A shivery sensation slipped through Hannah. Powys’s description sounded similar to her search for information about the Aucourtes. But she shouldn’t make connections between two separate investigations simply because they were occurring at the same time. There was no link—other than Eoin himself.
“I’d suspect that they were still distilling, but since the fall in popularity in gin, they must have acquired another means to earn enough blunt for an underground lair,” Eoin said, his voice neutral as if the discussion had nothing to do with him. But despite his ability to hide the pain, Hannah knew he was hurting.
“The name still feels deucedly familiar.” Lord Percy rubbed his forehead. “But I’ve never had anything to do with gin. I can’t stand the vile stuff. It’s like drinking a bouquet of flowers.”
“Were any members of your family Jacobite sympathizers?” Matthew asked.
Lord Percy shook his head, and it was clear that he was only half listening. “My relatives have always been staunch royalists—or at least staunchly in favor of what lines their coffers and keeps them from troubling situations.”
“At least we know the nom de guerre—the Purveyor,” Eoin said before he turned to address Powys. “Would you be comfortable making inquiries into the name?”
Powys nodded. “Although I am afraid the results might be the same as when I’ve asked about the Horse and Hen.”
“If people fall silent at the mere mention of the Purveyor, that is telling in and of itself,” Sophia pointed out.
Hannah glanced over at Eoin as she thought about how the master of ceremonies had practically dragged him onto the stage. That image plagued her, along with a worry that she’d missed something vital.
“The Purveyor seems to know Eoin,” Hannah said slowly, “or at least, Eoin attracted the fellow’s attention.”
Eoin shrugged. “It could be my size. It’s not unusual for folks to espy my stature and wonder how good I am at fighting.”
“But to stop the match between the women?” Hannah pointed out as she worried her bottom lip. “That’s a way to anger customers and lose money. You were already presumed to be a contestant, so why rush matters?”
“I was turning to leave,” Eoin said slowly, and Hannah could tell that he was reviewing the details in his mind. “But I agree that it was unusual to halt a fight. Yet I have no dealings with the Horse and Hen. Even though my mother worked there, it was over two decades ago. Would someone harbor that much animosity against her son?”
“But what if the Purveyor is someone you know?” Hannah asked, thinking once more about her suspicions that one or both of his uncles were involved in some underhanded business.
“Doubtful, although I suppose not entirely impossible,” Eoin said. “I mainly associate with my grandfather’s friends.”
Calliope snorted. “I can’t imagine any of those boring ancients venturing into the bowels of London to conduct nefarious business. They can barely bestir themselves to attend a ball. Their only pastime appears to be griping about the younger generations.”
“She is not incorrect,” Eoin agreed but more judiciously.
“But…” Hannah trailed off as she realized that she was about to reveal her suspicions about his uncles. Perhaps Eoin was right, and the Purveyor just wished to witness a fight between a mountainous fellow and one of the establishment’s regulars. On the other hand, it had felt targeted, perhaps even personal, when Eoin had been forced into the ring. And Eoinneeded to understand all the facts, so he could apply his own astute reasoning.
Hannah couldn’t reveal the rumors about the Aucourtes in front of an audience, though. Even if Eoin was not close to his uncles, he needed privacy to grapple with his relatives’ potential perfidy.
Lord Percy suddenly slammed his hand down on the table, pulling Hannah from her dilemma. When he spoke, his voice was loud and edged with frustration. “The fact that I’ve heard about the Horse and Hen must have something to do with boxing. It is the only possible link that I can deduce.”
“Do you think you attended a match there?” Eoin asked.
Lord Percy’s face screwed up. “Certainly not. I may be a rogue, but I don’t like fights where the sole purpose is to watch the pulverization of a weaker opponent. There’s no sportsmanship in that.”
Both Cousin Alexander and Lord Percy were boxing enthusiasts, but Hannah couldn’t imagine either of them attending a catfight. And they certainly would never condone a brutal bout between youths.
“I wish Alexander was back from his honeymoon.” Lord Percy sighed. “He is the one with all the knowledge about prizefighting.”
“I can write to my brother. I’m sure he’ll respond promptly,” Charlotte offered.
“Surely there is someone else that we can ask? It is not as if boxing is an obscure pastime,” Powys pointed out.
“We could head to Championess Quick’s establishment,” Hannah suggested.
Lord Percy nodded enthusiastically. “A brilliant plan! I can even introduce Eoin to the proprietress herself. She knows everything about London’s boxing world—even the moreunsavory parts. There’s even a match tonight—one of the special late-night bouts that she holds for those bored with the ballroom.”
“If that’s the case, you two should leave immediately,” Powys advised. “It starts soon, and traffic will be a snarl.”
Eoin stood, and Hannah scrambled to her feet to join him. Percy was a bit slower, but he, too, rose.
