Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(71)

“Naw, it isn’t.” Nick scratched his chin contemplatively for a moment. “ ’Ow’s that lady what you brought ’ere the other day?”

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Why, felicitations, m’lord!”

“And she turned me down.”

Nick shrugged. “The ladies need time to think some matters over like.”

Griffin grimaced and set down the pistol he’d just loaded. “It’s more than giving her time to think. She doesn’t see me as fit husband material. And then there’s the small matter of her still being engaged to my brother.”

“Any woman ’oo’d pick your brother over you is soft in th’ ’ead, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, m’lord.”

Griffin smiled wryly.

“ ’Ave you given any more thought as to what you might do if we lose the still?” Nick asked.

Griffin shrugged, staring at the pistols.

“Me granddad was a shepherd,” Nick said, gazing into the blackened rafters of the warehouse. “Grew up around sheep. Dumbest creatures in the world, mind you, so me da said, but easy and the livin’s not bad.”

Griffin contemplated that odd information for a moment and why it might’ve been offered. “You want to tend sheep?”

“Naw.” Nick sounded offended. “But wool, there’s money to be made in that.”

“How so?”

“Yer get some sheep up north, see? You’ve said before that the land’s bad for crops. What’s no good for grain is often fine enough for animals to graze.”

“That’s true enough,” Griffin said slowly. He was surprised that Nick seemed to have put some thought into the matter.

Nick’s raspy voice was eager. “You send the wool t’ London, an’ it’s spun and woven. I still know some weavers, used to be friends of me da. Might start a shop. I could oversee th’ operation here.”

“You want to become a weaver?”

“It’s an ’onest trade,” Nick said with dignity and a hint of hurt. “One that’d make us both money, too.”

Griffin frowned. “Who would spin the wool?”

Nick’s big shoulders moved in a shrug. “Children or women can spin.”

“Huh.” There was a growing demand for woolen cloth in London, both for export and to clothe its population. And as for children to spin the wool, there might be a ready source nearby.

Nick slapped his knee. “Forgot to tell you—the chandler shop on the corner makes a fine dish of jellied eels. ’Ad some just yesterday. Right tasty they are. Half a tick and I’ll have you a bowl.”

“Uh—”

Nick whirled and was off out of the warehouse before Griffin could finish demurring to the offer. Griffin sighed. Nick had a particular fondness for jellied eels, which he didn’t share.

But then between the Vicar and Hero, the prospect of having to consume a full bowl of jellied eels was the least of his worries.

Griffin strolled out of the warehouse to wait for his disgusting breakfast. The sky above the courtyard wall was turning a pearly gray as the sun began to rise. Nick was already thinking ahead to what they might do instead of distill gin, and if there was one thing that Griffin had always trusted, it was Nick’s head for business. If Nick thought they could make money off of sheep, well then—

The shot was loud in the still morning air.

Griffin ran to the gate, and only as he flung it open did he realize that he was unarmed. If this was a trap to draw him out… But, no, the narrow alley outside the warehouse was deserted.

Griffin frowned. “Nick! Where are you, Nick?”

He nearly turned back, but then he heard the groan.

He found Nick slumped inside a doorway only feet from the warehouse entrance.

Griffin swore and bent over his friend. Blood and jellied eels were splashed upon the cobblestones. Nick was trying to stand, but something was wrong with the big man’s legs.

“Spilled me eels,” Nick wheezed. “Buggers spilled me jellied eels.”

“Forget about your damned eels,” Griffin growled. “Where are you hit?”

Nick looked up and the sun suddenly rose, lighting every ugly cranny in his face. His eyes were sliding to the side, his mouth lax. Griffin inhaled and then found he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Best eels in St. Giles,” Nick whispered.

“Goddamn you, Nick Barnes,” Griffin hissed. “Don’t you die.”

He grabbed Nick’s arm and bent, hauling the other man’s weight over his shoulder, staggering as he stood. Nick was solid muscle and heavy as a horse. Griffin made it back through the gate to the warehouse and locked it before setting Nick down on the cold, damp cobblestones of the courtyard.

“Get some cloths!” he roared to the guards. The blood was everywhere, soaking into Nick’s breeches, splattering Griffin’s jacket. Griffin turned back to Nick, holding his head in his hands. “Nick!”

Nick opened his eyes and smiled sweetly up at him. “They were awaitin’ for me. Vicar’s men. Fuckin’ jellied eels.”

Nick’s eyes closed and no matter how Griffin swore at him, they did not open again.

HERO KNOCKED FOR the second time at the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children that afternoon. She stood back and glanced at the upper-story windows, puzzled. Every one was shuttered.