by March, Ava
No.
No. No. No!
Will darted into the room. Stumbled over something hard and fell to his knees, skidding to a stop before those two floorboards. He reached his hand into the opening.
And felt nothing but hard, cold wood.
His mind barely registered the snap of the door closing.
Maybe they hadn’t taken it all. Maybe they had left some of it behind.
Pushing to his feet, he shoved aside the bed frame. Looked under the mattress. Under the table. Under the chair’s cushion. Pulled the empty drawers fully out of the chest. Dropping to his knees, he searched through the clothes on the floor.
Hell, bloody God in heaven... It couldn’t be all gone. No, couldn’t possibly. He located the woolen sock, the fabric stretched from holding its small bounty. And found it empty, too.
No. No. No.
They couldn’t have taken it all. Not now. Not when he’d finally saved enough. Not when he had finally believed he’d be able to leave his life behind. Maybe it was somewhere else in the room he hadn’t looked yet—
A hand closed over his shoulder. “Will?”
“It’s gone.” He gasped for breath, his own voice echoing oddly in his ears. “All of it. Gone.”
And it was as if by speaking the words aloud, they finally fully registered in his head.
It was all gone. Every farthing, every halfpence he’d scrimped and saved. All those pennies he’d tucked away instead of spending them on a warm coat for winter or a decent meal or a room where he didn’t need to block the door while he slept. Everything he’d won at the tables and earned on his knees down those dark, dirty alleys. All of it. Gone.
It was as though a thick, suffocating blanket fell over him. Heavy and dense. All he could hear was his own pulse pounding in his ears.
“Jack?” He looked up to Jack who loomed above him, the man’s tall massive figure silhouetted by the late-morning sun streaming through the window. “They took it.”
“Who’s they?”
“Last night.” The timing was no coincidence. It had to have been them, or at least one of them. “I...I couldn’t believe they let me walk away,” he said, voice made shallow by his short, pulling breaths. “I thought for sure...” His pockets beyond full, he’d been as certain as could be he would not make it home. Had sworn as he’d crossed Drury Lane that he’d felt someone following him. But as the sun had started to break across the night sky, he had walked into his building with nary a scrape or a bruise.
He’d thought luck had finally been on his side.
How wrong he had been.
“Where were you last night?” Jack demanded.
“Black Bar tavern. Castle Street.”
“Near Seven Dials?”
Will nodded.
“Why the hell did you go there?”
“I needed to leave but I needed more. Only place I knew to go to win big enough.”
“But no one has money there.”
“A few do.”
“How much did you win?”
“3,217 pounds.”
“Christ.” The curse was more breath than word. Jack glanced about. “They followed you. If you’d been here when—” Cutting himself off, Jack shook his head, jaw clenched tight. “Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have gambled with them for hours. How many were there?” Taking hold of Will by both shoulders, Jack more pulled him up than assisted Will to his feet. “Will,” Jack said, dark gaze boring into his. “Who were they?”
He tried to push the all-encompassing despair aside long enough to pass his mind over last night. Names. There had been names when his opponents had spoken to each other. “O’Malley, Smith, Adams, Hale, Davis,” Will said, picturing the round table and naming each man from the one who’d been seated at his left around to his right.
“Who did you win the most from?”
“Hale, by far.” The image of the man’s harsh frown, eyes narrowed in anger, materialized in his head. “Not pleased.”
“What did he look like?”
“Almost my height. Compact, not bulky. Maybe thirty years of age or so. Thinning dark hair. Sapphire cravat pin. Hard manner.”
“Grab your things. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Had he truly sounded that confused?
“Away from here. Do you have a bag?”
He made to reach for the bottom drawer of the chest but stopped. No drawer in the chest. “I’ve got a sack someplace. Brown cloth.”
“Gather your clothes and whatever else you want. I’ll find it.”
With a nod, Will dropped to his knees and collected the garments scattered on the floor. The once-black trousers faded to a dark gray. The three white shirts, hems frayed and worn. Tan waistcoat, socks, spare cravat, the pile that was his smallclothes.
“Did you hide your money in the floor?”
“Yes.” From beneath the chest he found one brown leather glove, the other under an empty drawer.
“How did they know to look for it there?”
He shook his head. Clothes piled in one arm, he began gathering the few books and pamphlets that had once been on his small table. “I don’t—” His gaze landed on one of the short floorboards, and his brain began to function again. “There’s a small gouge in the board, from prying it up. Must’ve been how they’d known to look there.” After they turned over the bed, they must have seen it. Good thieves possessed sharp eyes. “I shouldn’t have tucked my winnings away. Should have grabbed the rest and left Town this morning.”
But it had been safe there for years. Different buildings, yes, but the first thing he did when moving to a new hovel of a room was to find a loose floorboard under a piece of furniture. He’d been nicked seven times since Jack had left him. The room ransacked, the woolen sock left empty, but no one had ever found his savings before.
Because no one else had known with certainty that much money was hidden someplace in his room.
“Why didn’t you just leave Town?” Jack asked, taking the books from Will and putting them into Will’s brown sack.
Will dropped his gaze to the floor and picked up The Farmer’s Magazine. “Because I wanted to see you one last time.”
A pause.
“Will...”
The deep, pensive tone of Jack’s voice had Will pushing to his feet. “Can you hand me my bag?” He felt exposed and bare and he did not want to have that particular conversation with Jack. Not now.
A moment’s consideration, and Jack nodded and did as asked. “We need to leave.”
“Why? They’ve already taken everything of any value. I’ve got nothing left for them to nick.”
“Now.” Jack put an arm around his shoulder in an attempt to usher him out the door.
“Wait. The spinach.” Stepping over the empty drawers, he crossed the room and grabbed the clay pot from the windowsill.
All of his attempts at practice had been for naught. He would never have the opportunity to put what he’d taught himself into use. Yet still, he couldn’t leave the little plants behind.
Before he knew it, they were out of the building and Jack had hailed a hackney.
“In,” Jack said, nudging Will toward the cab.
As Will took a seat on the bench, the leather cracked and worn, Jack had a word with the driver, the sounds of the passing wagons and noise of the City drowning out Jack’s deep voice. Then Jack was ducking to fit through the cab’s narrow door, settling on the bench beside Will, and with a crack of the driver’s whip, the hackney lurched forward.
Holding the clay pot securely on his lap, Will turned his attention out the window. What was he going to do? He had nothing. Absolutely nothing but the sack of clothes on the floor at Jack’s feet and the few coins in his pocket.
Everything was gone.
Everything he’d worked for gone.
A torrent of despair rose within, threatening to overwhelm him, to pull him under like a mighty wave. His
throat constricted. He squeezed his eyes closed tight. No, not in front of Jack. He would not bawl like a babe in front of Jack.
A large hand settled on his forearm. “It will be all right, Will.”
“No. It won’t.”
“Yes, it will. I’ll take care of it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Will snapped his attention from the window. “What do you mean by I’ll take care of it?”
Instead of answering his question, Jack asked, “Why do you think they let you walk away from the table?”
“I don’t know. Easier, perhaps? I suspect a few head-up bands of thieves. I thought I felt someone following me home but when I reached my room without incident, I dismissed the notion.”
“Someone was following you,” Jack stated, as if Will hadn’t figured out that particular point yet.
“Clearly. And I made it easy for them. Wasn’t at my room long.” Just long enough to tuck away his winnings, wash-up, and shave the night’s stubble from his jaw. “Then I went to the coffee house.”
He’d been famished from being up through the night, but the hunger had merely been an excuse to go to the coffee house and wait for Jack. He’d walked out the door of his building, hoping with all his heart that Jack would do what he did best—track him down. The sun had been making its way up a clear blue sky, the air crisp but not cold, the street beginning to fill as those who did not spend their nights seeped in depravity began to start their day.
A thought smacked into him. “Those boys. It was them.”
“Which boys?”
“The trio playing dice at the mouth of the alley.” Will had stepped around them on his way to the coffee house. The threadbare clothes, the dirty faces. Such boys were a common sight in that part of Town—Will had once been one of their numbers—and more than a handful lived in the alleys around his building, but... “One of them had a shock of white-blond hair. Never seen him before near my building but...” His mind skipped back to last night, to the boys arguing along Castle Street. “He was outside the Black Bar yesterday, as well.”
“How old was he?”
“Young adolescent. Twelve or so. Though one of the three looked a bit older. They were sent to follow me. To steal my winnings back.” By God, how had he not considered that possibility before? Whatever table he’d end up at, he had known some of the men he would play against that night would run flash houses inhabited by either thieves or whores or both. There were very few lucrative occupations for those in the stews, and none of the options attracted law-abiding, honorable men. “And when they found my savings, they took it all.” Because really, what thief would count out the exact amount they had been sent to retrieve and leave the remainder for its owner?
Hell, it was very likely those boys couldn’t even count above ten. Probably hadn’t even realized they’d taken 10,733 pounds.
Everything he’d worked six long years to accumulate.
And now it was all gone.
Just the thought of having to go back to the tables, back to cheating and whoring and scrimping and saving. Back to living in a hovel of a room. Back to cold nights in a narrow, lonely bed. Back to his life. Back to being so alone.
A sigh drenched in defeat, in complete and utter despair, deflated his chest, slumping his shoulders.
He should have known he’d never be able to escape who he had been born to be. Should not have even dared to hope.
“It will be all right, Will.”
“No, it—You never answered my question. What the hell did you mean by I’ll take care of it?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jack repeated, with firm conviction.
Will glanced out the windows. The old buildings a touch from tumbling over had given way to tidy shops and neat rows of elegant town houses. “Where are we going?”
“To His Grace’s carriage house. My room’s in the garret.”
“Why there?”
“I want you to remain there tonight. It’s safe.”
Suspicion formed quickly. Jack’s protective, vengeful air. The questions the man had asked. The answers Will had given. “No, Jack. It’s gone. Leave it be.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. He said not a word.
“Jack, no. He was not a pleasant gentleman. He is not the type of man who invites callers in for tea. He’s not some hired muscle who will allow you to pummel him to bits. He will kill you without a second thought if you try to take it back.”
All he received was more silence from Jack.
“Jack, I will not allow you to do such a thing. It’s gone. I’m lucky they didn’t gut me right there at the table. Leave. It. Be.”
Mouth drawn in a thin, determined line, Jack broke eye contact and looked out the window. “We’re here.”
The hackney jerked to a stop.
Will’s bag and his own held in one hand, Jack exited the hackney.
Will sat there. When Jack looked over his shoulder, speared him with a glare, Will finally pushed off the bench.
Situated behind a row of stately town houses, His Grace’s carriage house was impressive even by Mayfair standards. Not a single stray piece of straw littered the red brick aisle. Rich mahogany wood and brass bars that gleamed from diligent care. Early afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows on either side of the main double doors and at the back of every stall. A tall black horse stuck its neck over the open half-door of its stall. Ears pricked in Jack’s direction, the beast nickered.
Jack paused to pass a gentle hand down the animal’s face. Then he nudged his chin toward a door at the end of the aisle. “Up through there.”
“Afternoon, Morgan,” said a stout groom, as he lugged a bucket into a stall across the aisle.
“Afternoon, Callahan. Can you please alert Wilson and Baker that we need the traveling carriage hitched?”
“Going back to Hampshire?” The man glanced to Will.
Standing beside Jack and holding his spinach plants, Will met the curious man’s gaze head-on, as if he had every right to be in the stately carriage house.
“No. That will be tomorrow morning. Now though, it’s just for an errand. And I’ll need Baker to accompany me.”
A nod from the groom, and the man set off to do Jack’s bidding.
Will followed Jack up the stairs and into the first room on the right. Had to be Jack’s room. Small and tidy, yet even though it possessed the necessary furniture, it had a distinctly empty feel about it. Made sense, though. Jack’s home was in Hampshire, and he only had need to use this room on occasion.
Jack set the two bags on a comfortable looking armchair near the hearth. “I need to fetch Mr. Walsh and convey him to the town house. You are to remain here. Do not leave this room under any circumstance.”
“Jack, you are not invincible. I refuse to allow—”
“Will,” Jack said, curt and sharp, cutting him off. “Stay here.” Closing his eyes, Jack took a breath. “Don’t make me worry about you.” It was almost a plea, and when Jack opened his eyes, met Will’s gaze, it was a plea.
“But...” Will shook his head. Nothing he could say would deter Jack from his plan. It didn’t happen often, but when Jack got a notion into his head, it was impossible to dislodge it. The man stubbornly stuck to his path, no matter Will’s protests. No matter if it meant a dozen lashes from a warden or risking his damned neck.
Yet a very large part of him screamed not to allow Jack out of his sight. Warned if he did let Jack leave, it could very well be the last time he laid eyes on him.
Was this how Jack had felt? Terrified to his bones and completely powerless? Stomach in more knots than he could count, fear chilling his blood?
If so, then he could no longer blame Jack for minimizing contact with him over the years.
“You will stay here?” Jack asked.
Will let out a sigh. “I don’t want to, but yes, I will.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Jack,” he said, trying for a light tone. He set the clay pot on
a side table.
“I won’t be back until later. I’ll ask the kitchen for a favor and have them send up a meal.”
Will nodded. The drive to the boardinghouse and back wouldn’t take much more than an hour or two, but he was under no illusion that was the only errand Jack intended to see to.
“You will stay here?” Jack asked again.
“Yes, Jack. I give you my word.”
Dark eyes swept over Will’s face, then Jack moved toward the door.
Before Jack’s hand closed over the knob, Will lurched forward. “Wait.”
A furrow on his brow, Jack turned back to him.
And Will grabbed hold of Jack, pulled him down and crushed his mouth over Jack’s.
Strong arms wrapped around Will’s waist, held him tight as Will swept his tongue into Jack’s mouth. Each sensation imprinted itself on Will’s senses. The taste of Jack’s kiss, the softness of his lips, the faintest of scratches from his day’s beard, the strength of his body, the scents of hay and man. Of Jack.
The last thing Will wanted to do was let go of Jack, but he’d given Jack his word. Forcing his arms to his sides, he took a step back.
“It will be all right.” Though Jack spoke quietly, the strength of his conviction wrapped around Will, calming the frantic beats of his heart.
And then Jack was out the door.
* * *
Jack pushed open the old door that had been a nudge from being shut. The few boys sprawled on the floor of what had once been a respectable entrance hall looked up at him. Jack’s gaze landed on the one with hair so pale the strands approached white. He had found the right house.
“I’m looking for Hale. Is he home?” he asked, in what he hoped was a casual tone.
“Yer a friend o’ his?” asked the blond fellow, dice in hand, ready to make the next throw in their game.
Jack nodded once. A lie, but he doubted they would question him.
All the boys appeared to be cut from the same cloth—young adolescents, untidy and bold yet suspicious and set to bolt at a moment’s notice. Rather like barely tamed dogs. He just hoped they didn’t hold any real loyalty to Hale.