Constable Chawley’s eyes rounded with alarm. He glanced sideways at David. “Are you—that is, begging pardon, sir—”
“No, I am not Exeter,” said David with an amused look. “I am his brother.” The constable’s eyes swung to Adams, who bowed his head in discreet confirmation.
“I see.” Chawley’s fingers left little damp marks on the paper as he turned it around again. His mouth was screwed up in concentration. David waited. Somewhere a door opened, and a tuneless humming drifted in through the door.
“Lord bless me, that’ll be Mr. Spikes,” said the constable, relief flooding his face. “He’ll know what’s what, sir.” And he hurried from the room.
David sat back in his chair and listened. The humming abruptly stopped, followed by a rush of whispered conversation. Footsteps clattered in the outer office, followed by another bout of loud whispers. Then footsteps came toward the office where he waited until the door was thrown open again.
“Sir, good morning,” said an oily new voice. David turned his head to see the new arrival, the bowlegged man who had strutted before him last evening in the torchlight and crowed about catching the Black Duke. This would be Mr. Spikes, the man who had put Vivian in irons. “Allow me to bid you welcome to our town—”
David looked him up and down. “Yes.”
The man paused, nonplussed, then hurried on. “I am Mr. Samuel Spikes, good sir, sheriff of this county.”
“Indeed,” David said. “Then you have my signet ring.”
“I do have that ring, sir, but you understand, I can’t simply hand it over to the first gentleman who walks in and asks…” His voice died as David got to his feet and faced him. “For it,” he finished weakly.
“Of course,” said David. “What proof do you require?”
“Er…” Spikes seemed unprepared for this. “Proof.”
David cast his eyes upward and sighed, and Adams rushed forward to present the documents again.
“Who are you?” hissed Spikes at him.
“Private secretary to His Grace the duke of Exeter,” said Adams. “Assisting his lordship in His Grace’s absence.”
“Absence?” Spikes frowned at David.
“Lord David Reece,” murmured Adams. “His Grace’s brother has the management of the estate at present.”
Spikes continued frowning. “Does he.”
“Ainsley Park,” piped up the constable, who had been watching with bleary eyes. “My cousin’s an under-gardener there.”
“Ainsley Park in Kent, as well as several other properties and estates in England and Scotland,” said Adams. “You are quite fortunate his lordship came in person this morning. He is a very busy man.”
David simply stood there and watched them, the paunchy, sour-faced sheriff and the plump, half-drunk constable. This should be an easy game for him, persuading these two bumpkins to give him what he wanted. Still, he couldn’t afford to lose, which always made things more difficult.
Mr. Spikes exchanged an uneasy look with the constable, then hunched his shoulders over the papers Adams had brought. After examining them for several moments, even turning them sideways, the sheriff thrust them back into Adams’s hands. “Hmmph. Well, right then. I’ll just go fetch it for you.” He jerked his head at Chawley, who twitched in surprise, then followed the sheriff from the room.
“Thank you.” David waited until they closed the door behind them. Then he turned to Adams. “Well done.”
The secretary’s eyes shone. “Thank you, sir!”
“They’ll be talking it over,” said David, almost to himself. “Trying to decide between handing things over to Bow Street or currying favor for themselves. Stroke of luck, really, that the constable’s cousin is an under-gardener.”
“Even more importantly, sir, they have no wish to bring disfavor on themselves.”
David smiled faintly. “Well, I shall give them every opportunity to avoid that.”
Spikes and the constable returned again in a few minutes. His manner considerably more restrained now, Mr. Spikes held out a small grimy pouch. “I believe this is what you’re seeking, m’lord.” He gave an awkward little bow.
David took the pouch and opened it. Out rolled the heavy gold signet ring Marcus had given him so many weeks ago. He tossed the pouch aside and put the ring on his hand.
The cool weight of it slipped easily onto his finger, at once reassuring and foreign. He breathed a mental sigh of relief; the first part of his plan had been accomplished. David favored Mr. Spikes with a smile. “Yes, indeed. Mr. Adams, see to it the reward for its return is sent at once.”
“Yes, my lord.” Adams flipped open his folio and made a note. Mr. Spikes couldn’t conceal his delight and relief.
“Thank you, sir, though it’s not necessary, of course. It’s our duty to protect the good folks of—”
“Yes.” David cut him off. “There is something else.”
The sheriff closed his mouth, glancing uncertainly at Adams. His skinny throat worked twice as he faced David again. “How else can I serve you, sir?”
“I am looking for someone,” said David. “A woman.”
Something surprised and uneasy flashed across Spikes’s features. He didn’t move.
“Brown hair, blue eyes,” David went on. “So high.” He held up his hand to indicate. “Have you seen her?”
Spikes looked unwilling to open his mouth. “Who is she?” he muttered at last. David raised one eyebrow in reproach. The sheriff flushed. “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I can’t just hand over my prisoners to anyone who asks.”
David’s face cleared. “You have seen her, then. Excellent.” Then he frowned again. “Prisoner?”
Spikes was the color of turnips. “Who else would I have, here in the jail?”
“I see.” David let his impatience show. “Bring her out at once, if you please.”
“I have to ask who you’re looking for,” said Spikes stubbornly. “I got only prisoners here, and I ain’t giving over any of them without good cause. Caught robbing a public stage, they were—”
“A female, engaged in highway robbery?”
Spikes flushed even deeper. “She was with ’em! Part of the gang, most like.”
“The woman I am seeking would be a passenger, not a thief,” said David. “Perhaps this is not the same woman.”
“Who is she?” Spikes growled, although he looked more and more wretched about protesting.
David leaned on his walking stick and fixed an intent stare on the man. “I hardly think that is your concern,” he said softly.
For a long moment they stared at each other, as if in silent combat. David didn’t move; neither did Mr. Spikes, aside from the clenching of his fist.
“Let me be very clear,” said David at last, speaking very slowly. “If you have arrested the lady in question, I shall be most displeased. Perhaps the only way to mitigate my displeasure would be to produce her, posthaste, and pray she is unharmed. Do you understand?”
Spikes wet his lips. “Her name?” he asked through his teeth.
David bent his head very slightly toward Mr. Adams, without taking his eyes off the sheriff. “Gray,” said Adams at once. “Mrs. Mary Gray.”
“Posthaste,” David repeated.
“What makes you think this particular female is here, sir?” argued the sheriff.
“A man”—David glanced to Adams again.
“Mr. John Palmer,” supplied Adams.
“Yes. Mr. Palmer is employed by my brother. Mr. Palmer informed me that a woman of her description was on a stagecoach with him yesterday.”
Spikes looked as though he’d eaten something very bitter. “Very well, sir,” he muttered. “I’ll go have a look.” He ducked back out of the room.
Samuel Spikes was not having a good day. It had begun well enough. He woke to remember, quite proudly, that he had personally apprehended the most notorious villain in all the shire, the Black Duke, not to mention the highwayman’s gang. The Bow Stree
t horse patrol had commended him for his assistance. He was certain to receive a citation from the Home Secretary. Mr. Spikes had himself bought a round for all the constables and officers at The Bear and Bull in celebration last night.
Today was to have been one of the finest in Samuel Spikes’s life, and now this lordship fellow was spoiling it. It was bad enough he had come to claim the Black Duke’s ring. Spikes had suspected that was a real ring, stolen of course, and would be returned. He had expected to present it to the men from Bow Street, though, when they returned today to remove his prisoners to Newgate. Now he had been forced to give it to the gentleman waiting in his private office, and there would be no triumphant presentation to the magistrate.
That was bad enough. This lord wanted one of his prisoners now. Grinding his teeth, Spikes stomped down the hall to where Chawley waited, scratching his belly and looking stupid. “What’s her name?” he snapped. “The girl.”
Chawley gaped at him. “Eh…”
“Go check.” Spikes stood fuming while Chawley retrieved his records.
“Gray, sir. Mary Gray.”
Mr. Spikes ground his teeth. “Here, Chawley. Gutterson was dead certain about her, wasn’t he? He wasn’t drunk yesterday, was he?” Amos Gutterson, the man who had told them one of the thieves had recognized the female passenger, was well-known in Moresham for his fondness for ale. At the time, Mr. Spikes had been so pleased to capture the Black Duke and his mates, he’d ordered the woman taken away, too, as a person of interest if nothing else. Now, however, that didn’t seem so farsighted.
Chawley hesitated, confirming his suspicions. “I don’t think much,” he mumbled.
“Damn it!” Mr. Spikes glanced around and lowered his voice. “That gentleman in there says he wants her. Won’t say why, or what gives him the right to demand a prisoner’s release, but he’s a duke’s brother and I don’t know how to refuse him, not based only on Amos’s word.” He slashed one hand through the air. “Go fetch her, then. But not a word to her about why she’s coming out. I’ll not lose a prisoner if I can help it. This bunch is clever, and she might see an opportunity to give the hangman the slip.” Chawley nodded and hurried off.
Mr. Spikes took a moment to compose himself. What on earth could a nobleman want with a young woman who knew thieves? Spikes wished he had time to send to London and ask Bow Street what to do. The notices sent around to all the local sheriffs had described the Black Duke in detail, and made only passing reference to his gang. A woman had not been mentioned. If this gent insisted, Spikes supposed he’d have to choose between defying the man, with who knew what consequences—the fellow likely had friends in the Home Office and Parliament who could remove Spikes from his post—or giving up a prisoner of uncertain value.
Facing a choice between awful and worse, Spikes stomped back to his unexpected and unwanted visitor.
The clang of the lock woke Vivian. Blinking, she sat up from where she had fallen asleep leaning against the wall, and saw the stocky constable who had shoved her into the cell last night opening the door. “Come,” he said. “You’re wanted.”
By whom? Slowly she got to her feet, thinking frantically. It was early, she guessed from the light. Was the magistrate already here to pass judgment and sentence her? She stepped into the corridor, her muscles stiff and sore from a night spent huddled in the cold, and the constable banged the door closed behind her. With a wave of his hand, he motioned her down the hallway—treating her rather kindly this time, she thought. Last night he’d dragged her by the arm, pushing her from side to side with great enthusiasm.
Simon’s face appeared in the tiny barred window in his cell door. “Where are you taking her?” he demanded. The constable rapped on his door and grunted in reply. “Don’t hurt her!” Simon said shrilly.
Her throat felt stuffed with wool. Silently, she gave him a quavering smile before the constable nudged her forward. Vivian looked back at her brother as long as she could, until they rounded the corner. It could conceivably be the last time she ever saw Simon. She clenched her jaw and blinked, trying not to humiliate herself by crying.
The constable opened another locked door, then led her down a short corridor into a small plain room. He opened the door for her, then stood aside and motioned for her to walk in. He’d been strangely quiet on this walk, and Vivian had to force herself to step into the room, fully expecting to see the hangman waiting for her, noose in hand.
Instead she saw David, as she had seen him the night he escorted her to the theater. His clothing elegant, his demeanor composed, the sight was too much for her. She stopped short, blinking hard. It was one last cruel joke of fate, to see him here now.
“Ah,” he said calmly. “That’s the one.”
The prune-faced sheriff gave her an angry glare. “Certain of that, sir?”
David looked at him. “Are you questioning my eyesight, or my judgment?”
“No,” muttered the sheriff. “But see here—I can’t just release her on your word.”
“Why not?” asked David, soundly mildly surprised.
“She’s—she’s a highway thief!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She was a passenger on the coach, was she not?”
“Yes,” the sheriff admitted.
“Did she take anything from any other passenger?”
“No,” the sheriff admitted.
“What evidence of guilt do you have, then?”
“One of the thieves recognized her,” said the sheriff defiantly. “Our man saw it quite clearly.”
“So you are taking the word of a third party, who believes a thief made some sign he recognized this woman, over my word that she is innocent.”
The sheriff opened his mouth, and then he closed it. He glared at Vivian again.
“Are you injured, my dear?” asked David in the same calm, unhurried tone. Vivian knew he was up to something, but she had no idea what, and so merely shook her head. It wasn’t clear her voice would function at the moment anyway.
“Very good. Let’s be on our way, then.” He said it looking right at her, but he didn’t move.
Neither did Vivian. “No,” she heard herself blurt out. “I can’t.”
David rocked back on his heels and looked at her. “Whyever not? I should think you eager to be quit of the place.”
“There’s a boy,” she said, her voice trembling a little. “Just a boy. In the jail.”
David turned that inquiring look on the sheriff, who flushed.
“He was very kind to me last night,” Vivian went on, her eyes filling with tears quite involuntarily. “I can’t bear to think what will happen to him.” She had unconsciously slipped into one of her familiar poses, making her voice young and her manner tragic.
“The sheriff says he is a thief, my dear,” remarked David, as if he did not care. But he was playing along, and Vivian clutched at it.
A tear slipped from her eye. “He did not want to be a thief! His parents died and he was sold to thieves, and beaten if he did not do as they told him!”
“Your heart is too soft, madam.”
“And you have none, if you can abandon a boy barely out of shortcoats to a terrible fate. I believe he is a good lad. He stood up for me when the constable’s men pushed me. I cannot simply leave him here to hang.”
“They pushed you?” David turned to glare coldly at the Mr. Spikes.
“Madam, he’s a thief,” said Mr. Spikes impatiently. “Thieves hang. I beg your pardon for any roughness of my men, but we are upholding the law, pursuing violent criminals—”
“I’m certain he is not!” Tears began to roll down her cheeks again. She turned a solemn face to David. “If he must hang, I must stay here until the end, to comfort him and try to save his soul.”
David pressed his lips together and looked wildly annoyed. “Of course you shan’t. We are returning to London this instant.”
“No! How can you be so heartless?” Vivian covered her face with her hands and began to weep in earnes
t, heart-wrenching sobs that shook her shoulders.
His expression grim, David turned to Spikes. “Ten guineas to release the boy.”
“I should say not,” said Spikes indignantly. “He’s a highwayman, and he’ll hang for it.”
“Fifteen guineas.”
“No, sir, I cannot.” Spikes lifted his chin and folded his arms.
David dug in his coat pocket and opened his purse. One by one, he began stacking bright golden guineas on the desk. “I am quite certain the hangman will not miss one lad.” David made a stack of five and set it aside, beginning a new one. “I shall know no peace if she does not have her way in this.” Vivian wept more loudly than ever. Now ten guineas sat on the desk. Spikes’s eyes strayed to them and lingered. David placed five more guineas beside the ten. “I should hate to trouble my solicitors to come all this way to set him free.” With five soft clinks, five more golden guineas dropped onto the desk.
Mr. Spikes looked at the coins again and sighed. “How can I release him?” he asked plaintively. “Bow Street wants them all fetched to London this day.”
David took out one of his cards and placed it on the desk. “You may send them to me.”
The sheriff looked almost pitiable in his helpless fury. “That’s most irregular, sir.”
“Is it?” David smiled thinly.
For a moment it was quiet in the small room, as Spikes looked from the money to Vivian to David and back to the money, seeming to shrink with every passing second. “Chawley, bring the lad,” he said at last.
With a surprised grunt, the constable waddled from the room again. “You’ll not be wanting anything else, will you, m’lord?” asked Spikes in despair.
David smiled faintly. “I don’t believe so.”
Spikes let out a breath of relief. Vivian wiped her eyes with her fingers, barely breathing at all. She strained her ears for footsteps, and soon enough heard them, two sets, coming toward them.
And then Simon walked into the room, his thin shoulders hunched and chains rattling from his wrists. White showed around the blue of his eyes as he looked all around the room, finally fixing his gaze on her.
What a Rogue Desires Page 25