Mr. Douglas waved Mungo’s words off. His eyes were fixed on Calder with unabashed interest.
“Good evening to you. You must be our Mungo’s brother,” Mrs. Varney said, beaming up at Calder. She wore several scarves and a bonnet covered in knitted flowers.
Mungo knew then why they’d been stopped. The toffee had been a ploy to meet Calder. He wasn’t sure how they knew he’d be on the carriage with his brother, but he’d long since given up wondering how the residents knew things.
“This is Mr. Calder Fraser,” Mungo introduced, “my brother. Calder, this is Mrs. Varney, Mr. Douglas, Mr. Clemmie Acton, and Miss Tabitha Varney.”
The carriage door opened behind him once again. Leo stepped out. “By God, is that toffee?” he said.
Mrs. Varney had another tin, which she handed to him.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Fraser,” Tabitha purred. “Two handsome brothers—how will my heart cope?” She pressed a hand to her chest, which was thankfully covered.
“Evening, Tabitha,” Benjamin said, munching on toffee, happy that he was too young for her advances.
“I—ah—good evening, ma’am.” Calder’s accent thickened, as it always had when he was off-balance.
“He’s wed,” Mungo snapped as Leo dropped a piece of toffee into his mouth and hummed loudly.
Tabitha pouted.
“We like to know who’s coming and going from our close,” Mr. Douglas said, leaning on the stick he was using because he’d tripped over his doorstep coming home after drinking too much whisky and hurt his foot. “Especially family. Family’s important. Isn’t that right, Mungo?”
Mungo ground his teeth. “Aye, Mr. Douglas.”
Clemmie stepped closer, peering at Calder as if assessing him for some invisible ailment. “You’ve a strong brow line,” he said thoughtfully. “That means determination. Or stubbornness. Hard to tell, but as you’re related to our Mungo, I’m thinking it’s the latter.”
“Ah—thank you,” Calder replied faintly.
“And those shoulders.” Tabitha sighed.
“He’s wed,” Mungo ground out again.
“If you’ll excuse us, we’ve something urgent to do,” Calder said. He’d always been more polite than Mungo.
“Of course,” Mr. Douglas said. “Mind the rut by the Hellions’,” he called as Mungo gathered the reins again. “I nearly fell into it last week,” he added, like it was the size of a pond and not a wash basin.
Mungo flicked the reins before anyone else could offer a comment. The horses surged forward, the carriage rolling once more.
Beside him, Calder made a strangled sort of noise.
Mungo slanted him a look. “What?”
“They are an odd lot,” Calder said.
Mungo snorted, unwilling laughter pushing against his ribs. “Extremely.”
They reached the next corner, and Mungo eased the horses around the bend.
Two children raced alongside for a few yards, woolly hats pulled low, cheeks red with cold. One of them—a little girl with two braids sticking out on either side of her head—waved at him.
“Mr. Mungo! Mr. Mungo! Make them go fast!” she shouted.
“Ye’ll be the death of me, Elsie Greedy,” he called back. “And no, I will not.”
They left Crabbett Close behind, the tight knot offamiliar houses giving way to wider streets and the steady hum of the city.
Somewhere out there it was possible that Fenella was being held against her will, and they had to find her. The tea shop was their only place to start.
