Read Online Black Gold by Charles O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A

king’s army and navy—who can be bought and for how much. Fascinating tidbits to feed to our spies in your country.”
    â€œIn return for those tidbits, our government has cleared away old charges against him and obstructs new ones,” added Gordon. “For good measure, he now has the rank of captain in the Royal Horse Guards and carries a sword. Two armed officers, a major and a captain, look after him. It’s not clear exactly what they’re supposed to do. Keep him out of trouble? Protect him from French agents?” Gordon’s voice took on a warning tone. “Fitzroy’s an expert fencer and marksman; he can actually protect himself.”
    This discussion broke off while waiters cleared away the soup dishes and served hot beefsteaks. The red Bordeaux arrived and was poured. The waiters withdrew again. Saint-Martin brought the conversation back to Fitzroy.
    â€œHe has the devil’s own luck,” observed Gordon, who went on to tell tales of the Irishman’s prowess at the faro table. “He will wager on almost anything and usually wins.”
    At the end of the meal, Porter ordered drinks and pipes, then turned to Saint-Martin. “Now you see more clearly the lay of the land. If we learn anything else about Fitzroy, we’ll let you know.”
    Gordon picked up the thread. “Paul, if you need help, call on us. Catching that rogue will be a daunting task.”
    ***
    The next day, under heavy clouds, and a brisk wind blowing against them, the colonel and his adjutant set out in a hired cabriolet for Hampstead. Monsieur Cartier’s message had urged them to come to his gunshop, but regretted Miss Cartier had departed for Bath two days earlier. Momentarily, Saint-Martin felt disappointed, but his spirits revived quickly. He would meet Anne in Bath. How extraordinary!
    On their way, Georges reported that Fitzroy’s alleged cousin, the “striking beauty,” was Lady Margaret Rogers, daughter of an Irish baron and married to Sir Harry Rogers, a rich Bristol slave trader. At Lady Margaret’s London town house, the servants had been shy talking to a stranger. “But there’s always one I can buy with a pint of ale or a guinea,” George observed wryly.
    He had insinuated himself into the company of Rogers’ coachman, Peter Hyde, who was staying briefly in the town house. His master had sent him to London to run errands in preparation for a boxing match near Bath in the first week of April. Georges found the man in a nearby inn, bought drinks for him, and soon had him talking.
    â€œFitzroy and Lady Margaret are an odd brace of cousins. Hyde says you can feel the tension between them, like love and hate mixed together.”
    â€œDid he go to Bath with her?”
    â€œYes, sir, several weeks ago.”
    â€œSounds like a
ménage à trois
. How does her husband feel about that?”
    Georges shrugged. “I couldn’t draw the coachman out. He’s loyal to Rogers, enjoys his confidence. They talk mostly about horses and sports, especially boxing.”
    After an hour’s drive, the cabriolet reached Cartier’s gunshop, a large two story building on the edge of the village of Hampstead. At the front door the two Frenchmen entered the business office and asked for the proprietor. The hum and clank of machinery could be heard behind the office wall. The clerk went into the workshop, releasing a burst of noise as he opened the door. In a few minutes he returned with a stocky, gray-headed man.
    The colonel extended his hand. Monsieur Cartier hesitated a fraction of a second, then gripped it. That cost him an effort, thought Saint-Martin. He had heard from Anne of the family’s flight from religious persecution more than fifty years ago. An officer of the French king could expect his visit to awake bad memories.
    Cartier addressed the visitors in French with a Norman accent. His greeting was courteous but cool, his