Page 15 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
Finally, he could relax.
James had never lived a life of luxury, and pretending to be a gentleman for the sake of securing Gabe’s help was deuced difficult. He was surrounded by suffocating cravats, social pleasantries, and feigned innocence. Even being an officer in the Royal Navy was less oppressive than living among High Society.
Once the hackney neared the docks, the roads worsened. The familiar smell of rotting fish invaded his nostrils and gave him a sense of solace, despite the nauseating stench. As the din of the docks became more audible, the hack slowed, then stopped. James paid the driver and stepped onto the muddy road.
He was home.
He pulled out his simple pocket watch and realized he was early. To kill time, he wandered to the waterfront and watched the organized chaos of men efficiently loading and unloading ships’ cargoes. The scene reminded him of worker ants busily marching morsels of food to their queen and returning empty-handed. The water lapped against the great hulls of the boats while they swayed in rhythm to the ebb and flow of the Thames.
James felt a sense of longing for the camaraderie of being a sailor. It was there, with a preordained naval family, that had made him realize how much he had missed in his youth. Although he had loved his mother dearly, his childhood was wrought with unpleasant memories.
His mother had crawled to her brother, the vicar, when she found herself pregnant after the man she claimed was her husband had disappeared a few days after their wedding. James’s uncle had taken her in, Christian charity and all, but in fact, he had ulterior motives as a widower. James and his mother lived in an old, two-room building on the parish property in exchange for his mother tending to the vicar’s home in the manner of a servant. Once James was out of leading strings, he followed suit serving his abominable older cousin, Herbert. Meanwhile, his uncle fervently believed that James’s mother never actually married, and constantly reminded James by calling him a worthless bastard.
James pulled out his watch again. Fortunately, it was ten minutes to two o’clock and time to go.
He walked away from the docks toward the Prospect of Whitby, not far from the riverfront, and entered the drinking establishment. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior and for his nose to adjust to the stench of unwashed sailors. He had not been on a ship in too long, so the latter was not an easy task. A roar sounded, and he glanced toward the cock-fighting pit. The spectators jostled among one another to get a better view of the fight, money clutched in their hands. This noisy pub was the perfect place to go unnoticed.
He moved around the crowd to the back corner in the usual spot, where he saw a familiar figure sitting with his hat pulled low over his eyes.
James slid into the booth where a tankard of ale awaited his arrival. He wasted no time with small talk, knowing his partner was of a similar mindset. “Any news?”
The gruff voice of Morris emerged from beneath the shadows of his hat. “Stevens sent word thatRobertsis’n’ ‘is real name. ‘E found nothin’ bout ‘im before two years ago.”
James’s brow furrowed. Morris’s news did not bode well. Roberts was his man of business, and the insurer mandated that he provide the shipping account ledgers in order to receive insurance repayment for the lost flax shipment.
Morris continued, “We looked at the books of the nobs and tradesfolk Roberts managed. Stevens looked at ?em real ‘ard and figured out Roberts was fleecin’ ‘em.”
James’s mind churned through this new information. “Do you think that had to do with his death?”
“I dunno. We still don’t ‘ave much. Stevens talked to a maid who worked for Roberts. She was scared and not alotta ‘elp, except for one thing.”
“What?” James’s interest was piqued.
“A woman in a veil came to see Roberts. Mourning or somethin’. There was a gunshot and Roberts is dead in ‘is office, lots o’ blood. The woman was gone.”
James frowned as his mind conjured an image of a woman dressed all in black. “I went to review my accounts with Roberts earlier that day, but a woman who wore a mourning veil entered his office ahead of me. I didn’t want to wait, so I went to see Hann at the Ditherington Flax Mill to let him know about the lost shipment.” James paused and shifted in his seat. “When I came back to Roberts’s office, he was already dead.”
Morris gave a knowing nod. “That was ‘er, a Mrs. Gibson, she called ‘erself.”
“Gibson.” James’s lips sounded out the name ofher, the reason for his current miserable existence in London. “I need those ledgers so I can get my money back for the shipment.”
Morris shook his head with a solemn look on his face. “Not yet. The magistrate is ‘oldin’ all the records until they find Mrs. Gibson. It took a lot ofpersuasionto get our ‘ands on ?em in the first place. We looked through all ‘is books. No Gibson. We dunno where to find ‘er.”
That was not the answer he wanted. The tension he felt stayed with him. He had to find patience…from somewhere.
Morris continued, “This woman came for one reason and one reason alone, Capt’n. To kill Roberts. Maybe it was for the blunt, maybe it wasn’t. Roberts ?ad a lot of enemies. ‘E ‘ad some funny tastes. ‘E ?ad debts from ‘Olyhead to Birmingham. Mrs. Gibson could be anyone.”
One thing stuck out to James. “Birmingham, you said? Did he owe Jack Doherty money?”
“Oh yeah, ‘e was in deep. I ?ear Doherty runs Birmingham. Bawdy ‘ouses, gambling ?ells, that sort of thing. Do you know ?im?” Morris raised his bushy eyebrows.
“He’s my best friend, and I work for him. Jack is ruthless, but he wouldn’t send a woman in his stead as a hired killer.”
“‘E still may know somethin’. You want to talk to ?im? I ?ave so many leads I need to work for other cases.”
“Sure. When I stopped in Birmingham to tell Jack about the sunken flax shipment, he said he was coming to London soon to expand his business.”
“Great. I ?ave to be off. I’ll let ya know when I ?ave more.” With that, Morris slipped out of the booth and snaked his way through the pub’s customers, blending into the shadows. He was a man of the darkness, a Bow Street Runner through and through.
