Lavinia paced the length of the Eversleigh House parlor until she was sure that there would be a permanent path worn down the middle. She had neither seen, nor heard, from Roarke for nearly two days. While she wasn’t surprised regarding her son’s inability to check in with her, what alarmed her was the fact that Mara was also missing. Just today she had decided to visit the haberdashery, just to keep an eye on things, when she found the door firmly locked. She knew enough about Miss Miller to realize it wasn’t like her to keep her shop closed up for such an extended period of time without just cause.
She just prayed that reason wasn’t due to her stubborn son. It would be just like him to sprint the chit off somewhere.
The boy had more of his father in him than he would ever know.
Naturally, Lavinia had questioned the servants, but either they truly knew nothing or they were just extremely loyal and closed-mouthed on the subject.
It was rather irksome of Roarke to employ such people.
Without anywhere to start, Lavinia was forced to cool her heels, however much she might detest the fact. Perhaps he might show up by the time she got back from the country with Lyra after putting Lord Weston to rest. If not, she would have to be forced to look into the matter further, by whatever means necessary.
A brief knock at the parlor door admitted the butler, Winston.
“I suppose this means my daughter has arrived?” Lady Eversleigh queried, grabbing her reticule.
“No, my lady. There is a visitor for Lord Eversleigh. Should I tell the caller the viscount is out?”
“Who is it?” Winston walked forward and handed over a silver tray with a card that caused Lavinia’s eyebrows to nearly reach her hairline. “I think I’d like to have a word with him. Please show him in.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Lavinia was standing in the middle of the room when the butler announced, “Mr. Andrews, Lady Eversleigh.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting out of a lead investigator for Bow Street, but the middle-aged man who walked in somewhat uncertainly wasn’t exactly the picture she’d conjured in her mind. Holding his hat in his hands and revealing thinning, brown hair, he looked unremarkable for a man involved in such a dangerous line of work. But he was obviously good at his job, for Roarke didn’t hire anyone but the best.
“Ah, Mr. Andrews, is it?” she asked cordially. “Please, have a seat. May I ring for some refreshment?”
“Lady Eversleigh,” he bowed politely in return, although he remained standing. “I’m afraid I don’t have long to spare. I merely came to deliver an urgent message for Lord Eversleigh.”
Lavinia’s mouth turned up at the corners. Direct and to the point.A quality she most admired, especially when she was willing to dispense with the niceties and get right to the heart of the matter at hand herself. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Andrews, so I will endeavor to do the same. I fear that my son has vanished, and since he has obviously engaged your services, I hoped that you might be able to enlighten me on where he might have gone.”
Mr. Andrews shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid that I can’t divulge that information, even for you, Lady Eversleigh. Client confidentiality, you understand.”
“Normally, I would agree,” she pointed out, “But in this instance, I make such a request under duress.” At the investigator’s shrewd expression, she explained, “Not only is the viscount missing, but a mutual family friend has also disappeared.” She hesitated before considering what name to give, but considering most knew Mara by her pseudonym, that’s what she used now. “Do you know Miss Anna Smith? She owns a small haberdashery on Cheshire Street.”
“I am…familiar with the name, yes,” the man hedged, causing Lavinia to narrow her gaze slightly.He knows something…“But I’m afraid I don’t recall mention of any problems in that area.”
“I see.” Lavinia’s mouth twitched. “You will contact me if anything changes? I’m most concerned for both Miss Smith and my son.”
“Of course,” Mr. Andrews nodded. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going.” With that, he slipped out the door before Lavinia was able to speak another word.
“Well,” she huffed to herself, “That man is as slippery as a greased pig.”
