Miss Henry gestured to a small carpet just inside the door, the leather half-boots she’d been wearing the day before tucked neatly in one corner.
When he hesitated, she crossed her arms. “I’m the one who has to sweep up after any uninvited visitors.”
Whether this was a Caribbean custom or a quirk of Miss Henry’s, she was right. He removed his boots at once and lined them up next to hers.
“We’re alone?” he asked. “You really don’t have anyone who helps you in the house?”
“Oh, did you come to Cheapside expecting to bechaperoned? Please excuse me for not being an Almack’s princess like the fine young ladies you’re used to. As I mentioned, Iamthe maid, and thecook, and the butler. Which means I’m very busy, so if you could get to the point?”
Jacob flashed an uncomfortable smile that was more like a grimace and stood awkwardly in the middle of her kitchen in his stocking feet. Stockings that were a Christmastide gift from Kuni and dyed bright Balcovian pink.
“Have you visited all of Quentin’s friends?” Miss Henry asked.
Not Jacob personally, although they’d sent spies to each location on the list. For Miss Henry’s sake, he hoped they could resolve this case soon. Ideally before the Wynchesters and their extended network fell apart like a broken machine.
“Every one of their homes is under constant surveillance,” he assured her. “At the first sign of your cousin—or anything suspicious at all—you will be the first to know.”
She arched a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he told her. “Our team regularly checks in with each other, but those briefings don’t mean there’s been a breakthrough on a case. I should have explained better up front, and I should have kept you up-to-date, even if the only news is that there isn’t any.”
“I may have reacted poorly, too,” she admitted. “You cannot understand how terrible it is to sit and wait and wonder, and not receive the slightest communication from anyone. Not you, not Quentin…”
“I do empathize with you. And though we have taken on more than we can efficiently handle, I swear that we are trying to find your cousin.” He handed her a two-page report highlighting efforts they had made thus far, and any responses or intelligence their investigation had gathered.
“Thank you,” she said softly as she scanned the long list of completed or ongoing tasks. “This makes me feel some better.”
“Might I glance around your home?” he asked. “I might see something that could be of use to the case.”
He expected her to balk at this, or at least escort him through the premises under her watchful eye, but she simply held up her palm and returned to whatever she’d been doing at her table.
Revising a previous draft, from the looks of it. Some people hated editing their work, preferring only to create fresh, but Jacob loved the refining process. For him, crafting the perfect poem was like whittling a statue out of marble. Slow and painstaking work that required great attention and care, but if all went well, the result at the end looked like it had always meant to be exactly what it now was.
Miss Henry did not look as though things were going well. She was attacking her manuscript pages with such vigor, the pointed tip of her pencil had scratched through the top sheet in several places.
Jacob knew better than to offer unsolicited opinions while a writer was in the midst of her work. Yet he could not resist the urge to inch a little closer.
A whirl of brown fur darted out from beneath her chair and swiped long white claws at Jacob’s bootless feet.
“Yowch!” He hopped from one foot to the other, trying to avoid stepping on or being mauled by the rabid creature with the black-and-white-striped face and sharp fangs.
“That’s Rufus,” Miss Henry said without looking up from her manuscript.
Jacob sputtered, “You have anattackbadger?”
“Is his high energy bothering you? At ease, Rufus.”
The badger immediately lost all interest in Jacob, its fangs and claws disappearing as it curled into a furry ball next to Jacob’s stocking feet and fell asleep.
Shredded pink stockings. And lightly shredded feet.
Miss Henry waved a hand. “Sally’s around here somewhere, too. Be advised.”
Beadvised? “Is Sally the polecat?”
Miss Henry shook her head. “Had to return the polecat to the wild. Kept biting the postman.”
What the devil was Sally then, the friendly neighborhood rhinoceros?
