Page 67 of Honor Unbound

“That man is also my nephew.” Wrinkling my nose, I took the gauntlet and dropped it in the lost box in my closet. “Please keep such thoughts to yourself.”

She flushed. “Of course, Lady Mary.”

Remembering that I shouldn’t be so peevish, I gave the woman a warm smile. “Thank you for bringing me the gauntlet.” I reseated myself. “With the workmanship put into it, someone will be missing it soon.”

After she left, I pulled my order list for my club from my desk for review, but my mind didn’t want to concentrate on the task at hand.

I couldn’t help but feel that this investigation was like the errant gauntlet. Intricate, weighty, and leaving me with the feeling that something was most definitely missing.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lady Mary

Ernest was notpleased with me. “We should go back home and pick up Burton.”

I frowned. Yes, we were well into the night, and with the waning moon it was quite dark, but my driver had never wanted me to have a bodyguard before I’d hired Mr. Burton. Probably because most of the other servants were older than me and would provide little to no protection. But I didn’t appreciate that Ernest was now questioning my movements where before he would just take me where I asked.

“I don’t need a keeper,” I reminded him. And besides, I’d set Burton to another task this evening.

I leaned farther out of my carriage window, glad Ernest’s presence partially blocked my surveillance from view. He stood next to the carriage door, and I had to peer around him. My quarry had been enjoying a drink at a public house down the street from his lodgings for nigh on an hour. When I’d decided to follow one of my suspects this evening, I’d forgotten how dull the enterprise could be.

“It would be cheaper for him to get his own carriage than to let one for entire nights,” Ernest muttered. My driver didn’t approve of George Platt, I could tell. It might have been because of the pinch we’d witnessed Platt apply to a barmaid’s bottom through the window.

I jerked backward. “Quick,” I whispered. “Back to your seat. He’s on the move.”

I ignored Ernest’s put-upon sigh and kept my gaze fixed on the hackney Platt climbed into. It rolled down the street and turned right at the next intersection.

We followed. Platt’s next stop was a coffeehouse. He was only in there for a few minutes and emerged with a sack in his hand. He lifted a pastry to his mouth as he spoke with his driver.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. I should have brought refreshments. It might be a long night, and it had been some time since I’d taken tea at the club.

We started forward again. Ernest was quite good at keeping the other carriage in sight without getting too close. I might have to increase his salary.

The next building we stopped at was not so innocent as a coffeehouse. There were no windows on the front of the building, and the door was manned by two burly men whose faces appeared carved from stone in the light from the lone gas lamp to the side of the door.

Mr. Platt nodded to them as he scuttled inside.

Ernest stopped the carriage across the street and hopped down from his perch. “A hell, I think. He could be here the rest of the night.”

And Ernest didn’t want to wait that long.

Neither did I.

I pushed out of the carriage, hopping the short distance down. “Damn and blast. Why is the establishment plastered up like a prison? Not a window in sight.” I peered at the doormen. “You don’t think I’d be able to talk my way inside?”

Ernest fell into a paroxysm of coughing. “No, milady.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that would be allowed.”

“Perhaps if you cause a distraction….”

“No, milady,” he said firmly.

The hell sat at the corner of the street, and I strolled to the intersection. The cross street wasn’t busy so no one saw me clap my hands together when I saw three windows on this side of the building.

I trotted to the first one and looked up. It was high on the first floor, and there were no handy crates or boxes to stack underneath to reach it.

I turned to call to Ernest and pulled up short. He was standing right behind me. “Oh. Ernest. Can you pull the carriage up onto the pavement? Set it underneath one of these windows?”

He scratched his jaw. “I suppose I could. If I go slow enough, it shouldn’t hurt the axles none. Why would we do this?”