His father was not wrong. The narrow street was flanked by lodging houses, taverns, and other disreputable establishments. Men lounged in packs, some leaning against lampposts, others propped up against walls. Some had eyes that were red-rimmed by the excesses of the night before, and some continued tippling from flasks. Weapons glinted in the sunlight.
With the address provided by Rawlins, Ethan located the lodging house. The three-story edifice sagged with age, and he ducked to enter through the low-hanging doorway. The place had a sickly stench, ammonia masked with cheap scent. The proprietor, a fellow with side whiskers and twitchy movements, seemed in awe of the presence of gentlemen in his establishment, and Ethan used it to his advantage. In a lordly tone, he stated that he was Dobson Gill’s former employer and demanded to see the fellow’s quarters. The proprietor scrambled to fetch the key, bowing and scraping as he showed them to Gill’s room.
After dismissing the proprietor, Ethan studied the cramped quarters.
“Not much to see here,” James muttered.
There was a cot set against the wall, a chipped dresser, and a small washstand. The unmade bed was the only sign that the room had been occupied. Wordlessly, Ethan went to examine the dresser, a floorboard squeaking beneath his boot. The dresser wobbled as he opened the drawers and rifled through the contents.
“Find anything?” James inquired from the cot.
Ethan shook his head. “A few items of clothing. Nothing of note. You?”
Grimacing, James plucked a dirty pair of smalls from the sheets and held it up between pinched fingers. “I’ve discovered that hygiene was not a priority for Gill.”
“The man had to have some personal effects,” Papa said. “Unless they have already been purloined?”
“Living in a place like this, Gill would know to hide anything of value,” Ethan said.
He took a step forward, pausing when the floorboard squeaked again. Crouching, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. The resulting resonance suggested a hollow space. He ran his fingertips along the perimeter of the plank, jiggling it until it came loose.
The others joined him.
“What did you find?” Papa asked.
One by one, Ethan removed the items from the hiding place. A battered purse with a few coins and some letters of reference extolling Gill’s work as a footman, undoubtedly forged. His blood chilled as he fished out a set of chains and pots of white and red face paints.
“The first cook I hired thought she saw Bloody Thom,” he muttered. “It could have been Gill in disguise…but I hadn’t fired him at that point. He had no reason to retaliate against me.”
“Unless Gill wasn’t after revenge but something else.” James crouched beside him. “Anything else in there?”
The space looked empty. Nonetheless, Ethan reached down.
“I don’t think…wait, there’s something stuck in a corner. Some sort of fabric…”
He tugged and felt the material tear free from whatever it was snagged on. He lifted it out, and his pulse quickened at the sight of the familiar orange stripes.
“Why the devil would he hide a neckcloth?” James curled his lip. “Although if I owned such an eyesore, perhaps I would conceal it too.”
“It is not just a neckcloth,” Ethan said. “It is a badge of membership worn by the Corrigans.”
“Do you think Gill was a member of that gang?” Papa asked.
“This neckerchief would indicate so.” Pieces of a puzzle jostled in Ethan’s mind, and to his frustration, they did not quite fit. “But Gill worked for me prior to my confrontation with Patrick Harlow, the leader. If Harlow sent him to infiltrate my household, the motive would not be one of revenge.”
“Methinks it is time to consider other reasons why someone might want you gone from Bottoms House,” James said. “Let’s bring the evidence back and see what the others have to say. I’d wager the womenfolk are anxiously awaiting our return.”
“I would hold on to my money if I were you, son.” Papa’s smile was wry. “By now, you ought to know that Mama is not one to wait on anyone. She finds ways to keep herself occupied.”
ChapterThirty-One
“Ihope you do not mind that I invited myself along on your errands, Mrs. Wood,” the Marchioness of Blackwood said lightly.
“Not at all, my lady.”
Despite her apprehension at being alone with her lover’s mama, Xenia managed a smile. She was already on edge after Rawlins cornered her in the stillroom, where she’d been preparing more ointment for Ethan’s hand. The constable had seemed friendly, but his questions about her prior employment and history had spurred her heart into a panicked gallop. She’d told the truth where she could and replied vaguely at other times.
She didn’t know if Rawlins was suspicious of her. Or if Ethan was aware that the constable had questioned her. What she did know was that she felt a strong impulse to flee the manor, and she’d almost made it out when Lady Blackwood intercepted her and requested to accompany her to Chuddums.
