Hello Stranger (The Ravenels #4)(89)

“Your brother may be the first earl who’s ever been worthy of the title,” Ethan said.

“He didn’t start out that way,” West replied, and laughed. When the brief flare of amusement faded, he said, “I understand why you want nothing to do with the Ravenels. Edmund was an unfeeling monster, and on top of that, no one likes to admit they’re the product of six centuries of inbreeding. But everyone needs someone to turn to, and we are your family. You should get to know us. If it helps, I’m the worst of the lot—the rest are all much better than me.”

Ethan approached him and extended a hand. “You’ll do well enough for me,” he said gruffly. West grinned at him.

When they shook hands, it felt like a promise had been made. A commitment.

“Now,” Ethan said, “where do you keep the guns?”

Ravenel’s brows shot upward. “Ransom, if you don’t mind, I prefer easing into a new topic with a transitional phrase or two.”

“Usually I do,” Ethan said. “But I tire easily, and this is my nap time.”

“May I ask why we’re arming ourselves instead of napping?”

“Because we were nearly murdered two weeks ago, and we’re fairly certain someone will come to finish the job.”

West turned serious, his gaze sharpening. “If I’d been through what you have, Ransom, the devil knows I’d be jumpy too. But no one’s going to come here looking for you. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Not without a body,” Ethan said. “Unless they find one, they’ll never stop looking for me.”

“Why would they even suspect you’re here? They won’t connect you to the Ravenels. The river police who brought you to Ravenel House were too terrified to say a word to anyone.”

“At the time, they probably were. But either of them could have mentioned it to a friend or sweetheart, or bend the elbow a time too many at the local tavern and say something to the barkeep. Eventually they’ll be taken in for questioning because they were on patrol that night. They won’t hold out for long under interrogation. Furthermore, any of the servants at Ravenel House may let something slip. A housemaid could say something to the fruit seller at the market.”

West looked skeptical. “Do you really think a few careless words in a tavern, or a bit of gossip from a housemaid to a market seller, would make its way to Jenkyn’s ears?”

The question was reasonable, but it almost stunned Ethan. He realized he’d lived for too damned long in Jenkyn’s complex and secretive world—he’d forgotten that most people had no idea what was really taking place around them.

“Long before Jenkyn recruited me,” Ethan said, “he started constructing a network of informants and spies all over the United Kingdom. Ordinary people in ordinary towns. Coachmen, innkeepers, sellers, prostitutes, domestic servants, factory workers, university students . . . all part of an intelligence-gathering apparatus. They’re paid stipends with secret grant money Jenkyn receives from the Home Office. The Prime Minister knows about it, but says he prefers to remain unaware of the details. Jenkyn has made a science of gathering and analyzing information. He has at least eight active officers who’ve been specially trained to carry out any task he assigns. They’re outside the law. They have no fear. They have no scruples. They have little to no regard for human life, including their own.”

“And you’re one of them,” West said quietly.

“I was. Now I’m a target. By now, someone in the village knows that a pair of strangers have been staying at Eversby Priory.”

“My servants wouldn’t say a word to anyone.”

“You have carpenters, painters, and workmen coming and going. They have eyes and ears.”

“Very well. Let’s assume you’re right, and Jenkyn will send someone after you. I can close this house as tight as tuppence.”

“There’s not one lock in this entire house they couldn’t pick in less than a minute, including the front door. And your servants don’t seem to bother with locks in the first place.”

“They will if I tell them to.”

“That would be a start.” Ethan paused. “I’ll have recovered enough to leave for London in a week. But until then, we have to take security measures in case Jenkyn’s men find me here.”

“I’ll show you to the gun closet.”

“There’s a gun room in the floor plans. On this level of the house.”

“We turned that into an office room with a connecting lavatory. Now we keep the firearms in a gun closet off the servants’ hall, under charge of the butler.”

Ethan gave him a narrow-eyed glance.

West looked irritable. “Does it look like we can afford to host long, expensive shooting parties? We sold off the hounds. Our gamekeeper is a fossil. We let him have a few birds only to give him something to do. The animals on this estate are used for food, work, and profit, not entertainment. And before I take you belowstairs to see the gun closet, you should be prepared for the fact that most of the guns are old and rusted. Hardly anyone here except me even knows how to use one.”

“Are you a good shot?”

“Middling. I’m an excellent shot if the targets hold still, but they so rarely do.”

As Ethan considered the situation, he fought against a wave of exhaustion. “Forget about the gun closet, then. We’ll do what we can to shore up our defenses. Tell the servants to start locking the damn doors at night, including their own doors when they’re asleep. And we’ll need bolts installed in every attic and basement opening, cellar and jib door, luggage hoist, coal lift . . . every means of internal communication. Also, pull down the scaffolding and platforms on the south side of the house.”