Page 48 of Lady Edith and the Registry Office
“You’re a loon to be taking on the RA! Everyone knows it!” The Irishman laughed.
Cecil growled his reply, “You call me that again, and I’ll drop you where you stand.”
It was a measure of the respect the man must have for Cecil that he did not repeat his words. Although dressed in the first stare of fashion and impeccably groomed, the look on the viscount’s face was feral.
When the Irishman spoke again, his tone was conciliatory. “I’ve told you all I know. Only those in charge know who’s running the alliance. Think man! You know that.”
It was what Nathaniel believed as well. Why would the Irishman, surely a tiny cog in the wheel, know the identity of those who led the RA?
“If I find out differently...” Cecil smiled a slow, brittle smile. “I’ll be back. And I’ll not be looking to you for information again. You can get blunt for your doxie from someone else.” Turning away from the Irishman, he looked at Nathaniel for the first time. “Shall we go?”
Outside, the shouting match between Cecil and the Irishman had attracted a larger crowd. The men and women surrounding the coach eyed the well-dressed men in their midst.
Cecil held a flintlock pistol in his right hand. With his other hand, he pulled another gun from inside his coat and tossed it to his driver. Nathaniel unsheathed the sword from his walking stick and noticed the three attending footmen had daggers in hand.
“Back up now,” the driver said in a loud voice. “Lord Wycliffe has no further business here.”
Upon hearing the name, the crowd retreated several paces. There was loud whispering as Nathaniel and Cecil rushed into the coach, and the attendants leaped to their places on the carriage.
The horses whinnied in fear or surprise as the town coach jolted forward. Cecil held the vehicle door closed as they heard items landing against the coach. Who knew what the crowd was throwing at their conveyance?
The viscount swore loudly. “I shouldn’t have come in my carriage.”
“You weren’t thinking, man. You have to be more careful, Cecil. You might have a death wish, but I doubt your men do.”
“You’re right. I was selfish.” He let loose of the coach door and settled back on the squabs. “The Irishman was a reliable informant until he became involved with a light skirt working for the RA. I wanted to believe he could still be helpful.”
“A rare case of nostalgia?” he asked wryly.
Cecil sighed. “You could say that.”
The sounds of the crowd faded away, and Nathaniel could hear the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on cobblestones, so they must be entering a cleaner part of London.
“How did you find me?” Cecil asked as he parted the curtains on one side of the coach. The sky was starting to darken as the golden hour approached.
He sat forward. “Bones said you were here to find an Irishman.”
“His name is Quinn. He is a low-level criminal that once had his hands in many pies.”
“I hope your adventure netted you some information about our missing veterans.” Nathaniel opened the curtains on the other side of the coach, glad to see the green of Finsbury Park come into view. They were now well and truly in a safer part of London.
“Quinn hasn’t heard of Lord Norwich having any involvement with the RA.” Cecil paused and shook his head. “Darned thing is? Quinn swears there’s a woman behind the disappearances.”
