entrance. He was slight of build and dressed in somber garb. His features were small and pointed, but kindly in their way, so that he looked rather like a benevolent rodent.
“Ah, Mr. Pilcher,” said the earl, closing the door behind him. “I presume you have come with news of Miss Reynard.”
Chapter 5
“Well, as to that, my lord”—the little man sank nervously into a chair at the earl’s gesture of permission—”I fear my news is no better than before. Lissa Reynard has disappeared from sight as though she’d never been. Which, I should imagine, is very much the case.”
March’s brows snapped together. How could one female be so impossible to locate? Upon his return to England and the discovery of the tragic deaths of William and Susannah, he had begun an immediate search for the mysterious Miss Reynard. His first move was to question Lady Callander concerning the viper she had nourished in her bosom. The woman had declared herself unable to help him. She really hadn’t known Miss Reynard all that well, she explained with sympathetic regret. They had become chance acquaintances in Brighton and Lady Callander had invited her to visit on a whim, never really dreaming she’d accept. No, she did not know where Miss Reynard had gone upon leaving London, but if she were to hear anything she would assuredly let his lordship know at the earliest opportunity. Apparently, the viscountess had not heard anything, for March received no more information from her.
He growled aloud. “We had already surmised that the woman was using a pseudonym, Pilcher. Still, she cannot have simply vanished.”
“I recently paid another visit to the Lady Callander, my lord, with no more success than on my previous efforts. She insists she has no knowledge of Miss Reynard’s whereabouts, and further contends she really didn’t know her very well to begin with.”
“In short, you learned nothing from her that she had not already told me on the occasion when I went to see her. Do you believe her?”
“As to that,” replied Mr. Pilcher, chewing on his lip, “I could not say. She seems sincere in her embarrassment at being so easily taken in by a woman of that sort—she seems precisely the flighty type of woman who could easily be gulled. To a woman like Lissa Reynard, she must have seemed the perfect tool with which to wangle an introduction to the beau monde.”
“At any rate,” continued the earl, “it sounds as though we will get no more information from her.”
Mr. Pilcher smiled mirthlessly. “Indeed, my lord, she was quite short with me on my last visit, and as much as told me she was tired of seeing my face. I shan’t be welcome there again, I think.”
“And nothing new from your sources in Brighton?”
“No, and that’s another odd thing. My acquaintances there do not mingle with the ton, but they do, er, keep abreast. My sources indicate that Lady Callander was indeed a visitor in Brighton not long before Miss Reynard made her appearance in London, but no one remembers hearing that name in Brighton.”
“Odd.” March drummed his fingers on the table at which he had taken a chair, then poured a glass of wine from the decanter that had been set unobtrusively at his side by the inn’s host. He offered it to the little detective and filled one for himself.
Mr. Pilcher drew a long breath. “My lord, I am at the end of my resources. I have meticulously checked out the possibilities, from searching out descriptions of female coach passengers leaving the city to interviews with modistes and shopkeepers who were patronized by Miss Reynard. I shall, of course, continue my efforts if you wish, but it has been four years now. The trail is cold as ashes, and I must tell you in all conscience that I believe I can no longer be of help to you. I am sorry.” Mr. Pilcher seemed to truly regret his failure, and his expression resembled that of an unhappy marmoset.
March’s fingers
“Ah, Mr. Pilcher,” said the earl, closing the door behind him. “I presume you have come with news of Miss Reynard.”
Chapter 5
“Well, as to that, my lord”—the little man sank nervously into a chair at the earl’s gesture of permission—”I fear my news is no better than before. Lissa Reynard has disappeared from sight as though she’d never been. Which, I should imagine, is very much the case.”
March’s brows snapped together. How could one female be so impossible to locate? Upon his return to England and the discovery of the tragic deaths of William and Susannah, he had begun an immediate search for the mysterious Miss Reynard. His first move was to question Lady Callander concerning the viper she had nourished in her bosom. The woman had declared herself unable to help him. She really hadn’t known Miss Reynard all that well, she explained with sympathetic regret. They had become chance acquaintances in Brighton and Lady Callander had invited her to visit on a whim, never really dreaming she’d accept. No, she did not know where Miss Reynard had gone upon leaving London, but if she were to hear anything she would assuredly let his lordship know at the earliest opportunity. Apparently, the viscountess had not heard anything, for March received no more information from her.
He growled aloud. “We had already surmised that the woman was using a pseudonym, Pilcher. Still, she cannot have simply vanished.”
“I recently paid another visit to the Lady Callander, my lord, with no more success than on my previous efforts. She insists she has no knowledge of Miss Reynard’s whereabouts, and further contends she really didn’t know her very well to begin with.”
“In short, you learned nothing from her that she had not already told me on the occasion when I went to see her. Do you believe her?”
“As to that,” replied Mr. Pilcher, chewing on his lip, “I could not say. She seems sincere in her embarrassment at being so easily taken in by a woman of that sort—she seems precisely the flighty type of woman who could easily be gulled. To a woman like Lissa Reynard, she must have seemed the perfect tool with which to wangle an introduction to the beau monde.”
“At any rate,” continued the earl, “it sounds as though we will get no more information from her.”
Mr. Pilcher smiled mirthlessly. “Indeed, my lord, she was quite short with me on my last visit, and as much as told me she was tired of seeing my face. I shan’t be welcome there again, I think.”
“And nothing new from your sources in Brighton?”
“No, and that’s another odd thing. My acquaintances there do not mingle with the ton, but they do, er, keep abreast. My sources indicate that Lady Callander was indeed a visitor in Brighton not long before Miss Reynard made her appearance in London, but no one remembers hearing that name in Brighton.”
“Odd.” March drummed his fingers on the table at which he had taken a chair, then poured a glass of wine from the decanter that had been set unobtrusively at his side by the inn’s host. He offered it to the little detective and filled one for himself.
Mr. Pilcher drew a long breath. “My lord, I am at the end of my resources. I have meticulously checked out the possibilities, from searching out descriptions of female coach passengers leaving the city to interviews with modistes and shopkeepers who were patronized by Miss Reynard. I shall, of course, continue my efforts if you wish, but it has been four years now. The trail is cold as ashes, and I must tell you in all conscience that I believe I can no longer be of help to you. I am sorry.” Mr. Pilcher seemed to truly regret his failure, and his expression resembled that of an unhappy marmoset.
March’s fingers
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