Page 88 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Describe it, then, so we can find it.”

He did, at such length and in so much cant, that Thisbe had difficulty following it all, but when he had finished, she provided a summary. “It’s a narrow house beside one with a red door. It has a window on each floor, but only the top window still has shutters on it. Is that right?”

“Bang up,” he agreed and came forward to take the coin the duchess held out, but the older man was surprisingly quick and beat him to it.

“This better be correct,” the duchess warned, favoring both with the iron-hard gaze that her servants and family justifiably feared. “If he doesn’t live there, I shall send the police to this establishment to investigate the brawl which took place here last night, in which my grandsons were most grievously injured.” Then, with a jingle of her reticule, she softened a trifle and said, “But if that is his home, there’s another one of these in it for you.”

Both men nodded eagerly. “No gammon, honor bright.”

“I thought those men were English,” the duchess said to Thisbe as they returned to the carriage.

“They are.”

“Then they ought to talk like Englishmen. What in heaven’s name is a crimping shop?”

“That one I know—Theo once told me. It’s a cheap sort of boardinghouse where they frequently press sailors into the navy. And my guess is that ‘blowers’ means people who betray their colleagues.”

“How odd. Well, tell the coachman where to go, and let’s be on our way.”

It took only a few minutes, a dead end and two wrong turns to find the narrow house missing two shutters. Cornelia rapped on the door with her cane, and when a thin woman with a glare that outdid even the duchess’s answered the knock, she once again offered coins for information. They climbed the stairs to the next floor.

The man who opened the door was large and blond, and sported a black eye and swollen nose. He, too, gaped at the sight of two ladies on his doorstep, and the duchess took advantage of his surprise to walk past him into the room.

“Here, now,” he protested belatedly, turning around. “You got no right to waltz in here.”

Cornelia didn’t deign to address his complaint. “Mr. Grieves, I presume? I am here for the name of your employer.”

He rolled his eyes, less intimidated than the tavern owner. “Might as well leave, then.” His gaze slid over to Thisbe, and he grinned. “You can stay, though. I’ll show you a grand time.”

“I believe not,” Thisbe replied. “The one thing I want from you is who hired you to steal the Eye.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her grandmother pulled out a coin purse and shook it. “Does this increase your understanding?”

His eyes narrowed. “I lose customers if I shop them to the peelers.”

“The police are not involved in this. Just me.” Cornelia added a few coins to her hand.

“I could just take that from you, you know,” he told her.

“Perhaps...if you’d like to spend the next few years in prison,” Cornelia responded. “You know who I am, and you know what the law would do to you. Far easier to sell your information.” Taking his shrug for assent, she said, “Who was it?”

He rubbed his fingers together, and with a dramatic sigh, the duchess added another bill. “This will have to do. It’s all I have with me.”

“It was that little chubby bloke. The one who’s trying to hunt ghosts.”

“Professor Gordon?” Thisbe asked in surprise. “I thought you worked for Mr. Wallace.”

“I do. I work for whoever pays me. This professor fellow’s the one wanted me to take that silly quizzing glass. Not, you understand, that I took it.”

“Of course not. You hired someone else.”

“No—that’d be thievery.” Clearly he enjoyed playing his game.

Thisbe sighed. “Did you give it to Gordon?”

“I would have if I’d taken it.” He grinned.