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Chapter Twenty-Four
Patricia wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as she waited on the street outside the tavern with Lord Reading.
There was a burst of raucous laughter from inside, followed by raised voices. Rough voices. She shuddered. How long was Lord Reynolds going to take?
“Do not fret, your Grace,” whispered Lord Reading, squinting as he gazed through the filthy tavern window thick with dust. “These are the usual sounds from within such an establishment. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Patricia nodded uncertainly. “If you say it is so, then I believe you.”
A man stumbled out of the tavern door, weaving unsteadily on his feet. His eyes were bleary and red rimmed. Without further ado, he turned around, opening his britches, and proceeded to relieve himself against the brick wall.
Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Lord Reading shepherded her to another spot, just around the corner.
“You truly should wait in the carriage,” he said crisply. “This is not something any lady should witness.”
Patricia’s eyes flashed. “And as I have said, Lord Reading, I am determined to help. It is my husband we are searching for.” Her gaze softened. “I do appreciate your concern. But I would be far more anxious sitting in the carriage than here. At least I am with you both and you can protect me.”
Lord Reading nodded curtly. “Well, let us hope Reynolds has discovered some information in there. And that we may find His Grace sooner rather than later.” He paused, gazing back at the tavern. “He is taking his sweet time about it.”
As if he had been summoned, Lord Reynolds suddenly stepped around the corner. His face looked grim.
“There you both are,” he said quickly. “I do apologize for taking so long. The patrons are all well and truly in their cups and it was difficult to talk to them.” He took a deep breath. “No one has seen him. Not the tavern staff, nor anyone drinking in there.”
Patricia’s eyes filled with helpless tears. This was hopeless. As soon as they got a lead and followed it, it seemed to dry up. There were many people inside that tavern. If Jackson had been anywhere near it, even wandering the street outside, someone would surely have seen him.
She gazed fearfully down the street. They were almost to the end of it, and there was no one else about. They had no idea which direction to veer in next. The trail had grown cold.
“How could he just have disappeared?” asked Lord Reading, shaking his head. “It is as if the ground has swallowed him up entirely. I find it very hard to believe that no one saw him. He would have stood out like a sore thumb in his wealthy attire in this district, and then there is his distinctive scar.”
“They are all in their cups, Reading,” said Lord Reynolds grimly. “They may have seen him briefly but forgotten. And the tavern staff are run off their feet. Unless he actually went in there, they would have no idea.”
Lord Reading sighed heavily. “What now?”
Lord Reynolds shrugged helplessly. “I do not know. It is almost certain he is not on this street, and we have no idea which way to go next…”
“No,” said Patricia sharply. “No, we cannot just give up! He has been kidnapped!”
Lord Reading sighed again. “I know. And I am as appalled by it as you are. The constabulary are searching for him. We have no leads, your Grace. What more can we do?”
Patricia stared down the empty, dark street, filled with a helpless rage. How could she call off the search when her husband had been snatched off the street for some sinister purpose?
A deep instinct told her she couldn’t call it off. Shemustnot do that. And yet Lord Reading was right. What choice did they have at this point? Londonwaslike a labyrinth. A veritable rabbit’s warren of streets and alleyways. As they traversed deeper into it, it became harder. There were less people out and about and it was less well lit.
“It pains me to say it, but I think Lord Reading is correct,” said Lord Reynolds, looking sorrowfully at her. “We should take you home, your Grace. The last thing we want is for you to be at risk as well.”
“Please, let us just go to the end of this street,” said Patricia, setting her jaw stubbornly. “If we do not find anything, then I shall do as you both suggest.”
She held her breath as the two gentlemen looked at each other. They didn’t say anything for the longest moment.
“Very well,” said Lord Reynolds slowly. “Just to the end of this street. But there is nothing more along it, your Grace, nor anyone down there. I fear it is a lost errand.”
Patricia took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
They started walking down the street. The noise from the tavern started to dim. It was silent, and it was almost black. A cat startled them as it streaked across their path, its tail twitching. The fog was curling along the bottom of the street; its long vaporous fingers stretching outwards, threatening to envelop them entirely.
They finally reached the end of the street. There was nothing and nobody.
Patricia’s heart sank. It was over. She could not persuade the gentlemen to scour any more of these vile streets. Their leads were gone, and it was getting darker and grimmer. The gentlemen had already done her a great service in leaving their comfortable homes to do this. She could ask no more of them.
