‘He said to tell the nutter hiding by the shitter that he’d still come see him at the Crown and Bull if his coin was good. Any idea what the lad meant?’
Killian smiled. ‘I might have an idea.’
‘Well, until he shows up, see if you can weasel anything out of the lovely and highly annoying Miss Simmons.’
‘Easier said than done. She’s impervious to intimidation and highly volatile with charm.’
Drake raised an eyebrow. ‘Careful there, Killian. Women are masters of weaving webs to ensnare us. Don’t forget, she is not our ally. She’s making a difficult case even more trying. I suppose that’s a woman’s skill, isn’t it? Complicating what should be a simple matter and making our existence as dismal as they can?’
Killian shook his head. ‘Nora really ruined you, didn’t she?’
Faster than Killian could track, Drake flicked his cigar awayand grabbed Killian’s shirt. Drake’s face hardened and his lip twitched. ‘Don’t say her name. Ever. Again.’
Killian swallowed. ‘I meant no harm, Drake.’
Drake’s breath sawed in and out of his lungs. His fist gripped tighter. Killian tensed, ready for the blow that was sure to come. But then his friend blinked, his pupils dilating. He shoved Killian away, running a shaky hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have… shit.’
‘As you pointed out earlier, I’ve already said that.’ Killian straightened his waistcoat. Both men stood silent as the fraught moment dissipated. ‘I overstepped. I’m sorry. Let’s forget the whole thing.’
Drake bent to pick up the cigar where it smouldered on the wood floor. Killian almost missed his murmured words. ‘I wish I could forget.’
‘You will, Drake.’ Killian patted his friend’s granite shoulder. ‘Give it time.’
Drake re-lit his cheroot and took several puffs. When he turned back to Killian, his eyes were still wild, but he had recovered his mask of civility. ‘Time is something we don’t have. Speak to Miss Simmons, Killian. See what she knows. The longer we take, the more girls will die. Of that, I’m certain.’
Killian wished he could refute Drake’s words. But he had never been comfortable with lies. Especially the ones he told himself. ‘Then I best not waste a moment.’
7
Hannah had ripped a petticoat. It dragged behind her as Miss Whittenburg led them to the ladies’ retiring room.
Bloody blazes! No one needs this many layers.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Simmons. We’ll have you fixed in a trice. I don’t know why we must wear a thousand petticoats, do you?’ Miss Whittenburg’s voice was pleasantly low.
Hannah laughed, her face reddening. ‘I’m not usually so clumsy. If you hadn’t been there to steady me, I’m sure I would have landed in a heap.’
‘Well, we wallflowers need to stick together.’ Miss Whittenburg pushed open a massive door and Hannah followed her through the room. Panels of soft pink and seafoam green silk draped the walls. Several dressing tables with attached mirrors were scattered about for women to use as needed. Miss Whittenburg helped Hannah gather her skirts to sit on the ornately gilded chair. Several maids rushed over to assist.
‘I’m sorry to be such a bother.’ Hannah flinched when the maids flipped up her skirts to find the torn layer. What if they discovered the dagger tied to her thigh? Or the pistol tucked inher pocket? Or the throwing knives hidden in the cleverly designed pleats of her sleeves? Or the extra dagger stuffed in her unfashionable boots?
Miss Whittenburg leaned down, peering into the mirror behind Hannah. Her ample bosom almost spilled out of her dress. ‘Dear Lord. My hair is a mess.’ She reached up to tuck a fiery red curl back into her elegant twist.
Another lady entered the room wearing an ice-blue dress, emphasising her pale skin and crystal eyes. Freckles covered the bridge of her nose. Hannah couldn’t help but note how slight she was. Even with her corset, her shape was almost that of a boy’s. She walked towards them with her hands extended to Miss Whittenburg.
‘Millie! I saw you making a quick exit from the ballroom and thought I would join you.’ She clasped Miss Whittenburg’s hands and pulled her close for a brief hug.
‘You look beautiful, Ivy.’
The delicate woman snorted. ‘I look like a plank of wood in silk and lace.’
Miss Whittenburg stepped back. ‘Balderdash!’
Hannah tried to hide her surprise. How refreshing to be around women who spoke so plainly.
Ivy turned and faced Hannah. ‘Miss Simmons, isn’t it? We met briefly at Lord Bradford’s dinner party.’
Hannah cleared her throat. ‘Yes, Miss Cavendale. I remember.’
