Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(7)

Morgan stared at him in an assessing way that Ross didn’t like. “My pardon,” he said softly. “You seem to be rather touchy on the subject.”

“I’m not touchy, dammit!”

Morgan responded with a supremely annoying grin. “I believe this is the first time I’ve ever heard you swear, Cannon.”

Too late, Ross understood the source of Morgan’s amusement. Somehow his normally emotionless facade had cracked. He fought to mask his irritation, drumming his fingers on the desk in an impatient staccato.

Morgan watched his struggle with a lingering grin. Apparently he could not resist making one more comment. “Well, there is one point that no one will dispute—she makes a prettier clerk than Vickery.”

Ross pinned him with a forbidding stare. “Morgan, the next time I advertise for an employee, I will make certain to hire some long-toothed old crone in the hopes of pleasing you. Now, may we turn the discussion to some other matter… perhaps even something relating to work?”

“By all means,” Morgan said agreeably. “Actually, I came to give you the latest report on Nick Gentry.”

Ross’s eyes narrowed at the news. Of all the criminals he desired to be caught, tried, and hanged, Gentry was easily the first on the list. He was the opposite of everything Ross sought to uphold.

Taking advantage of the law that gave rewards to any citizen who apprehended a highwayman, burglar, or deserter, Nick Gentry and his men had established an office in London and set themselves up as professional thief-takers. When Gentry caught a highwayman, he received not only a commission upon conviction, but also the highwayman’s horse, arms, and money. If he recovered stolen goods, he not only charged a fee, he also took a percentage of the property’s value. When Gentry and his men could not gather enough evidence against a particular felon, they planted or manufactured some. They also seduced young boys into crime, purely for the purpose of arresting them later and collecting the bounties.

Gentry was regarded with both admiration and fear in the underworld, where he was the undisputed king. His office had become the rendezvous for every criminal of note in England. Gentry was guilty of all kinds of corruption, including fraud, bribery, thievery, and even murder. Most maddening of all, the man was regarded by much of London as some sort of public benefactor. He cut a dashing figure in his fine clothes, riding his big black horse through the alleys and thoroughfares of London. Small boys dreamed of growing up to be like him. Women of high or low birth were excited by his intriguing appearance.

“I’d like to see that bastard dance in the wind,” Ross muttered. “Tell me what you have.”

“We have witness accounts that Gentry arranged for the escape of three of his men from Newgate. The clerk has already taken two depositions.”

Ross went very still, in the manner of a predator catching scent of its most desired prey. “Bring him in for questioning,” he said. “And do it quickly, before he goes to ground.”

Morgan nodded, knowing that if Gentry caught wind of danger and decided to go into hiding, he would be impossible to locate. “I assume you’ll want to question him yourself?”

Ross nodded. Ordinarily he would have left such matters in Morgan’s capable hands, but not when Nick Gentry was involved. Gentry was his personal adversary, and Ross had devoted a great deal of effort to bringing the wily thief-taker down.

“Very well, sir.” Morgan unfolded his long frame from the chair and stood. “I’ll have Gentry taken into custody as soon as he is located. I’ll dispatch Sayer and Gee immediately.” He paused, and a wry smile softened the hard angles of his face. “That is, if they are not too busy ogling your assistant.”

Ross suppressed a biting reply with great difficulty, his normally controlled temper igniting at the idea of Sophia Sydney being harassed by his own men. “Do something for me, Morgan,” he said through tight lips. “Make it known that if any of my runners or any member of the foot or horse patrol bothers Miss Sydney, they will regret it.”

“Yes, sir.” Morgan turned to leave, but not before Ross saw the hint of a smile on his lips.

“What is so bloody amusing?”

Morgan replied in a bland tone. “I was merely reflecting, sir, that you may come to regret not hiring a long-toothed old crone.”

After partaking of an evening meal of warmed-over mutton stew, Sophia unpacked her belongings in the upstairs room that had been given to her. The room was tiny, and it had been furnished simply. However, it was clean, and the bed seemed comfortable, and there was another advantage that Sophia liked. Her window faced the west side of Bow Street No. 3, allowing her to see directly into Cannon’s office. The lamplight outlined the shape of his dark head and highlighted the hard edge of his profile as he turned toward his bookshelves. It was late, and he should have retired for the evening. At the very least, he should be enjoying a good supper instead of the unappetizing dish of mutton stew that Eliza had sent over.

Sophia changed into her night rail and returned to the window, watching as Cannon rubbed his face and bent diligently over his desk. She thought of all the things Eliza and Lucie had told her about the Chief Magistrate. With the typical servants’ love of gossip, they had provided a great deal of information.

It seemed that Sir Ross’s supporters, of which there were many, revered him for his compassion, whereas an equal number of critics denounced him for his sternness. He was the most powerful magistrate in England, even acting as an unofficial adviser to the government. He trained his runners with progressive new methods, applying scientific principles to law enforcement in a way that earned both admiration and mistrust from the public. Sophia had been entertained as Eliza and Lucie attempted to explain how the runners sometimes solved crimes by examining teeth, hair, bullets, and wounds. None of it made sense to her, but apparently Sir Ross’s techniques had untangled mysteries as intricate as the Gordian knot.