“That is horribly cynical, Brisbane. But probably true,” I admitted. “Still, you are only half a Gypsy. Half Scot as well.”
He laughed. “Slim redemption, that. With the exception of the duke, all of my father’s family still refer to me as ‘Jack’s filthy Gypsy bastard.’ I doubt they would sponsor me should I lose my entrée into the best houses.”
“Don’t be self-pitying. It isn’t becoming,” I said sharply.
He shrugged again. “It is true. That they say it, I mean,” he said with a grin. “Not that I am. My parents were married very properly some seven months before I was born.”
“Your father was quite something else,” I observed mildly.
“Quite,” he agreed.
He seemed so reconciled to the thought that he might lose his standing, his reputation, that I had to ask, “Why do you pursue society clients, then, if you do not seem to mind about losing them?”
“Money, of course. The wealthy are able to pay far more for my services than the middle class. Why not take fewer, more lucrative investigations and leave myself more time for my own pursuits?”
I did not wish to probe too deeply into this. I had a vague notion that some of these pursuits might be unsavory.
“What will you do if the clients do not come?”
“What I did before. This and that. Do not mind about me, my lady. Like all cats, I land on my feet.”
I started. I had so often thought of him as feline, that I wondered for one mad moment if he had read my thoughts.
“Ah, good. Well, I suppose we had best discuss the investigation and how we shall proceed.”
“Weshall not proceed, my lady,” he said matter-of-factly. “I must do the rest alone.” He raised a hand to stem my angry protest. “Listen, before you screech at me. You went to that camp last night because you feared for my safety. I shall not forget that. But in return, you must allow me to have a care for yours. The next step must be tracing this box to the person in the brothel who knew Sir Edward. You might have gotten away with your little masquerade in a dark Gypsy camp on a moonless night. But there is no possible way, I repeat,no possible waythat you could do the same in a West End brothel. There are men there whose sole occupation is to beat and torture those who make trouble for the proprietors. Do not think they would scruple to hurt you if they discovered the truth about your identity.”
“But you cannot—”
He sat forward sharply in his chair.
“This issue is not open to discussion,” he said sternly. “You have assisted me as far as possible, but it must end now. I will report to you what I discover, but I will do this alone, are we quite in agreement?”
It really was not a question at all. He did not expect an argument and I did not give him one. I nodded, dry-mouthed. He had let me off quite lightly from my faux pas of the previous evening. I should keep very quiet and be grateful, I supposed. Besides, there was Simon. I had a duty there, and Brisbane’s insistence upon working alone would permit me to honour it.
I rose. “Then there is nothing more to discuss.” I extended my hand and he touched it briefly before dropping it. He followed me to the door. I thought he had reached to open it, but he flattened his palm against the wood, keeping it closed. I did not turn, but I was conscious of him, just behind me, his breath stirring the hair at the base of my neck. I remembered what he had done the last time he was so close to me and I felt rather giddy, sick even.
“I was angry with you last night,” he said softly, “but it was nothing,nothing,compared to what I will be if you interfere now.”
I reached out and turned the knob sharply, forcing him to step back.
“Good day, Mr. Brisbane,” I said, flinging my shawl over my shoulder.
He did not reply, but I felt his eyes boring mercilessly into my back all the way down the stairs.
Upon returning to Grey House I went directly to Simon. He was moving a little in his sleep, tossing under his embroidered coverlet. Desmond was sitting with him, sponging his brow from a basin of warm water laced with lavender.
I smiled as I entered and he rose, spilling a little of the water on the carpet. He started, blushing. With his Titian colouring, it was entirely charming. I thought of Portia’s insistence that I take a lover and blushed a little myself.
“Do not mind that,” I said softly as he bent to blot the water spots. “It will dry soon enough and the scent is pleasant.” I beckoned him away from the bed. “How is he?”
“H-he was sleeping peacefully until perhaps a quarter of an hour ago, my lady. I asked Mr. Aquinas and he thought a bit of lavender water might ease h-his sleep.”
His eyes were round with apprehension. He had seldom had cause to speak to me directly, but when he had, his speech had always been laced with a boyish stammer and the slightest lilt of a country drawl. I could not imagine how he had come to Mayfair.
“You have done quite well, I am sure. Did Doctor Griggs leave instructions about the next dose?”
“Oh, yes, my lady.” He crept to the night table where he collected a piece of paper. There were a few directions given, but only general in nature.
