“Jimmy, eh?” Barney said skeptically. “And the last name?”
“Black,” he said. It was the name his mother had used, though she’d told him it was made up. She never had said the real one, as she’d been afraid he might tell it someday, as children were terrible at keeping secrets.
“Jimmy Black?” Barney said. “Not Henry Conroy?”
“I never heard of that person,” Shrimps said. He was feeling worse and worse about this. His name was Henry and he was supposed tofindthe Conroys.
“You got anything written down that says your name is Jimmy Black?” Barney asked threateningly.
“Like what?” Shrimps asked, trying to sound like Barney had asked him a stupid question. “Do you think people write me letters? I don’t know anybody who would write me a letter and I couldn’t read it if I got it!”
“Ya better not be lyin’ about it,” Barney said.
“Why would I lie about my name?” Shrimps said. “I didn’t do a crime, if that’s what you think.”
“Do a crime?” Barney said, laughing. “What crime would that be? The crime of being the worst pickpocket in London? Now listen here, the boss has sent word that he wants proof of your real name. If it is Jimmy Black, you best be able to prove it somehow. I’ll be back in a week and ya better have something or else.”
A light suddenly spilled out into the garden and Barney slipped behind some bushes.
Cook had opened the door and stood with a candle. “Shrimps! Tell that dog he cannot stay out all night. It’s time to come inside.”
“Coming!” Shrimps said. “Oyster, let’s go!”
He ran into the house with the dog on his heels, leaving Barney in the garden to ponder if he were Jimmy Black or a person named Henry Conroy.
He wondered if he were Henry Conroy himself. He was Henry somebody, he knew that. And his mum had told him to go to Kent and find the Conroys.
It would add up that he was Henry Conroy, but he couldn’t say what the significance of it was.
Why would Barney’s bosses be looking for a Henry Conroy?
Whatever it was, it would not be good and he did not want to find out. He would stick to Jimmy Black. He just didn’t know how he was to prove he was Jimmy Black.
Barney had said he’d have to prove it or else. What was theor else?
He hoped it wasn’t going over a bridge and into the Thames.
*
Rosalind had smiledhappily as she was led in on Conbatten’s arm. It was just as it should be and Lady Hightower had been a dear to arrange it.
Apparently, Lord Cannerly had two dining rooms in his house and no breakfast room. Her father had told her that the fellow thought all rational people had their breakfast while still abed. There was not the smallest need to drag oneself downstairs for eggs.
Further, when he wished to have a small dinner, which this was and which he preferred, he did not like to have his guests in the proper dining room. Why be at a table so big that one was only constrained to talking to their immediate seatmates?
That was one point Rosalind must disagree with. She would have been immensely satisfied had she only to talk to Conbatten on her left, and then occasionally turn to Lord Marlrymple.
As it was, the table was not large, and much narrower than an average dining table.
“Now you see,” Lord Cannerly said from the far end, “we are cozy as anything and will not need to shout across table should we wish to have a wide-ranging conversation among ourselves.”
Rosalind was not at all interested in a wide-ranging conversation. Lady Hightower was on her end, with Lord Mendover and Lady Worthington across.
She would particularly wish Lady Worthington away. She was a young widow and there was something so confident about her. Conbatten seemed to admire it, so of course Rosalind could not admire it.
Nevertheless, she had a stage to set and she would not let Lady Worthington or anybody else get in the way.
A footman held forth a platter of roasted duck and Conbatten served it to her.
