. By coaxing and threatening, she managed to get him to eat half of it before he insisted on returning to the book and his notes.
With more determination, she set out on her mission, deciding to call upon Lettie and discover where she’d inquired. And she knew of at least two small bookshops she could visit yet this afternoon. There had to be more than one copy of those books in this city. Her father’s health depended on her finding one of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“There are whole communities of men, constituting complete branches of our social economy, on whom the taint of dishonesty rests, and their masters are fully aware of it, and yet year after year they are allowed to continue in the same employment.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia wasted an entire afternoon visiting several b
ookshops with no results. She’d called upon Lettie, but her friend hadn’t been home. With no alternative, she’d left a message stating she hoped to see her at the Tatherton’s ball the following evening.
Upon returning home, Julia found her aunt pacing the drawing room.
“Thank goodness you’ve returned, dear. Your father has not left his desk even once while you were gone. This cannot go on.” Compared to her normally calm manner, Aunt Matilda was obviously distraught.
“The doctor will be displeased to hear he’s not getting at least some exercise and fresh air.” The physician had suggested her father take a walk each day to keep up his strength. Crouching over a desk was not healthy for him. As was not eating.
“I attempted to convince him to meditate with me for a time to no avail. The man won’t see reason when he’s involved in something like this.”
While Julia wasn’t surprised to hear her father had refused to meditate with her aunt, she was disappointed to hear how single-minded he was acting.
Each year, her father’s ability to find happiness in life diminished, leaving the brunt of his care to fall to her. Some days felt overwhelming. She couldn’t help but be frustrated by his lack of regard for himself and his family. And at the pit of those feelings was anger at her mother.
“I don’t envision him wanting to do anything different on the morrow.” Aunt Matilda wrung her hands. “We must think of something to force him to step out at least for a brief time.”
Julia knew she must set aside her emotions and think of a way to deal with it one day at a time. She couldn’t change the past, and she wasn’t certain about the future. Dealing with each day was how she’d managed thus far. “I have an idea. I’ll return in a moment.”
She requested that morning’s paper from one of the footmen then opened it on a table in the drawing room to more easily search the pages.
“What is it?” Aunt Matilda asked as she moved to look over Julia’s shoulder.
“I believe The Medievalist Society is hosting a lecture on the morrow. I want to check the topic to see if it might be anything we could convince Father to attend.”
“Then he’ll simply be sitting there instead of here,” her aunt protested.
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