Adrian applauded her astuteness. “Objectivity is essential, I’ll agree, but we can’t dismiss potential leads either. So we’ll speak with Hutchins – provided we manage to find him – and draw our own conclusions based upon that.”
It took nearly an hour for them to reach The Story Collector due to congested traffic on London Bridge. By the time they arrived, the late afternoon sun had already started to dip behind the rooftops, spreading a golden haze across the London sky.
Samantha preceded Adrian into the stuffy shop. The tinkling of a bell announced their arrival, which was observed by a tabby who had managed to curl itself into a vacant spot on one of the shelves. Light filtered through the front window, adding a murkiness to the back of the shop which remained cast in shadow.
A dry scent of paper and dust assaulted Adrian’s nose. He huffed a breath and scanned the cluttered space. Books were everywhere, on every available surface, including the floor where crooked stacks looked like they waited to be toppled over.
“Good afternoon,” said a man. It took Adrian a moment to find the individual who was peering around the edge of a bookcase concealing most of his body. “May I be of assistance?”
“Are you Mr. Hutchins?” Samantha asked. She snatched up a book as she strode toward the back of the shop where the man stood positioned behind a wooden counter.
“I am.”
Adrian approached and getting a better look at the man, saw that he had to be well over forty, possibly even fifty. “Not Mr.MichaelHutchins though?”
“Um…” A nervous laugh escaped Mr. Hutchins. He seemed to make a quick calculation before saying, “No. I’m afraid not.”
Samantha gave him a warm smile. “Any idea where we might be able to find him?”
Mr. Hutchins scratched the back of his head. “It’s been a while since I saw him last, but I’m happy to pass on a message the next time he stops by to see me.”
“When do you suppose that might be?” Adrian casually asked.
“I can’t say. At six and twenty years of age, my son has a life of his own.” Mr. Hutchins began making a show of tidying up the books that lay on the counter. He sent a quick glance in Adrian’s direction. “Might I ask what this is about?”
“Certainly.” Adrian propped one elbow on the counter. “The Earl of Orendel’s daughter, Lady Eleanor, was recently murdered. It’s come to our attention that your son was acquainted with her, so we’d like to speak with him. See if he might be able to offer additional insight into what might have occurred.”
“I see.” Panic flickered in Mr. Hutchins’s eyes. Hismovements grew increasingly twitchy. Another nervous laugh. “He never mentioned a woman by that name to me.”
“If he doesn’t come here,” Samantha said after sharing a questioning look with Adrian, “then where is his place of employment?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Hutchins stared at her as though she’d asked him to calculate the density of the sun.
“I’m assuming he requires an income,” she explained. “If he doesn’t acquire it from you, then he must be employed elsewhere.”
“Um…Well…I really don’t know. When I saw him last he was working at a cobblers on Chancery Lane, but I can’t be sure he’s still there.”
Adrian tilted his head. “What’s the name of the cobbler?”
Mr. Hutchins shook his head. “Can’t recall. Something like Roche or Ross.”
“Thank you. We’ll be sure to see if we can find him there.” Adrian turned to Samantha. “Ready to leave?”
“I’d like to purchase this first.” She handed the book she’d selected to Mr. Hutchins. A copy ofDon Quixote, translated from Spanish by Charles Henry Wilmot.
Adrian paid for it and they departed, the small bell tinkling when he opened the door. Samantha glanced at him as soon as they’d walked a few paces. “We’re not heading to Chancery Lane to see if we’re able to find that cobbler, are we?”
“Of course not. Mr. Hutchins looked more edgythan a married woman whose husband just caught her in bed with her lover. I wager he knows precisely where his son is. I’m also sure he’ll warn him about our visit. So all we have to do now is wait to see where Mr. Hutchins goes from here.”
They stepped into a doorway a little farther along and prepared to wait. No more than five minutes passed before the door to the bookshop opened and Mr. Hutchins entered the street. Dressed in his outerwear, he locked the door, checked it, and started walking away at a clipped stride.
Adrian smiled as he stepped from his hiding spot with Samantha, even though part of him pitied Mr. Hutchins. The man only wished to protect his son, yet he was about to lead them straight to him.
18
It felt as though they’d walked ten miles by the time Mr. Hutchins finally stopped in front of a narrow building located in the easternmost part of Southwark. Samantha’s feet ached. Due to visiting Heathbrooke House and Orendel House, she’d not left home with shoes for this kind of exertion.
The thick smell of chemicals used by tanners who worked in the area mingled with fragrant soaps from laundresses and the heavy odor of wax from a nearby chandler. It stuck in her throat as she drew in a breath, which made her force back a cough.
