‘In the name of God, man, do you never tire of people doing their best to remove you from this earth?’
‘It is an occurrence often found while I am under your orders, Colonel,’ Flynt pointed out, ‘so I suspect there is a correlation between the two.’
In point of fact he did grow weary with such instances, just as he was with stairways and alleyways which seldom saw sunlight. He was also less than enamoured with meeting Colonel Nathaniel Charters in this upstairs room of the Black Lion. Although the day was once again bright and warm, the daylight tried but failed to fully penetrate the grimy windows, so it was decidedly dull.
Colonel Charters kindled his pipe with the flame of a candle as he stood by the cold fireplace, his eyes brimming with amusement. ‘Even so, Serjeant, for a mere gambler and thief you do appear to excite heated passions amongst those ranged against you. I have no other rogue in my company who attracts as much death and destruction. I do believe the Grim Reaper himself lives within your shadow.’
He puffed some life into his pipe, the aromatic Virginia tobacco smoke drifting towards Flynt and going some way to counteract the stench of an unemptied chamber pot reaching out from behind the screens in the corner.
Charters glanced towards the dark hearth. ‘Damn me, I should’ve had old Hines kindle a log or two. It be decided balmy without but it’s remarkably brisk in here.’
Flynt was gratified to hear that, for he had begun to consider that it was his own mood making a winter’s night out of the summer morning.
Charters gripped the pipe between his teeth and rubbed his hands together. ‘So who was the fellow then?’
‘I had expected it to be Romulus Trask but it was someone unknown to me.’
Charters expelled smoke from the corner of his mouth. ‘It was unlikely to have been friend Trask, for he was found dead in that hovel in the Rookery, alongside his brother.’
Flynt’s jaw tightened. Damn you, Gabriel.
Charters squinted at him through the tobacco haze. ‘Yet you say you left him still breathing when you spirited the girl away.’
Flynt had omitted to mention the presence of Gabriel and Bess the previous night. He seldom told Charters everything, an arrangement that was often reciprocated. ‘I did.’
‘And that your ball took him in the shoulder?’
‘Aye, his left.’ Flynt recalled his boot pressing down upon the injury and heard the man’s agonised screams. ‘His wound must have been deeper than I thought.’
‘I don’t think it was a pistol shot that did for him, Serjeant.’ Charters’ tone of voice was almost breezy. ‘I think it was more likely to have been the fact that someone had slit the fellow’s throat. Quite emphatically, I’m informed.’
In his mind’s eye, Flynt saw the gaping wound on the throat of the assassin in the stable.
Charters cocked an eyebrow as he glanced at Flynt’s silver cane. ‘You didn’t use that blade of yours on him, did you?’
‘I did not.’
‘Damned underhand, that device. Doesn’t seem honourable.’
Flynt’s voice was strained. ‘My work for you demands I be underhand with considerable frequency. And you live your life in an underhand way, so I don’t think I’ll be lectured on honour by you, Colonel. You left the bulk of your own honour behind some time ago, both professionally and privately, perhaps with your arm in Flanders.’
Charters chuckled. No matter what Flynt said, no matter how impudent or insubordinate, he seldom pricked the man’s anger. ‘I cannot deny that, Serjeant.’ He paced the room, leaving in his wake a trail of tobacco smoke drifting in the sunlight that managed to pierce the dusty windows. ‘So it would seem you have a guardian angel, Flynt. First he put an end to Romulus Trask and then he killed this unknown assailant at the Golden Cross. Do you have any idea who this sainted protector may be? And why he wishes you to continue breathing God’s good air? Or as good as it can be in this benighted city.’
Gabriel had murdered Romulus, of that Flynt was certain, and he now suspected that he had also slaughtered the would-be assassin. Why he did not reveal himself Flynt didn’t understand. He couldn’t share this with Charters, however.
‘I have no idea, Colonel. I can think of nobody who bears me sufficient goodwill that they would do murder on my behalf. Except your good self, of course.’
This amused Charters even further. ‘You think I would kill to protect you?’
‘You owe me a debt. Of your life. And even though you pressed me into working for your Company, I would think that some vestige of honour still remains and you would discharge that obligation when the time came.’
‘Well, Serjeant,’ Charters said, pulling a chair from under the table in the centre of the room, ‘let us hope that such an eventuality does not arise and my honour, tarnished though it be, is not put to the test.’ He sat down, motioning to Flynt to do the same. ‘Now, tell me what action you intend to take in the matter of Mr Templeton.’
Flynt remained standing. It was a minor show of defiance but under the circumstances all that was in his power. ‘There is little I can do at this stage apart from awaiting word from Mr Duck as to what, if anything, he has gleaned from his sister.’
‘And if he does not?’
‘Then I am stymied.’
Charters removed the pipe from his teeth. ‘That is unacceptable.’
‘Unacceptable it may be, but that is the way of it.’
‘You have been given a mission and I expect you to carry it out. You will go where you are sent and do as you are told. And you will go out there, find Templeton and bring him to me.’
Flynt’s irritation flared again but he controlled it. ‘If the girl does not, will not or cannot divulge Templeton’s location then I’ve nowhere else to go. The man has left nothing behind, no clue as to his whereabouts. His landlord knows nothing, his friends nothing. He is hid and he is meant to stay hid.’
Charters let this rest for a moment. ‘Think you that the Fellowship has him?’
‘Not if it was they who despatched the Trasks, unless there is another player in this game of whom at least I am unaware.’
Charters caught the emphasis. ‘You suggest that I would know of another player and would not so inform you?’
‘I go where I am sent and do what I’m told.’
Charters laughed. ‘By God, Flynt, I do believe I would save your life, if only to ensure we have these wonderful exchanges.’ His laughter ebbed. ‘Pray then that the girl is forthcoming with the information, for it is vital that we find this man. And if there are any further attempts upon your wellbeing, as I am sure there will be, then let us also pray that your mysterious protector remains alert. It is possible your assailant of last night was little more than a common ruffian on the low toby, as you denizens of the streets would call it, intent on lifting your purse but, it being you, it is far more likely that someone paid him to kill you. A name springs to mind immediate.’
‘Moncrieff,’ said Flynt, the man’s involvement already having occurred to him.
‘The very same. I thought – hoped – that my warnings earlier this year might have kept him at bay, but perhaps not. His lordship does carry deep resentment towards you. In hindsight, perhaps it was unwise to kill his father.’
Flynt saw the elder Moncrieff’s face as his bullet ploughed into his chest.
‘It seemed the only course of action open to me in the moment,’ he said, knowing that to be a lie. At the time he had told himself it was simply an instinctive reaction to the man turning on him with a loaded pistol, but he had fully intended to take the man’s life and he did. Lord James Moncrieff did not deserve to live.
Charters’ expression was neutral but Flynt was aware that he suspected there was more to that incident on that hill in Scotland than he had been informed. ‘Very well, but do not let this feud interfere with your work, Serjeant. Follow every lead, search every street, hovel, inn, tavern, bawdy house, employ whatever means you deem necessary but find that man and bring him to me, alive and talking.’
‘And if he does not wish to come?’
Charters’ gaze was even. ‘Convince him…’
Gabriel was already in the Shakespear’s Head on Covent Garden, a tankard of ale half empty and a plateful of oysters near consumed. Flynt had breakfasted on eggs and coffee, courtesy of Mrs Wilkes, so he refused his friend’s offer of sharing his meal. He had never learned to appreciate the slimy sensation of the shellfish. His response must have been somewhat short for Gabriel gave him a sideways glance.
‘Something irks you, Jonas,’ he said.
Flynt decided to drive straight to the nub of the matter. ‘Romulus Trask was found dead.’
Gabriel seemed unconcerned. ‘He succumbed to his wound, did he? Well, I suppose a booted foot being applied to it would accelerate matters…’
Flynt brushed aside what he thought might be an attempt to divert blame onto him. ‘It wasn’t my pistol wound that took him. Someone cut his throat.’
Gabriel didn’t even have the good grace to appear surprised. He held Flynt’s stare. ‘And you believe it was I who did this.’
‘Did you?’
Something akin to sadness floated in Gabriel’s eyes. ‘Do you believe I did?’
Flynt’s certainty in his friend’s guilt began to waver. ‘You gave me your word that you would not, and yet the man lies dead. You were left alone with him. What else should I believe?’
Gabriel did not reply at first. He took a sip of ale and then sat very still, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Ordinarily my word is not worth a politician’s spit, I will give you that. I am liar, cheat, thief and an habitual seducer of other men’s wives. I have given my word and broken it so often that much of the time I no longer trust my own thoughts. So why should anyone believe what I say?’
‘So you admit it?’
‘I said ordinarily, Jonas, and that is the word you must remember. On this occasion, I gave my word to you, and that makes the difference.’ He paused to let this sink in, his eyes boring into Flynt’s own. ‘You are the only friend I have, or at least the only one I trust, and I would never breach that trust. We’ve been through much together. We’ve robbed together and we’ve fought together and you’ve saved my life, and I yours, on more occasions than I can count. The fact that you doubt me pains me deeply.’
Guilt tightened Flynt’s throat and stung at his eyes. Could he have been wrong? ‘Then if not you, who would have done this?’
‘I cannot say. Perhaps someone who lives in that rat-infested pisshole came upon him and reached the conclusion that the contents of his purse were better spent by him. But it was not I, Jonas, and on that I once more give you my word. Whether you accept it is your decision. If you do then we’ll grasp hands like the true friends we are and proceed on this quest of yours and there’s no harm done. If you do not, then I will take my leave now and God be with you.’
Flynt examined his friend for sign of duplicity but, as with the night before, saw nothing. It may have been because he was most accomplished at hiding it, or because he told the truth. In the end, it was a judgement call and, even though doubts remained, Flynt came down on the latter.
He held out his hand. ‘I apologise, Gabriel.’
As Gabriel accepted his hand with grace, his customary grin and insouciant manner returned. ‘Apology accepted. Now, by way of recompense, I will allow you to buy an old friend who you have so grievously wounded a tankard of ale.’
Flynt agreed with a smile, waved to Melody, a serving girl of his acquaintance, pointed at Gabriel’s tankard and gestured for two more. When he looked back, he saw Gabriel’s expression had turned reflective.
Flynt asked, ‘What?’
Gabriel took a deep breath, a slight frown forming. ‘You’ll recall I was somewhat tardy when the Trasks bearded you and the ladies in that room?’
‘I do. Where were you?’
‘I was certain that I’d heard someone moving around in the back yard so had gone to investigate. It was as black as the earl of hell’s waistcoat out there and I found nothing. I put it down to rats in search of food.’
Flynt felt a shudder course through him at the thought.
‘But later, while I stood guard over Romulus, I could’ve sworn someone was observing me. I remain unsure what it was, just this strong conviction that there were eyes upon me. I’m telling you, Jonas, it was damnably unnerving. It was like I was being watched by some phantom.’
‘Did you investigate again?’
‘No, I came after you once I was certain that Romulus was not in any condition to follow.’ He then added with considerable emphasis, ‘Though he still breathed.’
Guilt made Flynt look away, just as Melody returned with the ale. While she placed the tankard on the table with a quick smile towards Flynt and accepted some coins, Flynt recalled Gabriel’s troubled look as they made away from the tenement. Was that the reason? Had he been disturbed by what he thought he had heard and felt? Was there someone lurking in the dark, just waiting for the chance to kill Romulus?
He told Gabriel about the assassination attempt as he made his way to his room and of the man whose body he found.
Gabriel observed, ‘And his throat cut, you say, just as Romulus’s was?’
‘It was.’
‘So your thinking is that it was the same person who hushed them both?’
‘It seems a logical assumption.’
‘It surely does, I’ll grant you. So if my phantom is also this mysterious sentinel, why does he wish to protect you?’
‘I don’t know.’
Gabriel stared at the uneaten oysters, his hand resting beside the plate, one finger tapping. ‘You continue to suspect me, don’t you?’
Flynt replied, ‘Whoever killed that man did seem to have my best interest at heart.’
Gabriel accepted that with a jerk of his head. ‘Under the circumstances I’d suspect me too, if I didn’t know for a fact that I was having a most energetic tup with that young lady in her room. But, think on this, why would I do such a thing surreptitious? Why hide in the shadows and not bask in your gratitude? I ask you, Jonas, does that sound like the Gabriel Cain you know?’
That had preyed on Flynt’s mind. ‘It does not. You’d want my praise and admiration.’
‘Damn right I would, and I’d deserve it, too. No, Jonas, I didn’t kill Romulus Trask and I didn’t despatch that nameless cur in that stable and then hive myself off into the darkness. I think now that my phantom was of flesh and blood and for some reason he wishes you to live. The question is, who is this anonymous and most bashful benefactor? And what precisely is his interest in you?’
Flynt did not know, but he could not shake off the feeling that the mysterious individual was no good Samaritan.