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STILES LANGBERRY HAD thought his world was perfect. He was considered handsome by most women and men. His father had graciously left him a very tidy sum upon his death, to do with as he pleased. His position of constable at Scotland Yard was one he enjoyed, mostly because he didn’t have to work for a living. And most importantly of all, he had the perfect discreet lover in the winsome Viscount Harold Crosby. Life was good, until...
Several months ago, the first letter had come. A blackmailer’s letter. It was descriptive, citing times and places he and Harry had enjoyed each other’s company. He ignored it. He told Harry to ignore the one he received as well. But Viscount Crosby turned out to be a coward wrapped up in a beautiful package.
Harry paid the requested amount and, by doing so, admitted his relationship with Stiles and opened the door to more letters. They came more frequently, demanding larger and larger sums of money.
Stiles refused to pay the demands and, since Harry was filling the filthy blackmailer’s pockets, the fiend had left him somewhat alone. That is, until poor Harry offed himself and the vile beast’s money stream dried up.
He still refused to pay, and shortly the letters stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Stiles hoped that whoever the blackmailer was, he’d given up or, more than likely, switched to some other poor sod for his pennies. He soon found out that wasn’t the case.
UPON ENTERING THE doors to Scotland Yard one morning, he received a note requesting his presence in front of his superior, Sergeant Dale O’Conner. It was exactly three months to the day since Stiles had received the first blackmail letter.
Sergeant O’Conner was a large man. He had clearly been behind a desk for some time, because anyone who walked the streets the way a constable did would not be that large. He wore a mustache that was large as well. Stiles had often wondered what one might find in such a huge amount of hair on one’s face. O’Conner was generally a jovial chap, but today that was not forthcoming.
“Sit down, Stiles.” O’Conner’s use of his Christian name was not customary and made Stiles uneasy. He sat.
“We have a problem,” O’Conner said, sliding a folded note across the desk.
Stiles recognized the stationery but didn’t reach for it. He was sure he already knew who the note was from. What he didn’t know was why he wasn’t already under arrest or locked away.
“I see you recognize it.” Stiles had no words for a response.
The older man sat quietly watching Stiles; then he reached for the note. He tore it into several small pieces, dropping them into the ashtray on his desk. A cigar that had gone out was also in the bowl. O’Conner relit the cigar, puffed on it slowly, and when the tip glowed red, he used it to set the pieces of the note ablaze.
Amazed, Stiles watched as his superior leaned back in his chair. Taking a deep drag on the cigar and puffing out the strong-smelling smoke, he regarded Stiles for long moments before he spoke again.
“I don’t care a horse’s arse what you do when you aren’t on duty. You’re a good constable, and you could have had a great career here.”
Stiles didn’t miss the words could have, and shivered at what he was sure was coming.
“I like you, Stiles. I always have. So I’m going to give you a free piece of advice. What you do with it is entirely up to you, son.”
The endearment the big, burly man used made Stiles smile and eased his fears.
“Resign your post today. Say you’re tired of playing at coppers. Take the snooty high road. You certainly have the funds, and no one would think anything other than what you say. Travel. Don’t go to Spain, though, Spaniards are a bunch of heathens. Go to France. Go anywhere, but don't stay in England. Change your name. Start over someplace new.”
To say Stiles was stunned would have been misleading. He was damn well floored. He wasn’t being arrested, and O’Conner wasn’t judging him for what he knew him to be. What did he really have here in England that meant so much to him? Travel? See the world? He’d never thought of it until his superior’s suggestion. And now it seemed like the most wonderful idea imaginable. He rose from his chair and offered his hand across the desk to Sergeant O’Conner.
“You have my resignation, sir, and I believe I will be traveling in the very near future.”
O’Conner shook his hand vigorously and smiled behind the whiskers of that huge mustache.
“The very best to you, Stiles, and safe travel in your adventures.”