Page 52 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
The following day on the way to sessions, Ashford looked in at Thorne’s, Cecil by his side.
As they approached the subscription desk, his friend said drily, “After the chilly reception you received last evening, I would think you would want to avoid Lady Charlotte.”
“I’m merely making sure no other sabotage has occurred,” he replied with a frown, automatically looking about the library and seeing no sign of Charlotte or her friends. He noticed several patrons in the shop, which he saw as a good sign the establishment might succeed in staying open.
“Have there been any further problems with the library? Have you seen any more dead mice?” Ashford asked Robbie quietly.
“None at all,” the boy whispered in response.
He blew out a breath. “That is a relief. I’ve spoken to the night watchmen, and now the men are apprised of the events at Thorne’s they assured me they will keep an eye out for trouble.”
Once they were back in the carriage on the way to the Palace of Westminster, Cecil said wryly, “You do know that what is happening at Thorne’s isn’t a personal attack on you.”
“I merely want to thwart this bully James Landry. Have you met the man?”
“Several times,” Cecil replied carelessly. “He will be at my favorite gambling hell tonight. I can introduce you.”
He shouldn’t be surprised that Cecil knew the man. Most of his friend’s spare time was spent tracking members of the Rogue’s Alliance. “I think it is time Mr. Landry and I had a conversation.”
After sessions that evening, Nathaniel declared he had no interest in either gambling or meeting James Landry and took leave of his friends. “Alicia is in for the evening, so I have no chaperone duties. I’m looking forward to a quiet night shut in my study.”
It had been a few years since Ashford had visited a gambling hell. He’d never had much luck at games of chance. Although one could make contacts and hear gossip in the clubs, losing money for recreation was not what he considered an enjoyable pastime.
In his town carriage on the way to the gambling hell, Ashford asked Cecil, “I assume James Landry owns a black snuffbox with the initials RA?”
“He does,” the viscount replied with a nod. “If he didn’t, I wouldn’t be seen anywhere near him.”
The two men hadn’t discussed the sabotage attempt on Regent Bridge since the night it occurred. After the war was over, Cecil had resigned from the Home Office due to a disagreement with his superiors. The viscount had maintained there was more to his brother’s stabbing than mere chance, and the agency chose not to pursue the matter. Although Cecil didn’t share all his activities with Ashford, he knew his friend had become obsessed with trying to find his brother’s killer.
The hell they were to visit was named A Club House, located on Bennet Street in St. James’s. Several people hailed Cecil as the two men entered the establishment.
Ashford said to his friend, “You’re well known here.”
Cecil shrugged but remained silent. Ashford wondered why his friend would gamble if he were really in debt?
The gambling hells Ashford had frequented in the past were dark inside and shabby. A Club House was well lit, the furniture of good quality. He surmised that the proprietor wished to bring in a more fashionable clientele.
Cecil led the way through the large room, nodding civilly to those who addressed him. The viscount stopped in front of a table in the back corner of the room. From the dice on the table, Ashford guessed the game the men seated were playing was Hazard.
A tall, thin man with bright red hair looked up and smiled widely, clearly in his cups. “Lord Wycliffe! Have a seat. It is good to see you. And you’ve brought a friend.”
Cecil returned the smile. “Benedict Grey, Marquess of Ashford, may I present Mr. James Landry.”
“Good evening,” he said politely with a nod, studying the other man.
“A marquess no less, Wycliffe. You travel in exalted circles, my friend.” The man’s slurred speech sounded forced.
Cecil took a seat. “It comes with the territory. Join us, Ashford.”
Ashford was seated beside Cecil, his attention still on Landry. He’d expected a portly florid-faced man smoking a cigarillo.
“Not what you expected, am I? I understand.” Mr. Landry chuckled. “I look too mild-mannered to be a wealthy cit.”
He merely inclined his head as Cecil pulled a money clip from his inner jacket pocket. Ashford repeated the gesture with a sigh. He had wretched luck at dice. How much would it cost him to aid Lady Charlotte and Thorne’s Lending Library?
* * * * *
Two hours later, Cecil was winning while he was losing heavily. He caught Cecil’s eye and shook his head. Ashford was hungry, and the cigarillo smoke swirling around the room had given him a headache. He’d also surmised that Landry wasn’t drunk at all. The man pretended to be inebriated merely to convince other gamblers his mental faculties were impaired so they would lower their guard.
