Page 17 of Cousin Conundrum

Her gaze strayed to a K. B. Hert cartoon and she frowned, trying to make out the jest. Two roughly clad men brandished fists over what Elizabeth assumed was an automated loom, while a smartly dressed, wig wearing gentleman cheered them on and two other be-wigged gentlemen lifted money from the fighting men’s coat pockets with one hand and passed it along to men holding ledgers with the other. All the wig-wearing and ledger-bearing men were in livery quite reminiscent of the King’s.

“Is the implication that the Crown is encouraging discord over the new looms to distract from new taxes?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Bennet’s paper dipped. He smiled at her, clearly pleased. “It is.”

“Do you believe that, Papa?”

He shrugged. “I said as much to Sir William not a week ago.” His paper came back up.

As her father obviously wished to keep reading, Elizabeth returned to nibbling on her toast and wondering what Kitty could possibly be up to…or at least endeavoring to, as wondering about Kitty fostered marginally less aggravation than dreaming about a gentleman she was unlikely to see ever again.

Chapter Six

Steven answered General Padgett’s summons promptly, as commanded, even though he’d planned on an outing with Louisa. He didn’t like to add yet another transgression to his list of offenses, but hopefully this would be the last of them. The Runners and some of Padgett’s men had been monitoring Madame Dentelle’s and the Hind and Hound for several days now, and Steven had every hope he’d been called in for congratulations and his dismissal.

As usual, Steven handed over his card and was admitted. Unlike usual, the so-called butler gestured over a footman, saying, “Smith will show you to where you may wait, sir.”

An inkling of dread scuttled up Steven’s spine. “Wait? I was summoned with urgency.”

The butler stared at him a moment, then repeated, “Smith will show you to where you may wait.”

His unease growing, Steven turned to follow Smith, which would not be the real name of the man he trailed. Padgett preferred general, non-descript names be employed under his roof.

They proceeded deeper into the house, taking the familiar route to the general’s door. This they passed, the thick wood permitting only muted, angry rumbling to escape, further dimming Steven’s hopes that this would be a cheerful visit. A few doors down from Padgett’s office, Smith halted and gestured to a room. Steven entered to find Fletcher coming to his feet on the far side of what would be a pleasant little parlor if four hard looking benches, one against each wall, were not the only furnishings.

“You will be informed when the general wishes to speak with you,” Smith said before departing.

Fletcher crossed the room. “What has happened?”

“I was about to ask you the very same.” Was there any point in discovering precisely how uncomfortable the benches were?

“This is the building to which you report?”

“It is. You have not been here before?” That didn’t bode well.

Fletcher shook his head. “The other Runners seem to find it quite dire that I have been summoned to this location.”

“It likely is.” Steven sighed. Whatever had gone wrong, Padgett obviously intended to share the blame about.

“The men we sent out confirmed that more of the widows who were robbed suffered broken windows,” Fletcher said, though his gaze still roamed the room. “Interestingly, no one could recall who hired the men who came to repair them.”

“Men?” Steven asked sharply. “More than one?”

“Yes. I found that interesting as well. In each case, several young men arrived to fix the broken window, were shown in, did their work politely and well, and left again. None of the staff our men interviewed recalled if the men were paid.”

“Several?”

“The most commonly reported number was three, but recollections vary. You know how unreliable witnesses can be, especially after time has passed.”

“Three seems like a great many to fix one window.”

“But not too few for one to sneak off and rifle through a lady’s correspondence or possessions.”

Steven shook his head. “They were never robbed then. Usually, it was weeks later. Longer, even.”

“Three, so one could discover the best way to return?” Fletcher suggested.

“Or even swipe a key.”