The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  Archie hadn’t felt homesick since Julia’s family died of the putrid throat all those years ago. His parents’ home went from being a place of warmth and love to a place of loneliness and grief, especially after his mother died and only his father remained. Archie visited his father as often as he could, but couldn’t bear to stay too long, still hearing in his mind the laughter of Julia’s children when they visited, and the soft voice of his mother as she talked to his sister or sang to herself while she prepared supper.

  Archie pushed his melancholy thoughts aside and signaled to the barmaid, who wove her way between the tables and approached him with a smile of welcome. She was a young girl, no older than seventeen, with a mass of dark curls spilling from her cap, and sparkling blue eyes. The girl was pleasantly plump, and had deep dimples when she smiled, her jolly expression suddenly dispelling Archie’s glumness.

  “What’s on offer tonight?” Archie asked. He didn’t care as long as it was hot and would fill his belly.

  “There’s boiled beef with mashed turnips an’ mutton stew. I’d go for the beef meself,” the girl advised Archie quietly, giving him a meaningful look. Archie didn’t bother to inquire what was wrong with the stew. He’d had mutton for his midday meal anyway.

  “All right, boiled beef it is, and a tankard of ale. Bring some bread, too,” Archie instructed.

  “That’ll cost ye extra,” the girl said as she continued to study him.

  “I’ll pay.” The girl turned to leave, but Archie had to ask her about Julian Covington. He had no expectations of finding the man here, but he might as well be diligent.

  “What’s your name, love?” Archie asked playfully, eager to keep the girl from leaving.

  “Moll.”

  “Would you know of a man called Julian Covington, Moll? I’ve been searching for him all day.”

  “Are ye a friend of ‘is then?” the girl asked suspiciously. Archie noticed a twinge of distaste on the girl’s round face.

  “Aye, I am. Do you know him?”

  The girl’s smile vanished from her face, leaving her eyes stormy and mistrustful. “Didn’t take ye for ‘is sort,” she mumbled as she tried to back away.

  “And what sort is that?”

  “Never ye mind,” Moll replied stubbornly. “‘E comes in ‘ere most days. Sits over yonder.” She pointed to an alcove in the corner, which was empty at the moment.

  “What sort, Moll?” Archie persisted, eager to know as much as he could about the man.

  “I ain’t supposed to talk about it. And if ye’re ‘is friend, ye’d know, wouldn’t ye?”

  With that, Moll walked away to get his food. Archie stared after her, his mind awhirl. So, he found the watering hole of Julian Covington, but there were things he needed to know about the man before approaching, and Moll wasn’t about to tell him without further inducement. Archie looked up as Moll returned with his beef and ale, a coin already in his hand. He skillfully twirled the coin between his fingers, making sure that the girl noticed it as she set down the plate of beef. Fragrant steam rose from the plate, making Archie’s stomach growl with hunger, but eating had to wait. Again.

  Archie stopped twirling the coin and held it up in front of Moll’s face. “Tell me what I need to know and the coin is yours.”

  “‘Ow do I know ye’ll really give it to me?” She was a mistrustful one, and probably with good reason.

  “Here.” Archie placed the coin on the corner of the table closest to Moll. “Place your hand over it if it makes you feel better. I will pay for the information, but it best be worth the money.”

  “Oh, o’right.” Moll glanced around nervously as she placed her hand over the coin. “Julian Covington likes gentlemen,” she whispered. “‘E comes in ‘ere, orders a brandy, and waits for ‘is opportunity. Many a night ‘e doesn’t find what ‘e came for, but ‘tis no’ only carnal pleasure ‘e’s after. ‘E befriends gentlemen, wins their trust.”

  “And then what?” Archie asked.

  “I don’t know ‘xactly, do I? No’ like I’m invited to sit down with ‘em for a quiet palaver.”

  “Come now, Moll; a serving wench knows all, especially about men who come in regularly. And you look like a right clever girl.”

  Moll colored with pleasure at the compliment, but moved the coin closer to the edge of the table. “I think ‘e murders ‘em,” she whispered.

  “Why would you say that?” Archie demanded, taken aback by her answer.

  “Cause no’ long after meetin’ ‘im, they stop comin’ in.”

  “Is there anyone he meets with regularly?” Archie asked as he placed his hand over Moll’s to keep her from running off.

  “There’s one man ‘e meets with from time to time. A sea captain.”

  “Does Covington like to make small talk or does he keep himself to himself?” Archie asked.

  Moll gave him a dubious glance, wondering why he’d want this type of information about someone he supposedly knew.

  “‘E generally keeps to ‘isself when ‘e first comes in, but ‘e likes his brandy, ‘specially when ‘tis paid for by someone else. ‘E is a tight-fisted sod, ‘e is. The drink loosens ‘is lips, and right quick. ‘E can’t hold ‘is liquor for naught. And that’s all I mean to tell ye, or I’ll lose me position an’ I got a nipper to feed. Not worth lettin’ me babe go ‘ungry over the likes of ye.”

  Moll pulled her hand from beneath Archie’s, grabbed the coin and fled, leaving Archie to ponder the information. He always thought better on a full stomach, so he tucked into his meal with relish. The beef was rather good — not too dry, and clearly fresh. And the mashed turnips were moist with melted butter. Archie tore off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth as he considered what Moll said.

  So, Julian Covington was a homosexual who used this tavern as a place to meet potential lovers. If Gideon Warburton was a homosexual, as Archie suspected, then that would explain the connection between the two men. Archie gazed around, suddenly wondering if this place catered to those types of men, but didn’t see anyone who stood out. He supposed they knew each other somehow, or maybe of each other. There were at least two brothels that Archie knew of that were for men who liked boys, but perhaps Julian Covington was after something else. Moll said that the men disappeared shortly after meeting him, just as Gideon Warburton had. And what of this sea captain? Was that a factor?

  Archie stopped chewing as he noticed a well-dressed man enter the tavern. He wasn’t wearing a wig over the thick golden hair that fell to his shoulders. The man’s face was lean, dominated by warm, blue eyes which crinkled when he smiled. He nodded to several patrons and took a seat in the alcove Moll had indicated, but didn’t summon a serving maid. A cup of brandy was placed before him within moments of arrival, and there was a minute of cheerful banter between him and the serving wench before she accepted payment for the brandy and left. Archie continued to eat as he discreetly studied the man. There was something of Bradford Nash about his looks, just as Hugo suggested, and he carried himself like a gentleman. Archie snuck a peek at Covington’s hands. They were white and smooth; not the hands of a man who’d ever done any work. So, he was a man of means, inherited or otherwise.

  Archie considered his options. Approaching the man seemed pointless as he’d either just dismiss him or feed him a pack of lies. He’d finish his meal, have another tankard of ale, then leave the tavern and wait for the man to make his way home. Hugo gave him leave to use any means possible, and he would. Covington looked like the type of man who’d run away from a fight, and would divulge anything Archie needed to know if threatened. There was no need to cause the man any actual harm, but if it came to it, Archie wasn’t averse to showing him who was in charge of the conversation. Either way, he’d get what he came for. Satisfied with this strategy, Archie leaned back in his chair having finished his beef and took a long pull of ale.

  Archie was taken by surprise when he noticed the man’s gaze settle on him. Covington’s head was tipped to the
side and his mouth stretched into a seductive smile, the kind of smile a man would bestow on a woman he hoped to win. Archie swallowed a sip of the ale and returned the smile, raising his tankard in a toast. Two could play that game. Hugo always jokingly said that Archie was pretty; well, perhaps he was pretty enough to attract the attention of Julian Covington and extract the information he needed. It would be preferable to use his wits instead of violence for a change.

  Archie pushed the plate away and cradled his tankard, still acutely aware of Covington’s gaze. The man was watching him, but Archie wasn’t ready to make a move just yet. It was too soon. He signaled Moll to refill his cup and leaned back in his chair, sated and relaxed. At least he needn’t continue his search; he’d found his man, and would put an end to this business tonight, as Hugo requested. Archie took a sip and finally turned his head, making eye contact with Julian Covington. The man’s eyes glowed, that sardonic smile still on his face. Archie stiffened in surprise as the man rose from his seat and began to slowly walk in his direction. The game was afoot.

  “Good evening,” Covington said as he approached Archie’s table. “I must confess that I hate drinking alone. It makes one feel so isolated from his fellow man.”

  Archie swallowed down the desire to point out that it was difficult to be isolated from your fellow man in a tavern full of people. Everyone was talking and laughing, and all one had to do was leave the sanctuary of the alcove and join the crowd at the bar to feel a part of things.

  “Yes,” Archie replied. “I was meant to meet someone, but I’m afraid he failed to show.”

  “Would you join me for a drink?” Covington asked. Archie motioned toward the empty chair at his table, but Covington shook his head.

  “Come to my table. It’s so much quieter. Easier to talk. And get to know each other,” he added softly.

  Archie bowed in acknowledgement, picked up his tankard, and followed Covington toward his table. Julian Covington slid back into the alcove gracefully, folding his elegant hands in front of him on the table. Archie couldn’t help noticing that the man was a bit older than he first took him to be. He was forty, at least, but his skin was smooth and clear, and his physique was lithe, no signs of thickening around the middle or softening of the jowls. He was a very attractive man, but there was just a hint of femininity about him, and something flirtatiously playful, which was oddly disturbing in a man of his age.

  Covington tipped his head to the side again and glanced at Archie from beneath his lashes, as coy as a young maiden. “Do you have a name, or shall I just call you “Red”?

  “It’s Archibald,” Archie replied softly, “and you are?”

  “Julian. A pleasure to meet you, Archibald. Is it Archie for short?”

  “To my friends.”

  “Then I beg the pleasure of being your friend,” Julian replied flirtatiously. Archie just smiled back, unsure how to reply. The man was certainly forward. Instead, Archie motioned for the barmaid to bring Julian another brandy. Julian inclined his head in thanks and reached for the drink.

  “You are not from around here, are you?” Julian asked as he studied Archie’s rough hands and serviceable attire.

  “No, I come from Surrey. I’ve come up to London looking for work,” Archie added. “My employment was terminated recently, and a friend from my village thought he might fix me up with a job.”

  “And what was it you were employed at?” Julian asked, but raised his finger to forestall Archie’s answer. “No, let me guess. You are strong, but you don’t have the look of a farmer about you. A blacksmith perhaps?”

  “Why do you say that?” Archie asked, suddenly enjoying this game. The man really was entertaining.

  “You have such strong hands.” Julian Covington reached over and took one of Archie’s hands, his eyes never leaving Archie’s face.

  “No, not a blacksmith.”

  “What then?”

  “I was a man-at-arms,” Archie confided, waiting to see what Julian would make of that.

  “Ah, a fighting man. A protector. How very appropriate. And what happened to your master, Archie?” Julian asked, curious.

  “Let’s just say that the current political climate didn’t suit him.”

  “I see. So, you find yourself adrift in the world.” Julian made it sound as if Archie were a drowning man, but his eyes caressed Archie as if he were offering to save him.

  “Not adrift, exactly, but searching for a safe harbor.” Lord, did he really just say that? Archie felt a blush creep up his neck. He was sitting here playing coy with a man. Thank the Lord Franny wasn’t here to see this display, or Hugo. He would find this deeply amusing.

  “Hmm, I wonder if I might be of help to someone of your particular talents,” Julian mused out loud.

  “Are you in need of protection, Julian?” Archie asked, eager to see where this conversation would lead.

  “I might be. Someone like me is always in danger, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Someone like you?”

  Julian Covington didn’t reply, but took Archie’s hand again and began to stroke Archie’s palm with his thumb, moving it in sensual circles. Archie wanted to yank his hand away, but he wasn’t finished with Covington yet, and this was surprisingly diverting.

  “I have rooms not far from here,” Covington whispered, almost as if to himself. “They are quite comfortable, and you are welcome to spend the night if you wish.”

  Archie pretended to think while buying himself some time to evaluate the situation. He was sure that Covington would be a lot more forthcoming in private, but he might also expect Archie to respond to sexual advances, and Archie wasn’t prepared to go that far — not even for Hugo.

  “I wouldn’t dream of abusing your hospitality, Julian. Unless you were offering me lodgings as my future employer,” Archie improvised.

  “I bet you’re good with your sword,” Covington smiled happily. “All right, I suppose I could give you a try. I need a man of discretion, one who wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

  “I am not interested in what you do, just in how much you pay,” Archie replied.

  “Is it just payment in coin you’re interested in, or would something a little more pleasurable interest you as well?” Julian slid his right hand beneath the table. Archie nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the man’s hand on his cock, massaging lightly. Archie willed himself to sit still and ignore the man’s touch, but his traitorous cock began to stiffen, bringing a smile to Julian’s face. “I see that’s open for discussion.”

  I have to finish this up before things get out of hand, Archie thought as he carefully removed Julian’s hand from his crotch. Covington wasn’t pleased, but he placed his hand back on the table where Archie could see it, deterred, but not defeated.

  Archie ordered Julian another brandy to soften the blow of his rejection. Julian eyed it greedily before taking a slow sip. He wasn’t drunk, but he was pleasantly intoxicated and steadily on his way to full-blown inebriation.

  “I want to know exactly what it is you’d wish me to do,” Archie said to Covington.

  “Have a conscience, do you?” Julian asked playfully.

  “No, but I set a value on my services based on what’s required of me,” Archie replied, his attitude now businesslike. Julian Covington’s face went from playful to closed, his eyes narrowing in speculation. He was wondering if he could trust Archie, so Archie just sat back, his own expression as bland as he could manage. He didn’t expect Covington to confide in him, but maybe he could glean something he could work with. Archie crossed his arms and waited, watching the internal battle wage within the man. Did he think that Archie would submit his body if he got hired? Perhaps he needed to reassure him.

  Archie forced himself to relax and reached for Julian’s hand. He squeezed it gently as he smiled into his eyes. Julian froze for a moment, but then relaxed and returned Archie’s smile. Still, he remained silent.

  “Will I be expected to kill?” Archie tried again.r />
  “No, you won’t. What would give you such an idea?” Covington asked, widening his eyes in mock astonishment. “I would require your services more for protection of my person.”

  “And who does your person need protecting from?” Archie asked with a smile, trying to cut through Julian’s reluctance to talk.

  “Why don’t you come back to my lodgings and I’ll explain,” Julian Covington suggested. “We can’t talk freely here.”

  “All right,” Archie replied, suddenly uneasy. This wasn’t going quite as he’d planned, but he couldn’t give up now. He was onto something, and he intended to find out just what game Julian Covington was playing, and with whom.

  Chapter 52

  Archie followed Julian Covington out of the Lamb and Flag into the swirling darkness of the March evening. He wasn’t wearing a sword, since he didn’t think it necessary, but he did have faith in his fighting skills should things get nasty, and a dagger tucked into his boot if he needed a weapon. He liked to be prepared for every eventuality, but there was no reason to worry. Julian was hardly steady on his feet, and the alcohol made him appear mellow rather than belligerent. Julian reminded Archie of a nervous maiden, one who was overcome with longing, but too embarrassed to act on her desires— for the moment.

  Archie forced himself to relax and walked close to Julian through the thickening mist. The buildings had been swallowed up by the fog, and only the occasional muffled cry and a splash of oars reminded Archie of the proximity of the river. The normal cacophony of daytime was now a sinister hush, the sound of footsteps and conversation muffled by the fog. An orb of light from a window occasionally materialized out of the mist, but otherwise, all was quiet and dark.

  Archie had no idea where they were, but figured they had to be somewhere close to the Strand since they’d walked for no more than ten minutes. Julian used a key to unlock a door and ushered Archie inside, closing the door behind him. A single candle burned on a small table by the door, another door firmly closed with no sounds coming from inside the room. Archie inhaled the scent of the house. You could tell a lot by the way a house smelled. This one smelled of wax polish and wood. The houses of the lower classes reeked of poverty; a unique smell comprised of human waste, rotting vegetables, and despair. The houses of the wealthy often smelled of flowers, perfumes, and food, if the kitchens were not located in an outbuilding. This house didn’t smell lived in, nor did it stink.