“I’m shocked you would ask.”
“Only because you’re stung that I doubt your powers of seduction.”
“True, but I still won’t tell.”
“Fair enough.” Her look fond, she waved him away. “Go see to your mission.”
“Don’t forge—”
“To lock the doors.” She settled into her chair. “I know. Good fortune out there.”
“And a pleasant evening to you, my lady.”
With another bow he quit the room, going to retrieve Lefthook’s apparel and weapons. He grinned under his mask as he took in his reflection in Cecelia’s mirror. Did Lady Lanora dream of Lord Lefthook, as so many ladies of thetondid? Should he go to the Solworth house, climb through her window, and make those dreams come true?
He chuckled, crossed to the Juliet balcony, and opened the doors. Lady Lanora was as like to push a man out her window as let him climb in. She had passion in her, waiting to be released, but what form it would take in the face of an intruder, he had little doubt.
His mind on her flashing green eyes, dark locks and other attributes, William set out across the rooftops. It took him some time scouring the streets before he located one of the urchins who lurked in the shadows of the borough. When he did, it was his favorite informant. The lad, a boy of about nine whom everyone called Dodger, was crouched in an alley, intently watching a door across the lane. William dropped down behind him, silent.
“Have you learned anything of interest for me?” he asked in lower London brogue.
Dodger didn’t flinch, or take his attention from the doorway. “Can’t you see I’m working, your lordship?”
William pulled out a coin. With a flip of his wrist, he sent it sailing over Dodger’s head to drop down before his face. The lad reached out and caught it, his gaze on the door.
The coin disappeared somewhere in his grimy clothes. “He’s put up at Herald House, third window in from the left on the second floor, and he usually stays at the pub till it closes, your lordship.”
“Good work,” William said. As silently as he’d come, he returned to the rooftops.
Herald House was known for being nearly respectable. It stood on the edge of the borough, almost in a decent area. Not decent enough to have streetlamps, fortunately.
Once he reached the roof of Herald House, William lay silent for a time, listening. The London evening was dark, the low hanging smog bringing early night. William took in raucous laughter. Somewhere below, a child cried and a mother’s voice soothed. A creaking wagon rolled by, drawn by a horse so old William didn’t know if it would make it to the end of the street.
Eventually, deeming no one inside the third window in from the left on the second floor, he climbed down the side of the building. Bracing himself on the window ledge, he used his knife to slip open the latch on the shutters. As with many buildings in the borough, there was no glass. William slipped inside.
He stood still, allowing his eyes and ears to adjust. It was a single room, meant for sleeping and little else. Across from him was a door into the hall. There was no desk, but he could discern a small table piled with food scraps, empty bottles and a mug.
He crossed to the fireplace and stirred the coals, coaxing a bit of light from them. Staying near the wall so as not to be visible from outside, he went back around to the shutters and swung them shut. Then he began his search.
It wasn’t long before a loose floorboard gave way to a heavy sack. Inside was enough coin for a man to live well in the borough for several months. It was not, however, enough to fund the building. William put coin, sack and board back in place. The foreman was likely skimming off the top, but the money he had didn’t account for much of what was missing.
Further searching revealed nothing more, and William let the coals die. He would have to investigate Lethbridge’s office tomorrow to ascertain if Darington’s letters had ever arrived. His mind drifted back to the charred page in the grate, but he couldn’t imagine Lethbridge as a thief. The man made a good living and was too much a toady. It took daring to steal. Lethbridge didn’t have it in him. William shook his head. He would have no answers for Lady Lanora that night. Hopefully, his charming smile would be enough.
He went back out the window and hoisted himself onto the roof. He grinned as he made his way back across the rooftops, picturing Lady Lanora in his box with him at the theater, permitted by her apparently approving Aunt Edith to join him. Would Lanora be bold enough to steal kisses in the dark? She was brazen enough to request one in a sunlit garden.
An angry voice caught William’s attention. He shook his head, clearing it of visions of Lady Lanora, and realized he was nearly back to the alley where he’d located his best informant earlier. He issued a silent curse, disgusted with his lack of attention. A man who wandered the borough with his head in the clouds was soon to be a dead man.
“I’m saying, she didn’t come out this way.” It was Dodger’s voice, half angry, half distressed.
“She must have. My brother was watching the other side and he swears the chit didn’t leave,” a man growled. His accent labeled him as country born, and William didn’t recognize his voice. Likely new to London, then.
“Then your brother’s a liar.”
“If you was really here all evening, where I hired you to be, you’ll turn out your pockets. I know you didn’t have a scrap on you when I left you here.”
“My pockets are my own,” Dodger said, but William could hear the fear in his voice.
“Turn ‘um out or I’ll shoot you dead and go through them before you’re cold,” the man said.
