Page 37 of Noble Scoundrel

Morley snorted and closed the booklet. Without looking up again, he asked, “How’s the scamp doin’, then?”

“Freddie’s well enough for now, but someone’s after him. Whoever it is, they’ll soon regret it.”

Mason’s next errand took him deep into the rookery.

During their conversation that morning, Freddie’d revealed a great deal of information he’d previously been holding close to his chest. Though Mason could understand the boy’s need to protect himself in uncertain circumstances, he wished he’d known the full story much sooner. He could’ve followed up on the threat when everything was fresh.

Though the men who’d attacked their carriage the day before hadn’t sounded familiar, Freddie’s detailed description of the two men who’d locked him in a cupboard definitely sparked some recognition. It didn’t hurt that Freddie had heard them call each other by name.

Being late morning, the streets were relatively quiet. A few vendors plied their trade from rickety carts, but the most profitable time in the neighborhood came at night.

The flash house Mason sought was also quiet. The revelry of the night before likely hadn’t finished until well after dawn, but he suspected the man he wanted to talk to would still be awake.

Despite arriving outside the usual hours of operation, Mason walked boldly into the tavern. A large, lumbering fellow was moving about the common room, straightening tables and righting chairs. He looked up at Mason’s entrance then gave a nod of acknowledgement before going back to his work.

Crossing the front room, Mason headed toward the hall that ran behind the bar to the small office in back. As expected, Decker Reid was seated at his desk, tallying up the profits from the night before.

The old man looked up as Mason filled his doorway. Surprise mingled with guarded curiosity in his expression. “Hale? What in all that’s holy brought you out so damned early in the day?”

“I need to cash in on one of those favors you owe me.”

Reid tensed and quickly scooped up the stacks of bills and coins he was counting to stash it all in a box that he tucked below the desk.

Mason could have assured him he had no interest in the man’s profits. But he didn’t bother.

“What favors?” Reid countered bullishly. “I don’t owe you anything.”

With a lowered chin, Mason eyed the man for a full, long minute. “No games, Reid. I haven’t the time.”

The manager gave an exaggerated laugh. “Of course. Right, then. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for two men. Butler and Green.” When Reid immediately started shaking his head, Mason added, “I know they come round to your place on the regular. I just need to know where to find them.”

“Can’t,” Reid said as he shifted in his seat.

Mason stepped forward to plant his hands flat on the desk to lean over the other man. “What d’you mean can’t?”

Reid met Mason’s heavy scowl with another shake of his head. “Butler and Green are dead. They were found floating in the Thames a couple weeks ago. Rope cinched tight ’round their throats.”

“Fuck.” Mason straightened as all the implications of that news filtered through his mind. He flicked a glance back to Reid. “Who did it?”

The manager gave a heavy snort. “Don’t think anyone bothered to find out.”

“D’you recall hearing anything about a job they’d been hired for involving a boy?”

Reid’s bushy white brows lowered in thought. “Those two knew how to keep things close to the vest. Never talked about the work they did. But I do know that a few weeks before they turned up dead, they spent a good hour or so chatting up a stranger in my front room.”

“Describe him.”

“Can’t,” Reid repeated. “He wore a cloak with the hood pulled up and had his back to the room for most of the time he was here.”

“Dramatic,” Mason scoffed. “Did Butler or Green say anything about the stranger?”

“As I said, they weren’t talkers. Didn’t deserve what they got.”

Unless they hadn’t been killed for talking, but for failing. Which suggested whoever’d hired them wanted others to know he expected the job to get done.

“Those two did seem to have a good amount of extra blunt after that meet-up. Whatever the bloody rotter wanted them to do, he’d paid well for it.”

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