Who Will Take This Man?

Twenty

Philip stared at the note, which was written in the same hand as the others, and fury and hope collided in him. Fury that this bastard was toying with him like this, but hope… God, so much hope that he was telling the truth. I have the stone you seek. That could only refer to the missing piece of the Stone of Tears. It existed. He’d wager his last farthing that it had been in the alabaster box stolen the night of the break-in-and this deranged bastard had taken it, which proved that the curse was indeed at the crux of all the attacks. You won’t have the stone for long, he silently vowed. I’m going to find you and my stone. And then make you the sorriest bastard in England.

The person responsible for this was no stranger. His were the only crates tampered with. It had to be someone who knew him. Knew where his belongings were stored. Knew the value of that piece of stone. Knew who his family and friends were… who was important to him. Of course, that could be anyone who’d sailed home with him. Everyone onboard the Dream Keeper knew Andrew, Edward, and Bakari were like brothers to him. Had heard him speak of his father and Catherine, and the fact that the crates in the ship’s hold were bound for the museum and the warehouse.

The door creaked on its hinges. “Hallo,” an adolescent male voice called out. “Is there a bloke named Greybourne about?”

“I’m Greybourne,” Philip called, hurrying toward the door. A boy about twelve years of age, garbed in dirty, torn clothing, stood in the open doorway.

“I’ve a note for ye.” His eyes narrowed. “But it’ll cost ye. Bloke what told me to deliver it said ye’d give me a ha’pence.”

Philip withdrew a coin from his pocket and flipped it in the air. The boy caught it neatly, his eyes widening at the tuppence resting in his palm. He handed over the note, then dashed away, no doubt worried that Philip would try to wrest the coin back from him. Breaking the wax seal, Philip skimmed the few lines.

Spoke to magistrate who believes a crew member careless with a cheroot caused the blaze. No witnesses able to say what happened, but he’ll make further inquiries. Have taken a room for the night at the Denby Arms to be close by should you need me. Edward.

Philip stared absently at the note. He did not agree that the fire was caused by a careless crew member. Nor did he believe anyone aboard the Sea Raven was responsible. Whoever set the blaze was the same person responsible for everything else-and that person had not just arrived today on the Sea Raven.

Folding the note and slipping it into his pocket, he continued his pacing, his mind churning out possibilities, and tossing them away just as quickly. To the best of his knowledge, he’d made no enemies onboard the ship during his sail home. He couldn’t deny he’d made a number of enemies during his travels. Had one of them followed him to England?

An image of that carriage barreling toward Meredith flashed in his mind, and his footsteps slowed. This person clearly knew that Meredith was important to him-a fact which was a very recent development. And not known by many people. In fact, the only people who knew were those closest to him-

He halted, his mind racing as an awful possibility occurred to him. No, it couldn’t be… couldn’t possibly. But the more he reflected upon the events of the past days, he realized it could be. The puzzle pieces clicked, one by one, into place in his mind, leaving the sickening truth staring him in the face. The attacks, the broken glass, the odd absences, the conversations… yes, it all fit. He dragged his hands down his face. Damn it to hell and back, what a blind, trusting fool he’d been! His blood ran cold. And what danger had he unwittingly placed Meredith in by not realizing the truth sooner?

He quickly assessed his possible courses of actions, then with a decisive nod, he hurried back to the office, where he dashed off three brief notes and sealed them. Racing to the door, he ran outside. As he’d hoped, he spied the boy who had delivered Edward’s note earlier. The lad leaned negligently against the wooden exterior of the adjacent building, talking with another boy roughly the same age. No doubt the lad had hung about hoping Philip might have a note of his own to send-or he’d hoped that he and his friend might pick Philip’s pocket when he departed from the warehouse.

“You there,” Philip called to the boys. “I’ve a job for you.”

The boys exchanged glances, then sauntered over, all cunning bravado. “Wot kind o‘ job?” asked the boy familiar to him.

“I’ve some letters I want delivered.”

“Do ye, now?” the other, taller boy drawled. “And just wot’s in it fer us?”

He withdrew two coins from his waistcoat pocket. “A bob for each of you now. When you return from your deliveries, I’ll give you an additional quid.”

“A quid fer each o‘ us?” the taller boy asked, his eyes narrowed with clear suspicion.

“Yes.”

“And that’s all ye want fer such a grand sum? Just to deliver some letters?”

“That’s all I want. What are your names?”

The boys exchanged a quick glance, then moved closer. “I’m Will,” said the taller boy. He jerked his head toward the smaller lad. “This here’s Robbie.”

“Well, Robbie and Will, this is what I need for you to do.” Philip gave Will two letters and Robbie one, then carefully recited the direction to which he wanted each delivered. “Any questions?”

“Where’s our blunt?” Robbie asked.

Philip handed each of them a bob. They exchanged another look, then turned to leave. Philip mentally counted to five, then called out, “Boys?”

They turned in unison. “I want to stress that we’ve made a deal and I expect you to live up to your end. You have my word I’ll live up to mine. I therefore wouldn’t suggest you entertain any thoughts of running off with your bobs and destroying my letters. Because I shall find out if you do. And I can assure you it will be the last time you attempt such a double-cross.” He casually withdrew his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted the time, hiding his smile at the boys’ dumfounded, goggling expressions. “Do you understand?”

Both boys alternated their stunned gazes between Philip and the watch. “I… understand,” said Will.

“Me, too,” said Robbie, nodding so vigorously Philip feared the lad would rattle his brains.

“Then be off with you. There’s no time to waste.”

The boys ran off as if the hounds of hell pursued them, and Philip reentered the warehouse, satisfied that they would both deliver his letters with the utmost speed and return for their extra money. He gave his watch a fond glance before tucking it back in his waistcoat pocket. Second time today someone had tried to relieve him of his watch. His thoughts turned to Meredith. Someone he’d never have believed capable of such treachery was trying to steal something much more valuable from him than his watch.

Profound hurt pierced him at the breach of trust, but he firmly pushed it aside. If you wanted to hurt me, you should have come after me and left those I care about alone. But you won’t succeed in hurting anyone again. I know who you are, you lying bastard. A grim smile curved his lips, and he ran his hands slowly down his walking stick.

All I have to do now is wait for you to come to me.

Meredith sat on the settee in Philip’s drawing room, sipping a cup of tea she prayed would relieve the nauseating pounding in her temples. Prince’s head lay propped on her thigh, and she sifted her fingers over the puppy’s soft, golden fur while she watched Mr. Stanton pace in front of the fireplace. Ever since he’d read the note that had been delivered a quarter hour earlier, he’d worn a fierce scowl and had moved ceaselessly back and forth across the hearth, clearly pondering a disturbing problem.

Curiosity tugged at her, but as he hadn’t said whom the note was from, she hesitated to question him. Surely he would have told her if the missive was from Philip.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I hope Philip isn’t overly fond of that carpet.”

He paused, a perplexed frown bunching his brows. “Which carpet?”

“The one you’re pacing into a threadbare state.”

Looking down at the thick Axminster beneath his boots, he shot her a sheepish grimace. “Oh. That carpet.”

“You’re worried about Philip,” she said.

He looked as if he wanted to deny it, but then he jerked his head in a nod. “He’s been gone longer than I was expecting.”

“I’m guessing you want to go to the warehouse.”

“Yes.”

“But you haven’t because you promised Philip you’d look after me.”

A tired smile creased his face. “Philip did not mention you were clairvoyant, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. ”

“It requires no special intuition to see how concerned you are. I think you should go.”

“I promised him I wouldn’t leave you.”

“So bring me with you. I’m worried about him, too.”

He studied her for several seconds, an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. Then a slow smile turned up the corners of his lips. “Yes. I’ll bring you with me. That might work out perfectly.”

At the Denby Arms, Edward opened his door in answer to a discreet knock. A footman held out a silver salver bearing a wax-sealed note.

“This just arrived for you, sir.” The footman sniffed. “Delivered by a most raggedly dressed lad, you should know.”

Frowning, Edward took the letter, closed the door, then broke the seal.

Approaching the foyer in her father’s townhouse, Catherine noted Bakari intently reading from a piece of foolscap.

“I heard the knocker,” she said as she stepped into the foyer.

She clearly startled Bakari, who hastily shoved his letter into a fold of his loose-fitting trousers. Raising her brows, she said, “I was hoping Philip had arrived.”

“He has not.”

“Who came to the door?”

“Delivery boy.”

When he did not elaborate, Catherine prompted, “And what did he deliver?”

“Letter. For me.”

Obviously the contents of the letter had upset Bakari, as he was clearly agitated. Before she could question him, however, he murmured, “Please excuse me,” then he hurried down the corridor leading to the kitchens.

Seated in the carriage, the words of Greybourne’s note seared through his brain, infuriating him anew. I’ve figured out how to break the curse without the missing piece of stone. Meet me at the warehouse.

Break the curse? I’ll not let you, Greybourne. Oh, no. You have not yet begun to suffer. But you will, you bastard. You will. I’m on my way.