“Smart.” Kendra nodded her approval as she followed him to the door. “If you get Edwina, bring her here. I don’t care what time it is.”
Sam met her eyes. “Aye, lass. If we get her, I will.”
Chapter 40
Kendra woke the next morning to gray light streaming into the bedchamber, an empty space beside her, and a strange restlessness. She rolled off the feather tick mattress and into her yoga routine on the floor. Most of that edginess, she knew, was because there’d been no knock early that morning. Sam hadn’t managed to find Edwina—or, if he had, she had evaded him and was in the wind.
Damn it.
And the remaining restlessness? She couldn’t pinpoint the source. Was it anxiety that she’d missed something, or the sense that they were close to the finish line? She had motive and a list of likely suspects. She just needed to narrow that list down a little more . . .
She just needed a break, and she’d hoped she’d get it from their eyewitness. Without Edwina, she’d plow forward with what she had.
Burnell was number one on her agenda. It might be best to visit the Widow Shaw before she confronted the surgeon about his alibis. Home alone.Bullshit.
Kendra finished her yoga routine, and then yanked the bell-pull for Molly. Less than five minutes later, the maid arrived with a tray of coffee, brown bread, and pots of butter and jam.
“Are ye gonna be riskin’ yer life mudlarking today?” Molly asked, scowling at Kendra as she ate several slices of bread and gulped down coffee.
Kendra heard the snarky note in the maid’s voice. “Are you still angry about the boots?”
“It wasn’t about the boots. Although they were fine,” Molly sniffed. “Ye nearly got yerself killed, milady. Ye take too many risks.”
Kendra didn’t want to argue, so she stuffed the rest of the bread into her mouth.
After Kendra finished the bread and drank another cup of coffee, Molly helped her into a nettle-green, worsted-wool walking dress with gold braiding adorning the hem and cuffs of the long sleeves. She mentally reviewed her notes as she left the bedchamber, hurrying down the hallway to the library.
But a commotion—a shout, a shriek—sent her to the railing. She all but goggled as a red-faced Wakely sprinted after a boy who was currently zigzagging around the foyer like a ricocheting bullet. A maid with a mop in her hand screeched and leapt out of the way when the kid nearly plowed into her. The footman—Hugh?—jumped forward, blocking the pint-sized intruder. The kid swiveled, but Wakely managed to snag his tattered collar. In a move that Kendra had to admire, the boy tried to free himself by stomping on the butler’s foot. Wakely yelped in pain, but kept his grip on the child’s collar even as the butler grasped the boy’s boney arm.
“What thehellis going on?” Kendra raised her voice as she sped down the steps.
Wakely tried to assume a dignified posture, but was hampered by the squirming boy. “My apologies, madam—”
“Are ye Lady Sutcliffe?” The boy fixed his furious gaze on her. He was beyond filthy. Brown hair—maybe blonde, if it was washed—stood up in tufts, and his blue eyes seared her like a flame. She estimated him at fourteen or fifteen, but she added decades to those livid eyes. Like most street kids, he was gaunt, all bones and sharp angles that she could see even with the bulky coat covering him.
“Can I help you?”
He jerked away from Wakely. “Aye! It’s yer fault! All yer fault!”
“Who are you? And what’s my fault?”
“Fish’s me name. And it’s yer fault that she’s gone!” His chin jutted up. “’E came and took ’er. She was safe and now she’s gone!”
A chill raced down Kendra’s spine. “Who?” she demanded, but she knew.
“Edie. Edwina, We were protectin’ ’er, keepin’ ’er safe. Then ye came and ’e found her.”
“You’re one of the mudlarks from yesterday,” she said slowly. “What happened?”
Fish crossed his arms, his gaze full of bitter condemnation. “’E must’ve followed ye.”
Christ, the kid knew how to go for the jugular. “Who took her? When?”
“’E was waiting for us on the docks this mornin’. ’E grabbed ’er and took off on ’is ’orse.”
“What did he look like, Fish?” She grasped the kid’s rigid shoulders and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Hair color, size, age? Anything that stood out to you?”
Fish was silent for a beat. “About ’is age.” He pointed to Hugh. “Bigger than ’im, though. Taller. Yellow ’air. I never saw ’im before. ’Is greatcoat was fine quality.”
