“The weekend party we attended. The Scottish baronet. Sir Padraig S. Freeley.” She pointed to where she’d crossed out the name Padraig and inserted the initial P. “P. S. Freeley.” Her cheeks turned pink and she shot a sidelong look at the other men in the room. She bent close to him and whispered. “P. S. Psss.” Her breath caressed the shell of his ear, and the base of his spine tingled.
He focused on the name, ignoring her nearness. Psss. Piss Freeley. “He made a jest of the name he gave.”
She nodded. “It is something my sister and I used to do. Well, I would do and my sister would laugh until tears rolled down her cheeks.” Her smile was wistful. “I would write letters to The Bath Observer to have printed with names like Mr. Justin Thyme or Marius Quick.”
“You come from Bath?” He didn’t even know where she hailed from. Or that she had a sister. He hadn’t wanted to know anything about his little annoyance, but now he was curious.
She straightened, the expression draining from her face. “A town not far from it,” she said evenly. “But look, the uninvited guest from the ball. Mr. Ben Dover. Bendover. This must be our thief. Though I don’t see the jest in the other names.” She frowned.
Verity rose from his desk and came over, looking at the list. “Your thief is giving joke names?” He grinned. “I’d like to meet this man.”
“When I hand him over to the magistrate, you’ll get your chance.” Charles examined the remaining three names.
The uninvited guest from the first party, the musical evening, was one Mr. H. Thomas. Mr. Porter had called him Harry. Charles shook his head. Harry Thomas. How the blazes had he missed that? And from the second party, the two names of the guests the host hadn’t personally known were Mr. Peter King and a Sir Thomas B. Hardigan. Charles blew out a breath.
Verity plucked up a bit of lead and crossed out Peter King. “This one doesn’t fit. The rest of these are all the crack.”
“H. Thomas and Thomas B. Hardigan?” She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t understand. What’s the joke?”
Hurst burst out laughing at his desk.
Verity arched an eyebrow.
Charles cleared his throat. “You’ll just have to trust us on this.”
“Strait.” Wilberforce stood at his office door. “In here please.”
Charles rose, pinning Verity with a glare. “Do not explain it to her.” He ignored her outraged huff and strode towards the manager’s office. Was he treating Miss Moore differently than he would another pupil? Yes, he had to admit. But she was a female pupil, a whole other subcategory of its own. It was appropriate to treat her differently.
He paused on the threshold of Wil’s office when he saw Lord Summerset lounging in one of the chairs. Silently, he shut the door behind him. “You wanted to see me?”
Wilberforce plodded behind his desk, his limp more pronounced today. He rubbed his thigh as he sank into his chair. “How is the investigation going?”
“We’re making progress.” Charles clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ve discovered the thief enjoys giving prank names to his hosts. If we could obtain guest lists of the next large parties the ton will be holding, I believe we could discover our man.” His mouth went dry. They were close to cornering their quarry. Closer than they’d ever been. And it was all down to Miss Moore.
“Prank names?” Wil lifted his leg onto his desk.
“Yes, sir. Harry Thomas. Ben Dover. Things like that.”
Summerset hooted. “If the man weren’t so larcenous, I’d hire him on here.”
Charles pressed his lips together. He didn’t understand why everyone was so amused. They were discussing a thief, no matter how clever his word games might be. And to speak of hiring the man? Decent folk shouldn’t associate with his ilk. Especially not people of the nobility. Although he suspected that Summerset might not be all that was decent himself.
“And how is Miss Moore working out?” Summerset twirled the chain of his lorgnette about his finger. “Auntie May will have my hide if we don’t treat her right, the old termagant,” he said fondly.
“Lady Mary need have no reason to be displeased.” Charles scraped his palm across his jaw. “Miss Moore is fitting in for the most part. In fact it was she who discovered that our thief was coming up with these foolish names.”
“She’s smart.” Wil leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I thought so, but it was hard to tell with how quiet the girl is.”
“Quiet?” It seemed a long time since Charles had thought her such. If Miss Moore was quiet, it wasn’t by nature, but by design. She lured people into thinking her demure, inconspicuous when underneath he suspected she was anything but.
“So she’s intelligent.” Summerset slid his lorgnette back into his waistcoat pocket, cocked his leg over the arm of the chair, and started swinging his foot instead. “But how does she fare? Is she agreeable to work with? Is she happy in her position? It would solve much if she decided that being an investigator’s assistant didn’t agree with her. Montague and Rothchild were quite piqued that I hired her.”
Yes, Charles could see those two owners being the most unhappy with a woman working at the agency. Even though Montague, as Lady Mary’s nephew, should have been the one to tell the woman no. He shifted his weight. Though perhaps it hadn’t been the worst idea to hire Miss Moore.
“She is….” He drew his brows together. He didn’t quite know what Miss Moore was. “She is learned. Adept. Rational, for a woman. I believe employing her was an acceptable decision.”
Summerset’s leg paused, mid-swing. “An acceptable decision. I’m so pleased you approve.”
