Six
Half an hour later Joshua climbed the front steps of his small town house. He had purchased the residence several years earlier when he had become the Lion’s Messenger. His requirements at the time had been simple. He had needed privacy. A modest address in a quiet street where the neighbors minded their own business had suited him perfectly. None of the respectable people around him had any notion that the occupant of Number Five carried out clandestine investigations for the Crown. As far as they were concerned he was a single man of modest means surviving on the income he received as a clerk employed by a shipping company.
The town house had been closed for the past year but the always reliable Chadwick had done a remarkable job of making arrangements for the hurried move back to London.
Joshua let himself into the dimly lit front hall. He removed his hat and sent it sailing across the small space toward the polished console table. He allowed himself to take some satisfaction when the hat landed precisely where he had intended. His bad leg made it impossible for him to move at anything faster than a halting walk and many of the fluid martial arts maneuvers that had once upon a time been second nature to him were impossible now.
But, damnation, when it came to his hat his aim was as good as ever.
“Impressive, Gage,” he said to the man in the mirror. “The next time you get into a hat duel you will most certainly trounce your opponent.”
The man with the badly scarred face and the soulless eyes gazed back at him.
He made a note to instruct Chadwick to remove the looking glass in the morning.
He propped the cane against the console long enough to strip off his gloves and peel away his coat. Chadwick would know that he was home. Chadwick knew everything that went on inside his domain. But he also knew that unless he was summoned there was no need to leave his bed.
Joshua set the gloves on the table, gripped the cane and went down the hall to his study. He did not bother to turn up the lamp. His night vision had always been excellent. The moonlight slanting through the windows was sufficient to allow him to see what he was doing.
He unknotted his tie, opened the collar of his shirt and crossed the room to the brandy table.
He splashed brandy into a glass and sank cautiously down onto one of the leather wingback chairs. He stretched out his left leg. It was throbbing more than usual. He was going to pay a price for hauling the unconscious Euston up into the carriage.
But the cost, however high, was worth it, he reflected. He had found the elusive Beatrice.