Page 33 of Eight for Losing, One for Loving

Chapter 9

Dear Cousin Felix,

I was wondering if you would have a word with Leo for me. I always thought he was a great gun, but he’s being dreadfully unreasonable and won’t let me join The Sons of Hades. I’m seven and ten years of age now, and no longer a child. Could you put in a word for me? Really, it is dreadfully unfair to treat me like a schoolboy when he’s always been the one getting into such scrapes.

I’d be much obliged if you could make him see sense.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lord Harry Adolphus (younger son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Mr Felix Knight (son of Mr Gabriel and Lady Helena Knight)

24th June 1850, Mud Pightle, Wrestlingworth, the Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire border.

The vicar took Leo up in his ancient dog cart, a small but sturdy pony trotting determinedly around the darkened lanes by the light of the carriage lamp that Leo held up. He was glad the vicar had suggested it, for Leo would not have enjoyed taking his tilbury and an unfamiliar horse around the tight bends on roads he didn’t know in near darkness.

When they were almost in sight of the house, the vicar pulled the cart off the road and tied the pony, gesturing for Leo to follow him. As they grew closer to a building that looked more like a shack than a house, the reverend extinguished the light and Leo blinked in the sudden darkness until his eyes grew accustomed.

“He’s still there,” Harbottle murmured in satisfaction, nodding to the empty curricle. “Must have put the horses away. Reckon he’s staying the night, then.”

Leo nodded, frowning as he wondered how best to go about this. He could hardly get Harbottle involved for fear the old fellow would be hurt.

“Thank you, sir, for guiding me here, but there’s no need to stay. I’m afraid I’ve kept you from your bed for long enough,” he said quietly.

“Oh, want all the fun yourself, do you?” the fellow replied, sounding quite indignant. “I may not be in my prime, Mr Huntington, but I am not dead yet.”

“I can see that, Reverend, but all the same—”

“I boxed a little in my youth,” Harbottle went on. “I had quite a nifty right hook, if I do say so myself.”

Leo looked at him sceptically, for the reverend looked built more for comfort than speed these days. “Reverend, I cannot in all conscience allow you—”

“You’re allowing nothing, young man,” Harbottle said with a snort, and before Leo could protest, he got to his feet and began creeping towards the building.

Cursing under his breath, Leo followed. Mud Pightle seemed aptly named and he could only be thankful that there had been no rain for the past weeks. As it was, deep ruts had dried in the soil, making walking across it a difficult endeavour in the dark. As they grew closer to the house, which seemed to be a haphazard assemblage of planks that stayed in place through more luck than judgement, dim light filtered through the filthy windows.

Leo froze, grabbing the vicar and hauling him flat against the side of the building as the creak of a door sounded.

“What on ear—”

Leo clapped his hand over the man’s mouth before he could give them away.

“’Ere, Edgar, what was that?” demanded an anxious voice from around the side of the building.

“What was what? Bloody ’ell, Burt! You’re afraid of your own shadow, you are. There’s nowt out there but a fox.”

“Didn’t sound like no fox to me,” Burt said sulkily.

“Just get out there and feed that blasted hell cat.”

“I don’t see why I have to go, just because he scratched you up so good and—”

“Burt!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” The door slammed shut and Burt stalked across the field, holding a lamp aloft and muttering under his breath as he headed towards a small shed that looked even more dilapidated than the house.

“You have ruined all my careful plans,” said another voice from inside the building before Leo could decide to follow. It was by no means an educated accent, but he recognised the style of speaking as someone trying to mimic an upper-class accent. “I am a busy man, Edgar, and you have wasted a good deal of my time. I believe we need to have a little chat. It was a simple enough task I set, and you and your fool brother had to ruin it.”

“It weren’t our fault. How was we to know the fellow would chase us halfway across the country? We was only supposed to take the damned cat and bring him to you, but that weren’t possible with the devil snapping at our heels. Cost us train fair, it did and bleedin’ expensive that were too.” Edgar’s voice was indignant, a belligerent tone that carried clearly. The next man spoke more quietly, and Leo strained to hear the words.

“Nonetheless, your failure to lose him, and then the decision to abandon the hackney carriage I lent you, has caused me a good deal of trouble, not to mention expense. You may rest assured that expense will be taken from your share of the ransom.”