“Pssst.” The sound came again, this time from within the muddled gloom to his left.
He slid his grip down on his walking stick, ready to brandish the brass knob.
The fog quivered as two shapes suddenly darted out and skidded to a stop.
“Put that away, Mr. Sheffield,” cautioned Raven. “If you threaten a cove with a stick in this neighborhood, you better know how to use it.”
“What makes you think I can’t hold my own in a scrum?” he retorted.
“Cuz you’ll fight like a gentleman,” piped up Hawk. “And your opponent won’t.”
“What are you Weasels doing out this late at night?” grumbled Sheffield, letting his arm drop. “You should be home doing your schoolwork.”
“Bugger schoolwork,” retorted Raven. “I overheard you telling m’lady and His Nibs that Lady Cordelia is in trouble. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, as to that . . .” Sheffield tapped the stick against his boot.
“His Nibs says you have to look at a problem with logic, so you need to have a plan,” counseled Hawk. “Running around niffy-piffy won’t do anyone any good.”
“My brain may not be quite as sharp as that of Wrexford,” replied Sheffield a little defensively. “But yes, that thought had occurred to me.”
Raven fixed him with an unblinking stare. “Actually, Lady Cordelia says you’re quite smart when you put your mind to it. So you just need to think on it.”
“I—” Sheffield flinched as a shutter swung loose on a nearby building and banged against the sooty brick. “Ihavebeen thinking. And it seems to me that a first step would be to have a look around her brother’s townhouse and see if there are any clues as to where they might have gone.”
“Oiy, that makes some sense,” replied Raven. “But how are you going to do that? I don’t suppose you have a key to the front door?”
“No.” Sheffield shifted his stance as a feral growl sounded from the alleyway. “However, I wasn’t intending on going in through the main entrance.”
The boys exchanged looks.
“I think,” said Raven, “that we had better come with you.”
“Oiy,” agreed his brother.
“When?” demanded Raven.
“The sooner the better,” responded Sheffield. “It’s too late to try it tonight, so let’s make it tomorrow.”
Raven nodded. “We’ll meet you in the center garden of Grosvenor Square at midnight.”
“Don’t wear those fancy boots,” added Hawk. “You need soft-soled shoes so you don’t sound like a cart horse galloping over cobblestones. And bring a dark knitted toque to hide that flaming gold hair.”
“Anything else?” asked Sheffield.
The boys were already lost in the skittering shadows. “Oiy,” answered Raven. “Don’t tell m’lady, or she’ll have all our heads on a platter.”
* * *
Wrexford clicked open the door to his unlit workroom and stepped inside. It was late, and with the coals in the hearth having crumbled to ash, a chill pervaded the air. He paused for a moment to draw a deep breath, the familiar scents of vellum and leather from the bookshelves mingling with the faint tang of chemicals . . . and then released it in a low oath.
“Hell and damnation, what a coil,” he added, shrugging out of his overcoat and letting it drop to the floor. It troubled him that he hadn’t told Charlotte about his loan to Sheffield. The secret wasn’t his to share, and yet it somehow felt wrong to have held it back. Stepping over the tangle of wool, he found a flint and steel on the work counter and struck a spark to an oil lamp.
A flame hissed to life.
“Ah, you’re back.” The flare of light showed Griffin seated in one of the armchairs by the hearth. “A pity. I was about to help myself to a second glass of your costliest brandy.”
“Tyler may be looking for another position come morning,” muttered the earl.
