“I’m supposed to be atThe Sentinelin an hour.”
She opened the drawer and took a pair of stockings.
“Is that where you’re meeting your friends?” She didn’t know he had friends besides Mr Ramsey and Mr Beattie.
“Stanton ownsThe Sentinel. He sent me the physician’s report. Montfort is skilled in picking apart legal documents and should have a list of all Irving’s properties.”
“So you won’t be scouring dockland warehouses alone?”
“No.” He looked at her, his gaze tracing the line of every curve. “I won’t be leaving this room if you insist on standing there like that.”
She was tempted to tease him, but pulled on her chemise. “You will be careful? Dockworkers are a different breed, andMr Irving pays well enough to buy their loyalty.” A thought intruded. “The clerk may already be dead.”
He took his shirt and shook it out. She considered pulling up a chair and watching him dress.
“Sergeant Carter suspects the clerk is hiding, in fear for his life. That he can identify your father’s killer.”
“You spoke to Sergeant Carter?”
She almost said ‘without me’.
“I called at Bow Street yesterday and reminded him of the clerk’s importance to the case. He’s had the watchman monitor the clerk’s house, in the hope the maid might lead us to him.”
“You didn’t tell him you were searching Mr Irving’s properties?”
“I mentioned that the marriage contract in Irving’s possession is a forgery. And that it bears the clerk’s signature.” He shrugged on his coat. “He knows I’m gathering a list of his properties but not that I’m scouting them today.”
She had barely fastened the last button on her chemise and he was dressed and raking his fingers through his hair.
He crossed the room, his hands settling on her bare forearms before he kissed her as if he meant to bruise her lips.
“Do you mean to brand me, Mr Hawke?”
“I mean to mark every inch. But if I don’t leave now, I never will.”
“Will you not wait for the water?”
“I’ll change at the hotel.” His arm came around her, his hand cupping her bottom. “Come to Mivart’s tonight. We could bathe together.”
She laughed softly. “And I thought you weren’t a romantic, Mr Hawke.”
Aunt Augusta had agreed to meet her at Pickins coffeehouse in Bishopsgate at four, conveniently close to her modiste. She had refused to pack Daphne’s things, stating matters had gone too far and it was time she came home.
She was already waiting in a discreet booth near the back when Daphne arrived and had ordered them both tea and lemon seed cake.
Her aunt muttered under her breath as she glanced at Daphne’s old blue pelisse from beneath the rim of her dark bonnet. “Have you no shame, girl? Surely the maids at Shadowmere have something black.”
“I’m not in mourning.”
“It does no harm to keep up appearances, though your father is still at the morgue pending enquiry.”
Daphne slid into the booth. “I’m told Sergeant Carter is looking for the witness who disappeared under suspicious circumstances.”
Aunt Augusta made a small puffing sound. “What was he doing, lurking by the river at night? No good, I should think. He could be a footpad in disguise. You know your father’s signet ring is missing?”
“Yes, Mr Hawke said the police suspect robbery.”
Her aunt scowled. “I warrant Hawke stripped it from his finger before he tossed him in the Thames.”
