Eric had no idea what might meet him at the docks, if Durand planned on orchestrating a one-man ambush upon Rothschild or a more complicated affair. Attempting to calm his heart rate via deductive reasoning, he considered the possibilities. Durand didn’t seem the type to carry out his own dirty work. He had the rank and means not to have to. Rothschild transported a significant amount of gold, presumably well-guarded. Even so, Durand aspired to removing Rothschild from the smuggling equation, not necessarily stealing tonight’s shipment. But what criminal wouldn’t steal a chest full of gold if the opportunity presented itself?
The coach slowed, coming to a halt a short distance away from the dock. Taking a deep breath, he dismounted the coach, making his way to Dock nine along the shadows. Once he’d approached close enough to see the expanse of dock and the lonely ship anchored to it, a prickling of uncertainty crawled along his neck. The dock sat calm on the water, no movement rent the ship’s silhouette as it swayed at its moorings. No figures or movement attracted the eye from the surrounding crates and barrels, though Eric remained a distance away from those potential hiding places.
He forced himself to wait and hold steady as the second guessing began. He knew Rothschild made his shipment tonight, and he knew he’d read the dock number correctly. Eloise could have tricked him. Shutting his eyes against that possibility, he blinked and returned his focus to the scene in front of him. Eloise and her motivations could wait.
A shadow shifted in the distance to the side, a faint tremor traveled through the barrel Eric had set his hand on and into his palm. Turning his head toward the movement, he squinted, watching a dark shape emerge out of the greater darkness of the night. A carriage. Moving with purpose, drawn by four horses, and carrying at least four armed men. It raced along the docks, coming to a halt in front of dock nine. The armed men dismounted the front and rear of the conveyance, taking up defensive positions alongside the door facing the dock.
Another movement in the dark. The ship came alive as lanterns began to blink awake, adding strength to the dockside lampposts which struggled to illuminate more than a foot’s circumference around them. The carriage door swung open, and two men exited, turning back to hoist a chest between them.
And then the rats emerged. Not literal rats, but those men who scrounged in the night searching for the spoils of other people’s labor. They crouched low in the shadows, illusory in their ability to blend into the prevailing shades of black and grey, but Eric knew they were there. He perceived the subtle shifts in the shadows and felt the hair rise at the back of his neck, the prickling along his spine. For a moment, he wondered where Mallory might be. Certainly here at the docks, but how far away? He let that thought go. Mallory and Rothschild were not his concern, he needed to find Durand.
Another man exited the carriage, far too well-dressed for the surroundings. Rothschild. He followed the men with the chest toward the ship, where a pair of sailors and the captain came to meet them. The captain spoke briefly to Rothschild while the sailors took over the burden of the chest.
“What are you waiting for?” Eric whispered to himself, peering into the shadows where Durand’s men loitered. If they wanted the gold, they had to secure it before it made its way onto the ship. He darted glances up and down the docks again despite himself. Where was Mallory?
Rothschild concluded his meeting with the captain, the two men shook hands and the captain followed his sailors up the plank onto the ship. So, Durand wasn’t interested in the gold. At least, not right now. Rothschild turned and marched back toward his carriage.
And then Eric saw what he’d been expecting. The glint of a firearm among the shadowy crates. He still hadn’t seen Durand. Shifting his gaze toward Rothschild, Eric ground his teeth. The man hadn’t bothered to guard himself. The armed men had walked alongside the chest of gold, but now ambled idly behind Rothschild, leaving him open to a shot. Cursing to himself, he darted toward the would-be assassin, slamming into the surprised man as he prepared to pull the trigger.
THE SHOT SET OFF A melee involving Rothschild’s men and the group of shadows who materialized into the faint lamplight, all converging on the banker. Eric, caught in his own tussle with the man he’d waylaid, could only spare a glance for the besieged banker, noting him duck behind a stack of crates as his escape to his carriage became barred by henchmen wielding an assortment of weaponry. He’d at least hired men familiar with fighting, they showed no concern for potential peril and charged full into the confrontation.
A meaty fist caught the side of his jaw and sent him sprawling to the side, followed by the tightening of his shirt collar around his neck as his assailant grabbed hold of his shirt and vest. Dazed, Eric swung an arm up to block the next hit a second before it connected with the bridge of his nose. Both of his attacker’s arms occupied, he sent a reciprocal punch which landed with enough force to throw the man off balance and send them both grappling along the dock.
The man outweighed Eric and boasted considerably more experience low-born sparring. Before long, he had Eric pinned beneath him, preparing to deliver a blow guaranteed to knock him unconscious. But then the man’s weight disappeared from atop him, and Mallory’s familiar form loomed over him, brandishing a makeshift cudgel, disheveled clothing, and a bloodied lip. He held a hand out to Eric, pulling him to his feet.
The scene around them churned with activity as the fight continued, but Eric saw there had been an influx of men, many of whom he recognized from local law enforcement who often worked with Mallory or Hartford.
“Where’s Durand?” Eric croaked, trying to catch his breath.
“Not here,” Mallory signed before turning his attention back to the fight in progress and focusing on Rothschild, who was attempting to dart out from behind his shelter, but some other row kept hindering his progress.
“He has to be here,” Eric mumbled, looking in the opposite direction, toward the ship, whose occupants busily prepared her for sailing. A shadow moved within the greater shadow of the ship, slinking along the dock toward the gangplank which hadn’t been raised yet. “There!”
He charged in the direction of the shadow his mind told him had to be Durand, ducking around combatants, dodging fists and cudgels and hurtling over grappling adversaries with fury-fed, single-minded intent.
The shadow paused and the back of Eric’s neck prickled. He dove to the side as a flash of light erupted from the shadows and something slashed at his sleeve. A harsh stinging ensued in his upper arm, but he paid it no heed as he continued on. Durand was no fighter. He fumbled with his pistol instead of taking advantage of Eric’s momentary diversion and darting for the gangplank.
Eric barreled into the man, sending them tumbling to the dock. Eric set to with his fists, applying several harsh blows before his brain reminded him he needed information from this man. He grabbed Durand by the collar,
“Where is my sister?” He demanded.
The man offered a bloody sneer. “I had a feeling you might not listen to reason. She's gone, and I can guarantee you'll never find where I've put her.
Eric shook the man harshly, “Where is she?” He repeated
Durand laughed, ending in a gurgling cough. From the looks of him, Eric had broken his nose. “I have no reason to tell you, he stated. And my associates and friends know if that gold doesn't get to them, something has gone wrong and they will act accordingly.”
Eric pressed his lips together, fists shaking where they gathered the material at Durand’s neck.
“I can give you one more chance to save her,” Durand grinned. “Let me get onto that ship, and I’ll see she’s released the moment I set foot in France.”
Eric’s breath escaped him in ragged huffs, he swallowed down a metallic taste in his mouth as he got to his feet, dragging Durand with him. He wanted to believe the man, but everything in him revolted against it. Even if he did think Durand would make good on his offer, he couldn’t stand by and let a known smuggler escape. They’d have to try to get the inf
ormation out of him some other way.
Calming his breathing enough to speak, Eric shook his head as he released one of Durand’s shoulders and watched the sailors raise the gangplank. “You’re not going to France. He turned his head in the direction of the rest of the brawl, noting things seemed to have calmed. Beside him, Durand jerked in his grip and Eric shot his head back in time to witness a wide-eyed Durand, knife in hand, slump to the dock. Releasing his grip on the man’s shoulder as he fell, Eric looked about him in confusion. Aboard the ship now gliding out onto the water, the captain retracted his revolver and nodded to Eric before turning toward his duties. The man wore a thick wool coat, collar turned up, and an oddly outdated tricorn hat. Squinting, Eric had the uncanny feeling he knew the man...
“LEAVING THINGS OFF to the last minute, aren’t we, Mallory?” Rothschild fumed as he allowed Thomas to help pick him up from the ground. “What the devil happened?”
“Your runner was intercepted.” Thomas responded, chafing under the requirement to aid Rothschild rather than run over to Eric and find out what that shot was all about.
“What?!” Rothschild’s eyes widened, then his gaze passed between Mallory and the departing ship. “That means that shipment is now in peril!” He pointed wildly, then brought his hands up to clutch at his hair. “Do you know what that shipment represents to my business?!” He rounded on Thomas, blocking his view of Eric.
Irritated, he let out a sigh and looked the banker in the eye. “My assignment was to keep your head on your shoulders, Mr. Rothschild. I’d say I’ve completed that task.”
“Barely,” the man grumbled. “And I won’t allot you any additional credit for dramatics.” He brought his hands to his hips and took in the scene around him.
Thomas followed his glance. The law enforcement agents he’d brought with him were rounding up Durand’s henchmen, loading them into a wagon while several men groaned on the ground or lay completely motionless.
Rothschild gave an annoyed half laugh as he took in the destruction. “Who’s that?” He nodded down the dock at Eric.
“A friend, sir.”
“He’s not the one you told me about?” The man knew better, thank goodness, than to clarify with so many people still swarming about.
“He is, sir.”
“Astounding.” He narrowed an assessing gaze on Eric. “What’s he got hanging in the mix? That kind of single-minded focus doesn’t emit from a job, no matter how patriotic.”
“His sister.” Guilt weighed down on Thomas, remembering Eric’s earlier words and regretting having prioritized this banker over the family that had taken him into their hearts.
Rothschild considered the statement. “Get that gold where it needs to be, and I’ll sign.” Without another word, he walked back to his own carriage and left, leaving Thomas with the same dilemma. His work or his adoptive family. Stomach churning, he already knew which he’d choose and hated himself for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ELOISE HANDED OVER a document she'd just signed to Sir Thomas. He took the paper, scanning over it.
“You're sure this is everything?”
“Everything I know,” She affirmed. “Which as you know is not very much.”
Mallory paused before responding. “It's not much for someone who's grown up in the house of a smuggler.
“And quite a lot, for someone who was used too ill intent without her consent.” She sent a pointed stare to Mallory, who had the good manners to color.
Mallory and the police arrived at her uncle’s townhome in the early morning hours, but she’d expected them. She’d packed a small bag and laid down fully dressed, not that she’d been able to sleep. She’d spent the hours since Eric left worried for his safety and contemplating how she might ever earn his forgiveness.
They’d forced in the door, rushing in to gather everyone who remained in the house. The poor servants were dragged out in their nightclothes, utter confusion on their startled faces, though Eloise suspected one or two of the savviest had long since disappeared into the night.
With a shiver, she gathered her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “What will happen now?”
“There's still quite a bit to investigate regarding your uncle. His death has complicated matters because whatever information we might have gotten from him is no longer available and your aunt, as far as we can tell, has disappeared to France.
Eloise nodded. “where am I to go?” She looked up at Sir Thomas, who’d regarded her with a cold and distant countenance since arriving at the townhome, though he did ensure he was the one to escort her to his office and allowed her the unnecessary time to prepare to leave. She hoped is actions indicated his interactions with her at Heathermoore weren’t completely false.
His expression softened now at her question and he struggled to keep her gaze. “Your uncle’s possessions in England have been confiscated. Have you any additional acquaintances here? Anyone willing to house you?” He flinched at the question, likely already knowing the answer.
She shook her head. “Not a soul.”
Mallory thought a moment. “You will likely be sent to a work home in that case, I'll see what I can do to find one with a more...” He thought for the best word, “Comfortable reputation.”
“Thank you.” She whispered. Another question gnawed at her, one she shouldn’t ask and would not likely receive a response to, but her heart insisted on it. Chewing at her lip, she took a breath and looked back to Mallory, who appeared lost in his own thoughts, staring into the empty space of the room.
“How is Eric?”
Mallory started, coming back to himself, but only tilted his head in her direction without meeting her gaze. He shifted in place, looking uncomfortable, and Eloise wondered not for the first time if something had happened to disrupt his relationship with the Langdons. His disease seemed to appear only when she mentioned them.
“I'm... Not at liberty to say,” he eventually offered, “however, my guess is he's preparing to become the scourge of Dunkirk if he’s not begun already.”
“He's looking for his sister,” Eloise surmised, pain clutching at her heart in the knowledge she’d been the cause of his family’s woe.
Mallory nodded, then rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “You’ll stay in my townhome while the investigation continues and until I can find you a suitable place. I assume if you thought to fly you would have done so already, instead of packing your back and waiting to be arrested.” He glanced in her direction with a grin, a hint of the cheerful character she’d become familiar with resurfacing.
She responded with a small smile and a nod, the gravity of events settling down on her, slumping her shoulders and making her suddenly more tired than she’d ever been.
He rose and prepared to escort her out of the room, but she stalled him, setting a hand on his sleeve as he passed. He turned to her in surprise.
“There is one person I would like to make aware of my circumstances,” she began, reaching into her pocket and producing the letter she’d written after Eric left. “I haven’t sealed it, I suppose you’ll want to know the contents and I have nothing left to hide.” She handed the folded pages to Mallory. “My cousin and dearest friend is imprisoned on one of your ships off the coast. I have no way of getting a letter to him.”
Considering her letter, Mallory came to a decision and pocketed it with a nod. “I’ll see it gets to him.”
She let out a sigh and followed him out of the room not knowing what this day or the next might bring, but content for the moment.
“ERIC, THIS CANNOT GO on, we need to do something!”
Eric stared at his sister, who had come in and slapped a newspaper down on top of the paperwork he was working on.
“What are you referring to, Poppet?” He questioned, lifting the corner of the newspaper and sliding it aside to inspect potential damage to the figures he had been engaged in writing. As suspected, they were smudged, but he supposed he should be happy she hadn't outright spilled
the inkwell over them.
“You know what I'm referring to! Sarah continued when he looked up at her, anger darkening her cheeks as she crossed her arms in front of her. Eric suspected, if he stood and peered over the far edge of his desk, he would see her small foot tapping on the carpet. He let out a sigh. He did know full what she referenced. And though she suspected otherwise, he'd spent hours and days racking his brain for some way he might be able to do exactly what she wanted.
“This is unjust!” she insisted. “There must be something we can do to put an end to it. Poor Eloise has been under investigation now for weeks! Abandoned by her family, without a friend in the world and no means of taking care of herself. And they just keep questioning her, trying to find some way she must be associated with her uncle’s scheming. It's not right.
Eric glanced at the newspaper, but he already knew what it said. He'd been reading along as she had with the investigation of Durand. His association might have been glossed over or ignored, had it not been for his pivotal role in the attempted assassination of Nathaniel Rothschild. The banker’s reputation and status were such that the events recently occurred were enough to cause a massive scandal across the country. With Durand dead, and his wife disappeared, it was no surprise the authorities, and the press, glommed onto the only connection they could find, Eloise.
“I understand your frustration, Sarah, Eric rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips. But what do you expect me to do about it?”
“We must go speak in her defense. You know as well as I do, she had nothing to do with her uncle’s plans.”
“Do I know that? Eric countered unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Sarah’s gaze darkened to a frightening extent, giving him pause. “Yes, you do. Whatever questions you have about your own self-worth are irrelevant.” The retort stung, but Eric didn't refute it. His only defense in this case was knowing through the accumulated sleepless hours he'd spent considering it, that what his sister wanted wouldn't work.
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