Due to the diversity of letters to the editor, Julius could hardly credit that sentiment. “You must do what you feel is right, of course.” And Liverpool would have to accept it. If the prime minister made one move to silence Amanda, all bets were off. There were limits to how much duty Julius owed the Crown.
Perhaps Julius could turn this to their favor. If Hanford became a target, he might draw out the crime ring. Julius could capitalize on their mistake. And hope his treating the marquess as bait didn’t get the man killed.
The old man sparred with a fly, deep lines creasing his brow.
Julius hated to put a man like that in the line of fire. But he saw little alternative. Holding his tumbler by the tips of his fingers, Julius said, “I believe I saw your son at Gentleman Jack’s the other day. A tall, slender man. With a slim mustache.”
“No, that’s not my boy.” Hanford tossed back the rest of his brandy. “Gilbert isn’t much taller than I am, and he likes his puddings a little too much if you understand what I mean.” He patted his stomach.
“Of course.”
“But that sounds like my attorney, Mr. Eustace Allan. He looks a bit like a spider, that one.” The marquess shivered. “He was here when you called. I sent him to the kitchen for some tea.”
“You what?”
Hanford blinked. “Well, as you said, he is a spindly fellow. I figure my chef might fatten him up.”
Julius buried his face in his glass. “As you say.” Family attorneys weren’t accorded the same status as gentlemen, it was true, although it wasn’t unheard of for one to be knighted if he was of service to a particularly noteworthy family. But sending one to the kitchen for a meal like a tradesperson could only be seen as an insult. Or that the marquess was completely lacking in knowledge of social niceties.
“Do you think he’s still here?” Julius couldn’t be this fortunate. Investigations for the Crown were never that easy. He—
“I would imagine so,” Hanford said. “We haven’t finished discussing changes to my will.” He stared into his empty glass, licking his bottom lip. At Julius’s silence, he raised his head. “Oh. Did you want me to call for him?”
Pushing to his feet, Julius stalked to the door. “Why don’t I go down to see him? He can’t afford to miss any meals.” Julius forced joviality into his voice. “If it is the man I saw, he dropped a watch at Gentleman Jack’s.”
“All right.” Hanford toddled after him. “Though I can’t imagine Allan at Gentleman Jack’s. Do they even let attorneys through the door?”
“The members are fairly egalitarian when it comes to bloodying noses. Is it through here?” He pointed down a stairwell.
Hanford nodded. He trod heavily on each step, his breathing becoming labored. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been down here. It’s quite”—he panted—“the adventure.”
Julius quickened his pace, trying to leave the wheezing man behind. The element of surprise was one of Julius’s best tools, and the marquess was ruining it. Following his nose, he strode for the end of the hall and through the open door.
A maid glanced up from the ovens. “Can I help you, sir?”
A plate with half a serving of mutton and a thick slice of bread lay on a slab wooden table, a mug to its right.
“Where did he go?” Julius demanded. He poked his head into the hallway and looked back towards the stairs.
Hanford toddled next to him and looked at the empty kitchen. “Allan left? But we weren’t finished.”
The maid pointed to the kitchen door that led outside. “He went that way.”
Julius rushed to the exit. “Thanks for the drink,” he shouted back to Hanford and fled into the garden. He took the corner to the front of the marquess’s house at a sprint. Hanford’s house was in Westminster, a block from St. James Street, and the afternoon crowds filled the street.
One man stood a head above everyone else. Mr. Allan weaved through the pedestrians on the sidewalk, and Julius’s gaze focused on the bobbing top hat.
“My lord, do you want your horse?” One of Hanford’s groomsmen held his thoroughbred by the bridle at Hanford’s front steps.
With one last glance at Allan, Julius raced back and leapt on his mount. “Yah!” The horse galloped into the street, nearly knocking over a street sweep.
Julius ignored the shouts behind him. He stood in his stirrups and peered down the street but no top hat stood above the rest. Julius hit the cross street and looked left. There. Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, he took off, only to pull up as a hackney cut in front of his path.
“Get out of my way!” But everyone had decided now was the time to leave work and travel down St. James Street. Maneuvering his horse through the crowded street was slow going, and Allan’s long legs ate up the ground faster than Julius could keep up. Not without knocking pedestrians to the ground.
“Damn it.” He drew his horse behind a carriage moving at a tepid but steady clip, and let the other conveyance forge the path. The pace was marginally faster. He stood again in his stirrups and checked that Allan was still on the street. He followed the man until he ducked into a coffeehouse.
Julius stopped in an alley across the street. He waved a street sweep over, a boy who couldn’t have been over the age of twelve. “Will you take a message for me?” He showed the boy a sovereign, and the lad nodded eagerly. He gave the sweep directions to Sutton’s house and the message. The boy raced off, dust kicking back from his heels.
