Glimpse the Danger from *The Hazard for Spies*

Evans had flipped down the box step of the coach. “This is Sir Henry Morgan,” he said before he steadied her climb into the coach. “Miss Josephine Darracott, sir.”

A grunt came from the recesses of the forward-facing seat. Phinney settled onto the opposing bench as Evans shut the box door and flipped up the step. She heard him give the address to the mission. The coach lurched as it rolled forward.

“I thank you, Sir Henry,” she said clearly, determined to be polite. The tremor had left her voice, helped on its way by the humor she found in receiving help from a man with the name of England’s famous pirate nearly two hundred years before.

Another grunt was her answer. A flash of light in the dark box startled her. Then came a double rap on the ceiling of the box, and she realized the flash was light reflecting off the silvered head of Sir Henry’s cane, used to signal the coachman. The coach was gaining speed. She clung to the bench.

“We will not travel far,” Sir Henry said.

“It is not a great distance,” she replied. His voice sounded familiar, yet she couldn’t place it. She wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to claim an acquaintance, but she could swear they had met.

The coach slowed for a turn onto a main thoroughfare then again picked up speed. The passing lamp posts helped her identify the buildings although they cast little light into the coach box.

When the coach turned again, long before Phinney expected, she leaned toward the window, the better to identify the street. “I am not certain—. I do believe your coachman has taken a wrong turn.”

“I would disagree, Miss Darracott. He knows exactly where he is to go.”

Sir Henry’s voice had changed, casting off the deep grumble and becoming more recognizable. Surprise landed her against the back of her seat.

“Fate is remarkable, isn’t it?” Kennedy Montjoy remarked. “I am sent to fetch Miss Josephine Darracott, masquerading as a cleaning maid in my office, no doubt to find evidence to use against my partner and me, and the chief constable in charge of the case hands her into my carriage. May I ask what occasioned his appearance at my building?”

She stared at the passing street. The carriage wasn’t flying. Two horses could certainly turn to speed, but at this pace, she wouldn’t hurt herself too much when she leaped from the box.

“Stop,” he ordered, and she knew he’d seen her hand reaching for the door latch. “I have a pistol aimed at you, Miss Darracott. I would prefer not to have blood spattered all over my carriage, but I will not hesitate to shoot. Unlike my late partner, I do not hesitate to take any bloody action necessary.”

“Does that include ordering the deaths of my sister and my brother-in-law?”

“A tigress! Is that what motivates you?”

She didn’t answer.

He remained in the deepest shadows, but the occasional glint of light revealed that he did have something brightly metallic pointed at her.

She watched the passing lamp posts. The streets seemed deserted. No one would come to her aid. “Where are you taking me?”

“Your presence is requested by the man most concerned by your … shall we call it an attempt to spy in my office? He is looking forward to meeting this little spy causing trouble for him.”

“I wasn’t spying. I was searching.”

“For evidence. About Peter DeChambeaux’s death.”

“And my sister’s!”

“Content yourself, Miss Darracott. Very soon you will have the answers you seek. Then we shall see what he intended to do with you.”

“Who is he?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Is Richard Malbury his minion, just as you are?”

“Malbury is. I wouldn’t call myself a minion.”

“Is this about French spies?”

“Save your questions. Do nothing foolish, and you may see your little imps.”

“My imps? Are you talking about the children?”

“A boy and girl.”

“No. They are safe in their beds.”

“No. They chose to return to the warehouse.”

He could have said nothing else that would prove his words—and to guarantee that Phinney would make no further attempt to escape.