“Some fellow,” he says. “Her father? Brother? I don’t know.”
“Describe him.”
The young man flails his arms. “A fellow? Maybe thirty? Tall. Dark hair.”
That sounds like Gray, but I do not for a moment think Gray would grab a child.
“Clothing?” I say.
“I didn’t pay attention. A . . . Oh, he had a top hat. And his trousers were too short.”
Roy.
“Which way did he go?” I ask.
“Down the street, first left.”
“That was easy, wasn’t it?” I say. “Next time someone asks you a question and seems to be distressed over the treatment of a child, have the decency to answer. A little kindness goes a long way.”
He hesitates and then tilts his head. “Since I was kind, how about we grab a pint?—”
I take off at a jog.
“Maybe later?” he calls after me.
I tear down the lane and then take the first left, as he indicated. It leads to a narrow close—an alley, dark and empty. I slow to listen. Silence.
I squint down the alley. It really is dark, with tall buildings on either side, the gap no more than a few feet across. I can’t see where it ends.
I take out my derringer again and begin slowly walking into the shadowy alley. After each couple of steps, I stop and listen. When I hear a rustle, I whirl, only to see a rat diving into a crate. I lift my skirts to pass the crate and then lift them again to pass a very questionable puddle.
One step. Another step. A rustle. Another rat.
I glance back down the alley. I really don’t like this. I should be able to see the end, and I can’t, which probably means there is no end. Some of these narrow closes are blocked by more recent construction. That would explain why no one else is down here.
But if there’s no exit, why would Roy bring Dorrit here?
Because he didn’t. Because I took the word of a witness I was holding at gunpoint.
I wheel, gun rising, expecting to see the young man creeping up behind. That would be rash, when I clearly had a gun, but testosterone can overrule common sense. A young woman humiliates a young man, and he’s damn well going to teach her a lesson.
There’s no one behind me.
There is, however, a place where he could hide—a set of rickety stairs near the entrance, now shadowed enough that I wouldn’t see anyone lurking on the other side.
I step that way, gun raised, my gaze fixed on those stairs, watching for any sign of movement?—
A figure steps into the end of the alley. My gun swings up.
“Please do not shoot me,” Gray says. “And if you must, please do not shoot me there.”
I look at the current trajectory of my derringer, which I’d swung up enough to line up just below his belt.
“Sorry,” I say, lowering it.
He strides to meet me.
“A witness said a man with a top hat and too-short trousers grabbed Dorrit and pulled her in here,” I say. “But I don’t see an exit, which made me realize my witness might have tricked me.”
