An Affair with Mr. Kennedy by Jillian Stone

Author:Jillian Stone [Stone, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, historical romance, Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9781451629071
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2012-01-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

A black fog hung over the East End.

“Ease her over, mate.” Zeno’s gruff shout traveled through the dense mist. At times, he could barely make out the cobbles a few feet ahead. Fog torches burned on Commercial Road, but not once they turned onto Watney Street.

Rafe bobbed his head and turned the cart. Dressed as a couple of root sellers on their way to Spitalfields Market, Rafe steered while Zeno walked alongside the trolley and pushed a crowbar through the spokes. The wheel made one last lopsided turn and collapsed, tipping the produce wagon on its side. Bushels broke open, scattering parsnips over the ground.

Perfect.

Rafe threw his cap on the ground. “Sod it.”

Zeno nodded. “A right shambles, awl right.”

They would use the upset wagon as a ruse to gain a better view of the comings and goings around this building on Watney Street. Zeno suspected the run-down boardinghouse functioned as a safe house for the Clan na Gael as well as a drop site for dynamite.

Zeno swung a near empty sack over to his junior partner, who appeared a bit green about the gills this evening. “Load this up.” He lifted a full bushel and stacked it against a brick building. “You look like hell.”

“I swear the bird had one hand on my prick and another in my pocket.” Rafe rattled on about his last evening’s exploits. “If she had stroked any faster I would have missed the fact she was robbing me blind.”

Zeno marveled at the number and color of his abrasions. Red-rimmed eyes, one of them blackened, and sallow around the gills. Not entirely unfamiliar coloring. His partner drank too much and regularly caroused with harlots. Raphael Byron Lewis was going to die young and he didn’t seem to care.

“I take it this lovebird’s procurer took issue over the attempted theft?” Zeno gave a nod to the scraped and bruised knuckles. “Hope you gave him your best.”

“The pub rabble took his side. Flynn and I left a few mugs full of lumps, all right.” Rafe tossed him a wink. “But they weren’t as pretty as either of us to begin with.”

“Ah, Mr. Rhys was there. I might have known.” Zeno caught a bit of movement from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. He dipped his head in the direction of the drop site.

A tall figure dressed in formal attire, including opera hat and cape, stepped out into the alleyway from the rear door of the boardinghouse. Thick atmosphere partially obscured the figure hugging the darker side of the street. The apparition walked toward a main thoroughfare in a hurry.

“I say, what ’ave we ’ere?” Rafe dropped his h’s faster than his sack of parsnips. He pulled his cap forward and took up the broken wheel. “Let’s roll this wobbly down the cobbles and ’ave a look for a smithy.”

Zeno grunted. “Just don’t be gettin’ thirsty along the way.” He stuffed the remaining parsnips into the last open sack, keeping a watchful eye on Rafe until he turned the corner at Whitechapel.

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