The next morning they were all up again, almost before they had gone to bed, or so it seemed, with the sky still dark outside and the lamps needing to be lit as they moved around in their shirt sleeves, each busy with their appointed tasks. At some point, Morrow's driver had dropped off the ransom money, in one of his own portmanteaus and Gibbs, although to be dressed in a plain coat rather than any livery, as befitted the secrecy of the matter, would bear his Lordship's signet ring as proof of authority to act.
"We are to have breakfast first?" Timothy paused in surprise, as he entered the kitchen to fix the contraption into the bag only to find Anthony heaping mounds of bacon onto a platter, a pot of tea sitting already on the scrubbed wooden table and a pile of bread and butter besides. "I'm not sure I could stomach a thing."
"Eat." Gibbs commanded shortly, coming unexpectedly behind him, taking a round of bread himself and piling bacon upon it, before departing no less abruptly.
"Don't mind Gibbs," Anthony counselled, even as he lifted the lid of the teapot to see if it was brewed. "He has a long standing personal obligation to Lord Morrow which it would not do to repay by causing him to mourn his only son and heir."
"Gibbs has a personal obligation to Lord Morrow?" Timothy trailed off as the full implications of that. And what it would mean to fail. He swallowed hard. "Now I feel even less inclination to eat."
"Nevertheless," Anthony pulled out a chair, placed a plate of bread and bacon in front of it and indicated that Timothy should sit. "Gibbs is right, as he always is. An army marches on its stomach McGee and whilst we merry band are not quite an army, should it come to a fight you will do better and move faster with something inside of you."
Succumbing to the inevitable, Timothy took a bite and chewed thoroughly, as if that act might help the food settle more firmly in his stomach. Across from him, Anthony sat down in his shirt sleeves with his elbows on the table and took in half a round of bread and bacon in a single mouthful, before adding a mound of sugar to his tea. Timothy found himself slightly envious of the man's ability to just do as he wished and not have the least care for what others might think.
"What if I do something amiss?" He voiced his fear.
"You have nothing to concern yourself with," Anthony assured him. "For your greatest part, by which I mean your contraption, is already well done. And none can doubt that Gibbs will do whatever is required to bring Lord Morrow's son safely home. We must simply hope that my aim is equal to his estimation."
And beneath everything, Timothy could suddenly see, realised with a shock that he was being allowed to see, Anthony's own fear. Not so much for what might come to pass this morning. But an ever present concern, that somehow one day he would fail to live up to Gibbs' expectations in some way or another. It was a humbling thought that this man, who could be so arrogant and so outrageous, could be so easily utterly destroyed. And honestly, that would not do, for whatever else Anthony might be he was assuredly a good man and his friend.
"Didn't you just tell me that Gibbs is never wrong?" Timothy asked feigning innocence.
"I did say that, didn't I?" Anthony reflected. "Although, I admit, I have never quite understood what prompted him to take me into his employ, for I had little enough to offer him."
"How did you meet Gibbs?" Timothy dared.
"At the point of a sword," Anthony smiled at the memory. "Although, that is not at all the same as to how I came to be in his employ. Which is a story for another day, McGee, as you must affix your contraption and I must see to the horses, for this is one occasion where it would not do at all to be late."
In fact, the plan called for them to arrive some time before their quarry so that Timothy might keep watch from the corner and Anthony hide himself among with the market traders as they set up their stalls, being the only other people out and about at such an unlikely hour. Between Gibbs driving and the relatively quiet streets they made good time to their appointed rendezvous. As he turned up his collar against the morning chill, Timothy almost smiled at how well he himself blended into the scene as a non-descript merchant's son sent to purchase wares for the family store.
Even knowing he should not, he could not help looking out for Anthony. But when after several minutes he not could make out the least sign of him, fear gripped him, for what if something had happened? Should he seek out Anthony and leave Gibbs to fend for himself? Or should he follow the plan and hope they would not afterwards be looking for Anthony's lifeless body in some alley or another? It was not until he was passing a pile of rags laid against the side of a building and the rags stuck out a foot and tripped him that he turned to see a pair of very familiar eyes.
"You were looking altogether too anxious," Anthony chided him softly, even as he stretched out a begging hand to cover his true words. "Keep to your own part and let Gibbs and I worry about the rest."
It took McGee a moment, before he could summon his wits to reach into his pocket and drop a coin into the open palm and walk on as if nothing was amiss. For Anthony's hand and nails, usually so immaculate were grimly with dirt. The brown coat he was wearing, which had been worn but serviceable the last time Timothy had seen him, was marked with what looked like blood and smelt like a cross between a public house and a chamber pot. Even his hair was stiff and dishevelled, and one of his shoes had a hole in the sole and a glimpse of bare foot showing through. He had even been careful not to show his teeth when he spoke, in order not to shatter the illusion of a homeless vagabond.
Feeling somewhat reassured about the success of their plan, Timothy leant against a wall and watched as Gibbs made his way across the square, towards a more deserted alleyway looking every inch the loyal retainer entrusted with a task of grave importance. To the point when their quarry stepped out in front of him, he actually made a show of starting somewhat with surprise.
"You know what I want?" The man challenged.
Fumbling just slightly, Gibbs reached into his pocket and produced Lord Morrow's signet ring. Their quarry glanced to his left and nodded. Catching sight of the nondescript man, standing by the lamp post, his features entirely hidden by the brim of his hat, Timothy mentally weighed the odds. Three to two, although, he supposed there was at least a third somewhere with the Marquis.
"Is that it?" The man reached for the bag.
"I've instructions from his Lordship to have sight of the Marquis first." Gibbs shifted it slightly, so it was just out of reach.
"His Lordship is in no position to make demands." The man sneered. Without warning he lunged forward and snatched the bag and hefted its weight, a lop-sided sneer crossing his face. "And now I have the ransom money and you have nothing at all. So, you must go back to his Lordship and tell him we will settle for no less than double this."
"I'm not going to do that." Gibbs shook his head.
"Are you so much the Duke's man that you would die in his service?" The man scoffed.
"Assuredly," Gibbs spoke sincerely and Timothy had no cause to doubt him. "But then you will be a murderer and poorer besides, for there is no money in that bag."
"What?" The man scowled.
"Be my guest," Gibbs nodded at the portmanteau. "Each time you have taken a victim the amount of ransom has been increased. It was a small thing to imagine that sooner or later you would raise the stakes."
"You're a liar, there's money in here," The man hefted the bag again. "I can feel the weight of it." But Gibbs implacable expression fuelled his doubts and he reached for the fastenings, only to find that Gibbs was faster as he blocked his way. Feeling somewhat perturbed, Timothy looked across, but although the nondescript man straightened up he did not move from his position.
"Make no mistake, his Lordship and I served together in our youth. I would not only die for him, I will most certainly kill for him," Gibbs hissed. "The Marquis, if you please."
"A soldier," The man grumbled. "I should have know, mad the entire lot of you. It cannot be done, for he is not close at hand."
"Navy," Gibbs corrected. "And I will wait for him to be brought but I shall not be asking for a third time."
The man looked again to his left. Which suggested to Timothy that the non-descript man was their leader. And then, after some time had passed there was indeed a third and a fourth, for at his signal, two men came around the corner, dragging the Marquis between them and the good Lord help them, a sixth, for another man came in their wake, a scarf obscuring his face and his revolver only half hidden under his coat. The odds were two to one then, and the Marquis much the worse for wear, not the least aware of his surroundings and certainly in no shape to aid their plan.
"He lives. And so the money, if you please." The man with the scarf demanded.
"As you wish," Gibbs kicked the bag slightly towards the kidnappers. "Have at it."
And then it seemed as if all hell broke lose. For the man with the scarf around his face snatched up the bag, even as Gibbs drew his revolver. Showing no mercy, the man shoved one of his accomplices towards Gibbs, forcing him to shoot the henchman as he ran off. At the same moment, a second shot rang out, swiftly followed by third as Anthony found his marks and the two men holding the Marques fell to the ground. Remembering his part, McGee raced over and took the Marques full weight and swiftly dragged him from the fray around the corner to where Dr Mallard was waiting with the carriage.
"Oh my," Dr Mallard came forward and helped him settle the young man in the carriage, swiftly checking him over, something in the physician relaxed. "Never fear, it is merely an excess of alcohol which has caused him to lose his senses."
"You thought opium?" Timothy hazarded.
"Such a legacy would have been a heavy burden for any young man to throw off," Dr Mallard agreed solemnly, as he continued checking for physical injuries. "Otherwise, he has not been well treated but nothing that won't heal with time and care. What of Gibbs and Anthony?"
"Here they come now."
As soon as the other men drew close enough for Timothy to see their expressions he knew all had not gone well. Gibbs was grim faced and Anthony was cursing softly under his breath.
"Four dead," Gibbs supplied curtly. "The one with the scarf winged with a knife wound, the other with the hat got away scot free."
"You lost him?" Timothy commiserated with Anthony, assuming that was where the error lay.
"I lost him," Gibbs snarled vehemently "When he ran into a crowd for I have little stomach for filling innocent women and children full of lead, McGee."
The younger man stood stock still, knowing that Gibbs' fury was not directed at him, but unsure how to respond to such a torrent from the usually taciturn man. Before he could chose a course of action Anthony left off his cursing and placed a hand on Gibbs' shoulder, which to Timothy's mind was an act of great daring when the man was practically trembling with fury and said the most unexpected thing.
"Sir, that other still has my knife, for it stuck fast in his shoulder and now it is surely lost."
Gibbs spun around at his touch, his eyes blazing and his body tense like a hawk targeting a mouse, and McGee half expected his fury to cause his fist to follow, leaving Anthony reeling and bruised besides. What he did not expect was the look of genuine chagrin on Anthony's face. Nor indeed did Gibbs if the way he stopped short as his assistant lifted his chin, looking Gibbs in the eye, even as a flush of mortification spread across his face at his own carelessness.
"You did what I trained to you do," Gibbs absolved him gruffly, scrubbing at his own face with one hand, as if that might also scrub the rest of his anger away. The smallest of smiles, quirked at the edge of his lips, "At least, your aim was true."
"Ahem," Timothy's face twisted as he noticed two uniformed police officers heading purposefully in their direction. "I hesitate to enquire but did anyone think to at least advise Inspector Fornell of what we were endeavouring to accomplish?"