famished,” French agreed.
“If you want to take your chances at being poisoned, I can ask Mrs. Drinkwater to bring us something.”
“I’ll risk it,” said French.
Vincent was studying us critically. “What the devil ’appened to you two?”
I excused myself to arrange something to eat. A nuisance, that, as first I had to wake my cook from her usual Sunday afternoon stupor. Mrs. Drinkwater always has “a little lie down” on Sunday afternoons, “to recover from the stress of the week.” You’d have a lie down too, if the night before you had ingested a quart of the infamous “blue ruin” gin so potent you could preserve anatomical specimens in it.
Vincent’s eyes were shining with excitement when I returned to the study, so I assumed that French had shared the details of Colonel Mayhew’s death with the scamp. Vincent is a bloodthirsty creature.
“Somethin’s fishy, guv.” The lad shook his head and looked solemn.
“Thank you, Vincent. French and I are aware that something is amiss. Was it the three thugs who convinced you, French, or the colonel’s body?”
Sarcasm is wasted on Vincent.
“Wot are we gonna do about this?” he asked. Naturally, he directed the question to French, a habit of Vincent’s that I am determined to break.
I cut in quickly, before French could issue orders. “You are off to the docks, to look for the
Comet.
She’ll be sailing on the evening tide tonight, so you’ll need to find her quickly.” I could see that Vincent was mulling how he would single-handedly highjack the ship. “Don’t you dare go aboard until French and I get there.”
“And what will we be doing?” French sounded amused.
“We’ll be visiting the premises occupied by the Bradley Tool Company.”
“It’s Sunday,” French objected. “There won’t be anyone around.”
“Perfect. No one will disturb us as we go through their files. I trust that your training encompassed basic lock-picking skills? Should I loan you a hairpin?”
French announced he had a report to prepare for the prime minister and busied himself at my desk with pen and ink while Mrs. Drinkwater bustled about in the kitchen, producing a nourishing repast of rock-hard biscuits and weak tea. French completed his task and we tucked in, discussing our plans and arranging a time and place for a rendezvous. Then each of us had a belt of brandy to steel ourselves for the afternoon’s work.
Vincent hurried off in the direction of the Thames and French and I strolled until an empty hansom came rattling along. French raised a languid hand and waved it down. We settled in and I opened up the artillery barrage on fortress French.
“If the marchioness has known of my existence all these years, why did she wait so long before she tried to find me? And why didn’t she attempt to locate my mother?”
French looked pained, as well he might. We were a good fifteen minutes away from our destination and India Black can inflict a lot of damage in a quarter of an hour.
“I don’t know. As you’re in communication with her, why don’t you ask her?”
“I’ve been trying to pry some answers out of her for ages. Do you think I’d bother asking you if the marchioness would part with her secrets?”
“Perhaps if you asked politely
—
”
“I’ve been bloody polite. And deferential, and firm, and threatening. Nothing has worked. She’s been deuced evasive. Believe me, I sympathize with the old bat. I can well imagine that most elderly ladies would be shocked to discover that their long-lost great-niece is a
—
”
“India, stop!”
My word, the man is touchy about my profession.
“The marchioness had her reasons for sending me to find you. But she must be the one to tell you those reasons. And she’ll answer your other questions, as well, if you only give her some time. You must see that this situation is also difficult for her.”
“Pish. If you hadn’t interrupted me a moment ago, I’d have told you that while
“If you want to take your chances at being poisoned, I can ask Mrs. Drinkwater to bring us something.”
“I’ll risk it,” said French.
Vincent was studying us critically. “What the devil ’appened to you two?”
I excused myself to arrange something to eat. A nuisance, that, as first I had to wake my cook from her usual Sunday afternoon stupor. Mrs. Drinkwater always has “a little lie down” on Sunday afternoons, “to recover from the stress of the week.” You’d have a lie down too, if the night before you had ingested a quart of the infamous “blue ruin” gin so potent you could preserve anatomical specimens in it.
Vincent’s eyes were shining with excitement when I returned to the study, so I assumed that French had shared the details of Colonel Mayhew’s death with the scamp. Vincent is a bloodthirsty creature.
“Somethin’s fishy, guv.” The lad shook his head and looked solemn.
“Thank you, Vincent. French and I are aware that something is amiss. Was it the three thugs who convinced you, French, or the colonel’s body?”
Sarcasm is wasted on Vincent.
“Wot are we gonna do about this?” he asked. Naturally, he directed the question to French, a habit of Vincent’s that I am determined to break.
I cut in quickly, before French could issue orders. “You are off to the docks, to look for the
Comet.
She’ll be sailing on the evening tide tonight, so you’ll need to find her quickly.” I could see that Vincent was mulling how he would single-handedly highjack the ship. “Don’t you dare go aboard until French and I get there.”
“And what will we be doing?” French sounded amused.
“We’ll be visiting the premises occupied by the Bradley Tool Company.”
“It’s Sunday,” French objected. “There won’t be anyone around.”
“Perfect. No one will disturb us as we go through their files. I trust that your training encompassed basic lock-picking skills? Should I loan you a hairpin?”
French announced he had a report to prepare for the prime minister and busied himself at my desk with pen and ink while Mrs. Drinkwater bustled about in the kitchen, producing a nourishing repast of rock-hard biscuits and weak tea. French completed his task and we tucked in, discussing our plans and arranging a time and place for a rendezvous. Then each of us had a belt of brandy to steel ourselves for the afternoon’s work.
Vincent hurried off in the direction of the Thames and French and I strolled until an empty hansom came rattling along. French raised a languid hand and waved it down. We settled in and I opened up the artillery barrage on fortress French.
“If the marchioness has known of my existence all these years, why did she wait so long before she tried to find me? And why didn’t she attempt to locate my mother?”
French looked pained, as well he might. We were a good fifteen minutes away from our destination and India Black can inflict a lot of damage in a quarter of an hour.
“I don’t know. As you’re in communication with her, why don’t you ask her?”
“I’ve been trying to pry some answers out of her for ages. Do you think I’d bother asking you if the marchioness would part with her secrets?”
“Perhaps if you asked politely
—
”
“I’ve been bloody polite. And deferential, and firm, and threatening. Nothing has worked. She’s been deuced evasive. Believe me, I sympathize with the old bat. I can well imagine that most elderly ladies would be shocked to discover that their long-lost great-niece is a
—
”
“India, stop!”
My word, the man is touchy about my profession.
“The marchioness had her reasons for sending me to find you. But she must be the one to tell you those reasons. And she’ll answer your other questions, as well, if you only give her some time. You must see that this situation is also difficult for her.”
“Pish. If you hadn’t interrupted me a moment ago, I’d have told you that while
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