“Of course it is, but the matter we wish to discuss is of a sensitive nature. We do not want anyone to overhear,” Bramstone said. “One never knows in Crabbett Close who would be listening.”
Gray pinched his nose.
“Headache?” Ellen’s uncle asked him.
“It has been a trying day. Mrs. Nicholson just called.”
“Ah, I can only imagine her pain,” he said.
“Poor woman,” Ellen said from the bottom of his steps.
Something made him look to the gate, and he saw a carriage had stopped there, and the occupants were staring at him and the Nightingales.
“It seems we are drawing attention.”
Ellen and her uncle looked. She then quickly returned her gaze to him. Her uncle watched a while longer until the carriage moved on.
“Like you, Detective Fletcher, we no longer walk in society, and as you are aware, our fall from grace was a spectacular plummet, which was in no way the fault of my nieces, wife, or myself but has tarnished us with my foolish brother’s shame. However, we may no longer walk among them, but we are still fodder for gossips.”
They knew who he was, just as he knew who they were.If he was honest, his identity was not something he hid, but it was rare anyone recognized him. But today, not only Mrs. Nicholson knew but the Nightingales too.
“I was at Eton with your brother, Christopher,” Bramstone Nightingale said.
“How unlucky for you, sir,” Gray said.
He let out a great bark of laughter. The lines deepened around his eyes, and Gray thought that he quite liked the idea that Bramstone Nightingale had been there to support his nieces and nephews when their parents had not. And why he cared, he had no idea.
“He is not someone I spent a great deal, if any, time with, I must admit.”
“That makes two of us,” Gray added and then wished he could shut his mouth.
His colleagues would be shocked. He never spoke unless he had something to say, and yet here he was, running off at the mouth in front of Ellen Nightingale and her uncle.
“Well then, my sweet niece, if the detective has no wish for us to enter his house, then you must tell him here what you did. However, keep your voice down.”
“What did she do?” After last night, not much had the power to shock him, but he had a feeling that the next words coming out of her mouth would.
“Good God!”
The Nightingales and Gray looked to his gate at that shriek. Two women were standing there with two tall, dark-haired men at their backs. The women were identical, and the men had the look of them too. Something tugged at Gray’s memory.
“Ellen?” one lady said, and then they were surging forward.
His eyes went to Ellen. She appeared frozen. A statue of stillness. Gray wasn’t sure she even breathed. Then a strangled sound came from her throat.
“Dear Lord, it is you!” The two women ran the last few steps and fell on Ellen Nightingale, hugging her.
Her uncle moved closer and placed a hand on her back, letting Ellen know he was there, Gray guessed.
“They mean her no harm, Nightingale.” One man approached. “They were once friends, you see. My sisters have been searching for your niece for some time.”
Bramstone nodded, stepping away from the gaggle of weeping women. “I shall leave them to their reunion, then.”
He didn’t move too far away from Ellen, however, remaining close enough should she need him. Gray wondered what it was like to have that kind of support.
“Sinclairs,” Bramstone said, holding out a hand to the man who’d spoken to him. “’Tis good to see you again.”
They exchanged greetings, and then the three men turned to look at Gray, who was still in his doorway.
