“Very reasonable,” he said, “but it’s curiosity, pure and simple.”
“And what’s wrong with that, sir?”
Perhaps he remembered something from the night, for he smiled as he said, “Nothing. Nothing at all, my dear.”
***
After attending the Sunday service, Braydon hired a carriage from the nearby livery, and instructed that it be warmed by hot bricks. In her mantle and muff, Kitty was perfectly comfortable as they left London along theEdgware Road. She’d decided to leave Sillikin behind. The dog wasn’t fond of carriage rides and had the servants enslaved.
When they passed close to Moor Street, she pointed that out and shared memories of some of the familiar places nearby. The road was unusually straight, but that was because it followed an old Roman road called Watling Street.
“I’ve always liked the Roman way,” she said. “Go directly to the target without dithering around for valleys and hills.”
The Edgware Road ran along the west edge of London, with streets to their right but few buildings to their left. Once they passed through the tollbooth at Paddington village, they had countryside to their right as well. There wasn’t a great deal of traffic, it being a Sunday and Edgware not being a popular pleasure jaunt, especially in winter.
When they arrived at their destination, Kitty was somewhat surprised. Because it had a road named for it, she’d expected a town, but it was merely a straggling collection of houses along the street, with a few more significant ones nearby.
They climbed out of the carriage at the White Hart, which had no pretensions of grandeur. On such a significant road she’d expected a large coaching inn, but perhaps Edgware was too close to London to be a popular place to change horses or seek refreshment. Hostlers took charge of the two horses, and Braydon gave the postilion his freedom for an hour or so. The innkeeper, thin and keen, asked what other service he could offer.
“L Cottage, sir? All I can think of is Laurel Cottage, just off this street. If you walk five houses down, you’ll see the lane, sir. Fox Lane.”
As they followed the directions, Kitty said, “What dowe expect to find? My money’s on the fifth viscount’s nurse. Where do you place your bet?”
“You’ve stolen the most likely explanation. It’s a little out of the way for a mistress, so I’ll plump for an old friend, down on his luck, housed out of charity. After all, it would seem he kept these expenditures secret. Why would he do that for his old nurse?”
“A good point. I know—the dowager took against Nurse and dismissed her. He was afraid to let his mother know that he was taking care of her.”
“Overly dramatic, but in this case all too likely. What a milksop he was.”
They turned the corner and were soon assessing Laurel Cottage.
“Rather a grand cottage,” Kitty said, for the building was two full stories beneath its thatch. “Large for Nurse. You’re probably correct about the friend, especially if the friend has a family.”
“Or he was supporting more than one unfairly dismissed servant. There’s only one way to find out.”
As they walked up a short path to the door, Kitty heard children shouting in play from behind the house. “I fear you’ll win. An old friend with a family. Perhaps a wounded soldier.”
Braydon knocked at the door.
It was opened by a woman who certainly wasn’t an old nurse but didn’t look like a servant, either, despite the apron over her brown gown, and a mobcap over mousy brown hair.Wife of a wounded officer?
“Yes?” she asked, clearly surprised—and why not?—to find unexpected visitors on the doorstep on a Sunday afternoon? “May I help you?”
Braydon said, “We hope so. My name is Dauntry, and my wife and I are taking the opportunity to satisfy mere curiosity. An imposition, I know, but may we come in?”
Kitty saw no flicker of reaction to the name Dauntry. How to explain that?
After a brief hesitation, the woman stepped back. “Of course, sir.”
They entered a narrow corridor, but were taken into a fair-sized parlor to the left, which was warmed by a large fire. No sign of penny-pinching. The woman invited them to sit. All the furniture was of good quality, but nowhere near new. No sign of extravagance, either.
Kitty and Braydon sat on a slightly battered sofa, and the woman sat on a straight chair. She wasn’t offering her name, which perhaps wasn’t surprising with such unexpected guests, but Kitty wondered if there was wariness in her expression.A mistress, after all?She didn’t seem the type, being so soberly dressed and with a face that was more sturdy than beguiling.
Braydon had brought the account book. “This is our curiosity, ma’am. It records expenses for the maintenance of a property. On the flyleaf you’ll see it says, L Cottage, Edgware.”
He passed it to the woman, open at the flyleaf. She took it without any sign of recognizing the book, but when she looked at the words, she frowned. She turned some pages and then looked up, alert and perhaps alarmed. “How did you come by this, sir?”
“On a shelf,” Braydon said. “You recognize it?”
