Page 23 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
“Bravo, Edith!” Charlotte said with a grin, clapping her hands as she returned her attention to the present-day conversation. “There are bound to be other young ladies at the tea, and they can’t all be as unpleasant as Lady Julia.”
Louisa shrugged. “My priority is replacing the curtains at Thorne’s Lending Library. The fabric has been purchased and is currently being fashioned into two sets of window coverings.”
Charlotte took a sip of fragrant tea. She didn’t press Louisa to accompany them on their morning call to Lady Sheffield. Her friend rarely changed her mind once it was made up. Charlotte would be more than happy to use the occasion of the visit to spread the word about Thorne’s Lending Library.
* * * * *
The evening sun was rapidly giving way to dusk. At nearly eight of the o’clock in the evening, Blandel Bridge in Five Fields wasn’t the safest destination in outer London.
Ashford frowned at his companion. “What are we doing here? We’re in an open carriage in one of the most dangerous areas of Town.”
Cecil drove their conveyance, a phaeton with matched pair, his gaze trained on the road, and approaching stone bridge, ahead. “I needed something light and fast. You didn’t have to accompany me.”
He snorted. “Your invitation was cryptic enough to be intriguing.”
And it had been.
“Tonight, there will be an attempt to sabotage the construction of the first cast-iron crossing over the Thames.”
That crossing would be Regent’s Bridge. After years of controversy and setbacks, the bridge was scheduled to be completed in June of the year.
As they drove to Five Fields, the men discussed Cecil’s newest employee.
“Have you found a task to keep Mr. Bones occupied?” Ashford asked his friend.
“Once I got past the surprise of his showing up on my doorstep, I realized he could be tremendously useful.” The viscount gave a mirthless laugh. “He might know more about the Rogue’s Alliance than I do.”
Ashford was relieved to hear Cecil had given the former smuggler a job. For the foreseeable future, Bones would have funds to find shelter and eat.
Five Fields was a grazing area of reclaimed marshlands, an open valley on the western outskirts of London. The Westbourne River meandered beneath Blandel Bridge, known as “Bloody Bridge,” as it was a known haunt of robbers and cutthroats. The stone crossing was some fourteen feet wide with high walls on each side; the shadows of nearby Boscobel oaks lengthened as the phaeton approached the entrance to the bridge.
The open carriage moved across the expanse, the only sound the clip-clop of horse’s hooves against stone. A bearded figure with a lantern in one hand rose in front of them as the phaeton exited the bridge.
“Who goes there?” a gruff male voice asked.
“Lord Cecil.”
The man lowered his lantern and stepped aside.
“I see your reputation proceeds you,” Ashford said dryly.
Cecil halted the carriage next to the bearded man. “What news have you this evening?”
“A wagon went by just moments ago with several barrels stacked in the bed,” the man replied in a low voice.
The viscount tossed a guinea to the man.
“Brace yourself, Ashford.” Cecil flicked the reins, and the matched pair broke into a gallop.
“What is in the barrels?” he asked over the sound of horses’ hooves pounding against the packed earth beneath them.
“Gunpowder!”
Ashford spied a wagon some fifty yards in front of them. There were two dark figures on the seat. The men wore long cloaks; the driver’s cloak was an unusual light blue color, and both men wore hats pulled down over their ears. The passenger carried a lantern and turned on the seat to look behind him.
Ashford saw movement beside him as Cecil took one hand from the leads he held and pulled a double-barreled flintlock pistol from an inside pocket of his caped greatcoat.
“Will that really be necessary?” he asked, alarmed. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should have accompanied his friend on this errand.
