Quite tense now, Delilah and Angelique both hesitated. It seemed absurd to have a succession of people peer out the peephole at Mr. Berwick to ascertain this fact.
It was inconvenient to lament the absence of a huge footman, but it was certainly felt in that moment.
“Ask him to wait outside while we tell Mr. Hawkeshe’s here,” Delilah finally said calmly. “And I’ll go and wake up Mr. Hawkes. And Captain Hardy.”
Hawkes was awake even before the maids came in to see to his fire and leave his tea for him. Sleep was fitful; his stitches began to itch when the willow bark tea wore off about three in the morning and then his mind began to itch, too, with thoughts of a woman sleeping (was she sleeping?) a few rooms away.
And as gray light began to fill the room, he decided he might as well get out of bed and poke the fire himself. He did this slowly and a little stiffly, and the stiffness at once reminded him of how he’d spent part of yesterday. He hadn’t planned on leaving prison and promptly kicking armed thieves in their torsos. It wasn’t really something one could practice, like shooting at Manton’s. He’d done his share of roughing up and being roughed earlier in his career for the Alien Office and he knew how to do it, but in prison he’d been unable to fight back, and sometimes it seemed all of the fighting he’d been unable to do and all the anger he’d suppressed remained coiled in him like a spring.
He splashed his face with cold water, then turned to address the fire and stopped abruptly.
Something—a tiny bundle, wrapped in foolscap—was on the floor beneath the door and the room. Someone had tried to push it through.
He crouched, slowly, to attempt to drag it all the way through and succeeded in pushing it all the way out again.
He sighed and opened the door to retrieve it and scooped it up.
It was only about two inches high and wide. Therewas something strangely familiar about its heft. The scrap of paper was folded about it snugly and artfully.
He was a few seconds unwrapping it, but he knew before he had it undone.
And then he was struck dumb.
He was holding the miniature of Aurelie.
How the...
Bloody, bloody hell. It must have fallen out of his coat pocket in the hack.
His heart jabbed him hard when he noticed the writing on the foolscap.
To remember me by.
Barbed, ironic, tender and heartbroken.
Heknewshe was already gone. He closed his eyes and swore viciously.
He opened his eyes to see Mrs. Hardy standing in the doorway, politely shading her eyes from his bare-torsoed self.
“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Hawkes,” she said calmly. “A Mr. Berwick is outside and wishes to speak with you. Urgently.”
“Them redcoats came into the Goat’s Neck looking for you last night, Hawkes. Well, they went intoeverypub askin’ about you and a Lady something. But the Goat’s Neck is where they found Davie. And I think they might be coming here.”
“Why the bloody hell would they go in the Goat’s Neck? Or come here?”
Berwick hesitated.
“Damn it, why, Berwick?”
“Davie told ’em before I could stop ’im! He didna see the ’arm. Seems they want to arrest ye, Hawkes.Summat about kidnapping and stealing jewels. Made you sound right dangerous.”
Hawkes was silent, thinking furiously. Christ, hehadmentioned to Brundage that he’d be starting his search for Aurelie in pubs frequented by hack drivers.
“Not your best day, my friend,” Berwick added somewhat wickedly.
Hawkes shot him a baleful look.
“Any sign of Vasseur?”
