D. Jackson - Thieftaker

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I came to speak with Cyrus Derne. But I wouldn’t mind knowing what you’re doing here.”

Sephira smoothed her waistcoat. “Well, I have no intention of telling you anything, and Derne asked us to keep you away from him.”

“You really are his guards,” Ethan said. “Why is Derne so afraid of me?” He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to know what the merchant had told Sephira. Not that he really expected her to say.

“He’s not afraid of you. No one’s afraid of you, Ethan. He just doesn’t want to see you. Apparently you disturbed him in the middle of a negotiation yesterday at his place of business.” She shook her head. “That was foolish of you. But then again, you have a habit of making enemies of the wrong people.”

“I find it hard to believe that you would come to the North End just to keep away a conjurer who might or might not show up at Cyrus Derne’s door. What are you doing here, Sephira? What business do you have with him?”

“Ethan,” she purred. She came closer to him and leaned forward so that her face was only inches from his. “You sound jealous.”

“I imagine he and his father have connections with merchants throughout the British Empire,” he said, piecing it together as he spoke. “I’m sure that they pay very well, and would find value in an ally with your knowledge of the city and its shadier side. They might even look to someone like you to help them in a dispute with a man as influential as Abner Berson. Did Cyrus Derne really love Jennifer Berson, or was that a ruse, a way of getting close to her father?”

She regarded him with an odd mixture of amusement and alarm. Finally, she laughed and shook her head. “Go home, Ethan, before you get yourself hurt. You’re meddling in matters you can’t possibly understand.” She turned to her men. “We’re done here.” Glancing back at Ethan, she laughed again, and then led Nigel and the rest of her men back down Middle Street, toward the South End.

Ethan watched them go before making his way up the path to the Dernes’ door. Two chaises waited outside the house, their horses standing with their heads bowed. Derne was home. Ethan knocked once, and the door opened immediately. The same hulking servant Ethan remembered from his first visit to the house stood in the doorway, staring down at him, his expression no more welcoming than Nigel’s had been.

“Ethan Kaille to see Cyrus Derne,” Ethan said.

“Mister Derne doesn’t wish to speak with you, Ethan.”

Ethan frowned. The servant hadn’t opened his mouth. He glared at Ethan a moment longer and then stepped aside, revealing the last person Ethan had expected to see here: Geoffrey Brower-Bett’s husband, his brother-in-law.

As always, Geoffrey was impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed. He wore a suit of pale green silk, and his hair was pulled back and powdered. Geoffrey had a high forehead, a hook nose, and dark eyes, and he was as thin as a blade and uncommonly tall. He towered over Ethan, who had once remarked to Bett that her husband spoke down to everyone he met in more ways than one. She hadn’t seen the humor.

Geoffrey eyed Ethan briefly, apparently waiting for some sort of greeting. When Ethan offered none, he walked past him out of the house, saying, “Please, come with me.”

Ethan considered ignoring the man. But Derne’s servant hadn’t moved and hadn’t gotten any smaller. With one last glance at him, Ethan followed his brother-in-law.

“Mister Derne believes that you’re harrying him,” Geoffrey said, as Ethan caught up with him. His expression was grave. “Are you?”

“I don’t believe so. I came here the night Abner Berson hired me to look for his daughter’s brooch, and I asked Mister Derne a few questions. And then I asked him a few more questions yesterday at his wharf.”

“And here you are again today.”

“Yes. Here I am.”

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. “Cyrus Derne is a wealthy man. And we both know that wealth buys far more than a fine house and nice things. He has impressed upon representatives of the Crown that he wants you kept away from him and his family.”

“So you came to his house as a representative of the Crown?” Ethan asked.

“I came to him as a friend. I shouldn’t have to tell you that the events of the past few days have alarmed those of us who still profess loyalty to His Majesty King George the Third.” He looked sidelong at Ethan. “I also should not have to tell you that you would be wise to avoid men like Samuel Adams and Peter Darrow.”

Ethan stared at him. “Am I being followed, Geoffrey?”

Brower laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Adams and Darrow and James Otis are being watched, as are a host of others who are believed to be threats to the peace.”

Of course. “Well then,” Ethan said, “it might interest you to know that I’ll be visiting Ebenezer Mackintosh next. I’m sure that will raise some eyebrows.”

“Actually, I believe most will wonder why it took you so long to confront the scoundrel.” Geoffrey stopped walking. “But out of respect for Bett, I’ll trust you to conduct the rest of your inquiry as you see fit. My concern is that you keep away from Mister Derne. Do that, and you’ll have nothing to fear from me.”

Ethan nearly laughed out loud. He had never been afraid of Geoffrey. But as he faced him, he kept his expression neutral. “That’s Christian of you, Geoffrey,” he said. “Tell me though: Don’t you worry about the appearance of a customs man going to such lengths to protect a merchant like Derne?”

The color drained from Geoffrey’s cheeks, even as he forced a weak smile onto his thin lips.

“For that matter,” Ethan continued, “doesn’t it bother you to work so closely with a woman like Sephira Pryce? Does Bett know that you have dealings with her?”

“I do not!” Geoffrey said. But his denial seemed to lack conviction.

“Of course not.” Ethan started to walk away, then turned to face Brower again. “I’ve never had anything to fear from you, Geoffrey. But if you dare get in my way again, I’ll have a conversation with my sister that I believe she’ll find quite illuminating.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Nor did he return to the Derne house. This had nothing to do with Geoffrey Brower, or with Sephira Pryce for that matter. If Derne had made up his mind not to speak with him, Ethan could do little to force the matter. At least as long as Derne remained in his home.

Instead, Ethan headed back to the center of the city, to the Boston Prison. The time had come for him to speak with Ebenezer Mackintosh.

Thomas Hutchinson had mentioned to Ethan that Mackintosh’s friends were working to get the cordwainer released from gaol, but Ethan had put little stock in this, thinking it the bitter imaginings of a wronged man. As he approached the prison, though, he saw no less a personage than Peter Darrow exiting the building leading a slight young man in laborer’s clothes. Ethan had no doubt that this was Mackintosh.

He approached them. Mackintosh took no notice of him, but Darrow spotted him from a distance and momentarily faltered, his expression difficult to read. He appeared tired and he moved stiffly. His eyes were red, his cheeks blotchy. Ethan wondered if he had been drinking the night before.

“Mister Kaille,” the lawyer said. “I suppose I should have expected this. Have you met Ebenezer Mackintosh?”

Ethan stopped in front of the two men. “No, I haven’t.”

“Ebenezer Mackintosh, this is Ethan Kaille. Mister Kaille, Ebenezer Mackintosh.”

They shook hands and Ethan actually winced. The shoemaker had a crushing grip, as well as a winning smile. His face was angular and thin, his eyes small and widely spaced, so that he vaguely resembled a fox. His nose was crooked and his hair hung to his shoulders in brown waves. Ethan wouldn’t have called him conventionally handsome-not like Darrow, with his square chin and almond-shaped eyes. But there was, he was forced to admit, something compelling about the man. Mackintosh had uttered not a word, and already Ethan could see why people were drawn to him.