CHAPTER 18
A tankard crashed to the floor. The noise shattered Fielding’s thoughts. Once again he sat in the dank pub, watching and waiting for an opportunity to find Waters. It wasn’t his prime reason for going out tonight. No, that would happen in another hour when Solomon’s closed for the night and Fielding could sneak inside. He knew from previous conversations with his father that Solomon’s kept meticulous records on their members. Somewhere in that club, he would find out who was responsible for his father’s death.
Fielding had left Esme at home, and to prevent her from following he’d enlisted Max’s help. As it turned out, the man was rather useful. The marquess had agreed to host a dinner party in Esme’s honor—thus forcing her to oblige the invitation—and he’d invited several would-be suitors. As much as that thought left a bitter taste in Fielding’s mouth, he’d reconciled himself to the situation. Courtship was an experience she’d never had, and he wanted her, if for only one night, to experience it.
He suspected right now she was sitting with two wealthy gentlemen on either side of her, complimenting her on her beautiful ivory complexion and her eyes the color of clover.
But none of them would see the intelligence glimmering in those green eyes. They would dismiss her witty comments as silliness. Not notice the way she quietly smiled when she found something amusing but didn’t want to laugh.
Just then the serving girl stopped by his table with a drink. He’d ordered it when he arrived, although he had no intentions of drinking anything here. There was no reason, though, to draw unnecessary attention to himself, and a man sitting without the company of either alcohol or women would most definitely draw attention.
As the girl set down his mug, Fielding recognized her as the girl from the other night. “Where is everyone?” he asked. The pub was close to empty with the exception of a scattered few.
When she turned to him, he could see weeping sores along her cheekbone and another cluster on her neck. “Everyone is sick. Best you leave here, mister.” She glanced around. “Something ain’t right in here no more.” She moved away from him, scuttling behind the bar and disappearing.
At that very moment, Waters stepped into the pub. He glanced around the room, then rapidly made his way to the bar.
Fielding pulled his hat farther down on his face and shifted his stool deeper into the shadows.
Waters took a seat at a nearby table where he could watch the door. No doubt the man was on constant alert waiting for the Raven to appear. “Minnie,” he yelled. “Get me a tankard.”
The girl brought him his ale, then quickly returned to the back room.
A man sitting at a table in the middle of the room screamed. He grabbed at his face and screamed again. Boils covered his weatherworn skin and then started to appear on his forearms. The man stood and ran from the pub, still yelling.
Fielding pushed his glass of whiskey away from him and tightened his coat.
Another man erupted into a coughing fit that ended with him vomiting blood into his tankard.
The girl had warned him that everyone was sick. From the looks of it, they were covered with pustules and full of disease.
Fielding looked back at Waters, who appeared to be in excellent health as he absently sipped his ale. The gold bracelet shimmered against Waters’s sleeve.
Greed, disease, hope, and lust, Fielding repeated to himself. Disease.
Waters wasn’t sick, though; instead he seemed the very picture of health.
Fielding wasn’t ill yet either, but no sense tempting the fates. He made his way out of the pub and into his rig.
Esme’s research had indicated the bracelets would curse the person wearing the bracelet. However, what if the books had been wrong, and the bracelets instead plagued everyone but the wearer?
Years and years he’d hunted antiquities; he’d walked into tombs that promised certain death and caves from which no one had ever escaped before him. Nearly every legendary antiquity or hidden treasure came with some kind of warning or curse, none of which he’d ever seen come to fruition.
But the bands from Pandora’s box—they were real.
They had to be. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
Had he too been affected by the curse? Was that why his desire for Esme ran so strong, why he couldn’t resist her charms? He’d tried. Tried not to respond to her wanton behavior, but he’d failed miserably every time.
Slowly she’d worn away at his defenses, shown him that he could be a better man. He’d even begun to understand his own father more after seeing Esme’s passion for Pandora’s box. Fielding knew he didn’t deserve her, but perhaps she’d have him regardless. Perhaps it was time for him to marry.
Or perhaps he was merely the victim of a centuries-old curse.
The twenty-minute ride to Solomon’s ended abruptly, jarring Fielding from his thoughts. He had the driver drop him off a block away in the alley behind the club’s buildings.
Fielding pulled his black coat closer to him, both to ward off the night chill and to shroud himself in darkness. The alleyway was empty save for a stray cat that took one look at him and bolted in the other direction.
When Fielding came to the back entrance of the club, it took him only a moment to work his way around the lock and crack open the door. He stood in the entryway for several breaths, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness within.