Page 31 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
“Only those who work for him seem to know, and they are not talking. Anyone else has not lived to tell. And they say the other gent is even worse. The one giving the orders.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
Anthony shrugged and wiped the table more forcefully. “I don’t know why you want to find these men, my lord, but you should stay far away. Nothing good will come of it.”
James ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “And suppose I did want to find this Sentinel. Where should I begin my search?”
Anthony checked over his shoulder before answering. “There is a fighter named Charlie. Word is that he works for The Sentinel now.”
“And how do I find this fighter?”
“He comes and goes through town, but he has a prize fight tonight. Out at Moulsey Hurst.”
The exhaustion of the last three days vanished, replaced by a driving focus. Moulsey Hurst was outside London and only a few hours away by horseback, less if he took Apollo. It was still early in the day, and if James left after his visit with Hugh, timing wouldn’t be a problem. Finally. A solid clue to Henry’s killer.
Footsteps neared and Anthony straightened, wiping the table with one last flourish as Lord Markham came into view. Though gray touched his temples, his father’s friend remained more fit than many gentlemen half his age.
“Thank you, Anthony. That will be all.” James pressed a sovereign into the boy’s hand. Anthony bowed and removed the tea tray, leaving James alone with his cup of tea and his unexpected companion.
“Brenton, care if I join you? I was going to send my card around to pay a visit as soon as possible.”
James offered a tight but polite smile. “I’m sorry, Lord Markham, but if you’ve come to discuss the upcoming vote on trade restrictions, I’m afraid I don’t have time. I am due to visit Lord Rutherford this afternoon.”
“Dashed business about his fall. Lady Sutherland mentioned it at the ball. Can’t believe the lad was thrown.” The older gentleman shook his head. “But the vote isn’t what I needed to speak with you about. There is something more pressing you ought to know.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I know a fair amount about your father’s investments since we frequently sought out opportunities together. He put a great deal of money into shipping and trade, as did I. Have you heard news yet about the lost shipment?”
James was instantly alert. A lost shipment? As inenvoi perdu?
“I haven’t. What happened?”
Lord Markham sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “There was a merchant vessel returning from the West Indies laden with sugar, molasses, and cotton. She was due to drop anchor in the Downs last week to await a pilot to steer her to London, but the ship never arrived.”
“Unfortunately, ships are often lost at sea. Between the storms and the privateers, the route from the Caribbean is especially dangerous.”
“I would think the same thing, except there were reported sightings of the ship several miles west near Beachy Head. The weather and winds were fair. There were no reports of French sails in the Channel that day, and even the Navy patrols saw nothing to explain her fate. She has simply . . . vanished.”
Uneasiness stirred in James. “I appreciate the news. I will consult with my solicitor. Has anything been done to discover what happened to the ship?”
“Yes, but to no avail. It’s like the ship never existed.” Lord Markham stood and James followed. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Brenton. It’s such a shame. All those sailors. I even heard there were a few passengers on board. But I will leave you to your visit with young Rutherford. Please give him my best.”
James spent the walk to Lord Sutherland’s home appearing every bit the relaxed gentleman out for a stroll before the rain, but his mind was occupied with the troubling information he had learned. He needed to get to Dover, but only after he followed the trail to The Sentinel.
The need for a true network of trusted agents had never felt so urgent. One man alone could not chase every shadow before it vanished. His encounters with Anthony and Lord Markham reminded him just how serious this business was and how dangerously close Kate had come to it. He was anxious to see her, to know she was safe. He needed her to stop asking questions before she got herself hurt. Or worse.
He lengthened his stride, unwilling to dwell on the unwelcome realization that he was eager to see her, and arrived on the Marquess of Sutherland’s doorstep as the first drops of rain fell. His knock was quickly answered, and after handing his hat and gloves to a footman, he inquired after Hugh. The butler informed him that his friend was awake. James took the stairs to the familiar bedchamber. He knew this house almost as well as his own.
He was unsure what to expect, but his friend was shockingly pale. The room smelled of laudanum and wool, the bed-curtains drawn closed against the pale light. Bruises marred Hugh’s face and bandages were wrapped around his chest. The man looked like he had been in a prize fight and lost badly.
“If you meant to garner sympathy from the ladies, I suspect you may have gone too far.”
“James!” Hugh’s face broke into a smile. James approached the bed and took the wooden chair beside it.
“I apologize I have not been to visit since I learned of your accident.”
“It is of no consequence.” Hugh waved dismissively. “I would not have even known if you had. Last night was the first time I have refused laudanum since arriving home. I have spent the last several days trapped in a strange, hazy dream.” He winced. “And a painful one.”
