Page 27 of The Viscount of Shadows

The police scratched out the information. “I prefer Mitch.” He handed the paper to Oliver. “But call me whatever you like.”

“Westgate Terrance, Kensington? That is an impressive address.”

Mitchell snorted. “Hardly. I am renting two rooms from a baronet’s widow.”

Oliver smiled. “A widow, you say?”

“She’s 71 years old,” Mitch barked.

Oliver laughed. “This may be the start of a fascinating friendship.”

Mitchell chuckled. “Yes, so it seems. Again, I take it any appeal on my part to encourage you to give this up will fall on deaf ears?”

“I cannot. Not while my brother is in harm’s way.”

“Very well. I had best be off.”

“You should leave the way we came in. Stay to the rear alley and off the main streets.”

Mitchell Simpson nodded, shoved the paper in his pocket, and then took the stairs. Hesitating, he slowly lifted the trap door and silently ascended. Oliver waited several minutes, then changed his clothes. He kept appropriate working-class garments so he could blend in. Stuffing his Sentinel outfit in a burlap sack, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder, blew out the lantern, and took the stairs above.

Once out on the street, he casually strolled toward the outskirts of Notting Dale, where he could catch a hansom cab.

Standing at the head of an alley and about to cross the street, he heard a noise. A rustling sound behind stacked crates. It was probably a rat. They were everywhere in the city, so much so there were thousands of ratcatchers employed, even in the palace.

Then Oliver heard a pitiful meow. Moving aside one of the crates, a cat stared up at him. The sorrow-filled golden-green eyes pierced Oliver’s heart.

He reached down and scooped up the cat, still a kitten, though an older one—and all fur and bones. From under the illumination of the street lamp, he could see the cat had longish hair, a fluffy tail, and a unique fur coloring mixture of tabby and calico.

Another mew, then a low trilling, as the cat rubbed against his face and started purring.

Well, that did it.

“It appears you are coming home with me.”

Two solid and lasting friendships formed in Notting Dale that night, and Oliver welcomed them gladly.