Denis would walk between Brewster and me into the lane. We’d guard Denis from anyone shooting at him from the windows—I did not want Creasey to kill him and then decide he had no more need for his hostage.
“Lacey?” A voice rang behind me before we’d reached the mouth of the lane. “What the devil?”
Eden rushed to us from the direction of the Custom House. The question of why he’d been there or in this area at all so early in the morning tickled the back of my mind, but at the moment, it was not important.
“Creasey has my son,” I said as Eden reached us. “This is James Denis. I’m exchanging him for Peter.”
Eden looked Denis up and down in amazement while Denis stood tolerantly still. Then Eden’s mouth flattened.
“Right then. Let us get on with it.”
Brewster cleared his throat. “Might not be the place for you, guv.”
“Rot that,” Eden snapped. “Creasey has seen me—he knows I’ll champion Lacey. Another pair of fists, not to mention the knife in my boot will help things along and keep this one from running.” He jerked a thumb at Denis.
Denis did not bother explaining that he had no intention of giving himself up to Creasey. “He is right,” Denis said. “Follow behind us.”
Eden nodded and took his position as rearguard. “Should we bind his hands?”
“Best not,” Brewster answered. “When we have the lad, you make sure the captain runs with him, eh? Don’t try to stay and fight.”
“Understood,” Eden said.
Eden would not have to bother. I would take Peter and go, and to hell with the rest of them.
We marched in close formation around Denis along Hill Lane, Denis’s greatcoat swirling. His tailored ensemble with hat and gloves was incongruous with my travel-stained clothing, Brewster’s working man’s attire not in much better shape, and Eden’s sensible suit, worse for the wear of a night in it.
Down the lane we went. No one tried to assault us or shoot from on high. We walked unchallenged to the door where Creasey lodged, and I rapped upon it with the walking stick.
The door opened, and the thin lackey who’d greeted us the first time peered out. His eyes widened when he saw me with Denis.
“I’ve brought him.” I stepped up to the man. “Tell Creasey to send Peter out.”
“No, guv.” The lackey opened the door wide. “You’re to come in. If ye want t’ see your stepson alive, ye bring Mr. Denis upstairs.”
CHAPTER 22
I gazed into the chill, dark interior of the warehouse, knowing that if I went in, I would be hard-pressed to escape.
On the other hand, Peter was in there, or so I was to believe. I could not chance that Creasey wouldn’t send out his body if I refused, so I planted the walking stick on the threshold and crossed it.
Denis came behind me, removing his hat as though he were making a formal call. He did not offer to fight or argue, said nothing at all. Brewster flanked him, and Eden kept an eye out from behind.
The lackey seemed a bit surprised that I’d readily obeyed, but he bolted the door and led us across the large empty space toward the stairs at the back, the lantern he carried a pinpoint in the darkness. I was aware of watchers in the shadows, hulks of Creasey’s men staying just out of sight.
The stairwell was as filthy as ever. I used the walking stick to balance myself and noted that Denis kept to the middle of the steps, not letting his greatcoat touch the walls.
Upstairs was dark, the lackey’s lantern barely cutting the gloom. I sensed more watchers here, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
When we arrived at the office door, the lackey reached for the handle. I pushed him aside and opened the door myself.
The cluttered room was full. Creasey had brought in guards, all large and powerfully built. That each was armed, I had no doubt.
Creasey sat behind his desk. On a chair beside him, hands tied with a thin rope, a dirty gag in his mouth, was Peter.
He’d been crying, and his face was dirty, but I saw no bruising or abrasions. Peter met my gaze as I came in, his glare reminiscent of the late Lord Breckenridge’s.
My heart beat thickly, and my legs threatened to buckle. Peter was here, and alive.
“I’ve brought Denis.” My words cracked as I jerked my thumb behind me. “Give me my son.”
“I will, in time.” Creasey had the audacity to send me a smile over his laced fingers.
I lunged at him, brought up short by four men who held me hard. “Now,” I said, my voice strengthening. “That was the bargain.”
“Yes, but Mr. Denis has not kept his part. His toughs are surrounding my house even now, ready to battle it out. He has used my summons as an excuse to put himself in a position to best me, and he knows it.”
“Whatever our differences are.” Denis’s tones were frigid. “They have nothing to do with Lacey and the boy. Take that rag out of his mouth and hand him over.”
Creasey signaled to a man standing behind Peter. The man cut loose the gag and pulled it away. Peter tried to bite him.
I raised a hand in a calming gesture. “My friends and I will take my son and go. You have Denis. That should be enough.”
“Unlike you, I have no trust in him,” Creasey said. “I apologize for the gag. The boy has a foul mouth and a vile temper. I’d watch that, were I you.”
“Come, Peter, we are going.”
“Now, now.” Creasey lifted a finger. “I do not trust you either. But I know you are a man of honor. You wear it like a cloak. What I propose is this.” He folded his hands once more. “You were an interesting opponent in our game of chess. You and I will have a match. If you win, you take your son and leave unheeded. Your friends and Denis and all his men will be free to as well. We withdraw to fight another day.”
“And if I lose?” I asked tightly.
“You and your son will still be released. But all the others, including your army friend and your lackey, stay with me. To dispose of as I see fit.”
“This is not their fight.” My voice took on a growl.
“I could kill all of you on the moment.” Creasey ceased smiling, the steel in him coming forth. “Gratify me on this one point, and you and your boy, at least, will live.”
I drew a long breath. The chessboard lay waiting, the pieces in their rows. He’d planned even this, no matter that he pretended the proposed game was a spontaneous whim. He knew he had to let Peter go or risk the wrath of every magistrate and the entire House of Lords and most of the judiciary. But he could humiliate me and take his revenge on Denis at the same time.
“Major Eden has nothing to do with this,” I said. “He should leave now.”
“He made his choice,” Creasey said. “Now you must make one. Decide.”
The game? Or take our chances battling our way back to the street? And then every moment after that until Creasey was dead.
I tapped my way to the game table, which remained alone in its corner. “I have the advantage of moving first?”
“If you like.” Creasey pried himself to his feet and made his way to the board, guarded at every step.
I glanced at my friends. Brewster tried to signal me with agitated eyes not to accept. Eden’s brow furrowed in concern. Only Denis remained implacable, his expression a careful blank.