Pain flashed in her eyes before her smile reappeared. Summerville leaving her to marry hurt her, I saw, but she had decided to put a brave face on it. I admired her for that.
“The walking stick?” I prompted.
“I’m afraid I do not remember him having it yesterday, though I will ask my footman.”
Mrs. Chambers rose and rang a silver bell that rested on a tambour desk, and the lanky footman who’d admitted me entered the room.
“John,” she said. “Did Mr. Summerville leave his walking stick behind last evening?”
John’s face remained as expressionless as a blank wall. “I couldn’t say, ma’am. Henry was on the door last night.”
“I see. Thank you, John.”
John bowed with trained stiffness and withdrew.
“Henry has gone to visit his family,” Mrs. Chambers said once John had closed the door. “He’ll not return for a few days. However, I will make inquiries of the other staff and have a good root around myself. If the walking stick turns up, I’ll send it on to Mr. Summerville.” She paused. “Or perhaps it would be more discreet if I sent it to you.”
“That would be best,” I answered, rising.
I took my card back from her and scribbled my direction on it:Above Beltan’s Bake Shop, Grimpen Lane, Covent Garden.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Chambers,” I said, handing her the card. “Your home is lovely.”
Again, the flash of pain. “That is kind of you. Perhaps you would like to remain and take coffee?” She tried to look as though she’d love nothing better than for me to stay, but I saw in her eyes that she offered from simple politeness.
“I regret that I have another engagement.” I did regret it. Sharply.
“Ah, well. I am pleased to have met you, Captain.”
I confessed myself equally pleased, bowed, and took my leave.
***
The rain worsened as morning became afternoon. I pulled my greatcoat around me and directed the hackney across London and down the river toward St. Katherine’s Dock. Descending, I limped along the narrow lanes, conscious of scurrying feet in the shadows, of predators stalking unexpected prey.
I entered the lodgings Summerville had indicated, and a sharper contrast to Mrs. Chambers’s comfortable house there was not. The stench of cabbage permeated the stairwell, and paint peeled from the walls. I climbed painfully to the second floor and knocked on the door at the top of the stairs.
A child cried fretfully within, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a window being banged open.
The door was unlocked. I shoved myself inside in time to see a thin woman climbing over the windowsill. I crossed the room swiftly and grabbed her around the waist.
She screeched. “Lemme go!”
“You’ll kill yourself, you little fool.” I shoved her from me and slammed the casement closed.
She went for the door. Again, I caught her. She didn’t weigh much, but she was strong.
“Stop!” I shook her. “I’m not a constable, whatever you may think.”
She peered at me from behind a fall of yellow hair. “No? What are yer then?”
“I’ve come from Mr. Summerville.” I glanced at the children on the floor. One was about four; the other, still crawling. Both of them had light brown hair the same shade as Summerville’s.
“Oh. You mean our Dobbin.”
I set her on her feet. “You are Nellie?”
“I am. Sorry I tried to fight yer. I though maybe you was coming for me.” Nellie regarded me warily. “What’ya want, then?”
