Matthew Hawkwood Thriller Series Books 1-3: Ratcatcher, Resurrectionist, Rapscallion

“Bloody hell!” Jago said, after a lengthy silence. “You weren’t kiddin’, were you? So, what happens now?”

“We find Lee and stop him.”

“Whoa!” Jago said. “What do you mean, we? Jesus, you’ve got a bloody nerve!” The big man fell silent, then he sighed. “Christ, all right, I’m in. But how are we goin’ to stop the bugger if we don’t know where he is?”

“I don’t know,” Hawkwood said. “I’ve a feeling I’m missing something, something important.”

Both men stared into their drinks.

“Bleedin’ generals,” Jago said.

Hawkwood looked at him. “What?”

Jago sighed. “Bleedin’ generals – remember? What was it we used to say? They never tell you anything. They keep you in the dark and feed you on shit, like bloody mushrooms. Well, if you ask me, I reckon that’s what’s been happening here. I think someone up there ain’t tellin’ you the full story. I reckon once you find out what it is they ain’t been tellin’ you, you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“They should have made you a bloody general,” Hawkwood said.

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Hawkwood grinned at the big man’s discomfort. “No need to look so worried, Nathaniel. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

“If you say so.” Despite the reassurance, Nathaniel Jago did not look like a man convinced.

But then at two o’clock in the morning, in the Chief Magistrate’s chambers at Bow Street, Hawkwood thought with amusement, who could blame him?

A bleary-eyed Ezra Twigg had answered the door. The little clerk, clad incongruously in a calf-length nightshirt and tasselled cap, had taken one look at Hawkwood’s smoke-blackened clothes and bruised face and the big man standing beside him, and let them into the house without uttering a single word.

“I need to speak with him, Ezra,” Hawkwood said. “Is he up?”

“Course he’s up,” the clerk grumbled. “Still dressed, too. Doesn’t need any sleep, that one. Not like some of us,” he added tartly.

As Twigg padded off, muttering dire threats of retribution, Hawkwood led the way upstairs.

Did the Chief Magistrate ever go to bed? Hawkwood wondered. When James Read appeared, shadowed by the now hastily attired Ezra Twigg, he looked as well turned out and as urbane as ever, and not at all put out by the lateness of the hour.

“Good morning, Hawkwood.” James Read paused as his eyes took in both men. “Ah, the redoubtable Sergeant Jago, I presume?”

Jago shot Hawkwood a startled glance.

“Come now, Sergeant,” Read said. “No need to be alarmed. Your description and reputation precede you.” Read looked Hawkwood up and down. “I suspect I’m going to regret asking this, but why do you look like something that has been trampled by a squad of dragoons?”

“I’ve been having words with one of our highwaymen.”

The Chief Magistrate brightened instantly. “Have you indeed? Capital!”

“Not really,” Hawkwood said. “He’s dead. Nathaniel killed him.”

James Read’s face fell. “That is most unfortunate.” The magistrate peered questioningly towards Jago. “His death was unavoidable, I take it?”

“He’d have killed me, if he’d had his way,” Hawkwood said. “Nathaniel saved my life.”

“In that case, Sergeant, we’re much obliged to you.” Read moved towards his desk. “So, who was he?”

“His name was Scully. Ex-navy, which explains his lack of horse sense. He was the one who shot agent Ramillies. He and his partner were working for William Lee.” Hawkwood paused. “We met him, too.”

It was almost comical the way the Chief Magistrate froze in mid stride. “You met Lee? He’s here?” Suddenly Read checked, looking first at Jago then at Hawkwood. His eyes darted a warning.

“Sergeant Jago knows, sir. I told him everything.”

The Chief Magistrate cocked an eyebrow. “Did you indeed? That was rather presumptuous of you.”

“Nathaniel did save my life.”

James Read’s severe expression did not waver. “Yes, so you said.”

“I thought he should know what he’s got himself into.”

“Quite.” The Chief Magistrate did not speak for several moments. Finally, he broke the uncomfortable silence. “As you may have gathered, er … Sergeant, I’m well aware of your – how shall I put it? – current activities. I’m equally familiar with your background and your connection with Officer Hawkwood. It’s for that reason, and due to your actions this night, I’m prepared to abide by his commendation. You’ve become privy to highly sensitive information, however. Do I have your word of honour you’ll not speak of these matters to anyone outside these walls?”

Jago looked at Hawkwood then back at the Chief Magistrate. The ex-sergeant drew himself erect. “You have my word, sir.”

Read met the promise with a curt nod. “Very well.” The Chief Magistrate took his seat. “All right, tell me about William Lee. You’re certain it was he?”

Hawkwood nodded. “Turns out I’d already met him, though I didn’t know it at the time. He was passing himself off as Lord Mandrake’s house guest, probably as a means of taking a sly look at me, the cocky bastard. Anyway, the message from the girl was a ruse. Nathaniel didn’t send it. Lee did. He wants me dead. It seems I’ve become a nuisance. They used the girl because Scully knew I’d recognize her.” Hawkwood hesitated. “Scully killed Warlock, too.”

A shadow passed over James Read’s face. He listened in silence as Hawkwood recounted the details. When the Runner had finished, the magistrate sighed heavily. “I see. Then it appears we’re doubly indebted to you, Sergeant. You’ve saved us the expense of a hanging.” To Hawkwood, he added, “You say you still don’t know the identity of his accomplice?”

“Not yet, but I’ll find out.”

James Read nodded. “Let’s hope it’s sooner rather than later. As for Lee, is there any way he could have perished in the fire?”

Hawkwood shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“A pity. It would have saved us a deal of bother.” James Read turned to his clerk. “Make a note, Mr Twigg. When we’re done here, you’re to summon Officer Lightfoot. His duties at the Bank of England are now complete. On my orders, he is to proceed north with all dispatch, to Lord Mandrake’s estate at Northwich. He is to arrest Lord Mandrake on sight and return with him to this office. He is to use force if necessary.”

“Very good, sir.” The clerk’s face betrayed no emotion. Ezra Twigg’s lengthy tenure at Bow Street had prepared him for every eventuality. The apprehension of a peer of the realm was all in a day’s work, no different to the arrest of a pickpocket or the protection of a bullion consignment.

“And what of the clockmaker?” Read asked. “Is Master Woodburn dead or alive?”

“Alive. They still need him, apparently. Lee didn’t say why. My guess is it’s for some sort of repair work to the submersible boat. Whatever it is, it must be something delicate, that only someone with a clockmaker’s skill could attempt.”

James Read looked thoughtful. “So, there’s still some hope for him, at least. I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.”

Hawkwood said cautiously, “There’s one thing that’s been troubling me.”

James Read nodded. “You’re wondering how Lee knows so much. I confess it’s been causing me some concern also.”

“He has friends in high places.”