Nervous that they'd miss the man when he exited, Vincent remained at the corner, his eyes trained on the front door of the building, as Thomas hurried back to the office. He disappeared down an alleyway to the left of Forsythe's office, remaining out of sight for a few tense minutes. When he eventually popped back out onto the street, Vincent let out a sigh of relief.
"There's another door, as you suspected," Thomas said when he reached him, raking his curls out of his face, "but only one entrance to the alleyway. When he emerges â regardless of which door â we shall see him."
And, although it took another half hour, they did.
The image Vincent had built in his mind of the man â a sailor who chewed tobacco and hit women â was surprisingly accurate. He was a short, stout man who was either bald or wore his hair cropped close to his skull, and who walked with his shoulders rounded over. He poked his head out of the alley, slowly scanning the street, before he flicked up the colour of his oiled coat and took off quickly down the street. He could not have looked more suspicious if he'd tried.
As cautiously as they were able, Thomas and Vincent gave chase.
At every corner, they hesitated, worrying that the man might look over his shoulder and spot them, but at only the second block the fog gave way to rain. They were quickly soaked through, but the downpour provided plenty of incentive for the man to hurry, whilst also concealing them if he did decide to look.
After twenty minutes, it became clear where he was leading them.
"And so we return," Thomas commented, leaning in close to Vincent so that he could hear him over the rain. Under similar circumstances, Vincent had blamed the heat of him for the shiver that ran up his arm. Now he knew better. "Who would have guessed that a mystery that began with a shipping company would lead us to spend so much time at the docks?"
Vincent nodded, assuming it was sarcasm.
The buildings on their left were factories and storage locations, their doors firmly shut against the weather, but on their right were lines and lines of docked ships. Rotting, wooden boardwalks ran out in parallel lines, with everything from rowboats to small fishing vessels moored. Without the haze of the rain, they might have been able to spot the larger ships, anchored further out to sea, to which many of the smaller boats belonged.
Suddenly, Vincent threw out a hand, setting it firmly against Thomas' chest as their quarry took a sharp right turn, stepping out onto the pier with more confidence than Vincent thought the old wood deserved. He scurried along, his pursuers squinting after him, and just at the end of their vision, he veered to the right and disappeared into one of the larger ships.
Thomas pressed forward, but Vincent's hand at his chest held firm. He sent him a questioning look, eyebrow raised, but its impact was severely limited by the water cascading down his face.
"What are you doing?" he asked instead, raking saturated hair out of his face. "We've found the boat."
Vincent shook his head, feeling a familiar sinkhole opening in his chest; telling people what they did not want to hear was always particularly uncomfortable. "There... I... Without knowing the women are onboard, we have no legal recourse."
"Well, let's go find out!"
The hand at his chest wasn't enough to prevent him from taking a step forward, so Vincent had to step bodily in front of him instead. "The flag," he cautioned, tilting his head towards the ship.
The rain and winds whipped the strip of cloth flying from the mast of the ship. Despite the weather, one thing was clear; the colours were not British.
"Red and..." Thomas squinted. "...and yellow?"
Now that he had stilled Vincent stepped slightly to the side, gazing at the ship alongside him. "Spanish, if I had to guess."
Thomas blinked at that suggestion, before shaking the implications from his mind. "I'm sure the Spaniards won't mind. Let's-" He cut off sharply as Vincent shook his head.
"It is against the law to board a ship bearing another nation's flag. We cannot perpetrate one crime for just the possibility of solving another."
Thomas let out a sharp huff of air, tension in his jaw. "You can't be serious â they're right there!"
Vincent held his gaze, expression even.
The other man's upper lip twitched. "They are probably right there!" he reiterated.
Still, Vincent held firm.
"Argh!" Thomas twirled away from him, running a frustrated hand over his face. "I don't care that you're right, I can't walk away right now. I can't..." his hands searched the air for the right word, "abandon them." The last word came out on a whisper, "Again."
The rain was coming down in sheets now, uncaring for the air around them that was thick with angst, and plastering hair and clothing to their skin. Vincent realised suddenly that they must look a sight, standing as they were in the downpour without purpose, and he jerked his head towards the closest building. Thomas' pained stare remained fixed on the boat. Taking the man by the elbow, he tugged him towards shelter. If they stood close enough to the structure, they were spared the worst of the weather.
Vincent shook himself slightly, setting off a spray of water, and swiped a few soaked strands of hair out of his eyes. "We will not abandon them," he said, soft but emphatic. Something in his tone broke Thomas' concentration, "but we must rescue them in a way that ensures their future safety."
The other man's blink was slow, his eyes clamped shut for a long moment, and when he finally looked back to Vincent it was impossible to say which droplets were water and which were tears.
"How do we do that?"
Vincent glanced back to the ship, his mind racing. Criminal law was clear; prosecution required evidence of wrongdoing and evidence of intent. Overall...
"Evidence," he said firmly.
"Evidence..." Thomas said slowly, mulling the word over. "You know, there's probably plenty of evidence of the ship, and-" He broke off at Vincent's flat look. "Alright, just checking."
The rain broke for a moment, withdrawing to a drizzle, and Vincent cast an anxious look to the ship. All they needed was for the man to come scurrying back towards them and recognise them.
"We should leave," he urged quietly.
Thomas let out a noise of protest. "I cannot leave them unprotected. Someone needs to stay and keep watch."
Thomas' words dripped with good intentions, and Vincent winced as he shook his head. "It cannot be you or I. If we are recognised it will do far more harm than good."
A few others poked their heads into the street, taking advantage of the break in the downpour to hurry from one building to the next. A few boys, none older than thirteen, scampered across the street, their bare feet splashing mud and water onto the legs of their pants. Not that one could really tell; the pants were already stained and ripped far beyond the point of polite society believing they could still be called pants.
Thomas stepped forward suddenly. "Here, boy!" He waved his hand, catching the eye of one of the lads, before gesturing him over. The lad stumbled to a halt, nearly tripping a few of his friends, and squinted at Thomas and Vincent through a few stray rain droplets. Warily, he moved towards them.
"Whaddaya want, mister?"
His friends shadowed him, looking equally uncomfortable.
"Some assistance," Thomas replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vincent's anxious look down the street and then back towards the docks and he agreed with him; they were too exposed here. He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small coin purse he carried. The instantaneous way the rattle of coins drew the boys' attention might have been comedic if it wasn't so desperately sad. He pulled out a shilling, tossing it lightly to the boy, who caught it deftly, quickly biting it before squirrelling it away in his shirt where it could never be reclaimed. Suddenly, he looked interested, as did the other boys whose eyes never strayed from the two men before them. Thomas might have been worried about getting robbed if any of the children came up higher than his elbow.
The leader boy, the one who now owned Thomas' coin, held himself a little taller. "We're listenin'."
This time he shuffled a little closer when Thomas beckoned, though he stayed well out of arm's reach. Out of the rain, his features were a little clearer â he was maybe fourteen or fifteen, and mostly skin and bone â but so too was the scepticism in his eyes.
Thomas leant against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, with Vincent standing slightly to his side. "We need some eyes on a boat out there," he said, chucking his chin at the dock, "and need to know if anyone comes or goes. We'll compensate you for your time of course."
There was a flicker of confusion in the boy's eyes.
"We'll pay you."
Although no words were exchange, a thrum of excitement flooded through the children in front of them, with some of the boys lifting onto their heels and others reaching out to grasp one another by the arms. Their leader remained sceptical.
"'Ow much?"
Thomas had not considered that.
"How much would you ask?" He felt more than heard Vincent sigh beside him.
"Five pounds!"
"Ten pounds!"
"Three pounds!"
The excitement overwhelmed the lads and the younger ones all but jumped up and down as the outrageous offers were shouted out. Before Thomas could respond, or even urge them to lower their voices, the leader whipped around with a hiss and they all fell quiet, subdued, but no less excited.
The leader turned back to Thomas. "Three bob."
Three shillings. That amounted to a day's pay for most â a very reasonable offer. Thomas was about to accept, his fingers deftly counting out a few shillings in the pouch, when he felt movement at his side. All faces turned to Vincent.
"The.. I..." He swallowed, focussing on the boy and his offer. "It will take more than one of you, and perhaps several days. We'll give you three shillings a day, each."
The leader's eyes flashed, and he held out his hand to Vincent. "Deal."
Once the perfunctory shake had occurred, the boys let out excited whispers, and Thomas leant slightly closer to outline who and what they were looking for. He described the women with dark hair who would not speak English, and the sailor who spat tobacco He even mentioned Mister Forsythe, just in case the man decided to pop by the docks. All of this they were to report to Vincent and Thomas at the Humphrey's London house â Jack, the leader, assured them he would do this personally â urgently if there was any sign of the women.
"And if you see some men who look like me," Thomas said quietly as his instructions drew to a close, "Then you should come and find is as soon as you're able. But someone must watch them at all times."
All the boys nodded emphatically, even the youngest who looked to be no more than eight.
Thomas took out 3 shillings for each boy, placing them deliberately into their waiting hands. For Jack, he added a few extra shillings in case he needed to hire a hackney to reach them across town. The rest, he assured them, they'd get each day when Jack reported to them.
"Do this well and there might be more work for you in your future, boys." Thomas wasn't sure what, but he was sure he could find something for them to do. The club was often in need of messengers or runners, or perhaps he could pay them to permanently follow his father and keep his apprised of the man's misdeeds. That might be more efficient in the long run.
Jack nodded and then whirled around. "You two go find a good roost, the rest of yas make yurselves scarce," he ordered.
Within moments they'd disappeared, leaving only Jack there to nod at Vincent and Thomas. Then he too disappeared into the mist.
Thomas stood still for a few minutes, processing what had just occurred. When he turned to Vincent, the man was â of course â frowning.
"I'll pay their wages tomorrow," he said with a soft nod.
"Nonsense, I can well afford to pay my own spies!"
Vincent's frown deepened slightly, and he shifted his weight. "I raised the price. It's only fair I contribute."
"You simply made it reasonable," Thomas insisted. What he didn't mention was the warm feeling that had spread in his chest as Vincent had treated the urchins like... people, offering them what they were worth not merely what they would settle for. It had... charmed him. "Who knew you had such a soft spot for waifs!"
The other man could detect the teasing note in his voice, but that did not stop the warmth that rose in his cheeks. "I was not the one who offered them ongoing work."
Thomas' lips pursed, holding in a smile. "Touché."
The rain had ceased completely now, leaving a cold wind in its place that whipped at them then, cause both men to wrap their thoroughly soaked coats around themselves.
"Now, shall we leave this place?" With permanent, watchful eyes on the ship, Thomas was more than keen to get out of the miserable weather and await Jack's update. And wait for Mister Forsythe's response. As he saw it, there was a lot of waiting in their future and little they could actually do. And rather that sit around bored, he had an adventure in mind. "I thought I might show you the Pride?"
Vincent blinked. "The... your club? Is that... I... why?"
There was a quirk to Thomas' smile that Vincent couldn't quite place. "I have my reasons. Besides, surely we ought to give credence to the lie we told Forsythe."
Vincent's eyes narrowed at the explanation but with no good reason to refuse, he simply said, "Alright. Let's go to the Pride."
~~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
I have a million apologies to make for the atrocious delay in continuing DohD - I have excuses, some good, some bad, but I won't bore you with them. I will promise thought that DohD WILL BE FINISHED SOON - hopefully by the end of June/early July. I do want to thank everyone who commented or pm-ed me to asked for more of Vincent and Thomas' story - special shout out to nobody665 whose lovely messages really encouraged me to find time to continue working on this story!
Many Xs for putting up with my inconsistency xxxxxxx Flo