To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) (4 page)

“No one alive knows I was part of your band except you and the others,” he said, voice low. “Barker is gone. I got to him before he could sell our names.”

Hughe’s grip became bruising. “We need to talk. But not here.” His ominous tone put Rafe on edge.

He nodded and Hughe let go. They walked side by side in silence until they reached the Old Swan waterstairs in the shadow of the bridge. The river was quiet, most of the watermen having tied up their wherries for the evening and gone home or to a tavern. On the other side of the bridge the larger ocean ships crowded together near the legal quays like giant swans keeping each other company.

Water lapped gently against the jetty’s posts beneath where they sat. From there they could see in all directions and could escape into the river if necessary.

It wouldn’t be necessary. As far as the world knew, they were simply a nobleman and a journeyman having a conversation in the fading light. Why Hughe had insisted on such a spot, Rafe didn’t know. But Hughe was like that. Despite
outward appearances, he was always alert, always careful, always thinking like the leader of a band of assassins.

But something was wrong. Perhaps more than anyone alive, Rafe knew Hughe well enough to know that. After leaving England and joining a mercenary force on the Continent, Rafe had spiraled down a destructive path of needless violence. Hughe had pulled him out of it. He retrained Rafe, taught him control, showed him friendship until Rafe learned to focus his anger on others more deserving than his stepfather. In time, he had come to appreciate life again. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him—he was employed to end the lives of others.

“How’s your new beginning?” Hughe asked, voice light once more.

So he wanted to play it like that—find out the lay of the land before stating his business. Rafe could wait. It was all part of the game with Hughe.

Rafe stretched out his legs. “Slightly less dangerous, but not without intrigues of its own.”

“For example?”

“For example, I forgot I retired and offered to kill someone today.”

Hughe chuckled. He stretched his legs alongside Rafe’s and massaged his knee. “Should I be worried about your operating a rival band here in our fair city?”

“No. She turned me down.”

“She? That does sound intriguing. Care to elaborate?”

The image of Lizzy looking up at him with big, scared doe eyes lodged in his mind and he couldn’t shake it off. “There’s nothing to tell. She’s my brother’s…close friend.”

Hughe arched a brow. “A female friend?” he scoffed. “An impossibility.”

“Perhaps. I admit I don’t understand why he hasn’t secured her. He has lettuce leaves for brains.”

“Speaking of your brother, was that him with you outside the cookshop?”

“You’ve been following me that long?” Rafe shouldn’t be surprised. Hughe had a way of going unseen in a crowd, even with such an excessive ruff. “That was James,” he said. “He’s a tailor’s apprentice. Or was.” He sighed. “Got himself into some money problems and he’s off to the Marshalsea tomorrow morning until I can pay off the debts.”

That imperial brow forked higher. “What about your savings?”

Rafe caught his friend’s gaze and held it. “Who said I had savings?”

“You were paid excessively well and never spent more than you needed to. You obviously weren’t sending it back here or your brother wouldn’t have gotten himself into debt, so…where is it?”

Rafe said nothing.

“You gave it away, didn’t you?”

Several beats passed. Neither man so much as twitched a finger.

“To his sister?”

There was no need to mention a name. Rafe knew who he meant. His stomach rolled and his chest tightened like it always did when he thought of John Barker, of what he’d almost done. And of what Rafe had been forced to do to stop him. With Barker dead, his only kin, a young sister, was alone. Rafe had to give her all his savings. He couldn’t live with himself if he’d left her with nothing.

“I don’t regret giving it to her,” Rafe said. “She no longer has anyone to support her. Will you lend me the money to pay off James’s debts? It’ll be better than relying on Liddicoat to advance my wages.”

“I’ll give you the money. On one condition.”

“Ah. Of course. You want me to return to the guild.”

“Just for one last commission.”

“I don’t know.”

“You are my trusted friend, Rafe. You never let any of us down. Ever,” Hughe said. “Don’t start now.”

Their gazes connected, held. The moment grew long, stretched, and thin. Hughe hadn’t understood why Rafe wanted to leave the guild, hadn’t understood that Rafe couldn’t follow orders anymore, not the sort that forced him to eliminate men he’d once called friend. Yet to save James quickly…

Hell
.

“Who’s the target?”

“Barker. He’s still alive.”

“W
hat!” Rafe exploded. “How?”

“Quiet.” Hughe glanced around but there was no one nearby. Night had crept over the city. Lamplight flickered in the windows of the lodgings above the shops on the bridge and on board some of the ships beyond, but their immediate surroundings were dark, still. They would hear someone approaching.

Rafe’s heart felt dead in his chest. “I killed Barker in Cambridge. I can assure you, he’s not alive.”

“I can assure you he is,” Hughe said. “He’s been in contact, making the same old threats to expose us unless we pay him. Did you see the body?”

How could he? Barker had fallen into the Cam River during their fight. Rafe had waited for several minutes, but Barker didn’t come up for air. He’d drowned. Must have.

Unless he’d swum underwater to safety…

Rafe felt like he’d been punched in the throat. He stood and gripped the post until his fingers hurt. “No,” he finally said through his hard breathing. “I didn’t see his body.”

“You have to finish him,” Hughe said flatly.

Rafe could just make out his patron’s silhouette in the darkness. He still sat on the jetty, legs outstretched as if he were lounging in the sunshine without a care in the world. “Do you know where he is?”

“I traced him here to London.”

“London? Why? His sister lives in Cambridge.”

“I think he’s here because of you.”

Rafe frowned. “Me? But he wants to sell our names to the highest bidder. How will getting revenge on me achieve that?”

“He could have sold them already if that was indeed his intention.” Hughe got lightly to his feet. “But he hasn’t. I wonder if perhaps he never meant to follow through on his threat. He just wanted me to pay the blackmail money.”

Then Rafe had killed him for nothing. Or tried to. And failed. “Then why not pay him now and let the matter rest?”

Hughe shook his head slowly as if it was too heavy for more vigorous movement. “Because the fact that he’s here looking for you and not following me around the country means it’s no longer about money. Rafe, I think he’s going to try to kill you.”

“Then let him try,” Rafe snarled.

“I don’t want any of you to be harmed,” Hughe went on. His voice sounded far away, not at all like he was an arm’s length from Rafe. “You’re the brothers I never had. You, Orlando, Cole.”

“And John Barker?” It was unfair and Rafe wished he could take it back.

“Barker was never one of us and you know it.”

True. The other members of their group were the best of friends, brothers like Hughe said. If one was ever caught, he could be relied upon to keep his silence no matter what incentives were heaped on him, or how much torture inflicted.

Barker was the last to join and had never quite fit in. He set himself apart from the beginning, choosing to eat alone, drink alone, work alone. He’d wanted to kill indiscriminately and grew angry when Hughe turned a job down.

“It’ll be like a regular contract,” Hughe said. “Only I’ll be the one hiring you, not a stranger.” When Rafe said nothing, he added, “The payment will be substantial. More than enough to pay off your brother’s debts and set him up when
he finishes his apprenticeship. There’ll be enough left over for you too.”

Rafe breathed deeply, drawing the briny scent of the river into his body.

“You have to do this, Rafe. You know what Barker’s like. He’ll stop at nothing to bring all of us down, one by one, starting with you. And he won’t care who he uses to do it.”

“James.” He’d be an easy target in the Marshalsea.

“And his woman you spoke of. Barker
will
learn of her existence. It’s only a matter of when.”

Rafe felt sick. Hughe was right. Barker had no morals, which was why he’d been cut loose from the guild. He might go after James and Lizzy to make Rafe suffer.

“Very well,” he said. His mouth felt dry, his body cold. “I’ll do it. And this time I’ll make sure he’s dead.”

Hughe removed a leather pouch from his belt. The coin inside clinked. “Take this for now. It’s only enough for a meal or two, I’m afraid.”

Rafe accepted it. “Do you know where I can find Barker?”

“No. You’ll need to draw him into the open. Let him find you.”

“Let him find out who I care about, you mean.”

“It’s the only way to make him show his face. He’s too good to get caught any other way.” Hughe clasped Rafe’s arm in farewell. “I’m going away for a few days. I’ll check in before I leave. Stay alert.”

“Just have the rest of my money ready on your return.”

Lizzy watched James leave from her bedchamber window early the next morning. His steps were slow and he looked woefully unprepared for a long journey in the damp autumn weather. He wore his good coat and his sturdiest boots but the pack he
carried was too small to contain more than a single change of clothing. Where was his food, a wineskin? She went to open the window to shout down to him, but then she saw Rafe striding up to join his brother. His gaze locked with hers. He smiled, a curiously tentative half smile as if he were wondering about something—something about her. As usual, her face heated and she silently thanked the lord she was too far away to be seen properly.

Then Rafe’s smile broadened as if he’d seen anyway. She dropped down on the rushes out of sight. Why did he make her feel like she needed to hide?

A knock at the door sent her heart leaping, but it was only James. Rafe stood a little behind, glancing up and down the street as if looking for someone.

“I came to say farewell,” James said.

“Oh,” she said. “Farewell. Be careful.”

He shuffled his feet and she thought he might kiss her but he didn’t. Of course not. He’d only ever kissed her on the lips once and that was because she’d surprised him last summer at St. Bartholomew’s Fair behind the puppet show stand. He’d quickly pulled away and admonished her for her forwardness.

“I’m glad Rafe’s back in time to take care of you in my absence,” he said.

She hazarded a glance past him to his brother, but Rafe was still standing out of earshot. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice. “I’m not sure having Rafe take care of us was a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“In truth, we’re a little fearful of him.”

He paused. “Oh. I see. But there’s no need. Rafe is very good at protecting people. There’s none better.”

“But that day. He—”

“Don’t. Don’t speak of it.” He winced as if in pain and half-turned to leave. “Don’t dredge up the past.”

Lizzy wasn’t so sure avoiding the discussion was a good idea, but James had always found it a difficult topic and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to bury it.

He gave her a quick smile. “Let him take care of you. It will ease my conscience.”

She nodded and watched him rejoin Rafe, then shut the door. She ate a breakfast of cold beef and bread alone in the kitchen then carried in two trenchers to her parents, still abed.

“What is it, Child?” her mother asked, patting the mattress beside her.

Lizzy sat. “Rafe Fletcher is back.”

Her father paused in his task of tearing the bread apart. “Aye, we know. The vicar was here yesterday and gave us the news. We should have told you last night.”

“I saw him when I visited James. I didn’t mention it then because I didn’t want to worry you, but now…you probably should know.”

“So how did he look?” her mother asked.

“The same but…different somehow. Not as…angry.”

Her father reached across and took her hand. “Do not let that deceive you. Best to stay away from Fletcher. He’s unpredictable.”

“You think he’s still dangerous?” She’d hoped her parents would reassure her, tell her she had nothing to fear from Rafe seven years after his violent outburst.

“I don’t know,” her father said, transferring his hand from his daughter to his wife. Lizzy’s parents exchanged grim glances. “In my experience, men don’t change dramatically, and it would require a dramatic change for him to become an accepted member of our community.”

“Everyone still remembers that day,” her mother said. “Nothing can change that.”

“Do you know what led to Rafe to do it?” Lizzy shivered. It was still so vivid. She doubted she could ever forget. But she’d
not known what caused Rafe to lose control like he did. James had never discussed it with her and he’d always dismissed her questions when she’d posed them.

“No one knows,” her mother said. “Pritchard was no saint himself, but to warrant such a beating from his own stepson! It’s quite unthinkable.”

“Rafe was a wastrel,” her father added. “He didn’t work. Just fought and got drunk in alehouses.”

“He frightened the entire neighborhood. We kept our distance when we saw the type of man he’d become.”

“We had to.” Her father stroked his long white beard. “With three daughters to protect, the likes of Rafe Fletcher were not welcome to our door. Stay away from him, Lizzy. He’ll leave again soon enough.”

She didn’t tell them James had asked Rafe to take care of her in his absence. There was no point troubling her parents with something they couldn’t control. Hopefully James would be back before they ever discovered she’d kept the truth from them.

“I’d better go to work,” she said.

“Tell us as soon as the situation with Gripp changes,” her mother said.

“I will.”

“That Gripp…” Her father’s beard stroking became faster. “I’d like to wring his neck.”

“John!”

“Father, hush.” Lizzy leaned over and pecked his forehead. “He hasn’t shut us down.”

“Yet.”

Lizzy left them to their peaceful day and walked down Gracechurch Street and across the bridge, already choked with farmers driving geese and pigs to market in the city. The Bankside thoroughfare running along the south side of the river was quiet by comparison. It wasn’t the sort of area people
wandered into unless they sought out the pleasures of the playhouses, bearbaiting pits, or whorehouses, and it was too early for any of those entertainments.

She entered the Rose’s tiring house through the rear door that led directly out to the street and not through the theatre itself. Edward Style looked up from the prompt book, nodded, and returned to studying his lines. Henry Wells came down the stairs, gave her a bleak smile, and sat on a stool opposite Freddie Putney, slumped in a chair in the corner and apparently fast asleep, although it was difficult to tell since he wasn’t snoring like usual. Indeed, the room was silent.

“Lizzy!” Antony Carew waved from the stairs. “Watch this and tell me what you think. I’ve been practicing.” He lifted his velvet gown and at least two cotton underskirts and descended the stairs with his head high, flat chest out, and as much grace as any noblewoman. Once on the floor, he dropped the skirts and twirled toward Lizzy, miraculously avoiding props and furniture. The hem of the costume settled around his bare feet with a delicious
swish
. Antony was short enough that most of his costumes didn’t need lengthening with an extra band of cheaper fabric. It meant his velvet, silk, and satin gowns had a much more satisfyingly rich sound than those she needed to alter.

“You look very elegant,” she said, accepting his kiss on her cheek. “You would look more elegant if the hair on your legs was a little less…hairy.”

He flicked his long red-gold curls off his shoulder and finished the flourish with a graceful twist of his hand. It was his signature action, one he’d perfected on stage for the female roles he played. “I’ve been told my legs are the shapeliest in all of England.” He lifted his skirts to study them and pulled a face. “I’ll wear stockings on stage.”

“I have some in the storeroom which go nicely with that gown. The staircase scene will be a triumph.”

If they ever got to perform it.

No one said it, but the air in the room seemed to tighten, stretch, and the four members of Lord Hawkesbury’s Players who were awake exchanged grim glances. They were all thinking the same thing: the play they were practicing might never get approved by the Master of Revels.

“What shall we do now?” Antony asked. “How dire
is
our situation?” He had joined the company only a few months earlier after the previous actor’s voice deepened too much to play women. While Antony was a man and not a boy, he sounded, looked, and often dressed like a woman on and off stage. Style liked him for that reason—less training for new boy-actors meant more profit in his pocket.

“Dire enough,” Edward said. As the manager’s brother, he was well placed to know how desperate the situation was. “Roger is trying to reason with him now.”

“He’s gone to the Revels office this early?” Lizzy asked.

“Aye.”

“Is that wise?” said Henry Wells, the big handsome actor who played most of the lead roles. He’d proved to be very popular with the females in the audience over the years to the point where Roger Style had capitulated and given him the roles he used to keep for himself.

Edward shrugged. “Is anything Roger does wise?”

The four of them thought about that for a moment. “He commissions Lady Blakewell to write most of the plays,” Lizzy finally offered.

“Aye, but only because he still thinks her husband really writes them. He refuses to accept that
she
is the playwright.”