Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(14)

“You sound as if you admire Mr. Gentry,” Sophia remarked.

The boy considered the question thoughtfully, blushing under her attention. “Well… Nick Gentry is not all bad. ‘E does ’elp people sometimes… gives them jobs and money…”

“What kind of jobs?” Sophia asked dryly. “Surely not legitimate ones.”

Ernest shrugged uncomfortably. “And he does arrest thieves and highwaymen, just as the runners do.”

“From what Sir Ross says,” Sophia murmured, “Mr. Gentry encourages people to commit crimes, and then he arrests them for it. Rather like creating criminals for his own profit, isn’t it?”

Ernest shot her a defensive glance, then smiled. “Oh, Gentry ‘as ’is faults, Miss Sydney, but ‘e’s a rum one, jus’ the same. I can’t explain in a way ye would understand.”

Sophia did understand, however. Sometimes a man proved to be so charismatic that the public was willing to overlook his sins. It seemed that Nick Gentry had captured the imaginations of aristocrat, merchant, and pickpocket alike… everyone in London was fascinated by him. His rivalry with Sir Ross only made him that much more intriguing.

Sir Ross did not come up from the strong room for the entire day, only sent Ernest back and forth with requests for water, or for a particular file from the criminal records room. Sayer and Gee, the two runners who had apprehended Gentry, also remained present for the questioning, although they sometimes emerged for a few moments of respite and fresh air.

Consumed by curiosity, Sophia approached Eddie Sayer as he stood outside in the stone-flagged courtyard behind Bow Street No. 4. The calls and cries from the crowd in front of the building were annoyingly persistent in demanding the release of Nick Gentry. Sophia was grateful for the iron fence that kept the protesters away from the buildings, but she feared that soon someone might decide to scale the partition.

Sayer had lifted his broad face to the cool spring breeze and was breathing deeply. Although the wind was tainted with the familiar scents of the London streets, manure and coal dust being prevalent, it seemed preferable to the atmosphere of the strong room. Hearing Sophia’s footsteps on the stone, Sayer turned and grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. He was a large, dashing young man who flirted with every woman he encountered, no matter her age, appearance, or marital status.

“Ah, Miss Sydney… just the companion I was hoping for. No doubt you’ve come out here for a passionate tryst. Finally going to admit your feelings for me, eh?”

“Yes,” Sophia said dryly, having learned that the best way to deal with the runners was to match their irreverence. “I have finally been swept up in the romantic atmosphere of Bow Street. Where shall we tryst, Mr. Sayer?”

The tall young man grinned. “I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint you, my fair one. Cannon only gave me five minutes’ leave—not nearly enough time. Besides, I’m not one for trysting on hard stone. Please contain your disappointment.”

Sophia folded her arms and regarded him with a slight smile. “How is it in the strong room, Mr. Sayer?”

The runner sighed, suddenly looking weary. “Cannon hasn’t gotten much out of Gentry so far. It’s like trying to fell an oak with a butter knife. Cannon keeps chipping away at him, though.” He rubbed his face and groaned. “I suppose it is time for me to go back down there.”

“Good luck,” she said sympathetically, and watched him cross the courtyard back to the strong-room door.

The afternoon passed, and as evening approached, the mood of the crowd at Bow Street became more violent. Peering through the windows, Sophia saw that some of the protesters were carrying clubs, and there were small fires in the street where furniture had been brought and set alight. Bottles of liquor had been procured from The Brown Bear, the tavern opposite the public office, and the crowd was drinking freely. To Sophia’s horror, the homes on either side of the public office were being assaulted; windows were broken, and clubs and fists beat angrily on the barricaded doors.

When evening fell the mob had lost all reason. Ernest appeared at No. 4, telling Sophia and the servants to stay inside. The available runners were attempting to disperse the crowd. If they proved unsuccessful, they would summon help from the military.

“No need to worry,” Eliza said breathlessly, her face pale. “The runners will put down the riot. They’re good, brave men—they’ll keep us safe.”

“Where is Sir Ross?” Sophia asked Ernest, trying to remain calm, although the constant screaming of the mob was shredding her nerves.

“Still in the strong room with Gentry,” Ernest replied. “‘E says he’ll shoot Gentry himself before letting the crowd have ’im.”

As the boy dashed back to the adjoining building, Sophia returned to the window. She flinched as rocks and bottles were thrown, striking the house. “This is madness,” she exclaimed. “Does Sir Ross know how bad it is getting? Before long they’ll reduce the place to matchsticks!”

All three women jumped as a rock shattered the window, sending a shower of splintered glass to the floor.

“My God!” Eliza exclaimed.

“Heaven save us,” Lucie squealed, her eyes like saucers. “What should we do?”

“Stay away from the windows,” Sophia said shortly. “I’m going to the strong room.”