“That he does.” Cornelius chuckled.
“What's the message?” Nash asked. “I don't like it, but I'll do what I gotta do.”
“Tell him: Number 3.” Cornelius yawned, taking another drink of wine. “He'll know what it means.”
“What does it mean?” Leah pressed. “We need to know.”
“It's a code,” Cornelius explained, half interested. I will play along for now, then I will deal with her personally while they arrest Riphook. “It means that we should meet on pier number six in one hour's time.”
“Right then.” Kenneth stood from his chair. “Nash, get 'round to the Judge's house. Let Winchester know about the pier. Then take the message over to Riphook. Follow him there, if you can.”
“If I don't,” Nash said, “then I'll be dead.”
“Yes, you will.” Cornelius growled. “Riphook does not take treachery lightly.”
“Yet, you seem to.” Leah remarked. “You have taken it all rather well that your game is done up. Why is that?”
“I have no reason to worry.” Cornelius kicked his feet up on a nearby ottoman. “This is the way of things, it seems, and I have no power to change that. I can only hope that those present will remember my cooperation,” Cornelius looked Kenneth as he spoke, trying to appeal to his emotions. I only need a moment of his trust to poison her. He thumbed the poison capsule on one of his subtle rings. It was just enough to end a life.
“Go on then, Nash.” Leah said, touching the lad's arm. “And mind yourself.”
“I shall.” Nash bowed his head and crossed to the open window, leaping up atop the sill like a bird on a perch.
“Nash.” Kenneth said suddenly. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” the lad grunted, and was gone.
“Now what?” Cornelius asked, careful not to sound mocking.
“Now we will wait.” Kenneth said, leaning against the desk, still gripping the pistol. “And when the time is close, we will go to the pier.”
“Very well then.” Cornelius nodded and gripped the arms of the chair, trying to appear serious. It was time to play the part. He had to give Leah and Kenneth some credit – they had out smarted him. But their trap was nowhere near as airtight as they might imagine. Riphook would deal with Nash, then the law would deal with Riphook.
All he had to do was deal with the law, Leah, and Kenneth. The law was easy, all it required was coin. Kenneth was hard, because it would take time to rebuild trust between them, but Cornelius was confident that he could control Kenneth as long as Leah was out of the picture. He had to deal with her now.
The poison in his ring was made to work several hours after ingestion, and work over several days. Therefore, Cornelius rationalized that it would look like she took an ill-timed fever and perished. This would break Kenneth, but Cornelius could build him back up again.
How marvelous. Cornelius realized, Kenneth has brought me all of my enemies at once.
“Are you afraid, Uncle, to face judgment for your crimes?” Kenneth challenged. “For they are great.”
“There is little I fear, Kenneth.” he answered. “But I should say, if we are to wait here, let us at least take a drink. My cup has gone empty, and it is poor on my health not to continue, especially in this moment of stress.”
“A drink?” Kenneth looked at him wildly. “How can you behave as if you have not utterly betrayed me? How can you sit there and behave as if none of this has any bearing on our lives?”
“It is only that I am older, and I have learned to keep such rants within my head.” Cornelius countered. “There is no use in growing upset over stagnant facts. Please, let us all just sit in silence for a moment and have a drink.”
“I think not.” Kenneth said hotly.
“Oh, blast it.” Cornelius would try to provoke Kenneth into a state of emotional instability. “You are the same as your father!”
“My father?” Kenneth blinked, his cage clearly rattled.
“You know it never sat right with my dear old brother that I made so much money, you know that, don't you?”
“What are you on about?” Kenneth scoffed. Leah was pacing the perimeter of the room.
“But what was I supposed to do, hmm? I ask you. Never was there a chance for me in the family business, not while your father was running things. He was the eldest son, and it was his responsibility. He was very clear about these matters.”
“Be careful what you say, Uncle.” Kenneth grew tense again, standing straight in front of the desk.
“So, I made my own way, I found my own wealth, and damned if I didn't do it well. I own this city, Kenneth.”
“Not any longer.” Kenneth argued.
“So, it seems.” Cornelius laughed. “When he came to me, your father, he was so angry with me, for my enterprises had grown more successful than his. I had no desire to hide from him, no, I had always wanted his respect, all my life, more than my own father, even! I wanted him to be proud of me, I suppose,” Cornelius said wistfully.
“Proud of you?” Kenneth gawked.
“For building something so vast.” Cornelius spoke softly. “Alas, the news broke him, and that is when he collapsed and died.”
“I was told he died in a carriage accident.” Kenneth's voice was low.
“Ha! Your mother told you that? Why on earth?”
“She hates you.” Kenneth growled. “She always has.”
“Perhaps she always knew.” Cornelius remarked. “She knew that your father was the weak one, and I the strong.”
“Shut your mouth!” Kenneth stepped to the chair and raised the pistol with a swiftness, moving his thumb to the pan and hammer.
“Need I remind you I still have staff downstairs.” Cornelius looked at the gun barrel, unimpressed. “No doubt they will hear the shot.”
“Kenneth.” Leah spoke up, approaching out of the shadows, and touching Kenneth's back. Where had she come from? “He wants a drink. Just sit down.”
Kenneth begrudgingly sat as Leah directed him into a seat. Kenneth's eyes did not move from Cornelius at all.
“Yes, a drink, of course, we should all take one to calm the nerves. There is still work to be done.”
“I would take some wine.” Leah chimed in, almost pleasantly. Kenneth looked over to her startled.
He won't be able to resist, being the only one not taking a cup of wine.
“Very well,” Kenneth allowed. “We shall all take a cup of wine.”
“Splendid!” Cornelius clapped his hands lightly and moved to rise from his seat.
“Not so fast.” Leah chided. “No need to get up. I'll pour it.” she began to walk gloatingly over towards the drink table.
“A gentleman should never allow a lady to pour her own wine.” Cornelius protested. I must poison her glass! How will I find a way now?
“Oh, I'm no lady, Lord Wilson.” Leah taunted over her shoulder, pouring three glasses of wine. “And I don't take you for such a gentleman yourself.”
“I insist.” Cornelius gave it one last attempt.
“Leave off it, Uncle.” Kenneth snapped, and Cornelius accepted his defeat. It will be harder than I thought to deal with this woman but deal with her I shall.
“Very well.” Cornelius gave a polite smile.
Leah came back with two glasses of wine, one of which she sat on the desk beside Kenneth, and the other she handed to Cornelius. After retrieving her own glass, she raised it well above her head.
“To the end of an era.” she mocked.
Cornelius found the comment snide, but still, he had a part to play. He had to participate. “The end of an era.” he agreed.
“Amen.” Kenneth looked strangely between the two of them, and all three drained their glasses. Cornelius noticed a small degree of what he figured must be silt, and he mentally gave his kitchen staff a demerit for their choice of wines to stock the house with.
Then they sat in silence, nervously watching the clock, until forty-five minutes had gone by since Nash's dep
arture. It was time to go.
Cornelius snapped shut his pocket watch and smiled at both Kenneth and Leah.
“Shall we?”
“Very well,” Kenneth grunted. “Leah–”
“I'll go out through the window.” she dismissed.
“On up then, Uncle.” Kenneth gestured with his pistol. “Let's get a move on.”
“I'll only step into the loo.” Cornelius said. “Before we're out the door.”
“Don't think so,” Kenneth pressed.
“Come now,” Cornelius scoffed back. “You cannot expect me to do what I must with a full bladder. The door is just there, I shan't be through the window or any such nonsense.”
“Let him go.” Leah added, jumping up on the windowsill.
“Be quick about it.”
“Fine, fine.” Cornelius clicked through the door to a side passage which connected a room for further entertainment and the study. In the middle of it he entered the water closet.
It was a tiny space with an ornate china dish set out on a low stool, but Cornelius immediately reached up above the door frame, and grasped the hidden pistol he kept there.
After checking to see that it was loaded and primed, he carefully tucked it beneath his light jacket. After straightening his appearance, he stepped back out into the hallway and rejoined his nephew, who stood watching the door with clear anxiety.
“Let's be off.” Cornelius smiled, and out the door they went.
Chapter 23
Nash was running full speed through the streets. He would not be stopped or slowed for anything, not now. The Judge's house was completely out of the way from the Devil's Acre, and Nash knew he had to be fast to get the timing right.
Sprinting down each block, he ducked and dodged the random person or two out for a late-night stroll. Often, he heard gasps of shock, or cries of anger in his wake, but he did not linger on any of them.
He was breathing raggedly, burning his legs, pumping his arms up and down, navigating all the corners, courtyards, and side streets he had become ever so familiar with throughout the course of his life.
Just as he felt he could go no further, he arrived at the home of Judge Roberts. The house was as described to him: an old-looking mansion with stone lions at the front gate. It was rather hard to miss just who and who wasn't the law about London.
Scaling the gate to the courtyard, Nash tossed small stones up at a lit window on the second floor until after what seemed like ages – although Nash couldn't complain about a moment to catch his breath – he saw the large face of the Marquess poke his head out of the window.
“Down here!” Nash called up between his gasps for air.
“Oh my!” The Marquess exclaimed, jumping a bit at the sight of Nash in the courtyard. “How did you...” he trailed off as his eyes moved past Nash to the tall iron gate.
“The meeting is at pier number 6, down on the wharf,” Nash finally had the old fool's attention.
“When?” The Marquess inquired, adjusting his large body to better protrude from the window.
“Right now!” Nash shouted. “Or in a half-hour, at the very least.”
“Goodness!” The Marquess jolted. “Surely, you must come in, Roberts, I–”
“No time!” Nash called. “Meet them there!”
“Meet them?” The Marquess looked shocked at the idea.
“I have to go!” Nash ran back to the gate. He had much more pressing matters to attend to than to coddle the Marquess. Rich folk always seem so surprised about everything.
“We shall meet you there!” Nash could hear the Marquess's voice floating out after him. I surely hope so.
Nash knew he had to go back and grovel before Riphook, and then lie about how he had received the message. How he was going to pull off both lies, he had no idea, but he knew he needed legitimacy.
If there was one person that would lend himself to Nash's aid in that respect, it would be Digby.
Nash wanted to see his friend again, but he also needed that hulk of a man if he wanted to walk through the Devil's Acre, and he knew just where to find him.
Nash sprinted back across town, rushing towards the boroughs. Digby had a half-brother who ran with an outfit down there. The crew was loyal to Riphook, of course, but Nash was confident he would be able to pick Digby out of a crowd.
He landed finally in a small courtyard left to the free agencies of the boroughs. None of the moon's light graced the flagstone floor as a result of the makeshift bridges cutting across the space above him.
“Whatchu' lookin' fer?” a shifty-looking thug slid out of the shadows in front of him. “Yain't from 'round 'ere.” Nash could see many of his teeth were missing.
“Lookin' for Digby.” Nash stated boldly. “He and I run together.”
“I might's be able to reach out to him.” the thug whined. “But I think you gun' have to pay fer security.”
“Sure.” Nash didn't have the time to argue.
“Ten shillings.” the thug spat.
“Bugger off.” Nash shot back. He didn't actually have any coin. “When we're on the outside.”
“Now, or maybe I take it from you.” The thug pulled out a small knife.
“Don't think on it laddie you'll get cut.” Nash hissed, tensing for a fight.
“Nash?” Digby's voice came out of the darkness, and his huge frame followed suit.
“Digs.” Nash grinned. He was elated to see his friend alive and well. “I need your help, mate.”
“I thought you had gone,” Digby cocked his head.
“I thought so too.” Nash scuffed the stone under his feet. “But I couldn't leave ya. Not you nor them kids.”
“You mean it?” Digby sniffled.
“I mean it, mate.” Nash felt as if he might cry alongside the gentle giant.
“Have you got the shillin's then.” The thug moved his knife towards Digby.
“Filthy con artist.” Nash uttered.
“Scat.” Digby commanded, taking four large steps towards them.
“Blast.” The thug, no doubt upon realizing just how big Digby was compared to himself, turned tail and ran.
“It is good to see you my friend.” Nash laughed out, and took in his friend for a great embrace.
“I thought I would never see you again.” Digby sobbed, picking Nash up and swinging him around.
“I'm here now, aren't I? Come on now, put me down.”
“Sure, boss.”
“You don't need to call me that.” Nash said. “We're equal now. But we gotta do somethin' before we can go back to them kids.”
“What do we gotta do?”
“We gotta take down Riphook.” Nash whispered.
“That's all fine and good but how?” Digby clearly couldn't fathom undertaking such a task.
“Come with me, I'll explain on the way.” Nash beckoned him onward, and the two took off at a jog towards the Devil's Acre.
“So, we got to trick him?” Digby was getting a handle on the plan.
“That's right, we trick him. He thinks that we're trying to go back to work for him.”
“If you say it'll work, then it'll work.”
“I say it will.” Nash bit down on his lip. It bloody well better.
When they came within a few blocks from Old Pye Street, they paused to catch their breath.
“This is it, mate.” Nash said. “We've got to go in there and bring him out.”
“Let's go.” Digby snorted confidently. “Me and Rip got unfinished business.”
“That's the spirit.” Nash cheered.
They composed themselves to appear the way they should when entering the Devil's Acre: calm, dangerous, but keeping to themselves.
Riphook's penthouse was in the cluster of buildings between Chapel Way and Tottoll Street, and it seemed to call out to them from several lengths away.
Nash felt nervous but knew that he must retain a collected composure. Selling his story was all important.
When they reached th
e building's entrance, they took one last reaffirming look to one another and stepped over the threshold.
It was the longest walk Nash felt he had ever taken, up those winding stairs, past colonies of thugs pooling out of run-down doorways on every story.
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