The door opened, and Wick alighted, handing her down. On the pavement, she turned to speak to the Carlisles, who remained in the carriage.
“I shan’t be long,” she said.
“Take your time, dear,” Violet said blithely. “We’ll wait for you here.”
The “compromise” Bea had reached with Wick involved meeting his partners and saying what she needed to say. Then she would leave him to convene privately with his associates; in the interim, she and the Carlisles would pay visits to watchmakers, to see if they could trace the origins of the pocket watch.
As Bea followed Wick toward his offices, she noticed a small boy standing across the street. She didn’t know why he’d caught her eye: he wore the drab brown garb that was the uniform of street urchins, a battered cap atop his mop of brown hair, streaks of dirt on his cherubic face. Perhaps it was his stillness that snagged her attention, the way he stood unmoving by the lamp post amidst the hustle and bustle of the street.
An unbidden thought popped into her head.Is he…watching me?
A hackney stopped in the thoroughfare, cutting him from her view. When it drove off, the boy was gone.
Telling herself she was imagining things, Beatrice followed Wick into a handsome, sprawling brick building. Located in London’s financial center near the Bank of England, the offices of Great London National Railway were characterized by restrained elegance. The lobby was a masterpiece of dark wood paneling, richly upholstered furnishings, and brass fixtures. Everything from the spotless grey marble underfoot to the sweeping velvet framing the tall windows whispered, rather than shouted, that this was a prosperous business.
The clerk behind an imposing front desk of carved mahogany jumped to his feet at the sight of them.
“Welcome back, Mr. Murray. It’s good to see you.” He bowed to Beatrice. “Welcome, miss.”
“It’s good to be back, Mr. Lyall,” Wick replied. “Where are Mr. Garrity and Mr. Kent?”
“They’re awaiting you in the main meeting room.”
“Thank you.” Wick steered Beatrice toward the staircase.
As they ascended the steps, she said, “Your offices are impressive.”
“We expanded them last year. Garrity owned the original building, and we purchased the one next door as well, merging them both. We also acquired a separate warehouse for Kent.”
As Wick had explained the roles of his partners previously, she knew that Harry Kent was the scientist of the group. According to his proud sister Violet, he was a bona fide genius, whose latest innovations with the steam engine were set to revolutionize the industry.
“Mr. Kent needs the space for his experiments?” Bea asked curiously.
“Weneed the space away from Kent and his experiments,” Wick said ruefully. “There’s no denying the man’s a genius, but he also has a propensity to blast things to smithereens.”
On that comforting thought, they arrived on the next floor. Wick led the way down a corridor flanked by offices, stopping to acknowledge greetings from a veritable army of employees. At the end of the hallway, they entered through a set of double doors, two men rising from a long table to greet them.
From what Wick had told her about his partners, Bea had no problem identifying who was who. The man at the head of the table had to be Adam Garrity. He appeared to be in his forties, his coal-black hair slicked back, his gaze the same fathomless shade. Although his sharp features were handsome, they had a cold, ruthless quality. His somber clothes were immaculately fitted to his lean form. Framed by the windows behind him, which gave an expansive view of the city’s financial center, he radiated an aura of power.
“Good morning, Murray.” His tone was cool. “You didn’t mention you would be bringing company.”
“There was a last-minute change to the plans.” Wick gave her a wry look before making the introductions. “May I introduce my partners, Mr. Adam Garrity and Mr. Harry Kent? This is Lady Beatrice Wodehouse, who we also knew as Miss Beatrice Brown.”
“Pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Harry Kent said with a bow.
Even without the introductions, Bea had guessed his identity from his resemblance to Violet. Tall and athletically built, he had clean-cut, handsome features, his intelligent brown gaze taking in the world from behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. His unruly dark cowlick added to his professorial appeal, as did the stains on his waistcoat.
Catching the direction of her gaze, he smiled ruefully and took out a handkerchief—one that, she noticed, already bore traces of dirt—and started rubbing at the splotches.
“My trial with an ignition device didn’t go as planned,” he said.
Bea’s gaze shot to Wick, who shrugged as if to say,At least the building’s still standing.
“I’m gratified to make your acquaintance at last, my lady.” This came from Garrity, who’d been quietly assessing her. “Would you care to sit?”
“Thank you, no. What I have to say will only take a few moments.”
“This concerns our bid on your land, I assume.”
