Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1)

by Skye, Christina

  Then Silver screamed.

  Something hurtled toward her, shattering the wall of glass. She saw a brick with a piece of paper wrapped around it.

  The message was short and ugly.

  The boy is next.

  ~ ~ ~

  Blackwood inched his horse along the dark ridge overlooking the heath. At the top he halted and opened the leather satchel slung across his saddle.

  By the light of the moon the highwayman skimmed the naval dispatch he had taken from Lord Renwick’s carriage.

  Frowning, he scanned the terse lines of numbers indicating latitudes and longitudes of the various trading vessels and passenger ships active in the Channel and farther south off France and Spain. There was nothing earthshaking in the information. Outwardly at least, it was a routine list of shipping facts.

  But something about those numbers nagged at the highwayman. Something that was not quite as it should be. He knew that water well, of course. Five years ago he had tasted its brine and shivered in its frigid swells. Most of the numbers marked locations off the coast of Spain and Portugal and a few farther south near the mouth of the Mediterranean.

  Yes, there was something there all right, something that pricked at dark memories, but try as he might, Blackwood couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  Grimly, he shoved the papers back into the satchel, then ran a gloved hand along Diablo’s gleaming neck.

  The pain in his chest had stilled to a throb. He had stanched the blood with a handkerchief and sent Jonas on to deposit Renwick’s carriage in the main street of Kingsdon Cross. Someone would be sent to search for the travelers once the carriage was found, and until then, the lord and his ladies could amuse themselves as they saw fit.

  Diablo’s head rose. The black horse gave a restless whinny.

  Cursing softly, the highwayman tugged off his mask, letting the cool wind rake his cheeks. Off to the east the sky was tinged with gray and above him the stars were starting to fade. In an hour it would be dawn.

  Dawn. One more day of bitterness and regret. One more day without hope. One more day that brought him no closer to his goal of revenge. The tall figure cursed, then spurred his horse forward.

  He knew he should go home.

  He knew he should give up his dangerous masquerade and ride hell for leather toward Waldon Hall and the safety its palatial rooms offered.

  But he didn’t. Instead the highwayman turned south. He studied the dark hills, thinking about innocence and youth and a woman with green-gold eyes and lips like crimson silk.

  A woman who was bound to bring him nothing but trouble. Yes, he had to forget her.

  With a raw curse Blackwood turned Diablo away toward Kingsdon Cross. There were other kinds of women, after all, women who understood colder, darker pleasures. That was all a highwayman deserved.

  He would drive her from his mind the hard way. The cold way.

  The only way he knew how.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Green Man was just the way it always was — smoky, smelly, and cheap.

  In the past Blackwood had always like it that way. No one asked questions, faces were kept hidden, and the clink of gold guineas was the only sound that mattered. On his infrequent visits he had passed himself off as a half-pay soldier down on his luck, and no one had ever questioned his story.

  But tonight he felt a sense of restlessness as he slid behind a grimy table in one dimly lit corner.

  “What’ll it be, guv?” The proprietor had the raw-boned look of a seasoned pugilist and had in fact been famous in that capacity for a few seasons in London.

  “A bottle and a glass,” the highwayman said shortly, easing his hat lower over his face.

  While he waited, Blackwood sat back in his chair and surveyed the room. It held the usual blend of merchants, travelers, and women who provided their services to the inn’s none-too-fastidious clientele.

  As a place for a drink and a smattering of local gossip, it had never bothered Blackwood before.

  But for some reason it did tonight, even though he’d come to get that very sort of gossip. He wanted to find out who might have bought the services of the sullen trio who’d been racing over the heath the night before.

  Even more, he wanted to find out why they were pursuing the woman.

  He hunched his shoulders as the proprietor brought back his bottle. He filled his glass to the brim, raised it in silent salute to a pair of unforgettable green-gold eyes, and drank. The brandy left a pleasant burn all the way down. It made Blackwood almost believe he could forget her.

  He settled back and emptied another.

  A woman with too much perfume and too little bodice minced across the floor and balanced one elbow on the table, giving him an unrestricted view of the bosom that threatened to spill from her gown at any moment. “Don’t remember seeing you around, dearie, but then I’m new here. Like some company, would you?”

  The air was smoky, and Blackwood was starting to feel a pleasant heat from the brandy he’d consumed. He tugged his hat lower, curious about the information he could glean from his eager companion.

  The smile he gave her didn’t quite extend to his eyes, but he doubted she would mind. “Yes,” he said tightly. “Why not?”

  ~ 6 ~

  Silver stared down at the angry words scrawled on the crumpled paper. The letters swam in and out of focus.

  The boy is next.

  They were going to hurt Bram! It had been bad enough when only the farm was threatened, or even just herself. But now they’d threatened an innocent twelve-year-old boy.

  Silver bit her lip. He’d come so close to dying six months ago, and he still wasn’t strong. If they took him, it would kill him.

  She couldn’t let anything endanger Bram.

  But how could she leave now, when she was finally on the verge of solving the mystery of her father’s death?

  Angrily she kicked at the brick. It skittered over the shards of glass like ice on a frozen pond. Then the answer came to her.

  It was reckless.

  It was desperate.

  It was madness itself.

  But she had no choice. It was the only way to keep Bram and her farm safe.

  After one last glance at the floor to be sure that slate and cubbyhole were concealed, she caught up her shawl and raced off to the house.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You’re going to do what?”

  Tinker shoved his callused fingers onto his hips and glared at the slip of a girl he’d come to consider more daughter than employer. “You’re crazy, girl, that’s what. I won’t even hear of it!”

  Silver didn’t look up from the old trunk she was busy searching. “On the contrary, it’s a perfect idea, Tinker. I’ve thought it all through and it will answer quite nicely.”

  “Aye, it will serve nicely to get you tossed into Bedlam, that’s what!”

  “Not at all.” Silver’s head reappeared. She was carrying an old black dress and a thick veil. “He’s the perfect man for the job. Do you deny that?”

  “Not a bit,” Tinker said grimly. “He’s too perfect and that’s the whole bloody problem.”

  “You’re just jealous because you didn’t think of it first.”

  Tinker snorted, telling her exactly what he thought of this accusation. “How do you even aim to find him? It’s not likely that the man would put out a shop sign, after all.”

  “I’ve thought of that too,” Silver said calmly. “I’ve made a list.”

  “A list? What kind of bloody list?”

  “Of all the unsavory spots in Kingsdon Cross. I mean to visit them one by one until I find him. First I shall try the heath.”

  “Over my dead body you will!”

  Silver paid no attention. Moving behind a screen, she tugged off her cambric shirt and hitched the dark gown over her head. It was a little tight, but it would do. She had to force down a wave of sorrow as she remembered the last time she’d worn the dress.

  It was at her father’s funeral
.

  Well, she wouldn’t cry, not now. And she wasn’t about to back down either. Lavender Close was all they had left and nobody was going to cheat her out of it! She ran her hand over the bruise throbbing at her eye. At least the veil would conceal that.

  When she emerged a moment later, the black veil was draped over her face. “How do I look?”

  Tinker scowled. “Like a governess down on her bleeding luck.”

  “As bad as that? Wonderful. It will do the trick completely.”

  “Aye, when pigs can bleeding fly!”

  “You really must try to avoid that kind of language, Tinker. It’s a sure sign that you’re angry.”

  “Well, and so I am angry, blast it! You’re talking nonsense, girl, and I won’t let you get away with it. We’ll find another way. Just you leave it to me. They gave us three days, after all.”

  Silver frowned, thinking about the brick that had come hurtling through the conservatory window. She hadn’t told Tinker about that, afraid that he’d insist on taking matters into his own hands. He was tough and smart, but Silver doubted he’d be up to fisticuffs with men twice his size and half his age.

  No, this was the only way. Her mind was made up. She would merely have to be a little clever about it.

  “You’re not going, girl, and that’s that.”

  With a sigh Silver sank into a threadbare chair that used to sit in their drawing room.

  When they’d had a drawing room. When they’d had a grand house with money and security. “Oh, very well, you infuriating man. But we’ll have to think of something soon. We haven’t much time.”

  “We will,” Tinker said soothingly. He scratched at his jaw. “I’ve been thinking of a few plans. We can discuss them in the morning.”

  “But you’re sure you won’t consider—”

  “Nay, and neither will you, miss! I’ll hear none of that kind of talk. You and Bram are my charge now that your parents are gone and your uncle is dead, and care for you I will.” Tinker gave her a fierce glare. “Whether the two of you like it or not!”

  Silver patted the old man’s sinewy arm and laughed. “Such a fierce tiger you are, Tinker.” Her eyes darkened to the haunting green of a mountain lake. “How very lucky Bram and I are to have you.”

  “Go on with you.” The old man sighed. “We’ll find our way out of this bit of bother. But don’t you go setting off anywhere without me at night, do y’ hear?”

  Silver made him a crisp bow. “Understood, most exalted one.” Which, of course, did not mean that she agreed.

  “Be off with you, minx.”

  Abruptly Silver sat forward. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “It sounded like Cromwell barking. And a voice, down by the storeroom, I think.”

  Without another word Tinker spun around and hammered down the stairs, already dreaming how he’d wrap his hands around their attacker’s throat.

  It had been almost too easy, Silver thought. She felt a pang of guilt, but tonight she had a job to do.

  The wind blows in from the sea this night, carrying the tang of woodsmoke and the hint of a coming storm. But I must not ramble on. There is much yet to say and in my heart I know I have little time left. They will find me soon. Too soon.

  My dearest Susannah, think well on all I have written here. There are secrets in these pages, secrets that I dare not relate even now, lest this book fall into my enemy’s hands.

  Read these pages carefully and think back on all the things I’ve taught you. Sift through my words, just as you learned at my knee to sift through Lavender Close’s rich dark soil. The answers are here, I promise you.

  Guard them well. These are secrets that men will kill for. If you find this book, then men have already killed for them.

  ~ 7 ~

  He wasn’t on the heath and he wasn’t on the high road. She retraced her travels of the night before, but two hours later had encountered no one except an anxious cleric returning home to King’s Lynn.

  That left the town of Kingsdon Cross.

  Silver’s first destination was a flat expanse of land along the river. Pulling up her little gig, she carefully checked her veil, straightened her skirts, and made certain her pistol was secured in her boot.

  Satisfied, she jumped down and tossed her reins over a nearby fence.

  She’d always wondered what a cockfight was like. Something told her she was going to enjoy the experience.

  Halfway through the crowd Silver decided she was wrong about that.

  She made her way slowly, pushing past men with hard eyes and women who certainly weren’t ladies.

  From the smoky pit before her came cheers and oaths. The wind carried the smell of dust and blood, and Silver felt her stomach heave.

  “Kin I help you, miss?” A tall man with an empty sleeve was standing beside a tree, frowning at her.

  “I trust you can.” Roars came up from the dark pit and Silver paled.

  “What, never been to a cockfight before?”

  “I can honestly say that I’ve haven’t had that pleasure.” Silver cast a quick look through the crowd before her. Down in the pit a ferocious creature zeroed in on his competitor. Feathers flew and harsh screeching filled the air.

  Silver swallowed the bile in her throat. “I am Mrs. Brown, you see, the widow of Archibald Brown of Brown, Brown, and Green, late of London. My dear departed husband had a bequest for a man I’m told frequents this — er, establishment.”

  “Indeed.” The muddy brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “I’m afraid my husband died before he was able to find the recipient of this bequest.”

  “And just what was this person’s name, miss?”

  “Blackwood.”

  The man’s face went hard. “Don’t reck’n as how I know that name. In fact, I’m bloody sure of it.”

  “Well,” Silver said artlessly, “I quite understand how you might feel the need to be careful, the man being a highwayman. But my husband, Mr. Brown, died soon after being delegated to carry out the bequest, and a sizable figure it is, sir. A very sizable figure. I am certain Mr. Blackwood would want to know about it, and I hoped you might pass on a message. If you see him, of course.”

  The sharp brown eyes said neither yes nor no.

  Silver wasn’t about to give up so easily, however. “I believe he will be thankful to you. In fact, he will probably wish to give you a reward for your services.”

  A gleam lit the muddy eyes. “Mayhap he will at that. If I knew him, of course. Which I’m not saying as how I do or I don’t.”

  Silver caught her reticule close. The noise in the pit had become deafening. She tried not to think of the carnage taking place at that moment. “Please do give him the message if he comes by tonight, won’t you? I’ll be putting up at the Cross and Arms until tomorrow.”

  Shrill cheers erupted, indicating that one of the feathered creatures had been victorious.

  “Old Sawtooth’s gone and won again,” the man said shortly. “I’ll have to go.”

  That was fine with Silver. Swallowing, she fought her way back out into the night.

  Whether she succeeded or not, she knew one thing for certain. She definitely did not want to see a cockfight ever again.

  ~ ~ ~

  By the time her head had cleared, Silver began to wonder if Tinker hadn’t been right. Perhaps the highwayman would not be so easily found.

  She shoved that uncharacteristic bit of pessimism out of her mind. This was the best idea they had and she was going to see it through to the end!

  She drove the gig through the town until she came to an elegant town house on the square opposite the church. The other houses were dark at this late hour, but her destination was lit by a pair of ornate gold lanterns.

  There were few people on the street. In the dancing light Silver made out a brawny individual with a cabbage nose and decided not to try an entrance from the front. At that moment a dray hauling barrels lumbered around toward
the back.

  Silver smiled. One problem solved.

  She would soon be inside. And she had always wanted to see the inside of a real, true-enough gaming hell.

  She followed the dray around to the back and slid down from the gig. As she’d expected, it took her but a few minutes to talk her way inside. She had come, she explained to a harassed-looking manservant, in answer to a notice for employment as a cook. In truth, Silver was hard pressed to boil water without burning the saucepan, but the lie got her through the back door quite neatly. A slatternly-looking female showed her to an office just off the kitchens.

  Silver was studying the opulent silk-covered walls and heavy velvet furniture when the door opened.

  The proprietor was a man she knew by reputation but not sight. He was good with cards, good with money, but had a bad head for whisky, so Tinker had once told her.

  He inspected her closely, trying to see through her heavy veil. “I am told you have come inquiring about employment as a cook. I am sorry, but we have no openings here.” His black eyes narrowed. “There must be some mistake.”

  “But indeed, I fear my message was confused. I have come on a matter concerning my dear departed husband, Archibald Brown, of Brown, Brown, and Green.”

  “Never heard of the man,” came the curt reply. “And what’s it got to do with me if I have?”

  Silver eyed him with disfavor, thankful that her veil would conceal her expression. “My husband was delegated to transfer a bequest for a client. Unfortunately, dear Archibald died before he could complete his task and I have come to fulfill that errand. It is the least I could do for poor Archibald,” she added sadly.

  Her host began to grow interested again. “A bequest, eh? A sizable one, is it?”

  “Quite sizable.”

  “And who is it to go to? Not me, by any chance?”

  “I’m afraid not. Not unless your name is Blackwood.”

  “Blackwood?” The man frowned. “What makes you think I would receive such a notorious criminal here? This is a respectable establishment, so it is!”