Edmund waited in the shadows with Bromley. Hamilton and Hawkhurst were further back, just out of sight.
The last vestiges of sunlight barely lighted the docks, and the majority of workers had long since left to their homes or their favorite pubs. The cold spring wind continued to whisk through the buildings, and for that Edmund was grateful.
The stench of the wharves clung to everything in sight, a burning stink of decay that permeated the buildings, the wood and stone, the very fabric of the docks.
Bromley had loaned Edmund a set of his clothes, and now the pair of them hovered on the edge of the docks. They’d watched and waited for hours; Edmund had come to know Lockwood in that time — the way he moved, the sneer he constantly sported, the way others scurried out of his way.
Part of Edmund wanted to grab the other man, haul him before Denley and Mrs. Ashworth, and be done with it.
But after his utter loss of control in his study, he had regained his rigid hold on himself. They’d do this properly.
Lockwood finally left, as aggressive as when they first spotted him hours before. Alone, the man swaggered down the street. Edmund slipped into the shadows behind him. Unused to such secrecy, he kept his step light and his breathing controlled, his hands loose at his sides.
He looked to Bromley, who nodded. They waited until Lockwood passed the alley Hawkhurst and Hamilton waited in. Edmund picked up his pace and drew even with Lockwood, Bromley crowding in on the other side, between Lockwood and the wall.
Without a word, Edmund wrestled the other man into the second alley. Lockwood stumbled, probably the only reason he came out on top, then immediately turned, his fists at the ready, already snarling and ready to swing.
“We need to have a bit of a talk with you, Lockwood,” Bromley said.
“Who the hell are ya?” Lockwood demanded, his fist heading directly for Edmund’s head.
He ducked, dodged, and blocked the punch. The man was clearly a fighter, not one to ask questions or demand answers without a little blood.
That was fine with Edmund; he needed an outlet for his pent-up energy.
“Get out of my way,” Lockwood spat and swung again.
Lockwood was strong and clearly used to fighting, but Edmund was angry and in no time had the other man up against the wall, his arm pressed against his jugular.
Edmund was under no illusions that these turn of events would last. Bromley immediately came up on Lockwood’s other side, and the two of them held the other man immobile.
“We know what you did,” Edmund hissed, his arm tightening against Lockwood’s throat.
“Ge’ off me, ya bas’ard,” Lockwood snapped.
Bromley dug a knife into Lockwood’s side, but that didn’t seem to stop the brute. “Do you want us to tell?”
“Tell wha’?” Lockwood demanded, still struggling.
“How you murdered Clayton Ashworth,” Bromley smoothly replied.
Lockwood stopped struggling, but Edmund didn’t ease away from the pressure on his throat.
He let out a bark of laugh. “I di’ no such thing.”
Without warning Lockwood lunged, breaking from Edmund’s hold and punching him in the gut. Damn. Gasping for breath, Edmund stayed on his feet and grabbed Lockwood around the waist and brought him to the ground.
“You did,” Edmund growled, just managing to remember to alter his voice. “We saw it.”
“And we’re more than happy to tell the magistrate and see you hanged,” Bromley added. “With those you worked for.”
Even in the darkness of the alleyway, Edmund saw the calculating expression on Lockwood’s face. He stopped struggling, going perfectly still on the ground.
“What do you wan’?”
“Money,” Edmund snapped and hauled Lockwood back against the wall. “Lots of money.”
“And if you don’t,” Bromley added, “there’ll be very few breaths left in your body.”
“I don’ ha’e much,” Lockwood said and snorted, as if their threat was highly amusing.
“The people who hired you do,” Edmund reminded him.
“So go to them,” Bromley said with a shove, “and get what we want.”
“Get what we want and we’ll find you tomorrow to collect.” Edmund paused and leaned closer. He ignored the man’s stench and said softly, “We’ll find you anywhere.”
“If it’s not us, it’ll be the Runners,” Bromley added.
“Do right by us,” Edmund said as he pushed Lockwood out of the alley, “or you’ll swing.”
Lockwood, for all his aggression, left the alleyway without a word. Edmund knew the type — he’d go straight to Denley and Eleanor Ashworth for the money. But he waited in the shadows until he saw Hawkhurst and Hamilton fall in step behind Lockwood.
They’d trail him just in case. It was a precaution but at this stage, with the evidence they needed right there, none of them wanted to take chances.
He and Bromley turned and took a different route to Lyndell Imports. Edmund knew from Selina when the receipts were collected and knew, from Bromley’s extensive search, that Denley and Eleanor often took a heavy cut of those receipts for themselves.
Hawkhurst had already contacted the magistrate, Mr. Trent, who promised to await them at the building. True to his word, or whatever Hawkhurst promised the man, Trent and Hamilton stood around the corner of Lyndell Imports when he and Bromley arrived.
No sign of either Hamilton or Lockwood. Not yet.
From the entrance, Edmund saw the faint light emanating from one of the lower-level offices. He couldn’t hear anything, but knew Eleanor Ashworth and Denley were there.
Silently nodding to Trent, he motioned for the other man to follow him. They used a side door and slipped through the darkened hallways, using slow, careful steps on old, worn wood flooring. Even though he felt each second slip by, excitement as well as fear of all of this slipping through his fingers had Edmund moving slowly.
He didn’t want to risk them discovering him before Lockwood had the chance to implement his part — however unknowingly — of the plan.
Once in the small office next to them, the same one Young Peter used, Edmund waited. Beside him, Trent was silent and still, and Edmund wondered if the magistrate had done this sort of thing before.
“I want to sell the townhouse,” Eleanor Ashworth said. “I want a bigger one.”
“The solicitor said Miss Lyndell might still own a part of the business,” Denley said, his voice harsh in the darkness.
“I don’t care,” Eleanor clearly dismissed. “If that little whore shows her face in London again, we’ll take care of her then.” The laugh was cruel and callous. “She can swing like her father.”
Edmund hadn’t realized he’d moved until he felt the knob of the door handle beneath his fingers.
With careful, even steps, he walked the few steps backward until he once more stood even with Trent.
He tried to slow his breathing, to calm his racing heart. Swallowing his anger, his natural instinct to protect the woman he loved, he waited even though it chafed at him.
This was the next step in ensuring Selina returned. That the taint she thought clung to her name was washed away.
The small office door eased open. Edmund tensed, his eyes straining in the darkness to see who entered. It had to be either Hamilton or Hawkhurst, though Hawkhurst had volunteered to stay outside and make sure neither Ashworth nor Denley escaped.
Edmund didn’t know Hawkhurst well, but knew how he’d do in a fight if it came down to it. The man fought against the French, and Edmund had heard stories of how Hawkhurst fought like a man possessed to free his captured men.
And this was it, their final opportunity to clear Lyndell’s name and clear the way for Selina to return home. If Ashworth and Denley were caught now, they wouldn’t talk — there’d be no confession.
The front office door slammed open then closed again in quick succession. Beside Edmund, Trent jumped. Edmund’s hand shot out and he grabbed Trent’s arm, silently calming him as much as possible.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Eleanor demanded, her voice low and strident. “We were never to see you again!”
“Get out of here,” Denley added, his voice louder and not as composed. “You’ve been paid.”
“I have,” Lockwood said in the chaos of the other room. “But they haven’.”
“They?” Eleanor snapped. “What are you talking about, man? You shouldn’t be here.”
“Couple o’ bas’ards cornered me in the alley,” Lockwood said, his voice overriding the other two. “They knew. Knew wha’ I’d done to Ashworth. And they knew bo’h your names. Knew you paid me ta kill yer husband.”
Edmund was very tempted to crack open the door between the offices, to look through a larger opening than the few uneven pieces of wood that made up the wall. But he stayed still; he didn’t want to risk anyone discovering them here.
He didn’t need to see inside to know Eleanor was shocked. Then there was a crash. Edmund peeked between the cracks in the wall and could just make out Eleanor as she threw a pewter goblet at Lockwood.
“Did you tell them? Is this a bid for more money?” she screamed. “You bloody fool!”
Lockwood, who had seemingly dodged the goblet, loomed over Eleanor. “They told me they’d go to the magistrate. They’d see us all hanged!”
His large hands tightened around Eleanor’s throat. Denley did nothing to help his lover. Edmund couldn’t see what the other man was doing — he wasn’t in sight — but clearly Eleanor was the stronger of the two.
“Or will ye loosen ta purse strings an’ give me the money.” Lockwood didn’t ask, though he also didn’t seem to be choking Eleanor, either. The mere threat looked to be enough, however.
“We can’t take the risk,” Denley said. “Don’t you have friends who can take care of this problem?”
Lockwood turned to look at the other man, a tense silence hovering over the three of them. Abruptly Lockwood stepped back, released Eleanor, and stood straight in the center of the office.
He moved from Edmund’s line of sight but Eleanor, still leaning against the table, glared angrily and rubbed her throat.
“When are you supposed to meet them?” Eleanor asked, her voice unharmed by Lockwood’s rage.
“Tomorrow,” Lockwood said, calmer now — cold and calm.
“Then do as Mr. Denley says. Find your friends,” she sneered, “and take care of them. Or do you not value your own neck?”
“I’ll still need coin ta find these friends,” Lockwood said.
Eleanor’s face flushed unattractively. She disappeared from Edmund’s sight and he heard her skirts swish along the floor, the opening of a chest, and the clinking of several coins.
“Do not return,” Eleanor spat.
Edmund jerked when Trent moved beside him. “I’ve heard enough,” he said in barely a whisper.
Nodding, though it was too dark for Trent to see the movement, he walked with controlled movements to the door. Uncaring who saw now, he wrenched it open. For an almost comical moment, the three conspirators froze.
“What is this?” Eleanor demanded. Her eyes widened when she saw Edmund and recognized him.
Before Trent could say a word, she rounded the desk. She reached for a drawer, but Trent pulled out his own pistol, forestalling any escape she could make.
“I can give you money,” she promised, her gaze solely on Trent. “Just let us leave.”
“The only place you’re headed is to the noose,” Edmund promised.
Lockwood, closer to the door, turned and ran.
Edmund leaped at the taller, broader man, and they crashed to the floor. Edmund heard Hamilton call for Hawkhurst and Bromley, as he fought Lockwood. But Lockwood didn’t go down easy; the man was big. Edmund was determined that none of them were leaving this office of their own will.
Not tonight.
Edmund dodged a punch, then another, and before Lockwood could swing again, he landed several of his own. He managed to get the upper hand, or thought he had, when Hawkhurst landed his own punch.
It took the two of them to keep Lockwood still as Trent instructed Hamilton and Bromley to escort Eleanor and Denley out of the office and to the waiting carriage.
His breath came in short bursts of pain, but Edmund barely noticed it.
It was over.