“Thank you,” she said simply, as if that method of descending a carriage was an everyday occurrence. He paid the hackney driver, then gently laid a hand at the small of her back to guide her to the mews entrance.
Inside the mews alley, the houses and stables on either side blocked out the last remnants of twilight. In the mews it appeared night had fallen, yet few of the night lanterns had been lit. David guided Rani through the darkness, past horse stalls and broken bits of household castoffs. It smelled of refuse and horse dung, but the area was slightly warmer than on the street. No wind blew through the mews, blocked as it was by the buildings all around.
He slowed as they came halfway down the length of the mews. He studied the backs of the townhouses, uncertain in the dark which one was the back of the Branstoke townhouse.
“Can I help you, sir?” said a voice from the darkness of the stables behind them.
David turned to make out the figure in the dark.
A click and an orange light spark in the dark revealed the man’s location. He was lighting a lantern to hang on a sturdy oak wood beam. Behind him, a horse neighed softly and shuffled in the straw.
David thought he recognized the man.
“Romley?” he asked. He drew Rani toward the man hanging the lantern. “George Romley, correct?”
“Ah, ’tis you, Mister Thornbridge,” George Romley said affably.
David watched his eyes slide from him to the Indian woman beside him.
“But what are you doing here? Sir James and Lady Branstoke are in Kent,” Romley said, looking back at David.
“I know. I’m looking for a way into the Branstoke house, but from the back, I can’t tell which is their house.”
George Romley chuffed. “Tis the one on the right.”
“Thank you,” David said, and turned toward the specified house.
“What’s the lay, sir?” Romley asked.
He looked uncomfortable with their presence in the mews, and David thought he didn’t blame him. But he didn’t answer him directly. “Can you take a message to the Branstokes in the morning?” he asked
Romley was silent a moment as he pulled his tobacco pouch from his vest pocket. “Yes, sir. I can leave at first light,” Romley finally said, as he pulled a pinch of tobacco out.
“Good. Tell them a child was kidnapped today from the East India Docks.”
Romley jerked upright, tobacco flying from the open pouch. “The docks! Bloody ‘ell! They’ll be in town before tomorrow night. Her ladyship will see to that!” Romley averred.
“I’m counting on it,” David said grimly.
4
David lifted the latch on the iron gate at the rear of the Branstoke townhouse property and led Rani into the back garden. The garden space wasn’t big, just an overgrown kitchen garden beside a narrow, uneven brick walk that led to the steps down to the servants’ and tradesmen’s entrance.
David pounded on the backdoor leading to the townhouse kitchen, then took a step back. Rani stood on the step above him, her head peeping around him.
They heard a bolt slide back, and then the door opened quickly.
“Romley! What do you—” the aggravated butler began, then stopped. He squinted at them, seeing them by the light spilling out from the kitchen behind him. “Oh, sorry, sir. I thought it was George Romley banging on the door.” He straightened, resuming his formal butler manner and tone. “I’m afraid the Branstokes are not in residence.”
“I know, Charwood. I need somewhere for Miss Rangaswamy to stay tonight.”
Charwood scowled. “Now see here!”
Rani shrank back from David and hunched in his oversized coat as if she could disappear inside it.
“Easy, Charwood.” David said, extending his hand outward. “You should know me better than that!” he said sharply.
First Romley and now Charwood. They need to get their minds out of the gutter.
