“Good. The fine will be deducted from your week’s wages.”
With that, the factotum left her and strode into the office. Mrs. Sutter wiped her eyes with the edge of her pinafore and, shoulders slumped, walked out the gate.
A few minutes later, Jack returned and muttered something to the driver that Charlie couldn’t hear. The vehicle started to move as soon as he boarded and swiftly left Brompton’s behind. Lines bracketed Jack’s mouth, his expression foreboding.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did you find out anything about the matchbox?”
“To the contrary.” He shook his head. “I think I may have alerted the enemies that we are on their trail.”
“You think Brompton’s is involved with the First Flame?” she said alertly.
“I don’t know. But I spoke to the factotum, a man by the name of?—”
“Karlsson,” she interrupted. “Horrid fellow. I saw him berating a worker before he went into the office.”
“He’s a cold bastard but also bloody shrewd. At first, I wasn’t certain he was buying my story that I was a country innkeeper visiting London who wanted a supply of Brompton’s matches to take back for my business. Then, when I showed him the matchbox we found and said I wanted more of the same design, I knew he knew I was lying.”
“How?”
“He demanded to know where I’d obtained the matchbox. Said that the design was a special edition for the Great Exhibition and had not yet been released to the public. He was enraged, said that a worker likely had sticky fingers and I was in possession of stolen goods.”
“Heavens,” she breathed.
“Exactly,” Jack said grimly. “I played the gullible bumpkin and said I bought it from a matchgirl on a street corner, the name of which I conveniently couldn’t recall due to my unfamiliarity with London. I did not linger to see if Karlsson believed me.”
“If the matchboxes have not yet been sold, how did Tony’s killers get one? Do you think they work at the manufactory?”
“It is a possibility. Or perhaps a worker did filch and sell some boxes, and the killers happened to buy one.” The creases deepened around Jack’s mouth. “Something isn’t right about the place, though. Did you notice all the guards?”
She nodded. “Ten, at least. Whilst factories often hire protection, that number seems excessive.”
“What is Brompton’s trying to prevent?” Jack frowned. “The leaking of stolen goods…or of information about the shady activities taking place within?”
“We have to find out,” she said.
“Breaking in won’t be easy,” he said somberly. “The site is gated, and there is no way to approach without drawing notice. With guards everywhere?—”
“We’re not breaking in.” She sat back as the plan took shape in her head. “Tomorrow morning, I will simply walk in.”
Twenty-Eight
That evening, it was the first time Jack had enjoyed dining at home with his wife in twelve years, and if asked to imagine it, he would have pictured flowers, candles, and champagne. All of which were present, along with delicious food a stratosphere above his lodging house fare. Yet he didn’t notice any of it because he and Lottie had been locking horns since their departure from Brompton’s. That had continued until they arrived at her house, and they’d taken a break to change for supper before resuming their battle in the dining room.
Although he couldn’t prove that she’d done it to annoy him, she’d placed them at opposite ends of a very long table. He had to peer around an elaborate flower arrangement like a damned Peeping Tom around a hedge just to get a glimpse of her. She looked like Athena at a celebratory banquet after a battle. Her hair was fashioned in a coronet, her bare shoulders exposed by a silver-grey gown that was as cool as her manner. She took a delicate bite of fish as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
He grabbed the nearest domed dish, finding delicate beef roulettes blanketed in madeira sauce. At least she’d had the foresight to have supper servedà la française. As the courses were laid out on the table, she’d dismissed the servants, and they were serving themselves. Unfortunately, they were using the intimate setting to make war, not love.
Just like the old days.He couldn’t say he missed this part of their relationship. But he wasn’t about to back down when his wife was being irrational and pigheaded.
“It is a terrible idea, and you know it.” He sliced savagely into a roulette that was so tender he probably could have cut it with his fork. “If you get discovered, there’s no telling what might happen. Members of the First Flame might be working at Brompton’s, and if so, I may have inadvertently tipped them off this afternoon. They will be on high alert and?—”
“Do I seem incompetent to you?”
Lottie’s lofty tone grated on his nerves. Especially since it had to float down the length of the table to reach him.
“Of course not. That is not what I am saying?—”
“Did I question your decision to waltz in there as an innkeeper?”
