“’Oi don’t want to see yer scrawny arse back in ’ere again,” the owner shouted after the man landed in the gutter. Max and Harlow stepped around the sprawled man and entered the tavern. The room was dank and dark. It took a moment for Harlow’s eyes to adjust to the light.
“I see an empty table at the very back, away from the window and the bar. We will take that, two mugs of beer, and a small plate of cheese and salted meats,” Harlow directed the sparsely dressed barmaid who met them at the door. Max sat against the back wall and Harlow took a seat to his right, giving both men a good view of the alehouse’s door.
“’Ave anything else, your lordships?” she asked, brazenly staring at Harlow’s lap before turning and sashaying towards the kitchen with their order.
“I think the convenient fancies you, bully-boy!” Max remarked when her back was to them.
“I would not fancy her or her added incentives, even if I were ape-drunk,” countered Harlow. “Hush.” He gave a slight nod towards the kitchen. “She is returning with our repast.”
The slattern duly dumped two foaming tankards and a plate of viands on the table in front of them and sniffed, pointedly swinging her hips as she walked away.
“I think, mayhap, she heard you,” Max remarked. Harlow ignored him and lifted one of the tankards.
A few minutes later, a man dressed in black entered the tavern. He quickly scanned the room and then moved towards Harlow’s table.
“Friends, would you mind if I shared your table?” he asked, looking both of them in the eye.
“Certainly.” Harlow signalled to the barmaid to bring beer for their guest.
“’Ere you go, guvnor,” she returned, setting the glass of ale on the table and leaning down as low as she could, barely keeping her breasts in her blouse as she set the glass on the table.
Harlow flipped her a shilling and thanked her, hoping she would take her wares to the other side of the room.
“There is no telling what other…attractions come with those wares she offers,” he said in a low voice, involuntarily shivering at the thought. “We are finally alone.” He turned to the bearded man. “You are…” he began to say but was brought up short when the bearded man quietly put up his hand. “…arrogant,” he finished under his breath.
“I realize my beard fools neither of you. When we leave here tonight, and until this commission is over, you know me only as John Cressey.” Laughter erupted from behind him at that moment and DeLacey turned his head defensively.
“Did you think they were laughing at your beard?” Max quipped, leaning back in his seat and eyeing the man. “They were laughing because the barmaid serving the ape-drunk man near the door lost her tit into his glass of ale, and he tried to claim it.”
Harlow nearly choked on his beer. Jonathan DeLacey enjoyed banter as much as anyone. However, he nurtured a larger measure of himself than most and found being the object of ridicule difficult. His ego made him an easy target and had evoked much hilarity at school. The problem was, school was ten years ago. This was dangerous business they ventured into today, and his ego could get them all killed.
“Damn, I thought…never mind.” DeLacey took a deep breath.
Harlow leaned forward. “Stubble it, Cressey. You thought they were laughing at you. If they were, we would have taken measure of it and perhaps joined in, if it served our purpose. Put your ego away and there will be less risk to all our lives.”
DeLacey stared at Harlow. For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally, he nodded. “I will endeavour not to react when being the butt of someone’s wit. I realise my appearance surprised you. I grow a beard when I am operating as Cressey.”
“Your father, does he know?” Harlow followed his own query with a statement, putting forth the question that had been burning in his mind. “He is part of it, too.” It was common for the Home Office to keep secret the identity of those working for them, even within the ranks.
“We respect that… and the beard is not too dreadful.” Max smirked. “We need to protect ourselves, and it helps that we know each other,” he spoke softly, and all three nodded.
“Your family has gone to Tintagel. I am surprised that you did not go also,” Harlow ventured, suddenly irritated that Lilian’s brother was not there to safeguard her. He reminded himself his fear was his own speculation. It added to his anxiety to set off for the coast.
“I leave for Tintagel tonight, but this commission keeps me away from home. However, I trust that they are safe enough. I cannot fathom any involvement on their part,” he spoke slowly, eyeing Harlow.
Harlow heated under his old schoolfellow’s scrutiny but maintained a calm demeanour. He suspects. Harlow stalled for the right answer and regarded the room around him. Two oil lanterns hanging from the ramparts barely provided adequate lighting, casting shadows onto dingy blue walls. A group of locals and sailors sat on chairs, using a bench between them as a table between them for a rowdy card game. Behind them, a man lay asleep on the bench beneath the table. Cigar smoke circled the heads of patrons, only adding to the sour stench of retched ale long since dried on the floor.
“It appears we have a few matters to discuss before we get down to business,” he said finally, keeping his emotions in check. “I believe the bullet that almost claimed your sister’s life was meant for us, but it is mere speculation since we had been frequenting the area while observing.”
DeLacey arched a brow. “It has been my belief as well, and until you began courting her, I had thought Lilian safe from any further injury. What are your intentions towards my sister?”
DeLacey’s question caught him unawares. While Harlow was prepared to discuss his suspicions, he was not,
