“Great.” He hadn’t really needed all that information, and it added to his worry that this was all a big scam. He often used that technique; giving someone a lot of sensible sounding but bland information to prove that he knew what he was talking about. It gave the other person confidence in him which was infinitely useful. Having the same idea deployed against him tied his stomach in knots. Lord Lawndry was either the most unusual man in London, or he was playing a long game that Nobbie might just fall for if he wasn’t careful. For some reason—kisses—Nobbie couldn’t resist Lawndry.
It was almost an hour later when they walked into Sotheby’s. Traffic in London during the season was abysmal with every bloody aristocrat in town for parliament and requiring their own carriage, and it’d taken ages for their hackney cab to navigate through all the chaos. Lawndry was nearly vibrating as they walked inside the esteemed auction house, and Nobbie wished he could do something to help ease his nerves. What a slippery slope he was on, sliding into becoming as sappy as Earnest. So no, he wasn’t going to place his hand on the small of Lawndry’s back. He would simply hang back and see if he could work outhow this scam was supposed to function. What was Lawndry’s end game? He made a mental note to write to Adam and ask him to investigate Lawndry.
“My lord, are you here to inspect items for tomorrow’s auction?” The butler asked.
“No thanks. Is Mr Milton in? I have some questions for him.”
The butler nodded. “I will enquire.” He rang a bell and a servant appeared from somewhere. Nobbie was impressed by the level of service. When he’d left the orphanage, he’d worked for an institute like this, but they’d skimped on clerks, and he’d often ended up doing a lot of his own errands. They all stood around until the servant arrived back with an affirmative answer.
“Perhaps your guest would like to wait in our drawing room while you meet Mr Milton?”
“No. He’s with me.” Lawndry managed to make that sound salacious. He didn’t wait for anyone but marched up the impressive staircase leaving Nobbie to almost jog to catch up. Fuck. He tried not to look out of place; damn it, he’d spent years perfecting his society manners, even changing his accent, so he’d fit in well enough to charm money out of the toffs. One handsome, keen horologist had him reverting to his orphanage ways. It wasn’t good.
“Mr Milson’s office is on the second floor. Sotheby’s employs a variety of experts to assess the different items that they auction, and he is their horologist.”
“There are more people like you?” Nobbie regretted it as soon as he saw the way Lawndry glanced over his shoulder at Nobbie with a scowl. He swallowed.
“There are three competing societies of horologists in England. I am a member at all three, although mostly I’m involved with the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers, andoften represent my mother’s family’s interests in London via them.”
He cringed, knowing he was out of line and out of his depth. It wasn’t a great combination as he’d gained all his advantages through ensuring he knew as much information as possible.
“And this Mr Milson?”
“I trust his opinion.” As if that were enough for Lawndry. Well, call Nobbie cynical, but he hadn’t survived an orphanage, being a bank clerk, and now becoming a financial advisor to the ton without a good dose of caution. Lawndry pushed open a door and walked inside with a quick greeting. Nobbie wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t a young dark-skinned man who looked like he’d walked right out of Gentleman Jack’s boxing ring. The man was almost as broad as he was tall, and he took up plenty of space in his office as he walked towards Lawndry.
“Lord Lawndry. What a pleasure.” Mr Milson had a hint of a foreign accent, perhaps from the Africas, mixed with a very posh local accent, as if he’d been educated with the ton. Nothing like Nobbie’s accent; he’d worked hard to soften out his orphanage lower-class London origins with reasonable success.
“Milson.” Lawndry smiled. “I have a rather interesting puzzle for you.”
Mr Milson smiled as if this were exceedingly pleasing to him. “Do tell, but first, please have a seat and I will ring for some tea.” The huge man was light on his feet as he walked over to pull the bell. Nobbie would definitely punt on him in the ring. Lawndry sat and waved at Nobbie, so he sat too.
“This is Mr Gilbert. He is in possession of a rather fine Hobart watch.”
Mr Milson returned to his office chair and leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “May I see it?”
Nobbie wanted to say, ‘oh that old thing’ or something dismissive. It was very disconcerting to have two apparentexperts so keen to see his watch. “Yes.” He half-stood to unbuckle the fob chain, and then placed the watch and chain on Mr Milson’s desk.
A servant knocked on the door and tea was ordered, then Mr Milson very carefully examined Nobbie’s watch. Mr Milson’s wide thick fingers held the watch delicately and Nobbie tried to relax. He kept discovering that this watch meant something to him, and he had to remind himself that no one in this room was going to steal the damned thing.
“Have you checked it for a maker’s mark?”
“Yes. And it is numbered.”
Mr Milson’s eyes widened. “Please tell me it is number 79.”
“How did you know?” Lawndry leaned forward in his seat, perched on the edge.
“This is Hobart number 79?”
“Yes. It is.”
Mr Milson put the watch down carefully on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I have always wondered about this watch.”
“What do you mean?” Nobbie needed to know what these two supposed experts weren’t saying. His breath burned in the back of his throat with an acidic aftertaste. He’d always known that the only risk in life was ignorance, and this entire meeting had reminded him of his lack of knowledge in this arena. No wonder his hackles were up.
“Every year for thirty-six years, Hobart offered between three and five watches for auction. Each was numbered. Sotheby’s have sold every single watch Hobart ever made, except number 79.”
The world become cold, ice surrounding him. Fuck, fuck. If this was true, then his watch mattered. He had been abandoned, left as a baby, by someone who mattered.
