“And a young boy brought her the note to the shop in Piccadilly, which means she was being observed. Has anyone tried to discover his identity?”
“About as impossible to find one particular sandy-haired urchin as to find a specific grain of sand on Brighton beach. The detective thinks that path leads nowhere.”
“Maybe, but one could begin to search the workhouses in the East End or the orphanages at the very least.”
“As a matter of fact, I went to one orphanage not long ago, but the sheer number of boys is overwhelming. Also, there is no guarantee he was an orphan.”
Sighing with exasperation, she understood Owen grasping onto the first solid evidence—the perfume. Were she in his shoes, she would do the same.If only it didn’t point to Thomas!
Soon, they alit from the carriage in a neighborhood to which she had never been. No gas lamps with glass fixtures were creating any reassuring hazy glow. Instead, the occasional open pipe flamed straight up. The light was garish and looked downright dangerous.
She found herself staring at everything around her as if she were not a Londoner born and bred. People on the street were not dressed properly for the night air, especially the women. Adelia was no prude, but she had never seen the like, nor the amount of uncovered skin in public. And everywhere, men were openly chatting with the women.
“I have never been down the Whitechapel Road,” Adelia confessed. “In fact, except for wanting to walk across London Bridge and see the Tower, I’ve never been much easterly past Cheapside.”
“There are not a half-dozen people in my circle of acquaintance,” Owen remarked, “who have come as far east as we are tonight. Have you heard of Poplar, Limehouse, or Rotherhithe?”
“I think so, but I am not entirely certain where they are.”
“Farther east. No man’s land.”
He steered her past a coffeehouse as she peeked through the open door at men playing draughts and dominoes. Raucous piano and fiddle music came from the next two places, and soon, they entered a tavern.
“This is a slightly nicer one than those I’ve been searching in,” he said, perhaps feeling compelled to tell her.
Thank goodness he did, or she would have thought he’d brought her to the worst possible pub in order to frighten her back into the protection of the carriage. Men at tables were playing dice and card games, and women were either seated with them or hanging around the backs of their chairs.
“We shall start here,” Owen said. “The odds that we find your brother are infinitesimally small, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Yet, that was precisely what happened in the very next establishment.
*
Owen didn’t ordera drink. He calmly searched the tables in the first tavern before taking Lady Adelia by the hand and going a block farther, knowing their carriage was following along closely. They entered another pub with about the same shabbiness as the first.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he saw the young earl, seated in the back corner, the same dark-haired woman by his side.
Odds bodkins!
He knew the instant Adelia saw her brother. She stiffened under his hand. Owen wasn’t going to alert Smythe to his presence this time by hailing him, nor was he going to allow the earl’s sister to do so. Pulling her quickly along behind him, they headed toward the far end of the room where the couple talked in earnest, oblivious to their surroundings.
The young woman stopped midsentence as they approached the table. She blinked up at them without recognition. Smythe, however, slowly rose to his feet, his face darkening with anger.
“What can you be thinking by bringing my sister here?”
Not exactly the words Owen was expecting.Why would he bring his lady friend there if it was inappropriate for his sister?He couldn’t imagine what woman would accept being treated in such a manner. Unless she was a trollop.
Owen glanced at the woman again. While she was dressed plainly, she wasn’t clothed scandalously, nor did she appear to be a lightskirt.
As for the earl, he was also dressed more befitting a middle-class shopkeeper than a titled member of the nobility, in a shapeless, brown sack coat and a starched bow tie. His outfit was crowned with a wool cap.What was he playing at?
“Isn’t this where all the fine aristocrats are spending their evenings?” Owen asked.
“Are you mad?” Smythe seethed.
“Constantly,” Owen said. “Would you care to introduce us to your latest victim?”
