“Nor I. I thought he might attempt to kill me,” Tom confessed, “but I didn’t think that he would go so far as to attempt to lock her up.”
“I beg your pardon?” Blackwood said.
“You heard my words,” Tom gritted. “And you know it’s done far more often than one might wish.”
Blackwood scowled. “I’ve known a few cases,” he said, “over the last decades. There were whispers of a girl three counties over hidden by her family. She wasted away, or at least that’s what they said, of some sort of sickness. Now… I wonder.”
“You should wonder,” Tom said flatly, “and we shouldn’t allow these sorts of disappearances to occur.”
“It’s far too easy,” Blackwood agreed, “for people to slip away when taken care of by the powerful.”
Tom scowled. “You know, Blackwood,” he said, “this city swallows people up every day, every hour. Thousands of young people come from the country to get work. And they’re never seen by their families again. Promised jobs, promised help. Then they’re put to the sort of work that no human should ever have, with their souls sucked out of them.”
“I’ve seen it,” he continued. “It’s the sort of work that happened to my friend, Mary. It’s a miracle she lasted so long, I suppose. And as for my mother? I suppose it’s a miracle I knew her for a small while… it’s a miracle she didn’t die brutally in Bridewell…”
No, his mother had died of exposure on a particularly cold winter night. Leaving him to face the warrens alone… until he’d found Mary.
Blackwood stared at him and said, “I’m sorry for it, my friend.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “A cold night is a cold night. And I couldn’t keep her warm enough. I don’t know how she managed to keep me warm,” he said, his voice soft. “How I survived when she didn’t.”
“Tom,” Blackwood said quietly, “you’re going to keep Elizabeth safe.”
He swung his gaze to the duke. “Of course, I am.”
He had to.
“I think we need to kill them all,” Tom growled, wrapping his fingers into a fist.
Blackwood tsked. “Can’t do that, Tom. If you do, you’ll end up on Tyburn dancing the jig.”
“Would that be the worst thing,” he challenged. “If it meant that those men were no longer alive?”
Blackwood stilled, but his voice was sharp. “Tom, five new horrors would simply replace them. And you? A good man who does more good work than half the country, would be gone. Who would take care of all the people that you care for, then?”
Tom closed his eyes and ground his teeth. “Fine,” he said. “I shan’t murder them, but we have to find a way to make certain that all of them pay.”
“Oh,” Blackwood said perking up, “you leave that to me. I’ll make certain that they pay, and then some. There are ways for lords to make certain that other lords suffer.”
“Good. And now,” he said, “it’s time for me to head to Scotland.”
“Yes,” Blackwood concurred, “Take her, and quickly.” Blackwood pursed his lips. “I particularly dislike Greystone. What do you think of an accident for him. Don’t you think that would be a good idea?”
Tom stared at Blackwood. “I thought that was my line, accidents in alleys,” he said.
Blackwood rolled his dark eyes. “If they all died via accidents in alleys, Tom, everyone would know it was you.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Oh, Tom, all roads lead to Rome, don’t you know.”
“What the blazes do you mean?”
“There are many ways to the same destination.” Blackwood’s face grew far more serious. “We are talking about ending a truly heinous piece of work. And while you can’t do it, I’ll be thrilled to do so.”
Tom stared at Blackwood. Blackwood had been legend on the continent in his regiment. Behind enemy lines, it had been rumored that he killed men in the dozens, slitting their throats while they sat falling asleep, making certain that the English soldiers were protected from the worst of Napoleon’s men.
Some had called it absolute subterfuge.