Page 82 of A Figure of Love

But when he went up to Oliver’s room later that night to bid him farewell, he’d noticed the boy’s nightclothes were clean and pressed, but patched and washed thin with use. The realization had consumed him ever since; did she really earn so little money?

Gareth banished the thoughts. He was here, now, and he needed to keep his mind fixed on the problem at hand.

After a quick visit to his room he went down to the taproom, which was brimming with custom at this time of the evening, its clientele a varied mix of seafarers and travelers just arrived from the latest packet.

He made his way to the bar, where a surly looking brute with an eyepatch greeted him with a frown and asked him what he was having.

Gareth ordered a pint of house brew and when the man delivered it, he pushed a gold coin across the bar. “I wish to purchase a horse. A gray one.” The effect on the man was miraculous. His one eye widened and the sneer slid away as he smiled, revealing a mouthful of black teeth that made Gareth shudder.

“Aye. A gray horse, ye say? I know a man what has a gray horse. Be waiting at the stone bridge on Folkstone Road at midnight.” He turned and walked away without another word, but the coin was gone.

Gareth lifted the mug to his mouth and then noticed the greasy thumbprint on the cracked rim and put it back down without taking a drink. He looked at his watch: he had a little over two hours to wait. He went to the private parlor he’d taken and ordered a meal, hoping the cleanliness standards in the rest of the hotel were higher than those in the taproom.

∞∞∞

Serena was cold, tired, scared, and hungry for something besides dried fish and bitter ale. But mostly she was just bored.

She’d lost track of the days in her dingy little prison, but thought at least five must have passed, based on the number of times they had fed her. They’d taken her satchel and shoes and cloak, making certain she would not get far even if she could escape.

There was at least a half dozen of them, although the only faces she ever saw were the two cobblers. The others stayed in the outer room and argued in hushed voices. She knew they were arguing about her.

The old man had come to her not long after they’d brought her here. She knew that because her head had still pounded and ached from the blow.

She’d been curled up on an uncomfortable cot, trying to sleep and having no success when the door opened and he shuffled inside.

Serena pushed herself up, wincing at the pain the movement caused.

“Sorry ’bout yer head, lass.” He sat in a chair and smoked his infernal pipe.

“And I’m sorry I took the time, trouble, and money to come down here and warn you. I should have let you fetch the goods and gotten shot. I should have—”

“There aen’t no shipment.”

“What?”

Derby nodded. “And there weren’t no arrest nor dead men.”

“You are lying.”

He shook his head, a glint of pity in his eyes.

Serena stared at him. “But why? Why would he tell me such a thing?”

“Don’t know.”

“So, if there was no arrest and no trouble, why have you brought me here?”

He shrugged.

Serena wanted to scream.

“Truth is, yer cousin is a wrong ’un. Rotted to the bone. Ee’d a pair o’ hands waiting to take the ready from us but we sussed the lay and did for ’em. But we miss ’im and ’e took to ’is ’eels.”

Serena untangled the garbled speech slowly. “You mean he tried to cheat you?”

He nodded.

She laughed, an unpleasant sound with no humor. “Well, I assure you, I mean nothing to my cousin. If you are intending to ransom me back to him, you will be waiting a very long time.”