Page 8 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘Not what you were expecting?’

She ignored him, looking up at the doors on the upper level, turning in a circle as she did.

‘Would you like me to go first?’

‘I can manage from here.’

Despite her protests, Tom followed her up the stairs carefully, spreading his weight evenly so as not to crash through the rotting wooden planks.

Up close the upper level was even worse. The windows were covered in a thick layer of grime and some of the doors were rotting on their hinges.

‘Are you sure you’re in the right place?’ Most of the buildings looked abandoned and beyond repair.

Miss Ashworth paused outside a door that looked as though it had been once painted dark green. She bent down, looked at a scuffed plaque on the door and then straightened with a grimace.

Tom stepped closer and peered at the sign, surprised by what he read: William Highbury, Book Publisher.

‘A publisher?’ Now he was even more confused than before.

She knocked.

‘What do you want with a publisher?’

Ignoring him, Miss Ashworth stepped to the side and squinted through the window.

‘What do you want with a publisher in Southwark?’

‘That is absolutely none of your business.’

‘There’s no one here. These buildings are not fit for anyone to live in or run a business in.’

Miss Ashworth knocked again, this time louder and more insistent.

‘There’s no one there, love,’ a voice from below called up.

They both moved to the edge of the upper walkway and looked down to the courtyard below.

‘Do you know where Mr Highbury is now?’

‘Dead. Buried two years ago.’ The woman was already starting to walk away, a basket under her arm and a young child trailing in her footsteps.

‘And his business—did anyone take it over?’

‘He had no children. He had no one,’ the woman shouted over her shoulder before disappearing into the alleyway.

Tom watched as Miss Ashworth closed her eyes and let her shoulders sag, unable to comprehend what could have been so important to cause her such disappointment now the chance was gone.

‘What did you want with him?’

Miss Ashworth shook her head, glancing down to a bulge beneath her cloak. He remembered the package she had retrieved from the floor after dropping it to punch him.

‘What is in that package?’

‘It is none of your concern.’ She gave an exasperated exhalation. ‘In fact none of this is any of your concern. Good day, Mr Stewart.’

‘We made a deal, Miss Ashworth,’ he said, easily keeping up with her as she started to climb back down the rickety steps.

She turned to glare at him and in doing so her dress caught on a protruding nail on one of the wooden planks. As she turned back, the fabric snagged, pulling and causing her to stumble.