1
October 1817
London, England
Tommy Wynchester strolled off one of the many boats docked at Billingsgate and melted into the marketplace. The smell of the water permeated the crisp air, as did the cacophony of voices, punctuated by the cries of vendors hawking fish, crabs, and countless other treats and treasures.
It was the perfect place for a boatman to disappear.
From the busy stalls clustered along the dock, a gentleman emerged. The brim of his hat was pulled down low against the chill autumn wind, but Tommy didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. Tall and rugged. Black hair and bronze skin. An annoying habit of quoting dramatically from the morning scandal columns when one was trying to eat one’s breakfast.
“You got it?” Graham murmured when their elbows were close enough to touch.
“Of course.” She slid him the package.
He continued on.
In moments, Tommy’s brother had vanished into the milling crowd, slipperier than the eels hawked beside the water. He might have a horse tied to a post somewhere under guard. Or he might scale the brick in a narrow alleyway, choosing to race across rooftops instead of slog through the congested street traffic.
Tommy’s part in the mission was over. She could relax and give up the life of a boatman. And she knew just where to begin: the Clams & Cockles Inn.
Two women sat in wicker chairs at Tommy’s favorite table overlooking the water. The diminutive blond one with the faraway expression and the clumps of red paint in her hair was Tommy’s sister Marjorie. The woman with the sharp green eyes and a sturdy sword stick was Tommy’s sister Elizabeth.
The only one missing was Chloe.
Tommy and Chloe had been inseparable from the moment they’d met at the orphanage. Tommy had been little more than a toddler. They’d grown up together, first as orphans with side-by-side cots and then as wards of the eccentric Baron Vanderbean.
But Chloe had married a duke. She had new responsibilities and was no longer free to join in her siblings’ exploits, no matter how much Tommy missed her.
“Where are they?” she asked as she took her seat.
“Any minute now.” Elizabeth’s fingers caressed a brass handle in the shape of a serpent.
“Your oysters!” sang out a lusty voice. A serving girl placed a brimming basket in the center of the table, along with a tankard of ale for Tommy.
“You are the best sisters,” Tommy said fervently, and reached for the oysters.
“And you’re the worst,” Elizabeth grumbled. “I wishIcould swill pints of ale in public without receiving disapproving looks from passersby.”
“Hit them with your sword stick,” Marjorie suggested. “Judging strangers is rude.”
“Or become a boatman,” Tommy said between bites, careful to face her sister when she spoke. It was difficult for Marjorie to hear over the noise of a crowd. “No one pays any mind to what we do.”
“You are not a boatman,” Elizabeth reminded her. “You are playing a role.”
“Wereplaying,” Marjorie corrected, her voice loud and pointed.
Tommy’s many temporary roles did feel like playing a game. She loved each while it lasted, but was always glad to remove her costume and be herself.
“Did you find the fish spinster of your dreams?” Elizabeth asked.
“I was working,” Tommy reminded her. “There will be time to look for love later.”
“Liar,” Elizabeth said. “You stopped looking the moment you laid eyes on—”
“Shush.” Tommy felt her neck flush. “Wynchesters meddle inotherpeople’s business. Not mine.”
Marjorie brightened. “And Graham?”
