“My lord, His Grace woke up, but his health is still shaky. He asks for you,” Wortle said quietly. “Doctor Fellows feels he will make a full recovery, although it may take the better part of the week because of possible internal wounds.”
“I am still not happy that you deliberately accomplished this behind my back. Anything could have happened to my brother with this crazy scheme. I plan to visit once we finish our meeting,” Slade complained. “One more thing. It might be easier to keep Graham’s existence more secret, if you refer to me asYour Grace. As much as I detest doing this, we should not chance creating questions and endangering Graham by referring to me asmy lord.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The shorter man was unflinching and held his gaze.
“You mentioned having investigated Lady Evers. What do you know about her?” he pursued.
“Ah . . . here it is.” The balding man retrieved a document from his satchel. “I expected you would want to see this.”
Yes, because I asked for it.Slade turned the document over and looked up at Wortle, waiting for more explanation.
Wortle harrumphed in frustration. “It is a report on everyone Lady Evers met with while in Brighton. You had requested to know about her recent activities. We charted all the people she met.”
He looked at the chart. There were dates and descriptions of her activities and the people she had visited. He quickly scanned down the page until he saw something that resembled the information Talbert had given him. At the bottom of the page was a notation of a man she had argued with in front of her parents’ townhouse. A note next to it said,name unknown, not from Brighton. Dark hair and mustache.
“I wish I had a name,” he lamented. “This is the third time someone has mentioned a dark-haired man, yet there is little descriptor beyond the color of his hair and that he had a longish mustache.” Slade told Wortle about finding Gracie and the men Smitty spoke about. They could have been the men at the campfire.
“There is one more thing, Your Grace,” Wortle said, pushing another paper his way. “I found that Lady Evers has been gambling.”
“Thirty thousand pounds? How does a woman lose so much money with whist?” He struggled not to cough at the same time he spoke and almost choked on his words.
“It seems to be a recent habit. We found she has vowels out and assumed she has been gambling, although we have not witnessed it. I have someone looking around to make sure there are no other large amounts.”
“Who does she owe?” Slade asked.
“It appears she owes the owner of a gambling establishment, although it is in a sizeable amount, and not smaller amounts as one would expect,” Wortle said quietly. He looked up as Latham walked back to their table. “What did Mercer and Ballard say?” he asked his friend.
“The usual,” Latham replied, taking a seat and signaling for another ale.
Annie looked up and smiled, grabbing a pitcher of ale.
“She is coming for you,” teased Slade. “Have you decided you are thirsty for Annie, Blondie?”
The plump brunette wove her way to the table with the ale and leaned over to show off her ample assets as she filled the glasses. “I can top off whatever you might need, milord,” she stated brazenly, staring at Latham’s lap.
Latham cleared his throat. “Thank you, Annie. Unfortunately, we have business to conclude and have another appointment. Perhaps another time,” he said judiciously, obviously attempting to spare the tavern maid’s feelings.
Slade arched a brow but said nothing. Latham never hurt a woman’s feelings, even a tavern wench’s—something to be admired. Neither of them accepted favors from the tavern women. “If Lady Evers is here in London, I would like her tailed. I cannot shake a feeling about her.”
“It is already being done, Your Grace. I have a Bow Street Runner on it,” Wortle announced proudly.
“Wortle tells me Lady Evers is in debt for almost thirty thousand pounds, an amount she rang up in Brighton,” he murmured to Latham. The last thing he wanted was to have anyone overhear that. “Is there anything else?” he asked Wortle.
“Not that I can think of now, Your Grace.”
“I need more information on Lady Evers. Will I see you when I visit Graham?” Slade asked, lowering his voice to an audible whisper.
“Doctor Fellows was with your brother when I left. I plan to go by my office and then back to your brother’s Henrietta Street apartment,” the shorter man whispered . “We have someone guarding the apartment at all times.”
Slade and Latham left the tavern and walked across the street to the stable. They made eye contact with Sully, who withdrew into the stable to gather their horses.
“’Ere they are, m’lords,” the young man said, stopping in front of them. “A man asked after ye when ye left me with yer ’orses.”
“What did he want?” Latham asked, reaching into his pocket for a shilling and handing it to the lad.
“He said to tell ye he was sorry for yer loss, m’lord,” Sully said. “Gave me a shilling to tell ye.”
Both men looked at each other.
