Love and Justice For a Wallflower by Aline Francis

Author:Aline Francis [Francis, Aline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Neechie Girl Publishing
Published: 2023-07-23T23:00:00+00:00

Riding his horse at a walk, James rode toward the wharves on the river. As he drew closer, the unpleasant scents of brackish water, fish, and tar reached his nose. The crying of gulls sounded forlorn, as though the birds wept for their fallen mates. The workmen he passed, garbed in dark homespun despite the clear weather, paid him little heed as they labored unloading wagons into warehouses.

He found Charlie Martin’s property on the waterfront, and its painted pink pig, with little difficulty. Dismounting, he beckoned to a small urchin sitting nearby. The lad approached him warily, his dirty face scrunched with suspicion. James produced a silver coin, probably more money than the lad would see in months.

“This is yours if you watch my horse,” James told him. “You can’t steal and sell him for more. Understand?”

The lad knuckled his brow, his eyes greedy as he stared at the silver. “Aye.”

“I won’t be long.”

Leaving the stallion’s reins in the lad’s hands, James entered the warehouse. The big place was stacked high with crates, covering all the walls, and workmen brought in more from a ship anchored at the wharf. James located Charlie Martin easily, as he stood near the dock and busily barked orders at the men.

“Drop that, me laddie, and I’ll kick yer arse into the Thames. Easy, easy! Are ye a daft bugger? Stack them over there. No, there.”

Martin suddenly turned and spotted James approaching. His eyes narrowed as he took in James’s clothing and instantly knew him as a man of high rank. James recognized the immediate defensiveness and distaste for the nobility.

“Who’re you?” he demanded. “This be my place o’ business.”

James produced his card. “Lord James Tavish. Investigator with the Bow Street Runners.”

Fear crept over Martin’s countenance. “What ye want with me? I be an innocent trader. Ye got no business wi’ me.”

“Actually, Mr. Martin, I do.” James glanced around at the crates, the frozen tableau as the workers stopped their labor and gaped. “I know you’re in the arms business. You import weapons and sell to the highest bidder, quite possibly the French. That does, rather, make you a traitor to the Crown.”

Martin’s face blanched white. “Who told you sech lies?” he yelled. “I be an honest businessman.”

“I don’t care about your arms trading,” James went on. “I’m not here to arrest you for that. What I need to know is whom you sold naphtha to.”

Martin blinked in confusion. “Naphtha? Here? In London?”

“Yes.”

“Why ye be after naphtha?”

“I’m investigating a murder, and if you don’t assist me, I’ll have little choice but to arrest you, and have you charged with treason.”

“Awright! Awright!” Martin lifted his hands in surrender. “I did sell naphtha to a bloke. Months ago. A few bottles of it.”

“And the man’s name?”

“I don’t ask names,” Martin snapped. “In my business, names get ye killed.”

“Then describe him.”

“Short, blondish hair, natty dresser.”

James scowled. “A nobleman?”

“Not likely. Man o’ wealth, sure. No blue blood. Claimed he wanted it to clear a road to th’ coast. To the Channel.

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