Cold Comfort (A New Adventure Begins - Star Elite 5)

Oliver lifted his brows at him. “Lose it. I don’t care if you have to cart it into a field and set fire to the damned thing. No. I will tell you what, we are going to take a long road around the area and leave it at the gaol. If Smidgley wants it back, he is going to have to go and fetch it. If not, the gaoler is welcome to it.”

Rhys sniggered and helped Harry hoist the still unconscious thug onto his knees. They held him upright while Oliver tightened the bindings around the thug’s wrists. When he was suitably trussed up, the men then dragged the thug out to the waiting carriage, to his colleague who was already inside.

“Keep guard, Rhys. Harry, you drive. We are off to the gaol when Emmeline is ready,” Oliver informed them.

As if on cue, Emmeline appeared in the doorway. The carpet bag she held was so full the thing didn’t close properly but Oliver took it off her. Once before her, he placed his hand around hers and paused to look deeply into her eyes.

“Are you really all right?” she whispered softly.

Oliver nodded, more than a little touched that she cared enough to ask. “I will live. I am just glad you put up enough of a fight to thwart that oaf. You did all right.”

Emmeline grinned at him. “Am I to take that as a compliment? I just fought off a man twice my size, and in my own house no less, and all you can say is that I did ‘all right?” She tipped her chin up haughtily at him. “I did more than all right, thank you very much. I certainly came off better than you.”

Oliver threw her a dirty look that was tinged with laughter. “I was tied to a chair, don’t you know?”

“Excuses. Excuses. Always excuses,” Emmeline chided, watching Oliver slam and lock her front door. When he was making his way toward her, she climbed into the carriage, and watched Harry and Rhys share a smirk.

“Seems to me that you have met your match Oliver, my boy,” Harry teased.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I just. Just make sure we lock the skillets away, will you?”

Emmeline was still smiling when she took a seat in the carriage. Her smile slowly died, though, when her gaze fell to the still unconscious men at her feet. The make-shift hoods that Harry and Rhys had placed over the men’s heads were somewhat macabre.

“It is to stop them from seeing firstly who is here, and secondly, where we are taking them,” Oliver whispered directly into her ear. “It is best not to speak until we can off-load them at the gaol.”

Emmeline shivered when the warmth of his breath snuck across her cheek. The urge to lean against him was strong, but she resisted it – just – by focusing her attention on the men at her feet, and the reason why she was in the carriage in the first place.

“Where are they going?”

“Go gaol where they belong. That’s all you need to know for now,” Oliver replied warily. “As far as their bosses are concerned, these two have just disappeared.”

With that, Oliver rapped twice on the roof of the carriage and settled back in the seat, but only once he had drawn the blind down and encased everyone in impenetrable darkness. Emmeline tensed and tried hard not to panic. Silently, reassuringly, out of that gloom she felt Oliver’s warm palm settle over hers. It didn’t stop and hold her hand as she expected. Instead, Oliver slid her bodily across the seat toward him until they were both as far away from the thugs as it was possible to get. He then settled her against his side and held her protectively all the way to the gaol.

CHAPTER NINE

London

Sir Hugo sat at his desk and pretended to read the parchment in his hand. He was listening to the sound of movement outside his office door. It was therefore unsurprising when the door suddenly burst open and a short, rotund gentlemen stalked arrogantly into the room.

“Dunnicliffe, I didn’t realise you were back,” his visitor began, not bothering to bow or adhere to any of the usual standards of social interaction.

“So why have you burst into my office?” Sir Hugo looked at his desk and leaned back in his seat. “I didn’t realise we had an appointment. No. No. In fact, I do recall that I have to meet with someone else in a moment. What do you want, Argent?”

Sir Hugo returned to pretending to read the parchment he still held and purposely barely gave the man a second look. He could feel tension vibrating off the elegantly dressed man, whose heavy breathing was, for a moment at least, the only sound that could be heard within the room.

Beverley Argent was, if nothing more, a pompous oaf who had purloined his position through his connections, and only because of his connections. He had never fought in any war or overseen any criminal investigations. However, through careful social climbing, back-hand favours, and undoubtedly a spot of blackmail or two, he had managed to reach the lofty heights of being friends with the Attorney General. The Attorney General, while having no direct authority over Sir Hugo, was still a highly influential position and was supported by his close contacts in Royal circles. That made Sir Hugo’s position difficult, and Beverley Argent knew it.

“What are you working on right now, Dunnicliffe?” Argent demanded.

“You know I am not at liberty to divulge the details of our investigations,” Sir Hugo drawled.

“The Secretary of War wants to know,” Argent added.

“Then the Secretary of War is to come and ask me directly. I am not going to divulge Government secrets to anybody.” To cast doubt on the man’s stature, both physically and socially, Sir Hugo raked the squat little man with an aloof look that made Argent start to sweat. Unfortunately, it did little to lessen his arrogance. The little man scowled deeply at him.

“I warn you now that I have the ear of some very influential people,” Argent blustered. “Raymondson is the Attorney General.”

There was such a pompous sneer on the man’s face that Sir Hugo almost relished being able to be the next one to speak. “I am afraid that a mere Attorney General, no matter who he claims to have connections with, has no authority to overrule the Secretary of War. You may be accountable to the Attorney General, but I am accountable only to the Secretary of War who does, I believe, hold considerably more authority. Of course, if you do want me to break the strict rules of the Secretary’s office then I shall of require due authorisation signed by the Secretary of War himself, the King Regent, and the Lord Chief Justice, before I tell you or anyone else anything.” Sir Hugo slapped his papers down onto his desk and rested his folded hands on his washboard stomach as he studied the squat little man, Sir Hugo knew now was up to his flaccid neck in Smidgley’s crimes. “Might I remind you, sir, that we are a crime fighting organisation who work undercover? What kind of government operative would I be if I divulged information to you that would put lives of many hardworking gentlemen at risk, eh? Why would you wish me to do it?”