Page 22 of A Story of Love

“That was not what I was asking,” Fast snapped, unaccountably irritated by the other man’s observation.

Rather than appear abashed, Gregg grinned, his icy anger of less than a minute before—when Fast had meddled in his business—nowhere to be seen. “To answer your question, Miss Fontenot was at Parker’s office for perhaps a quarter of an hour. From there, she toddled down the street to The Times.”

Fast sat up straighter. “Did she, by God? Do you think Parker gave her the sack and she is looking for work elsewhere?”

His henchman laughed—either at the question or Fast’s hopeful tone—and said, “No.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I waited for her—for over three bloody hours—and then ventured inside to find out what our little spy had been getting up to.” Gregg clucked his tongue. “You are not going to like this Severn.”

“What?”

“She visited the archives and asked the clerk for all the issues that contained stories relating in any way to the Sea Ranger mutiny. She was especially interested in the names of the mutineers who were still at liberty.”

“Fuck! Bastard! Shit!” Fast grabbed the first thing to hand—an ugly bronze paperweight—and hurled it across the room. It struck a shelf of books and made a distinctly unsatisfying thunking sound before falling to the floor with a clatter. “That fucking Parker knows about Joe Jensen! How the devil did he find out, Gregg? How?”

“I wish I knew, my lord,” Gregg said, looking as grim as Fast felt.

Fast slumped back in his chair, too stunned to speak.

For more than sixteen years Fast believed that he was the reason his brother Percy had committed suicide. But a year ago Fast had discovered, to his utter shock that he had been wrong all that time. Percy hadn’t killed himself; he had been murdered.

The truth had come to Fast through a man named Joe Jensen.

Jensen had grown up on a tenant farm not far from Fast’s grandfather’s country estate. They’d been close in age and had knocked around a bit when they were young boys, before Fast and Percy had been shipped off to Eton.

It had been at least twenty years since Fast had seen Jensen and he would have forgotten all about the man if not for the fact that he’d seen Jensen’s name on the navy’s list of men involved in the Sea Ranger mutiny.

Jensen was one of the fifty or so crew members who had evaded capture. Fast encountered him in a small port town in Venezuela where Jensen was eking out an existence tending bar at a wharf side tavern. It was doubtful that Fast would have noticed Jensen if the man hadn’t dropped two pints of ale and sprinted from the pub the moment he’d seen Fast’s face.

Naturally, Fast had been too curious not to follow him.

When he had read about the mutiny in the newspapers he’d greatly sympathized with the crew. He had met the captain of the Sea Ranger, Hugh Pigot, on several occasions and there was no denying he’d been a savage, cruel man who’d abused his crew abominably.

However, mutiny was mutiny, so upon discovering Jensen’s identity Fast had been determined to bring him back to England to face justice.

Just as he’d been about to hand Jensen over to a local smith to be fitted for leg irons for his journey home, the man had blurted out that Percy had not committed suicide.

Flabbergasted and infuriated, Fast had grabbed Jensen by the throat and demanded to know what the hell he was talking about. Jensen had proceeded to spill one startling detail after another. On their own, none of the things he’d shared about Percy’s death would have convinced him. But then Joe had admitted that it had been his very own brother—Albert Jensen—who had been hired to fire the pistol that killed Percy.

No amount of threatening or beating had been enough to convince Joe to divulge the name of the person who’d paid Albert. Nor was it possible for Fast to track down Albert and get the truth out of him as the man had died years before.

Joe had said that if Fast brought him directly back for trial, he would never tell him the killer’s name.

In the end, Joe had offered Fast a deal. He was an extremely sick man and dying of consumption—visibly ill at the time—and agreed to accompany Fast as far as Gran Canaria, which was the Vixen’s last stop before home. He promised to wait there while Fast discovered the whereabouts of Joe’s mother and two sisters. When he found the women, Fast would also help them with money and shelter if they needed it.

Once Fast had taken care of his part of the bargain, Joe would return to England, hand over Albert’s signed deathbed confession, and give himself up to the authorities and testify to the veracity of the confession.

With no other alternative, Fast had accepted Joe’s offer. They had agreed that Fast had six months to produce Joe’s family after he’d returned to England. That had been five months ago, and time was quickly running out.

“My lord?”

Fast looked up at the sound of Gregg’s hesitant voice.

“I’m over my snit,” Fast said, not entirely telling the truth but ready to get on with matters. “Who is feeding Parker all this information?”

Gregg inhaled deeply and then exhaled after a long moment. “Well, only nine of us were in the room with Jensen when we discovered his identity. You, me, Barker, White, Shaver, Norris, Chenier, Keating, and Joe Jensen, himself.” Gregg snorted. “I think we can strike you and me off the list of suspects.”