Monty sighed. “I can get you in to talk with ‘em, but not as you are. You’d need to be thieves bringing in things to sell. Or customers wanting to buy the stuff.”
Byron nodded and adjusted his sleeves. “We’ll need some way of bringing up Mr. Treadway in conversation. Otherwise we won’t get the information we’re looking for.”
“Couldn’t we show them the pin?” Mira asked.
“Ah, you mean pretend to be part of Circe?” Byron looked at Monty.
Monty twitched. “Circe would already know the meeting spot. They wouldn’t need me to lead them there.”
Byron hummed. “Do you think it would be reasonable to say that you recognized Mr. Treadway as someone from this local gang?”
“I suppose we could say that. Why?”
“Would it make sense for you to suggest someone to take his place?”
Monty begrudgingly nodded. “I’ll see if I can get the nightoff. Mr. Patterson’s got us footmen filling in for Mr. Foster, but I’ll try. I’ll meet you at the north side of the abbey if I can, tonight at ten. Don’t be late.”
February 13, 1889: Evening
“I don’t know why I’m so tired.”Mira gave an exaggerated yawn.
“You did walk with us through half of Bath today,” Liza said.
Mira yawned again for emphasis.
“Goodness, child, why don’t you just go to bed?” Aunt Eleanor said.
“I think I will,” Mira said, standing. “Goodnight, everyone.” She left the room, heading up the stairs. She’d already set out the clothes she would need for the evening’s activities: a dark blouse and coat, split skirt, and riding boots. She changed quickly and moved to the window.
They’d discussed her plan for escape before returning to Davenguard. Walker and Liza were already enacting phase one of the plan: distraction. But the family had decided to adjourn to the sitting room near the front door, which left Mira with two options—sneaking through the house to the conservatory door or climbing down the ivy. If she climbed down the ivy, there was a guaranteed entrance back into the house and there was less of a chance of getting caught.
She opened the window and looked down. Dizziness came over her. It was rather far up. She pulled her head back in. Ifshe left the window open, she could climb up the trellis on her return. That would be a much easier prospect than climbing down. Unless the trellis broke. However, if she went down now it still had a chance of breaking. Conservatory it was.
She slipped down the far stairs, wishing she knew which ones creaked. Most of the staff would be in the servants’ quarters, so hopefully she wouldn’t meet anyone on her way out. Halfway down the hall she heard footsteps approaching and ducked into the library. Her heart pounded in her chest. If she was caught leaving the house, it would be assumed she was going to meet Byron for some romantic interlude. It was only half true, but that sort of assumption could reflect poorly on Walker. Here she was, about to infiltrate a thieves’ gang with ties to Circe, and she felt more anxiety about being discovered by a member of Walker’s soon-to-be family.
She forced herself to breathe deeper and cast her eyes about the darkened room. The moon was full and shedding thin light through the windows. And a door. She smiled and, finding the key in the lock, she turned it, pocketed the key, and left Davenguard. Byron planned to meet her with a carriage at the end of the drive by nine, and by the watch on her chatelaine she had a little over fifteen minutes. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she hurried to their meeting point.
What little breath she had clouded the air in front of her as she came to a stop beneath one of the giant stone lions at the front gate. Two pinpricks of light appeared down the road. She rubbed her arms and hands to keep them warm as the light turned into the lanterns on a carriage. The horses came to a stop in front of her, nostrils steaming. The door opened and Byron stepped out.
“You look perfect for the part.” He offered a hand to help her into the carriage.
“As do you.”
He’d neglected to shave and had opted for a nice, but ill-fitting, wrinkled suit. They settled inside the carriage.
“That suit isn’t yours, is it?” she asked as the carriage turned back towards Bath.
“Heavens no. I’d find a new tailor if it was. No, it’s one of Castel’s. Perish the thought if he ever finds out about it. I crumpled it up in all sorts of disarray to get it just right. Do remind me to have it pressed again before he gets back from London. I’m afraid I’ll forget.”
“I’ll try. Has he written you at all to explain why he’s gone?”
Byron shook his head. “It strikes me as the usual sort of bureaucratic nonsense.”
They fell silent until the road changed beneath them to cobblestone as they crossed the bridge.
“You know,” Mira said, “I am rather surprised that you didn’t object to my coming with you. It wasn’t even a question.”
Byron took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “By now I have learned that there isn’t much use in trying to stop you. Besides,” he pulled his hand away, leaving a pearl necklace in her palm. “I think it will work in our favor to have both of us.”
