Page 92 of The Scarred Duchess
“Mr Gardiner.”
“Are you able to meet your obligation? Today?”
“Wha... what are you saying?”
Gardiner held up a signed promissory note. “Do you have one thousand sixty-two pounds on your person?”
Price whispered. “No.”
“Roark, admit the bailiff.”
“Wait! What can I do?” he pleaded. “This will ruin me. Please.”
“I’ve an idea,” said Roark.
“Yes. Yes! Anything!”
Roark outlined Price’s task to convince Lord Gillett to accept a challenge. He would ensure the baron did not delope or surrender.
“Do not fail us,” warned Gardiner.
“I understand.”
“Do ye, Monty? Do ye?” replied Roark. It was more growl than speech.
“I vow to meet this obligation,” Price whispered.
Gardiner nodded. “Very well.Wehave nothing to lose.”
Roark opened the door. “Tomorrow, boys. Go have one on me. One!”
Late afternoon the next day, four burly men filed into Gardiner’s office, stopping in front of his desk. They fidgeted and shuffled their feet, eager to start. Their wait was short. Roark entered and stood to their flank.
“I have six debtors who cannot pay their vowels.”
Gardiner smiled at the buzzing, which would increase loudly when he revealed their victims’ identities. He handed the senior bailiff the list; the man’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Boys, we soon be rolling in it,” he announced.
Roark calmed the air. “Bang up to the mark, boys. Mind the times. Follow the list.” He paused. “Do not disappoint me.”
The bailiffs shook their heads. “Never you worry, Roark. We be working for you and no one else,” assured the lead man.
The bailiffs mounted their hackneys, followed by a large cage cart. A half-dozen ruffians—the chain gang—secured their footing, grasped the bars, and whooped as the transport jerked forward.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Lord Malcolm Gillett stood upon Hampstead Heath the day after receiving a written challenge from a gentleman unknown to him. The message, delivered by a solicitor, accused him of immorality and questioned his honour. Gillett confirmed the encounter, his excitement barely contained. He had chosen the third son of an impoverished peer to stand up as his second, as he had been conveniently at hand. The pair waited for their opponents with anticipation.
Two men approached. The baron cringed as his second put a fist to his mouth and laughingly gagged at the sight of the hulking giant walking beside a grey-haired man.
“He looks as if he is half a century, if not more.” Gillett smiled.This will be fast and easy.
Adding to his primary’s insult, his second said, “He is rather long in the tooth.”
“The freak, I fear, would be more trouble than the old sod,” said Gillett. He focused on the fossil as he came to a stop a few feet away. “With whom do I have the pleasure of crossing swords?”
“This be the master,” rasped the giant.
Ignoring the lack of a full answer, Gillet’s companion spoke. “I am Sir Montgomery Price. I am second to Lord Malcolm Gillett. I am sure his reputation precedes him.”
