Page 98 of A Deal with the Devil

“Not a termagant. But I adore her as well. Enough to take on Devil and force him to help me.”

“Devil cannot be forced to do anything he does not wish to do.”

It was not much longer before they arrived at their destination, Yelena’s words still ringing in Kitty’s head.

They knocked at the door of a small house with a brass knocker in the shape of a fish. A man answered, pale, wearing a waistcoat slightly too large for his frame. He scowled at them.

“Hello,” Kitty said with her best shopkeeper smile, the one that did not dim even in the face of insults, arguments over prices, or the same questions repeated over and over again. “I am Miss Caldecott and this is Mrs. Dimitriou. We are here to see Miss Campbell.”

“She’s not here.”

“Oh dear,” Kitty said. “Do you know when she might be accepting callers? We have an appointment, you see.”

“Not anymore, you don’t, young lady.”

“Erm.” Kitty blinked. Did he recognize her from the bookshop? Was he insulted by her very presence? What a nuisance. “Why is that?”

“Because my daughter is missing and has been missing for the last two weeks.”

Kitty could only stare at him for too long a moment. With every step forward she managed on this investigation, she was yanked back another two steps.

Poor Evie. Poor Lady Caroline. And poor Miss Campbell. If they were waiting for her to save them, they would be sorely disappointed.

No. None of that. There was no time for wallowing and whinging. Only war. Target: Lord Portsmouth.

There were no defeats, only minor setbacks.

Still, she lowered her gaze so Mr. Campbell would not be alarmed by the martial gleam he would no doubt find there. She added a wobble to her voice for good measure. “I’m terribly sorry, you’ve shocked me. Missing?” She knew she went red then pale. She always did, at the least provocation. It was rather helpful this time. “Might I trouble you for a glass of water? I feel a bit faint.”

He took her arm and helped her to the nearest chair in the parlor. It was small and tidy, with a basket of knitting on the floor and a row of books on the windowsill behind her. She slid them a sidelong glance as Mr. Campbell called for his wife. She bustled down the stairs, snapping, “Shout at me again, old man.”

Mr. Campbell cleared his throat. Mrs. Campbell noticed Yelena, then Kitty, who did her best to look feeble. Unassuming. Wan.

“This lady needs some water. And some smelling salts?”

Gah. No, thank you.

Mrs. Campbell marched away, returning with a glass of water.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Kitty murmured.

“This is Miss Caldecott, a friend of Elspeth,” Mr. Campbell said.

Mrs. Campbell pressed her lips together as if forcing herself not to cry at the sound of her daughter’s name. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I knew all of Elspeth’s friends.”

Kitty nodded. “We were not close friends.” A truth followed by a lie. “I run a bookshop, and she often visited with her friend. Lady Caroline, Countess Portsmouth? Perhaps you know her?” Also missing, incidentally. “I enjoyed our conversations very much.”

“She loved books.”

“Loves books,” Mrs. Campbell corrected her husband fiercely.

“Of course, of course.”

“We haven’t seen her in over a month,” Mrs. Campbell continued, mostly, Kitty thought, because someone was listening to her. “We hired a Bow Street runner, but he’s found nothing. Poor Caro is gone too.”

“Are they together, do you think?”

“They always were. But…that man…her husband.” She spat the word. Kitty did not blame her.