Page 123 of Thief of the Ton

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Peregrine glanced up at Houseman. “You shouldn’t have fired.”

“Her?” Houseman asked.

“What?” Peregrine asked.

“You said, ‘You didn’t have to shoother.’”

Shit.

“I said no such thing, Houseman,” he said. “Your hearing’s addled from firing your weapon. You shouldn’t have shot…him.”

“I hit him in the arm,” Houseman said. “He’ll not get far. With luck, we’ll find him dead in a ditch along the road.”

“Then we should follow him,” the earl said. “Get back in the coach.”

“What about the footman?” Peregrine asked.

The earl shrugged. “What about him?”

“We need to get him to a doctor.”

“We shouldn’t be wasting time on aservant.”

“You bastard,” Peregrine said. “You’d let a man die?”

Another groan, and the footman lifted his head.

“Don’t move,” Peregrine said, “not until we know where you’ve been hit. What’s your name?”

“John, sir.”

“Stay still, John,” Peregrine said. “Houseman—come and help. Check his body for injuries.”

“It’s m-my ankle,” the footman said. “I twisted it when I fell.”

“Where were you shot?”

The footman hesitated, and Peregrine could swear he saw the color deepening on his cheeks, despite the darkness.

“I-I think I fainted, sir. With…with fright.”

“Can you stand, John?”

The footman nodded.

Peregrine helped him to his feet. The footman’s tricorn hat lay on the ground, and Houseman picked it up.

“There,” he said, holding the hat up. “See?”

Peregrine glanced at the hat, which was silhouetted against the moonlight save for a perfect, round hole that glowed like a single white eye staring back at him.

Houseman lowered the hat and poked his finger through the hole. “A bullet hole,” he said. “Evidence of the highwayman’s intent to kill.”

“I’m sure he didn’t intend to kill anyone,” the footman said.

“He shot you,” the earl said.

“No, he didn’t.”

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