Lionel frowned deeply. “I not be a green boy.”
“Did not mean to insinuate you were,” Alexander said in apologetic tones. “Yet, Honfleur is wily enough to fool nearly all of Society. Like a fox in the hen house, he is both crafty and dangerous.”
“Not be the first time you and me outwitted a fox, whether it walks on four legs or two,” Lionel said with a smile of shared knowledge.
“If we mean to outwit this particular French fox, we should be about it,” Alexander said in caution. “Honfleur will likely remain at this evening’s entertainment for another hour or so.” He gestured to the door. “Lead on, my friend.”
Lionel’s smile widened, but he did not say a word. Alexander knew enough of the young man who had served with him long before Alexander claimed the earldom to know Lionel enjoyed leading Alexander on yet another adventure. His friend crossed to the back of the mews and exited through a latched opening. They did not exchange any words, for they each understood their roles in this venture. Even so, Alexander had been surprised by the opening in the brick wall, for he had half expected some sort of hole in the ground, which an actual root cellar would assuredly be, but the entrance behind Lord Manning’s town house proved to be a sort of narrow gate house. Two pillars marked the rear exit from Manning’s garden, but one of the pillars had a door and an opening partially hidden by a flowering bush.
“Ingenious,” Alexander whispered as he looked down into the dark cellar.
Lionel warned softly, “Step with care. The few stones in here are likely to be damp. We’ll light a candle below.”
Alexander nodded his understanding and motioned his friend to continue to lead. Using his hands to reach for the wall, he edged into the blackness. Just as his booted foot touched what was obviously earth, Lionel struck a flint some six or seven feet along the narrow passage to light a candle he carried.
“Don’t look like no root cellar I’ve ever seen,” Lionel observed. “’Pears to be some sort of means to deliver goods to these houses. Don’t be understandin’ the why and the wherefore, as no food stuffs be stored here.”
Alexander came abreast of his friend. “Likely food stored in such a place would not last long, for word would seep out on the street and the likes of you and me as we were hungry boys would have risked a journey to the great and wonderful outer rims of Mayfair in order to steal what we could to feed our families.”
“Likely be battles to rival those ye told me of ’tween the British and the Americans,” Lionel said as he lifted the candle higher so he might lead the way.
“Most assuredly,” Alexander responded in hushed tones, for this was like no other structure he had ever encountered. “I am assuming you’ve been here previously.”
“Just came along a short distance,” Lionel admitted. “Wanted to learn if there be a hiding place.”
“And is there?” Alexander asked.
“None I found,” Lionel shared.
“Wonderful.” Alexander murmured. “Then we should hustle along. Would not wish to encounter Honfleur on the marquis’s return to his home.”
Lionel presented Alexander with a half salute, all in good measure, before turning to lead the way, with Alexander staying close on his friend’s heels. The only words they exchanged were a recitation of the names of the households intersecting with this passage.
“Manning Hall,” Lionel whispered as he gestured to a thick door on the right-hand side of the tunnel-like passage.
Alexander eyed the door. He would like the opportunity to explore it closer, but Lionel had not slowed his progress, and Alexander had to lengthen his stride to remain in the weak ring of light from the candle.
“Westlake Manor.”
Alexander added the information to his growing curiosity regarding Honfleur, but he held his tongue. There would be ample time to analyze what all he observed at a later hour. It was bad enough he was going against Duncan’s specific orders not to take risks with Honfleur—not to jeopardize the government’s investigation. Yet, try as he might to shake the feeling, Alexander could not resist the possibility Annalise was in danger. He knew, without a doubt, he would not survive if he lost her again.
“Offeman House.”
“Brady Place.”
“Trippman Hall.”
Before Alexander knew what was what, they stood before a closed door, one resembling those found in the artwork of an expensive children’s book, the one which told of secret doors to a fairy land, like the book Alexander had dearly loved as a young boy. It was the first book Lord Duncan had presented to Alexander. The Scot had read it to him over and over again, until a young Alexander could recite the tale by heart. Even now, he thought he could do so, although he doubted he might accomplish the task without a Scottish accent sneaking into the retelling.
“This one leads to Honfleur’s house,” Lionel said softly.
“Is it unlocked?” Alexander asked. The idea Annalise was on the other side of the door latched onto his heart and would not release it.
“Don’t matter,” Lionel warned. “No time to learn more this evening.”
Alexander reluctantly nodded his agreement. “Naturally, you are correct. We should hurry our return.”
Unaware of Alexander’s qualms over leaving Annalise behind again, Lionel set off the way they had come. With a heavy heart and a yearning for a different outcome, Alexander turned to follow.
