With a scratch to the dog’shead, Julius handed the lead off to the footman, and he and Max made for the stables.
Finding Hanford proved more difficult than Julius had anticipated. His butler said his master was at White’s. The doorman at White’s said the marquess had moved on to Boodles. And the manager at Boodles had no idea where Hanford had gone.
“Back to his house?” Max asked. They collected their horses from the stable and swung into the saddles. Steam billowed from their mounts’ nostrils, and the saddle blankets were as soaked through as Julius’s greatcoat. The rain was only a light drizzle, but the air was heavy with mist.
“Not today.” Kicking the flanks of his horse, Julius trotted up the street. “Let’s check out one of the offices under the Ariadne Corporation before it becomes too dark to see.”
Max rode beside him, the shoes of their horses clopping against the cobblestone. He tucked his chin, and his bushy beard covered his neck and chest like a scarf.
Julius tugged the collar of his greatcoat closer. Beads of water dripped off the brim of his hat. What he wouldn’t give to be warm in bed with Amanda. He regretted leaving her side so early, before she awoke. Usually it felt like an escape slipping out from between the sheets before a woman opened her eyes. That morning he’d had to drag himself from sheer force of habit. The feather bed had been soft and inviting, the woman next to him more so. He’d waited for the usual tendrils of anxiety to coil around him as he’d watched the light in the room soften from pitch black to a soft charcoal. And the agitation had never come.
He’d left anyway.
They arrived at the office of the Society for the Health of London’s Chimney Boys, and tied their horses in front of the stables across the street. The office was a small standalone building on one of the grottier streets of Chelsea. The windows were boarded over, and no one answered their knock.
Max stroked his beard. “No one here to take my donation. You’d think they didn’t care what happened to the lads who risk life and limb to clean our chimneys.”
Julius tried the door. It wasn’t locked, and he pulled it open. Slipping inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust. The only light came from the open door.
A light sparked. Max stood next to an oil lamp attached to the wall, working his flint over a small tinderbox. He lit the lamp and a dull glow fought for dominance with the shadows. Max shut the door and looked around. “This could take a while.”
He wasn’t joking. Towers of documents circled around them. Papers littered the floor. The office was just the one room, no other exits led out. The boarded over windows sent a chill down Julius’s spine, but he wouldn’t turn tail and run like he had in the catacombs. He swallowed. “It looks like whoever was here left in a hurry.” He stepped forward and his boot slipped on a piece of parchment. “Do you think they used this office for storage?”
“I can’t imagine they’d leave incriminating documents lying about.” Max picked a piece of paper off the nearest stack and held it to the light.
The wood porch creaked from the other side of the door. Julius and Max froze, then melted into position on either side of the entrance. Muted voices. A thump. The door eased open.
Julius grabbed the fist on the handle and twisted, throwing the man to the floor inside the office.
“Oi! I know his jacket is hideous, but it hardly deserves a tumble on the floor.”
Max peered around the doorjamb. “Dunkeld? What the hell are you doing here?”
A behemoth of a man filled the entrance. Sinclair Archer, the Marquess of Dunkeld, looked down at the floor. He shook his head, his auburn hair swinging in the low tail tied at his nape. “What I’m not doing is letting someone catch me off guard. How many times have I told you to look to the side before entering a room?”
The Earl of Summerset glared at him from the ground. “I did look. But Rothchild is a shifty bastard. We all know that.” He took the hand Julius held out and hauled himself up. Brushing the dust from his clothes, he turned on his friends. “A fine welcome to Sin and me, and after coming all that way to save your pathetic arses.”
Dunkeld shut the door and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. “I, for one, was glad to escape Scotland. My mother came too close this time to marrying me off. That woman could run Rothchild neck for neck when it comes to craftiness.”
“What are you doing here?” Julius asked. He loved his friends, but Dunkeld and Summerset could bicker for hours like two old hens. It was an art form keeping them on point.
Pulling a lavender handkerchief from his pocket, Summerset rubbed at a spot on his pantaloons. “We got word of the attack on you at St. Katherine’s and came straightaway.”
“Not straightaway. I had to put an end to the engagement my mother arranged for me.” Dunkeld lumbered around the room, peering around every stack of paper. “The foolish woman is convinced I am in dire need of a wife, and she managed to convince my neighbor’s daughter that she was the woman to tame me.”
A wide smile spread across Summerset’s face. “I had a delightful time convincing the chit otherwise.”
“You’re fortunate her father never caught on to your midnight liaisons,” Dunkeld grumbled. “Or there would have been a wedding for sure, and—”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Julius interrupted. “I mean, what are you doinghere.” He waved his hands about the office. “And now. How did you find us?”
“Oh.” Dunkeld cleared his throat and looked at Summerset. He, in turn, busied himself straightening the elaborate knot on his cravat. “Well,” Dunkeld said, “after you two were almost killed—”
“Hardly that,” Max said, looking offended.
“—I thought it prudent to put some of my men on you. You know, just to watch and step in if needed.” Dunkeld scratched his jaw. “They’ve kept me updated of your whereabouts.”
“We almost caught up with you at Boodles,” Summerset added. “But then Sin said he had to have a drink and we fell behind.”
