Page 79 of Honor Unbound

I smiled. For an attorney, he was surprisingly idealistic. “No. Though I do know a couple who rashly married on a whim. They are young and foolish and didn’t bother to ask my opinion.” Nor my presence at their wedding, the ingrates. “But I think their marriage will be a happy one.” They were both equally foolhardy.

“Let’s hope.” Mr. Plummer poked at his plate for more tart, but the fork came up bare. He looked sadly at the empty plate.

“I have also recently become acquainted with Mrs. Trent’s brother, Mr. Platt. Do you do any business with him?”

His face closed. “I can’t talk about my work with current clients.”

Interesting. “Of course.” I pushed my plate with half the uneaten pie toward the barrister, glad his confidentiality rulesdidn’t apply to dead clients. I wondered what sort of business Platt was engaged in that required an attorney.

Plummer dug into my remaining meal with enthusiasm.

And I wondered if Platt’s business could have anything to do with murder.

Chapter Thirty-One

Brett

Brett placed thetwo primer books on the kitchen counter and hunted through the pantry for an old newspaper to wrap them in. It was always more fun getting a gift when one had to unwrap it. He should have paid the extra pence for the shopkeeper to wrap them himself. Brett had just been happy the bookstore had been open so early, and decided to keep the extra coin in his pocket.

He heard movement in the kitchen behind him and called out. “Cook? Do you know where the string is kept?”

“No, and it’s not Cook,” a man called.

Brett poked his head out of the pantry. “Oh. Ernest. Lady Mary’s back already from meeting with that attorney?”

“I dropped her at the club and will pick her up later.” The driver fingered the books and raised an eyebrow. “Preparing for children already?”

His mouth went dry. Children. With Marie. He’d never given children much thought before. He’d assumed he’d have them but it hadn’t been a particular desire. Now, the idea of children was tangible. Immediate. What kind of father would he be?

“No.” He cleared his throat. “They’re for a boy I know. Were you looking for me?”

“Yes, I was.” Ernest leaned against the counter. “You know I’ve been asking around the jarveys, looking for anyone whopicked up or dropped off a customer the night Trent died.” He grimaced. “And now for Hicks’s murder, too.”

“I do.”

“Well, a driver I talked to said one of his friends knows a man who picked up two fares near Trent’s house that night.”

Brett tried to work out how many people this information had passed through, and how likely it was to be accurate because of its indirectness. “Do you have a name?”

“I do.” The driver nodded. “And where he parks his hackney. Thought maybe you wanted to come along when I go talk to him.”

“You thought right.” He contemplated finding Marie for a goodbye kiss. With some practice, they’d become quite good at those. Then he remembered how long their kisses tended to last and thought better of it. “Let’s go.”

He hopped onto the driver’s seat alongside Ernest and loosened his neckcloth as the sun’s rays beat down on them. Summer was on the wane according to the calendar, but the weather had other ideas. The road was dry and dusty, and even though many of the buildings they passed were grand beyond his imagination, they were all covered in a fine layer of soot that made everything appear just a bit dingy.

“Have you told Lady Mary yet?” Ernest asked.

The back of Brett’s neck started to itch. “Not yet. We want to wait until this Trent business is resolved.”

“She’s going to be angry you didn’t tell her,” Ernest warned.

“Yes.” Brett rolled his neck. “So let’s find this arsehole quickly.”

Ernest nodded. “Too right.”

They arrived at a stables, with a large carriage house attached. Ernest asked for the jarvey, and was told he was at the tavern next door. “He don’t start driving for another hour,” they were informed.

“A tavern’s as good a place to talk as anywhere.” Ernest grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a pint myself.”