Bryant dismissed her entirely, rapping his knuckles against the counter. “Eady, do we ’ave an understanding? I don’t want to ’ave to drag my arse in ’ere again.”
“Yes, yes,” Eady said impatiently. “I’ll expect the next, ahem, shipment as usual.”
Bryant stalked past Glory without sparing her a look.
Just as well.
“Now, madam.” Eady wore an oily smile. “Let me guess. You are in the market for a cat?”
Wei should be searching the backroom by now. Buy him time.
“How did you know?” Glory said diffidently.
“Feline companionship can be so rewarding to ladies such as yourself,” Eady said. “May I suggest one of my newest arrivals, a lovely Siamese?”
“I was thinking of a less exotic breed.” Glory made her tone timid. “A tabby, perhaps?”
“That would suit you. If you’ll step this way, I will show you a pair of tabby kittens. They are siblings, and you would enjoy owning the pair.”
Glory scrunched her forehead, pretending to think. “I was not planning to purchase two cats, sir. After all, I have ten of them already.”
“Of course you do,” Eady said with a condescending smile. “One can never have too many cats, can one?”
“I suppose you are right.” Glory peered at him through her spectacles, as if he’d given her a bright idea. “The only thing better than ten cats would be a dozen.”
“Precisely, ma’am…”
Eady trailed off as barks sounded faintly. He shifted his gaze to a door at the back of the shop.
“Do you carry accessories, sir?” Glory said hastily. “Several of my cats are in need of new collars and beds.”
“Right this way, ma’am.” Eady returned his attention to her, his eyes gleaming like the newly minted coins he was likely counting in his head. “I have everything you need and more.”
Glory hurried out of the shop. Turning the corner, she walked down two blocks, keeping an eye out for Mr. Devlin’s circling hackney. When she saw it, she waved.
As Mr. Devlin handed her into the carriage, he said in a low voice, “By Jove, we’ve done it.”
Glory saw the triumph in his eyes before she boarded the vehicle. Inside, a white-and-brindle bull terrier was sitting between Wei’s legs.
“You found him,” she exclaimed as the carriage lurched into motion. “Hello, Sir Barkley! It is very nice to meet you at last. Mrs. Mumford-Mills will be so happy to see you.”
The dog wagged his tail as she petted him between his pricked ears. Giving him a quick once-over, she found that he had a few scratches, and his short coat was crusted with dirt. His ribs also stuck out more than they should, but he seemed otherwise fine.
“There were at least two dozen dogs in the backroom,” Wei said, his jaw taut. “The bastards crammed all of them in a single cage. I wanted to take more with me, but I didn’t want to expose our plan. And we don’t know who those dogs belong to.”
“We will get those dogs back to their homes,” Glory said determinedly. “Whilst in the shop, I learned some useful information that gave me an idea. A plan that will allow us to grow two plants from one seed. We can help the dogs and get the answers you need from Scott.”
Twenty-Seven
“How am I supposed to do a final fitting of your gown without you, Lady Glory? I am a dressmaker, not a miracle worker.”
Two days later, Mrs. Quinton—Mrs. Q to intimates—folded her arms as she regarded Glory, Livy, and Fiona in a private dressing room of her celebrated atelier. The African modiste was much in demand, her list of clients ripped from the pages of Debrett’s. It was rumored that the waiting time to secure an appointment at her Bond Street shop was over a year long. Given her friendship with Charlie, Mrs. Q made an exception for the Angels. Not only did she design their everyday ensembles, but she also created some special items for them.
In the secret workshop below her atelier, she designed frocks and accessories for the Angels that were both fashionable and functional. From umbrellas with retractable blades to dresses with detachable skirts, Mrs. Q made sure the ladies were properly outfitted for their missions. Her current project, however, was an ivory ballgown for Glory’s birthday celebration, which was draped on a dressmaker’s dummy.
“You have worked miracles before, Mrs. Q,” Glory cajoled.
She was standing on a dais facing a looking glass. Instead of trying on her birthday ensemble, however, she was hurriedly getting into a male disguise.
