Gray was confident in the work he did but not in social situations. Mainly because he avoided them now. But even when he had been attending them, he’d stayed in the background. The Sinclairs, he could tell, were extremely confident.
He’d heard their name, of course, and in connection with the powerful Duke of Raven. Other bits of information also filtered into his head. A sister had wed Mr. Huntington, one of the wealthiest men in England.
Gray picked up the last available chair in the room, a spindly, uncomfortable thing, from under the desk his aunt had written her letters at. Unsure where to place it, he put it beside Bramstone Nightingale.
“Now, tell us about your latest case, Fletcher,” Lord Sinclair said.
“I don’t discuss my—”
“Have you ever been to Nicholson’s bookshop?” Ellen Nightingale said, drawing all the eyes in the room.
“I have not. Should I?” Lord Sinclair asked.
“It’s an excellent shop and not far from where we live, but it’s very sad that the owner, Mr. Nicholson, was murdered there recently. Detective Fletcher is investigating that.”
Gray shot Ellen a look. He didn’t want her discussing the case, but he guessed it would be no secret George Nicholson was murdered if anyone asked after the man. He was sure a paper somewhere in London had printed the story.
“I remember hearing about that,” Cambridge said. “Must have been terrifying to know it happened so close, Ellen.” He then sniffed loudly. “Is that fruit cake I smell?”
“It is fruit buns, sir,” Albert said, returning with a fresh pot of tea.
“I love fruit buns.” Cambridge Sinclair’s expression was like that of a small child presented with a treat.
Albert lowered the pot and left the room once more. Presumably he would reappear with fruit buns.
“I can’t believe you were here in London this entire time,” one of the Sinclair women said to Ellen.
She looked down at her hands, uncomfortable. “I wasn’t here all the time. We spent some time in the country after father’s death. I’m sorry I didn’t send word. I just wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Hello, I am well. You do not need to worry,” the other woman said. “Which we still would have done, but at least we would not have imagined you somewhere you shouldn’t be?”
“They had you working in a brothel or enslaved in a workhouse,” Cambridge said.
“Yes, thank you, Cam,” one of the dark-haired twins snapped.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Ellen said. “But there was so much change.”
“Completely understandable,” Lord Sinclair said. “And on behalf of our family allow me to tell you we are very sorry for what you and your family endured.” He looked from Ellen to Bramstone Nightingale. “Now that is enough from you two,” he then said to his sisters. “You have found her so no more interrogating is required.”
Gray could tell the twins didn’t think that was anywhere near enough but didn’t say anything further on the matter.
“More visitors have called, sir.”
“What? Who?” Gray said exasperated. He couldn’t imagine who else would be here. His family never visited.
“Mr. Ramsey Hellion.”
“Hello, Gray.” The tall man standing in the doorway looked nothing like his old childhood friend.
“Ramsey?” The name came out louder than he’d intended and then Gray was hugging his cousin.
“It’s a busy day in the Fletcher household, it seems, what with reunions and making acquaintances. This bachelor establishment hasn’t seen this much action for some time is my guess,” Cambridge said.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ram?” Gray said, emotion thick in his throat.
Ramsay Hellion was his cousin and once best friend. His parents had moved to India when he was young. They’d not seen each other since. But they had written regularly. In fact, Ram was the only relative he’d kept in contact with, which was ironic when his siblings and parents were under an hour away.
“Well, I think it may be time for us to depart, Ellen,” Bramstone Nightingale said. “We shall call on you tomorrow to discuss what information we have, Detective Fletcher. But now we’ll leave you to your reunion,” he added.
