His smile mocked only himself. At last, Leo Bailey had developed ethics. And his cock hated him for it.
Traffic stalled, and Leo poked his head out the carriage window to see what caused the delay. An overturned cart blocked the street. Two men argued fiercely, their faces red, as bystanders watched. One of the men swung at the other. Within a moment, the street filled with brawling.
The carriage rocked as the horse grew agitated. From his seat, the driver called down to Leo, Sorry, sir, but were jammed. Oi! Get off! The coachman knocked down a man trying to climb up onto his perch.
Leo bit back an oath of impatience. He hadnt time for this. Occasional scuffles in the streets were as common as rats, but this altercation went beyond the usual fracas. It seemed as though it hadnt taken much to make the little fight explode into a much bigger brawl. Yet he needed to get to the Exchange. Business hours had already begun. Missing important deals infuriated him.
Ill walk the rest of the way, Dawkins.
Are you sure, sir? Itsdown from there, you son of a whorea bit rough.
Leo smiled grimly, and opened the carriage door.
Amazing what a bit of brawling could do for ones humor. As Leo wended his way up Queen Street and then turned on to Poultry, he shook out his fist. Fortunately, he knew how to throw a punch, and the ache in his hand had already begun to subside. No one in that melee had expected a gent in a fine private coach to come out swinging. But he had, and laid out three big men for their trouble. He had cleared a path for himself.
Now he had to stop himself from whistling. He hadnt been able to obtain physical release with his wife, but fighting in the street offered more brutal means.
He reached the entrance to Exchange Alley off Cornhill. Three men waited for him. Hellraisers. Bram made a tall, dark shape against the sunlit street, and both Edmund and John glanced around with tense, strained expressions.
What in the name of God has you out of bed so early? The hour had barely reached eight oclock. Unless you havent been to bed yet.
Bram
and John roused me from mine, Edmund muttered.
The shadows under John and Brams eyes confirmed that neither had gone home last night. Leo realized that, for the first time in ... as long as he could remember, he hadnt joined in for the evenings debauchery. He had been at home. With Anne.
And he hadnt missed going out, not a bit.
Its business hours, lads, he said. If theres carousing to be done, it must wait til later.
Bram shook his head, and Leo saw that the drawn cast that honed his friends already sharp features came not from a nights dissipated revels, but something else. Something troubling.
Nerves tightened along the back of Leos neck and his pleasant mood burst like a blister.
He glanced around. Men of business who knew him well were casting him and the other Hellraisers speculative glances. Leos presence at the Change was common, but his dissolute friends attendance was noteworthy.
Theres a tavern in an alley off Threadneedle. The Cormorant. Ill meet you there in a quarter of an hour.
His friends dispersed, trailing shadows. Leo spent a few minutes chatting with acquaintances, maintaining the illusion that all was well, even as he knew otherwise. Eventually, he drifted away and toward Threadneedle Street. He hated missing any potential deals, but he had no choice. The Hellraisers would not seek him out at this hour unless the situation were dire.
Less crowded than a coffee house, the Cormorant tavern still held a few patrons. One man slept with his head on the table, beside his tankard. Another puffed on a pipe by the fire, watching smoke rings drift up to the stained ceiling. The Hellraisers occupied the settles in the corner, and they stared at their mugs with hard, wary expressions, as if anticipating an attack.
Leo sat next to John. He grunted his thanks when the tapster brought a grimy mug of ale, though he had no thirst for it.
Whits been spotted, Bram said without preamble. Here, in London.
Leo clenched his hands into fists. When?
Dont know. John and I only heard about it last night.
We ran into Chilton at the Theatre Royal, said John. He asked why Whit wasnt with us, as he had seen him just that morning on Westminster Bridge, with a pretty Gypsy girl on his arm. Whit asked Chilton about us, wanted to know what we had been doing.
And Chilton told him, added Bram.
Leo swore. He considered taking a drink of his ale just to steady himself, but something floated on the drinks surface, and he pushed it away.
Damn it. Damn.
What do you think he wants? Edmund gnawed on his thumbnail, as he always did when anxious.
Same as hes always wantedto take our gifts. Johns fingers beat a staccato rhythm on the tabletop.
He hasnt the power to do so. Yet Bram did not sound as confident as his words attested.
Not that we know of. Leo crossed his arms over his chest. Its been months since Bram saw him in Manchester. Not even Mr. Holliday has been able to keep track of him. Anything might have happened in the interval.