“I say, that’s an excellent idea,” Leo agreed.
“I’m full of them,” Gray drawled. “It comes with being a detective.”
“You’re too posh to be her brother,” Mungo said. “I’ll go as her friend.”
“Excellent idea,” Bram said. “But you’re Scottish. Miss Watts is English.”
“She can have a Scottish friend,” he snapped back. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll not speak. Miss Downing can do that. We’ll go in first,” Mungo added before anyone else could protest.
He placed a hand on her back and nudged her toward thedoor. When she didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he reached around her, opened it, and nudged again.
“I don’t need direction, nor your large hand pushing me.”
“Move, then,” he muttered, following her inside.
She said something else under her breath, but he didn’t catch it and likely wasn’t meant to. Few people spoke to Mungo that way. Most found him intimidating. Not the Nightingales, of course. But others. And definitely not Eliza. She seemed determined to point out his flaws to the younger members of the family and annoy him by calling him Mr. Mungo. He shouldn’t respect her for it, yet he did.
Inside, the tea shop was larger than expected. Lanterns glowed softly, reflecting off patterned wallpaper. Steam curled from teapots on nearby tables. One wall was lined with shelves of mismatched books, chipped teacups, and vases stuffed with dried flowers. Cozy, Mungo thought. At least the walls didn’t feel as though they wanted to crush him.
“Hello, Maggie.” Eliza went straight to a table of four women. Mungo stayed at her back.
The one she’d greeted rose as they approached. “Eliza. It’s been so long. How are you?”
“Well, thank you, Maggie. I am enjoying my new position very much. The family are lovely, even if they have a few crotchety staff members.”
Clearly, she meant him.
“All households have those,” another of the ladies said. “Staff who think they have more rights than anyone else.”
“Exactly that,” Eliza said.
Mungo ground his teeth.
“Is this your man?” Maggie’s sharp gaze shifted to Mungo.
He attempted something like a smile. Her brows rose, unimpressed.
“Oh no, this is Mr. Fraser,” Eliza said, pulling Maggie’sattention back to herself. “We’re searching for his friend Polly Watts. She’s with the Holton Agency as well.”
A subtle rustling came from behind them, which told him that the others had arrived and were seating themselves at a table. Mungo kept his attention on Eliza and the women.
“Well, she needs to keep that quiet. Mrs. Holton doesn’t like her girls to have family or beaus,” one of the women said.
“Why do you think that is?” Eliza asked. “It’s a bit odd.”
“She doesn’t want anything getting in the way of the Holton Agency’s stellar reputation. Connections to other people do that, apparently.”
“Do any of you know Polly Watts?” Eliza asked.
“She could be a special,” one of them said.
“Special?”
“You don’t know about the special girls, Eliza?” one of the ladies asked, her face showing surprise.
She shook her head.
“Mrs. Holton runs a highly respected agency and often gets requests for maids or other staff from overseas. She selects the best of us and then pays the passage for them to travel.”
