“Most men who walk these streets are too drunk to notice anything unless it’s thrust in their face. Hence the reason she is shaking her flesh at the window.”
Taking up most of the seat opposite, Bostock sat forward and waved her away with his chubby fingers. “I think you’ll find the grey tint is dirt, Mrs Chambers. Most of them are numb to the cold.”
“No doubt they are numb to most things, Mr Bostock,” she said with a resigned sigh.
The carriage pulled away again, turned right into Rosemary Lane and rumbled to a stop outside The Compass Inn.
“What are we doing here?” Daphne’s head shot between Daniel and the window. “Thomas was last seen at The Mariners, not The Compass. The Mariners is further—”
“I know where the tavern is,” Daniel interjected. “But if we’re to make any progress this evening, it will take more than a few probing questions to persuade the landlord to speak. The Turners frequent this alehouse and they owe me a favour.”
“The Turners?” Daphne wrinkled her nose.
“Businesses pay them a fee to keep trouble away,” Bostock replied. “No one wants on the wrong side of the Turners.”
Her eyes widened as she searched Daniel’s face. “And why would they be indebted to you?”
Bostock snorted. “It has something to do—”
“Thank you, Bostock, I can answer for myself,” Daniel said. When speaking to ladies, his friend was incapable of censoring his thoughts. “The Turners like to gamble, boxing mainly. There was a plot to drug their best fighter, to make sure they lost heavily. I was lucky enough to stumble upon the information.”
“I doubt luck played a part,” Daphne said, her tone conveying a hint of admiration.
“Perhaps not,” he replied modestly. “Wait here with Bostock. I shall be but a few minutes.” The hairs on his nape prickled to attention. “No one is to leave this carriage, Bostock. Is that clear?”
Daphne huffed. “Trust me, Mr Thorpe. I have no intention of pushing through a crowd of drunken debauchers.”
“That’s exactly how I feel at the thought of mingling with the aristocracy.” Daniel inclined his head. “Don’t be alarmed if Murphy moves on. He knows what to do in dangerous situations.”
The lady swallowed visibly and bit down on her bottom lip. She had no need to worry and would be perfectly safe with Murphy and Bostock.
“Must you go in there alone?” Mrs Chambers blurted. Her breath came a little quicker. The visible pulse in her neck and her overly bright eyes conveyed fear for his safety. “Can you not take Bostock with you?”
Other than Bostock, no one else cared if he lived or died — not until now.
Without thought, and much to Bostock’s surprise, he took hold of Mrs Chambers’ hand and gripped it tight. “Bostock must remain with you. I’ve worked the streets for years. No harm shall come to me here.”
The urge to kiss away her fears took hold.
Bloody hell!
Only one person had the ability to hurt him, yet the lady had no clue as to the power she possessed.
“If you have any regard for my welfare, stay in the carriage,” he reiterated before opening the door and jumping to the pavement. He waited for Bostock to slam the door shut and then made his way into the inn.
Unlike the air of unruliness out on the street, inside the atmosphere was more subdued. The small, select crowd sat around on crude wooden benches listening to a one-armed man sing a sailor’s ballad about riding the rough seas.
As always, the Turner brothers were seated at the round table in the far corner of the room, slightly obscured by a thick, swirling mist of tobacco smoke. Daniel introduced himself to the man blocking his path, a scrawny fellow with a scar running from forehead to cheek. The man glanced behind, received a nod from both brothers and allowed Daniel to pass.
“I trust you received my note.” Daniel had paid the errand boy triple the usual fee in the hope of it reaching the brothers promptly. Only one of them could read, but a man was wise not to draw attention to the fact.
“So you want to talk to the landlord of The Mariners,” the brother with small lifeless eyes and an oval head said. Some people were known to take on the characteristics of their beloved pets. This brother — no one knew their given names — had a bull terrier who’d bite you before raising a bark.
“As I stated in my note, my friend, Thomas Chambers, drowned in the Thames three years ago. He frequented The Mariners, though I suspect purely on matters of business. New evidence leads me to believe his death was not an accident and so I hoped the landlord would answer a few questions about the night in question.”
There was little point lying to these men. In the criminal underworld, relationships were based on trust.
“And if the landlord knows something but never spoke up?” The brother with golden hair and angelic blue eyes — the far more dangerous of the two — smiled. “You’d be asking him to betray his kin.”