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There was the night watchman, with his time clock slung on a leather strap over his shoulder, and a City of London constable in his dark wool tunic and the domed custodian helmet with a silver badge plate on the front. He held a lantern in one hand, and a truncheon in the other.
Both of them were young men, only doing their jobs. She knew they were no match for John, who would leave them in bloody heaps on the floor.
But thousands of innocent people were about to be hurt because of this bank, and Reina would rather not have these two among them.
“We’re after no trouble,” John said brusquely.
Upon hearing his accent, the constable exclaimed, “A Taffy, is it? Up to no good, I’ll warrant.”
The watchman called out, “You there, miss, come out of my alcove. And don’t touch none of that important equipment.”
His voice was familiar. Reina couldn’t make out his face, but from the size and shape of him and the remark about the alcove—she was sure he was Ned Spindle, the bank porter who’d served her lunches in William’s office for the past three years.
There was no choice except to brazen it out.
“Mr. Spindle!” she exclaimed, hurrying out from behind John to stand blinking in the focused light. “Is that you?”
“Miss Martin?” the watchman asked in bewilderment. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Oh, thank heavens!—What a start you gave us! This gentleman is my butler, Pembroke.” She turned to John. “Pembroke, Mr. Spindle is a porter here at Farlow’s—he and I are old friends.” She laughed lightly. “My goodness, this will amuse Mr. Farlow when I meet with him tomorrow.”
All three men stared at her as if wondering whether she was in her right mind. She turned her attention to the constable, squinting against the light in her face.
John used one of his hands to shield her partially from the glare. “Lower the lantern,” he told the constable curtly. “The light’s in her eyes.”
“I’ll be the one to give orders, you—”
“Lower it now.” John’s quiet voice scored the air like a steel blade.
The constable obeyed reluctantly. “By whose leave are you here?” he demanded.
“By my own—” Reina began.
“Ma’am,” John interrupted, “I insist the gentleman give us his name before this goes any further.”
The officer was indignant. “I ask the questions, devil take you!”
In lieu of a reply, John took his pocket notebook from inside his jacket and glanced pointedly at the man’s helmet badge. He murmured as he wrote. “Number 184 . . . refused to identify himself . . .”
“Pembroke,” Reina asked, “why are you writing down his badge number?”
“They’ll need it for the disciplinary records, ma’am.”
She understood instantly what John was doing. It was a trial tactic she’d learned in a law class: A junior lawyer would ask sympathetic questions to put a witness at ease, and the lead barrister would close in with aggressive cross-examination.
“Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any need for us to make a complaint,” she said, playing her part. “Really, Pembroke, that’s taking it too far—”
“You’re being detained and questioned in your place of business, ma’am.”
“Her business?” the constable asked with a snort. “Banking ain’t a woman’s business.”
“I’ve been negotiating a partnership agreement with Mr. Farlow,” Reina told him brightly. “We’re planning to open a women’s branch of Farlow’s in Knightsbridge. Mr. Spindle will confirm that, of course. He’s overheard countless very dull lunchtime conversations about it.” She cast a winsome glance at the night watchman. “Mr. Spindle, may I ask why you’re working as a guard tonight? All is well with you, I hope?”
“Yes, miss, the regular watchman and I have an arrangement. We stand in for each other when it’s needed. It’s his wedding day tomorrow, so he asked me to watch over the street for a few days in his stead.”
“How kind of you,” Reina exclaimed.
The young man smiled at her. “Beg pardon for causing you distress, miss. While I was on my rounds, I saw a glow at the edge of a curtain, and I thought it best to bring Constable Jex inside to investigate. Now that I know it was you, we’ll leave you to—”
