Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(74)

She blushed then silently cursed the pale complexion that made it obvious. “Oh. When I said proposition, I meant...my aunt and I would like to employ you, Captain, in a venture rather risky in nature.”

“My favorite kind. But my services are not for sale.”

“You haven’t heard my offer yet!”

“I don’t need to. I have enough copper.” He strode off and did not look back.

“I’m not offering copper,” she said quickly. “I’m offering redemption.”

He stopped and for one long moment, didn’t move. Then slowly he walked back to her. “Redemption?”

Tilda’s skin tingled with excitement. She had him. When she’d first made her enquiries about this man, she’d guessed he couldn’t be lured by copper or material objects so she’d looked for other means. It seemed her instincts had been correct. “A chance to clear your name. Of your original crime,” she added, in case he assumed she meant all his subsequent pirating. She was no miracle worker.

Knight said nothing. The light summer breeze carried the sounds of the new docks both above and at ground level—the hammering of iron nails, the clank of chains as cargoes were loaded and unloaded, the whistle of the steam engines as ships jostled for space above. In the lane where they stood motionless, a baby mewled and a door banged. Dirty faces in the shadows pretended not to watch the strangers. Tilda pretended not to notice them. Thankfully they were out of earshot. No one must overhear their conversation.

Eventually Knight spoke. “For a guilty man, that kind of redemption is impossible.” His blue gaze challenged hers.

“You don’t believe you’re guilty.”

“I know I’m not,” he said, too mildly for a man who would be locked up in Newgate if the constables discovered him and hung if convicted by a jury. “But do you?”

Beside Tilda, Aunt Winnie drew a sharp breath. “That,” said Tilda, “is irrelevant for my purpose.”

“And what is your purpose, Chick?”

“Her name is Miss Upton,” said Aunt Winnie from behind the lacy handkerchief she held to her nose. “A gentleman would call her such.”

He laughed. “I’m no gentleman, Madam.”

“You were,” said Tilda. “Once.”

“I repeat,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her, “what is your purpose with me?”

“I want you to find a ship,” she said, “and capture its treasure.”

“Which ship? What treasure?”

“The Adrienne. It carries an object I wish to obtain. That’s all you need to know.”

“No, it isn’t. What object? Gold? Jewels? Information?”

Perhaps it was only fair that he knew the reason he would be risking his life. Although not the entire reason. Not yet. Not until he had agreed. “A man. He’s traveling from the Orient to the king of France. The airship is equipped with cannon and a brigade of gendarmes. He won’t be easy to capture.”

“What is so special about this man that requires the French king to send some of his own personal bodyguard to protect him?” He stepped closer and his hard blue eyes swept over her, their iciness pinning her to the spot. She shivered but met his gaze when it finally returned to her face. “And why, Miss Upton,” he continued, “do you want him badly enough to risk your reputation and your neck to follow the likes of me through the bowels of London?”

Tilda hesitated. How much should she divulge? Reveal everything and she risked the unscrupulous pirate making off with her treasure. But reveal too little and he might refuse the commission altogether, despite her offer.

“Matilda,” Aunt Winnie whispered. “Tell him.”

Tilda nodded reluctantly. “I have been, er, commissioned to find him." Knight gave no indication he'd noticed her hesitation. "The Oriental is an inventor.” There, not a lie, although it danced around the truth. "He's made a machine which my employer wishes to possess. Don't ask me what it does, I don't know. Nor can I tell you who I work for. I've been sworn to secrecy."

“I see,” said Knight. He rubbed his stubbly chin with a hand criss-crossed by old scars. “And my payment? My redemption?”

Tilda's discreet enquiries had taken her to a moderate and rundown house in the low part of Clapham where she had bought the chronometer talisman from a man only too pleased to liquidate his one valuable asset. She had probably paid too much for it but the man, once the butler in the Ironside household, had given her the piece of information she could use to entice Knight. He’d told her the entire story behind Jack Knight’s downfall from younger brother of the third Baron Ironside to ironwing slave then sky pirate. She had been fascinated, appalled and ultimately relieved when she realized she could use his history as leverage for her cause.

“I can find the witness you’ve been seeking these last three years,” she said to him.

His head jerked back as if he'd been punched in the jaw. If he'd been wearing a hat it would have fallen off. “How do you know about that?”

“I visited your family home in Richmond and asked some of the servants about you. Everyone knows you fled the country but they told me you were in fact seeking the man you claim witnessed the death of your brother. Most of your servants think you’re innocent, by the way. Of your brother’s murder, at least.” It was one of the maids who'd suggested Tilda find the man who'd been the Ironside's butler at the time of the baron's death. She had, and was relieved the visit had been fruitful.