Chapter 10
Club life, Pen decided, was decidedly tedious.
It was too full of men.
Gentlemen who drank, bragged, gambled and placed wagers about things as silly as how many flies crashed against the windowpane in the dining room within the duration of the hour. It made her almost wish for petticoats again, and the company of women, tiresome as they could be.
Maybe she was merely out of sorts because Alworth wasn’t here. After having waited the entire afternoon, she decided to leave. Just at that moment, Alworth sauntered into the room, twirling his stick.
“Pen. Well met.” He lifted a finger to order a glass of Madeira.
“Alworth.” Pen nodded curtly.
“Is anything amiss?” He sat down in the chair opposite hers. “You look somewhat pale.”
Pen shook her head. “Nothing is amiss. Too much curry, perhaps.”
“Ah yes. You like it spicy.” Alworth flashed his bright teeth at her.
“Is there anything you’d like to impart? Otherwise, I’d like to go home and rest. It’s been a tiresome day.” She would finally pack her trunk and write a letter to Lucy.
“Sit down, my boy. We have more matters to discuss.” Alworth took his time lighting his cheroot.
“More?” Pen watched him with irritation. “What matters?”
He took a drag once, twice, and exhaled a perfect circle of smoke.
“The matter of the mysterious disappearance of your guardian.”
Pen plopped into the chair with a sigh. “He’s probably left London. He may be back in India or the West Indies, for all that’s worth, and I’m here scrambling around trying to find a needle in the haystack. I’m wasting my time.”
“Don’t look so crumpled. I have discovered his identity.”
Pen shot up. “What?”
He handed her wordlessly the missive she’d lent him.
“And?”
Alworth looked grave. “It almost makes me wish he were in the West Indies. But, alas, he isn’t.”
“Spit it out, man!”
Alworth leaned forward. “Did it never occur to you to investigate the seal?”
“It’s nearly illegible.”
“Not entirely. Here.” He pointed with one finger to the red wax blob. “The tip is a lion’s head, with two swords crossing behind.”
Pen squinted at it. “Is it?”
“Most definitely. My secretary researched it and discovered whose seal consists of such a coat of arms. There are not many. One, to be precise.” He hesitated.
“And?”
“You said his name was Marcus Smith. But no Marcus Smith exists.”
Pen nodded. She’d figured out that much. “Go on.”
