Squid cocked an ear. She imagined he could gauge the amount inside right down to the farthing just by the chink of the metal. It was a generous sum.
His smile revealed several missing teeth. “David. And he be theHonorableDavid Mather.”
So, not just gentry, but a member of the aristocracy.
“That ain’t all, Magpie. Word is, he works at a bank.”
A bank.Her pulse kicked up a notch. “Which one?”
“Lemme think.” The tavernkeeper rubbed at his jaw, anxious to keep any extra coins from slipping through his fingers. A moment later, he let out a guttural laugh. “Oiy—I remember it now! Whore’s Bank.” His jowls were now quivering with mirth. “Ye think they keep cunnies locked up in their vault?”
“No,” she answered. “Too many places for a whore to hide away a handful of guineas.”
Squid was now laughing so hard it brought tears to his eyes. Charlotte was smiling, as well. The clue was worth its weight in gold. C. Hoare & Co. was an old and respected private banking establishment, whose clients included Lord Byron and Eton College.
“My thanks. You’ve been a great help.” She made a show of turning for the door. “Oh, one last thing.” Charlotte slid her hand back into her pocket. “Is there anyone else I should know about?”
“Well, now that ye mention it, the murdered man was thick as thieves with a barmaid at the Lantern. A pretty blonde.” He pantomimed a pair of buxom breasts. “I imagine that be valuable information. Bow Street don’t know it, as Annie begged the others to keep mum about it. She must have a reason fer not wanting te draw the attention of the Runners. Anyone wid harf an eye can see she’s got something te hide.”
Charlotte withdrew another coin but kept her hand fisted. “Annie’s full name?”
Squid licked his lips. “Annie Wright.”
“What’s she hiding?”
“Dunno,” he muttered, shooting a greedy look at her fist. “But you’re a clever cully, Magpie, and are good at uncovering all the little secrets that people wish te keep hidden.”
Satisfied that she had gotten all she could out of him, she tossed a guinea down beside the purse, setting off a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and then shoved back the massive deadbolt on the inside of the door to let herself out.
“Always a pleasure doing business with ye, Magpie,” he called softly as the age-black oak closed behind her with a thunk.
Yes, she had paid through the nose, but Charlotte felt she had gotten the best of the bargain. She now had two names.
Ones that only deepened the mystery surrounding the murder.
* * *
Raven let out a soft cry of a nightingale, then went very still. A moment later came the warble of a dove.
“Nobody’s coming. Let’s go,” he murmured, rising from his crouch among the bushes rimming the back terrace of Woodbridge’s townhouse and creeping toward the side window.
Sheffield followed, trying to mimic the boy’s fluid stealth. “How—”
“Ssshhh,” warned Raven as he pulled a knife from his boot and slid the blade between the iron-framed sashes. Hawk rejoined them an instant later.
“What’s he doing?” whispered Sheffield.
“Feeling for the latch,” answered Hawk. “Once you position the point of the knife just so, you can force it to release.”
“How do you two know—”
“Ssshh!”
A breeze ruffled through the ivy framing the mullioned panes of glass. The twittering of a nightingale—a real one—floated out from the dark branches of a chestnut tree by the garden wall.
And then a tiny metallicsnick.
Raven tucked the knife back in his boot and slowly eased one of the window sashes open a crack. “Hawk, you go first and make sure there’s nobody around.”
