Thingswereprogressing between them.
Her previous worries began to seem like the bridal jitters after all.
Seeing that she was getting nowhere with practice, Thea went to check in on Freddy. The boy was sitting at the desk in his room, his tawny head bent over a piece of parchment. He had a half-finished tray of roasted beef and carrots beside him.
Freddy’s health had continued to make excellent progress. Dr. Abernathy had begun to experiment with various foods in order to see their effects on the boy’s ailment. Thus far, they’d discovered that Freddy tolerated meats and fatty foods without any problem, while breads and sweets could trigger a megrim. Though the process required trial and error, Freddy remained full of hope, his resilience filling Thea with pride.
“What are you doing, dear?” she said.
Freddy looked up, his eyes bright with excitement. It was a common expression for him these days. “Edward and I are playing a game. We’re pretending to be spies,” he said eagerly. “I’m writing him a secret message using the invisible ink Harry gave me.”
Thea hid a grin.I wonder what Gabriel would think of this new game.
“That’s lovely,” she said. “Shall I see if Edward is available for a visit today?”
“Oh, yes,” Freddy enthused. “But I must finish my message before we go.”
Leaving him to the task, Thea sent a note to Marianne and received an affirmative reply to call. Thea debated sending for the carriage, but the idea of stretching her legs and getting some sunshine and fresh air seemed preferable to the trouble. It was less than a ten-minute walk away, and they’d take a pair of footmen with them. She decided to let Freddy make the choice.
“Let’s walk,” he said. “That way I can test the ink outdoors. I want to see if I can leave secret messages on fence posts for Edward to find.”
“I’m afraid that would be vandalism, dear.”
“How is it vandalism if you can’t see it?” Freddy said in reasonable tones. “Unless someone puts a flame near it, the ink will remain invisible. And if the ink does become visible, Harry says all you have to do is put water on it to make it disappear.”
Thea opened her mouth—then closed it.
“Just don’t let anyone see what you’re doing,” she said with a sigh.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It took them less than an hour to find what they were looking for.
Maison de Fortescue, a factory specializing in handkerchiefs, occupied a squat building in the heart of Spitalfield’s Petticoat Lane. It sat on a street crammed with shops on both sides, garments of every kind strung up along the low-hanging eaves. In this heart of industry, rules of civility gave way to commerce. A lady’s used corset dangled side by side with a pair of gentleman’s smalls. Morts sold stockings and garters from baskets on the street. Customers jostled one another as they tried on items, tugging them over their clothes.
Accompanied by Kent and McLeod, Gabriel entered the shop. Inside, Fortescue’s was more spacious and cleaner than its exterior might suggest. The front counter was polished, and the man who came to greet them had the glistening pink mien of one who never missed his meals. His waistcoat, patterned in a loud stripe, strained at the buttons. His thinning black hair had been meticulously combed to cover his balding pate.
He sized them up. His gaze gleamed like that of a man who’d been presented with a feast. He waddled over and performed an unctuous bow.
“James Fortescue, at your service.” Despite the French surname, the man’s Cockney accent was several generations thick. “How may I be o’ assistance to you fine gents today?”
Gabriel removed the handkerchief from his pocket. Placed it on the counter.
“Is this one of yours?” he said.
“As a matter o’ fact, it is, and it don’t belong outside the shop.” Fortescue frowned. “Don’t know as ’ow it fell into such fine ’ands as yours, but rest assured that that is a rough sample only. I’ve much finer examples if you wish to order a supply—”
“What I wish to know is if a woman by the name of Marie Fournier worked here.”
“Don’t know no Fournier,” the proprietor said. “But perhaps I could interest you in some o’ our fine merchandise—”
“She may have used a different name. The woman I seek is of average height, thin, dark hair and eyes. She is well-educated and speaks fluent French and English.” Seeing the sudden dart of the other’s eyes, Gabriel said evenly, “This is a matter of import, and I am offering a reward.”
Fortescue licked his lips. “A reward, you say?”
Gabriel removed a coin purse, letting the contents jingle.
“I might know the woman you’re lookin’ for.” His eyes on the purse, Fortescue said, “’Ad a seamstress by the name o’ Manette Fontaine workin’ for me.”
