A surprised expression crossed Mr. Powys’s countenance when he saw her face. “It is indeed, Lady Charlotte.”
“You recognize me?” Charlotte asked, not entirely surprised. She was well-known in the literary world, even if Mr. Powys was too much of an incendiary playwright to be included in her mother’s particular circle. But he must frequent more liberal salons.
“Some of my friends have attended the Duchess of Falcondale’s events. They all speak very highly of your welcoming nature,” Mr. Powys said.
Charlotte wondered if he had purposefully not included her mother in his second statement. The duchess was exactly the kind of hypocritical stickler whom Mr. Powys loved to lampoon. But no matter Mr. Powys’s intent, his statement provided Charlotte with an excellent opening.
“I try to be hospitable to all. It was why I was trying to meet more of the front-room patrons. I noticed a few more men enter while we were leaving. I recognized one as Lord Hawley but not the other three.” Charlotte moved to a set of comfortable chairs and was exceedingly glad that this was one place where she did not need to concern herself with propriety. Outside of these walls, she could never simply sit down alone with a man, especially one to whom she had not been properly introduced.
Mr. Powys shook his head as he took his seat. “I’ve never seenthem before, but if they’re with Lord Hawley, I would give them a wide berth. Men like Jenks are harmless enough as long as you don’t cross them, but any fellows from the stews who associate with the viscount and his ilk are a different matter. There’s never a moment they’re not dangerous.”
“Why do you say that?” Charlotte could not help but inch forward. Her heart began pirouetting in a mad dance against her chest.
Mr. Powys looked at her curiously, and Charlotte realized she had just shown a bit too much enthusiasm. When Mr. Powys spoke, his words seemed measured. “There are rumors that whoever crosses the viscount comes to misfortune. It only stands to reason that, if Lord Hawley is associating with men from the streets, they are the fellows bringing about such unlucky fates.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, hoping that she sounded merely uninterested and not deflated. She had already surmised that on her own.
“I heard Hawley stopped by the Black Sheep yesterday and kicked up a dust. He was chased away after threatening Pan. He promised to return today, and I assume he’s about to learn that he won’t be able to bully his way into at least one establishment in London. Hopefully, this will be the last of him showing up here.”
“Did he ever frequent the Black Sheep before?” Charlotte asked, as unease seeped through her. Had Hawley discovered her part ownership? But how?
“Not that I am aware.”
The disquiet in Charlotte burgeoned into something approaching fear, but she could not back down. The only way to escape Hawley was forward. Part of her hoped that he’d never darken the doors of the Black Sheep again, but she conversely needed him too. Or at least his ruffians.
“Do you think his companions will return even if Hawley does not?” Charlotte asked.
Mr. Powys’s expression stilled, and his gaze grew hard. “I generally never repeat myself, as I find it a dull habit, but do not approach those men. They are not the kind who frequent coffeehouses for intellectual banter.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Charlotte lied. “I was just seeking assurances that they wouldn’t reappear and cause trouble. I would hate to find myself in the middle of any sort of brawl.”
Luckily, the rogues weren’t her only clue. She still had the drawing. Mr. Powys clearly would not divulge more about Hawley’s men, but he might know something about the necklace.
“There was another reason that I was in the front room this morning.” Charlotte reached into her reticule and pulled out the sketch. “A good friend of mine has misplaced a necklace. It is a family heirloom that her husband gifted her, and she’s afraid it may have been stolen. She doesn’t want to admit to him that she’s lost it, and she’s willing to pay to recover it. I promised to help, but I am afraid I have little idea where one finds the kind of brokers who deal in purloined goods.”
“And you think I do?” Offense drenched Mr. Powys’s face and voice.
Guilt horrified Charlotte as she scrambled to apologize. Then she glimpsed the amused twinkle deep in his violet-blue eyes. Her shoulders relaxed as she realized the thespian was simply teasing.
“Well, don’t you?” she asked. “You are rumored to be a man of many talents, and you are certainly a far better actor than both Captain Hart and his accent-changing first mate combined.”
“But I still didn’t fool you, did I?” Mr. Powys said.
“You didn’t let me be tricked,” Charlotte laughed. “You could have masked that gleam, but you left it there for me to see.”
“You are indeed clever,” Mr. Powys said as he pushed the paper toward her, “and full of surprises. First, you inquire after ruffiansand then you ask where you can purchase stolen merchandise. Are you purposely seeking danger for thrills, Lady Charlotte?”
Disappointment flooded Charlotte. He wouldn’t give her information, not when he believed her to be a bored aristocrat looking for dangerous amusements.
“I am truly trying to help a friend,” Charlotte said, hoping he could hear her sincerity. But he was accustomed to living with actors and actresses. How much stock would Mr. Powys place in tone and expression?
With a sigh, Mr. Powys picked up her sketch. “Judging by the look of it, your acquaintance may have reason to be concerned about her husband’s reaction.”
“Why?” Charlotte asked, as a jolt of excitement blazed through her. “Do you recognize the piece?”
“Only that it must be old. If it were paste, it would be something I’d use as a set piece for a Tudor-era play. It must have been in the family a long time.” Mr. Powys flipped the drawing in her direction, and Charlotte caught it against her chest. “I won’t introduce you to any dealers, but if I see the choker myself, I’ll inform you.”
Charlotte settled against the back of her chair, trying to fight the letdown. Mr. Powys hadn’t known the secrets of the necklace after all, but he’d still given Charlotte new information. She’d realized that the piece was old-fashioned, but she hadn’t guessed it was over a hundred years old. Such an object was indeed an heirloom. It wasn’t from Lady Greenvale’s family or she would have recognized it. Was it part of the ancestral history of the Talbots? Was there some nastiness even greater than Hawley’s that his family was attempting to hide? Was Matthew involved in the subterfuge?
