“That tells us something. What about Owltree Cottage?”
“No. Oh but wait!” She moved away and stared at him. “My cat escaped into the garden during the night. It happened twice. We couldn’t work out how he managed to open the window.”
“Then you cannot stay there, don’t you see?”
“What about my servants, my cat? I won’t just abandon them.”
“We’ll go together. You can close the cottage, dismiss your servants, and rescue your cat. I’ll find somewhere safe for you to stay.”
“You’ll take me there? Have you no important matters awaiting you in London?”
He tried not to think about the king. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
“Thank you.” She clenched her hands together. “I wish I had some inkling of what lies behind all this.”
“It is connected in some way to Brookwood.”
Her eyes widened. “Brookwood? But he died ages ago.”
“Can you think of anything unusual he might have said or done before he was killed?”
“With Brookwood, no two days were alike. He was always erratic.” She gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head. “Nothing comes to me.”
“You are distressed. Something might occur to you later,” Flynn said, aware he needed to speak to Barraclough tonight. “You are welcome to stay at my house. I’ll put up at my club.”
“Thank you, Montsimon. My Aunt Catherine in Hampstead will take me in.”
“Very well. The early evening traffic will be heavy with the theatres opening and the markets closing. We should leave soon.”
“I need to speak to the servants. Then I’ll change and have my maid pack a bag.”
While Althea spoke to her staff in the servants hall downstairs, Flynn went out into the street where Ben walked the horses. Flynn sent him to question the neighbors’ servants.
Ben soon returned. “The noise woke the housekeeper, Mrs. Bixby next door, but she was afraid and did nothing. The Larkins are away at their estate in Devonshire. Many of the houses in the street remain closed. Mrs. Bixby waited until morning before sending a footman to investigate, but by then, the robbers were gone.”
Althea came down the stairs dressed in green with a fur hat covering her hair. “My servants have asked to remain. I do hope that is wise. I feel responsible for their safety.”
“Is there not a member of your household who isn’t female or elderly?” Flynn asked with a glint of humor.
She frowned at him. “My footman. He is expected back tomorrow.”
“Your butler may wish to retire.”
She grimaced. “I haven’t liked to broach it with him. Perhaps after this he’ll want to.”
“I can send Ben back to stay tonight, but it will be late. To be frank, I don’t see the need for it.”
“No, please don’t bother.”
The trip north through London traffic made Flynn distinctly uncomfortable. Fear, stark and vivid, darkened Althea’s eyes, but he could do or say little with her maid sitting opposite, sniffing into a handkerchief.
An hour later, the carriage reached Hampstead Village. At the end of a long gravel drive, they stopped in front of a stone mansion built in the last century, its front facade dominated by an impressive Corinthian portico.
“You believe you’ll be safe here?” Flynn asked.
A pair of tall, strapping footmen in livery rushed out to greet them.
A sad smile trembled on Althea’s lips. “My aunt’s footmen are former pugilists. The house is like a fortified castle.”
