either. He was back out within two minutes, with his tail between his legs. She’d given him the heave-ho, and no doubt about it. A man didn’t hang his head and shuffle for no reason. He decided to follow Cooper.
Cooper was walking, which made following him in a cab difficult. Coffen paid off the driver and followed Cooper on foot. He headed for a tavern, as Coffen hoped he would. Where else would a fellow go to drown his sorrows? Coffen followed him into a cozy den, warmed by a blazing hearth and lively without being raucous. The decor consisted of the usual deal tables, fading sporting prints on the wall and dusty pewter plates on the sideboard. The clientele appeared to be clerks, to judge by their ill-cut bluejackets and the fairly subdued voices and the lack of brawling. They weren’t common laborers, and they weren’t the ton, just men that worked with pen and paper.
Coffen ordered an ale and stood, looking around the room for his quarry. He found him sitting alone at a small table in the corner. There were a few empty tables, but the place was full enough that Coffen felt he could ask Cooper if he minded sharing his table.
Cooper just shrugged his indifference and Coffen sat down. Cooper was the picture of misery. He was a small fellow, not good looking, though not downright ugly either. Dark hair, dark eyes a little closer together than the ideal. In fact they gave him a sneaky air. A nice enough nose and lean cheeks. Coffen had the knack of talking to ordinary people. He couldn’t find much to say to ladies or princes or nabobs, but with the common man, he had no trouble.
“Bit of a chilly night out there,” he said.
“I didn’t notice,” Cooper said.
“Windy. I nearly lost my hat. Just dropped in here to warm my toes. You live nearby?”
“Not far away,” Cooper said vaguely, and added nothing to get the ball rolling. Coffen began to suspect the man might be in his cups. Either that or he was pretending to be so he wouldn’t have to talk.
“You seem a little down,” Coffen ventured, and gave a small smile, encouraging the man to share his misery.
“You would be too if— Oh never mind.” He batted his hand, as if swatting away a fly. “It’s a personal matter.”
“Sounds like woman trouble to me. They can be the very devil,” he said with a commiserating tsk.
“It’s men that are the devils,” Cooper said, with the first sign of emotion. He took a long drink and fell silent again. Then he set down his glass. “Sorry if I’m not much company tonight. I just have a — a personal problem to think about.”
“Might help to talk about it,” Coffen offered, but in no pressing way.
“Won’t help me get her back.”
“Ah, you’ve lost your lady friend.”
“The love of my life,” Cooper said, and waved his glass to signal the waiter he wanted another glass of ale. Good! Get a few more glasses down his gullet and he’d spill his story. “I’m in love with a lady — a real lady. And she was falling in love with me, until he came along with his demmed gallantry and his carriage and his stories. I tried to tell her he was no good.”
“Blinded by his charms,” Coffen nodded.
“Oh aye, he could be charming enough to the ladies. They were all after him. A regular heart-breaker.”
Coffen’s ears perked up at this. Had he just discovered another possible murder suspect? “Any heart in particular?” he asked.
“You might say that Miss Barker — but it wouldn’t do to carry tales. What chance had a mere bookkeeper against him? My family has no grand estate, I’ve never been to Paris or even Ascot. I don’t rub shoulders with lords and ladies. To hear him talk you’d think he was royalty himself. But the fact is, he was shamming it, Mr. — “
Caught off-guard as he was filing away that “Miss Barker” for future consideration, Coffen decided it might be wise to give a false name. He rapidly searched about for a name and came up with Reg’s. “Prance is the
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