outside the King’s Theater. He suffered a concussion, but that’s not all. I think he may have broken a rib. He won’t let me send for the doctor.”
Case lost no time in crossing to the parlor. Two steps into the room, he halted. Relief washed through him and a smile curled his lips. Harper was wrapped in a blanket and seated in front of a blazing fire, looking as cross as Case had ever seen him.
“It’s about time you got here,” Harper said. “Now would you mind telling this . . . this fusspot,” indicating Ruggles, “that beef tea is for invalids and not veterans of the Spanish Campaign? There’s nothing wrong with me that a wee dram won’t cure.”
The effect of this little speech was ruined when he suddenly clutched his side and groaned.
Ignoring Harper, Ruggles said, “A lump on the head as big as a turnip, your lordship, and no one knows what other injuries he sustained in the attack. He really ought to see a doctor. He hardly knew his own name when I questioned him.”
Ruggles, red-haired, freckled, and in his early thirties, was a well-bred servant who was unfailingly pleasant whatever the provocation. He was supplied by the Albany, one of the services the management offered its residents, and Case was determined that if he ever left the Albany, he’d take Ruggles with him no matter how much it cost to break his contract.
“How did he get home?”
“The Watch found him and sent him home in a hackney.”
“Get the doctor.”
No protest from Harper this time. He was too busy trying to find a position to ease the pain in his side. “Bastards,” he said. “They must have kicked me when they dumped me in the alley.”
“I’ll get you that ‘wee dram,’ ” said Case.
Harper’s beaming smile lasted until Case handed him a glass with a thimbleful of brandy in it. “I don’t call that much of a reward,” he said, “after what I’ve been through.”
“You’ll get your reward after the doctor has had a look at you. No. No more arguments. Tell me what happened.”
Harper bolted the brandy and licked his lips. “What happened,” he said, “was that I did exactly as you told me. I kept my eyes on Miss Mayberry. When she and her little party left the theater, so did I. When they flagged a hackney, so did I, only when I entered
my
hackney, someone poked a pistol in my back and followed me in. My head exploded and the next thing I knows I’m lying in the lane behind the Hay-market with the Watch crouched over me, shaking me awake.”
“You were robbed,” said Case, more a statement than a question.
“Just the opposite. I said I was robbed so your man would stop pestering me with questions.” He held out his clenched fist. “Look what I found in my pocket,” he said.
Case held out his hand and stared at the object Harper placed in it. It was a small, round pebble.
Chapter 5
You took care of it personally?” “Hardly. Like you, I’ve come up in the world, Gideon. I don’t get my own hands dirty. But the men I used know what they’re doing.” “Fine. Then tell me how it was done.”
John Merrick sighed. Gideon Piers was turning out to be a monumental pain in the arse. Everything had to be explained to him in minute detail. “One of my men followed the bodyguard into the hackney. After stunning him, he ordered the driver to stop, saying that his friend wasn’t feeling well. Bart was waiting for him in the lane. They made sure Harper would be out of commission for a while, then they left. No witnesses worth mentioning. Everything went according to plan.”
Gideon Piers allowed himself a small smile. He was well satisfied with how things were progressing, and after tonight, there would be no question in Castleton’s mind that Gideon Piers had risen from the ashes. Good. Let the earl stew. Let him wonder where and when he would strike next.
He looked at the man seated on the other side of the fire. They were in a private parlor in the Rose and Crown on Oxford Street,
Case lost no time in crossing to the parlor. Two steps into the room, he halted. Relief washed through him and a smile curled his lips. Harper was wrapped in a blanket and seated in front of a blazing fire, looking as cross as Case had ever seen him.
“It’s about time you got here,” Harper said. “Now would you mind telling this . . . this fusspot,” indicating Ruggles, “that beef tea is for invalids and not veterans of the Spanish Campaign? There’s nothing wrong with me that a wee dram won’t cure.”
The effect of this little speech was ruined when he suddenly clutched his side and groaned.
Ignoring Harper, Ruggles said, “A lump on the head as big as a turnip, your lordship, and no one knows what other injuries he sustained in the attack. He really ought to see a doctor. He hardly knew his own name when I questioned him.”
Ruggles, red-haired, freckled, and in his early thirties, was a well-bred servant who was unfailingly pleasant whatever the provocation. He was supplied by the Albany, one of the services the management offered its residents, and Case was determined that if he ever left the Albany, he’d take Ruggles with him no matter how much it cost to break his contract.
“How did he get home?”
“The Watch found him and sent him home in a hackney.”
“Get the doctor.”
No protest from Harper this time. He was too busy trying to find a position to ease the pain in his side. “Bastards,” he said. “They must have kicked me when they dumped me in the alley.”
“I’ll get you that ‘wee dram,’ ” said Case.
Harper’s beaming smile lasted until Case handed him a glass with a thimbleful of brandy in it. “I don’t call that much of a reward,” he said, “after what I’ve been through.”
“You’ll get your reward after the doctor has had a look at you. No. No more arguments. Tell me what happened.”
Harper bolted the brandy and licked his lips. “What happened,” he said, “was that I did exactly as you told me. I kept my eyes on Miss Mayberry. When she and her little party left the theater, so did I. When they flagged a hackney, so did I, only when I entered
my
hackney, someone poked a pistol in my back and followed me in. My head exploded and the next thing I knows I’m lying in the lane behind the Hay-market with the Watch crouched over me, shaking me awake.”
“You were robbed,” said Case, more a statement than a question.
“Just the opposite. I said I was robbed so your man would stop pestering me with questions.” He held out his clenched fist. “Look what I found in my pocket,” he said.
Case held out his hand and stared at the object Harper placed in it. It was a small, round pebble.
Chapter 5
You took care of it personally?” “Hardly. Like you, I’ve come up in the world, Gideon. I don’t get my own hands dirty. But the men I used know what they’re doing.” “Fine. Then tell me how it was done.”
John Merrick sighed. Gideon Piers was turning out to be a monumental pain in the arse. Everything had to be explained to him in minute detail. “One of my men followed the bodyguard into the hackney. After stunning him, he ordered the driver to stop, saying that his friend wasn’t feeling well. Bart was waiting for him in the lane. They made sure Harper would be out of commission for a while, then they left. No witnesses worth mentioning. Everything went according to plan.”
Gideon Piers allowed himself a small smile. He was well satisfied with how things were progressing, and after tonight, there would be no question in Castleton’s mind that Gideon Piers had risen from the ashes. Good. Let the earl stew. Let him wonder where and when he would strike next.
He looked at the man seated on the other side of the fire. They were in a private parlor in the Rose and Crown on Oxford Street,
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