“At the risk of alluding to that again, I just remembered that I have a request from my father,” Kevin said to Nicholas. “He wants to know if you have found the mechanical man. He wants it, if you are willing to let it go.”
The mechanical man was an automaton. Uncle Frederick had purchased it, and actually used it, because it could move on wheels. It carried a salver in one hand, like a butler. Uncle liked to place glasses of drink on it, and have it carry the glasses to guests.
“I haven’t seen it in years,” Nicholas said. “Chase?”
Chase shook his head.
“You are welcome to come to the house and look for it. When it ceased amusing Uncle he probably put it in an attic.”
“I may do that, since it started my own father’s fascination with the damned things,” Kevin said. “Father has asked me to attach a little steam engine to it, so it moves faster. I have advised against it, but . . .” He shrugged the shrug of a son never heard by a father.
“It did move very slowly,” Chase said.
Kevin gave him a look of forbearance. “Which meant it stopped if it hit a chair or a person. Imagine it with a steam engine. An automaton stops working if the mechanism unwinds, which happens fairly quickly. A steam engine works quite differently.”
Nicholas started laughing. “I think you must find it and do as your father wants. Please invite me to the demonstration. I am seeing that little butler crashing about the library like a marauder in high blood.”
“I think a better site would be among those urns, not a library.” Kevin set his glass down. “Let us go. The two of you can further distract me from my brooding by losing lots of money to me at cards.”
Nicholas looked at Chase, with mock astonishment. “Was it your plan to distract him from brooding? What an odd thing for him to suggest.”
“Not me. You? Nor is he given to brooding.” He opened the door. “You are too suspicious, Kevin.”
Kevin crossed the threshold, shaking his head and sighing.
* * *
Due to her early morning errands the next day, Minerva did not read the newspaper until afternoon. The day had turned fair, so she brought it outside to the small garden and sat on a stone bench. Her quick scan of the advertisements stopped abruptly when she saw her own name.
Desire information on Margaret Finley, widow of Algernon, of Dorset County. To report or inquire, write to John Smith, care of Montgomery Stationers, Montagu Street.
Chase Radnor must have inserted that query in the paper. The scoundrel was inquiring into her past, and her story. She had thought the solicitor satisfied, but remembered Sanders referring to perhaps firming up the particulars. She had not thought he meant the ones about Margaret Finley!
After swallowing her dismay, she noted that two other notices, with two other names, followed the one regarding her.
Her mind immediately lined up who if anyone could respond to the notice. Beth and Jeremy, of course. No one else, since she had never been Minerva Hepplewhite while living in Dorset. She had become Minerva Hepplewhite while they journeyed to London. The only possible connection between the two names might be the hired coachman who took them from her home in Dorset and brought them to the coaching inn where they found transportation. If he had dallied at the inn he might have heard her new name used. It had been five years ago, however, and she doubted anyone would remember something hardly worthy of note to begin with.
The kitchen door opened and Beth came out to her. “Elise Turner is here.”
“Send her out to me.”
“I still think it is I who should go with you.”
Beth renewed a contentious conversation from the night before.
“I need you here in case Mrs. Drable sends anyone else to us. I can hardly ask Elise to do that.” Minerva did not want to hurt or insult Beth with the real reason she preferred Elise. Her young friend would simply be more plausible entering shops and examining lace cuffs.
“Jeremy could do it.”
“If women come looking for a business run by women, it would hardly do to have their first meeting be with a man.”
Beth pursed her lips. “I hope you don’t expect me to only open doors and such with this Office of Inquiries, or sit at that desk listening to possible patrons. I want to have some of the fun too.”
“There will be many times when only you will do, Beth. Times when I can only depend on someone I trust with my life.”
Flattered and a little chagrined, Beth returned to the door and opened it to allow Elise entry to the garden.
Minerva had asked Elise to wear her best dress, so she might see just how good that dress might be. Examining the blue muslin now approaching, she mentally added her own fawn pelisse and dark blue bonnet.
