“Shall I pay the bill, then?” he added, already getting up.
I watched as he walked over to the counter and began to chat up the girl who had served us. He said something to make her laugh, and she blushed fiercely. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to feel annoyed. Not when he was about to risk invoking his brother’s ire on my account, or rather my sister’s. The thought brought a smile to my lips, and even when he glanced back, I didn’t try to hide it. The moment seemed to stretch between us as we stared at one another until the girl handed him some change. Then it was over. Mr. Dorian turned back to her, though he seemed reluctant to do so, and I began to gather my things. It was time to get back to work.
Once we exited the tearoom, I gave the girl the scone along with all the coins I had in my change purse. Her face lit up as if I had presented her with the crown jewels, and my heart ached all the more, as she couldn’t have been much older than Tommy.
“Oh, thank you,” she said profusely. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Do you have any parents?” I asked.
“Only my Mam, but she is ill and missed work, so her pay was short this week.” The girl hesitated. “I’ve been giving most of my food to my two younger brothers. It’s harder for them to feel hungry.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said. “You sound like a good older sister.”
Her dark eyes brightened, and she stood a little straighter. “Thank you.”
Then I turned to Mr. Dorian, who scowled but dug into his pockets. “Here,” he barked, shoving what looked like several bank notes at the girl.
Her eyebrows rose, and she took the money in a daze. “Thank you, sir.”
Then he took my elbow. “Come along,” he said grufflyand pulled me away. “Christ, that was like something out of Dickens.”
I was incredulous. “You think she was lying?”
“I wouldn’t have given her money if I did,” he replied archly, but I could tell that he was as rattled by the girl’s story as I had been. He just hid it behind a veneer of sarcasm.
“I know poverty touches so many people in this city,” I began. “But it is harder to ignore the children.”
Mr. Dorian was quiet as he ushered me towards his carriage. “I am very familiar with the plight of the wretched, Mrs. Harper,” he finally said.
There was a certainty in his words. A kind of knowingness that I felt sure could only come from firsthand experience. I stared at his profile as curiosity warred with concern. Mr. Dorian had shared little about his background. I knew he had lost his mother at a young age, and though his father had once been named chief detective inspector, he had succumbed to drink. How old had Mr. Dorian been when this happened? What sacrifices had he been forced to make to support his brother?
“I—”
But he cut me off as we reached his carriage. “Here,” he said brusquely, “let me take you home.”
Though a part of me wanted the opportunity to pursue this line of inquiry, I was heading to Portman Square, and the very last thing I needed was for someone to spot us together.
“That is kind of you, but I’d prefer to take a cab.”
He raised his brows in surprise, as no one could possibly prefer a cab to his carriage, but he hailed one anyway without pressing me further. Perhaps he knew I was curious and did not want to spend the ride avoiding my questions.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure as always, Mrs. Harper,” he said drolly as he handed me into the conveyance. “I will see you at the funeral on Friday.”
Then he shut the door before I could respond, and flashed me a devious little grin as the cab pulled into traffic. I let out a huff of irritation, but as I was alone, it did not have quite the desired effect.
As the cab made the slow trek through Soho, I recalled everything I had learned. While I agreed with Mr. Dorian that it was worth tracking down the mysterious Mrs. Pearson, I still thought this private auction, or perhaps Sir Armstrong-Hughes himself, was the key to solving this case. I just had to hope that Inspector Dorian could be swayed by his brother.
By the time the cab arrived at my parents’ house, I had begun to feel the full weight of the day and was sorely tempted to return to my aunt’s flat. But no. I needed to see Delia, if only to give her some reassurance. I paid the driver and hid a yawn behind the back of my hand as I ascended the steps. Once more, the footman ushered me inside.
“Is my sister in?” I asked as he took my coat.
“I believe she is in the parlor with your brother, Mrs. Harper.”
“Thank you,” I replied, not even bothering to hide my disappointment. Jack was the last person I wanted to see right now. But like any good servant, Cartwright pretended not to notice my disdain and simply nodded before he disappeared with my coat and hat.
I let out a sigh and straightened my shoulders as I headed down the hall. Idly, I wondered if Mother had told Jack that I was conducting my own investigation, then decided against it. No doubt he would have disapproved, but only because he liked to be the one in control of things and would see my actions as undermining his own.
I paused just outside the parlor door, but no sound came from within. Perhaps Cartwright was mistaken and Jack had already left through the mews. It was on this thought that Ientered the room and was immediately disappointed. First, because Jack was there, and second, he was alone.
