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The loud groan of protest was easily ignored, but the big hands that came up to clutch Hart's wrists were more intrusive. Not only were they sticky, they were strong as hell. He tossed the man out the front door and wiped his arm against his jacket.
By the time he made it into the open air that smelled of coal smoke instead of gin and onions, Stimp was standing guard, arms crossed and eyes glaring at passersby.
Hart paused to consider how best to wake the drunkard. A bucket of cold, foul water over the head? A boot to the ribs? The appeal of giving the man a good thrashing proved tempting, but Hart reconsidered even as he drew his foot back. The man knew Emma somehow from somewhere. He might not reveal their secrets, but she would.
"Help me get him into the carriage."
Stimp's eyebrows neared his hairline. "He's likely to cast up his accounts all over your finery if you bounce him around in there."
"We'll put him on the floor and pray for the best."
Stimp shrugged his opinion and helped wrestle the man's large body through the narrow opening. They had him halfway in when the driver jumped down and offered his shoulder as effective leverage.
The driver dusted off his shoulder. "Perhaps you'd prefer to ride above, Your Grace."
"Perhaps I would. Stimp?" But Stimp declined, unwilling to give up what might be his last carriage ride.
They were back at Emma's street and pulling into the alley within minutes, the driver having taken a more direct route. Stimp jumped from the coach with a pointed frown.
"Go and fetch Lady Denmore, Stimp."
The boy made sure to toss a scowl over his shoulder as he skulked toward her back door. Hart followed at a distance, keeping close to the damp brick wall. He heard Stimp walk down the steps, heard the door open.
"Yer mistress," Stimp said. Footsteps rushed across a stone floor and the door opened again.
"Where have you been? I sent word hours ago. I need your help."
Hart swallowed the fury that rose at the sound of her voice. She'd abandoned him without a word. Like a rented mount.
Stimp was making his excuses when she interrupted. "That man you claimed to have run off has returned. Had you noticed?"
"Aye."
Her impatience vibrated through the atmosphere. "Oh, you had? Because the very man I hired you to watch out for has likely broken into my home. You were supposed to be keeping an eye out, but you've only come around once in three days. Did he pay you off?"
"Who?"
"The man who broke into my home!"
"Well, I took his ha'pence that first day, but I already told you about that."
"Stimp, listen." She sounded frightened now. Desperate. "If you can't find out who he is and what he wants, I at least need him gone. This is important. Is there some way he can be gotten rid of?"
Hart blinked and stepped back, shocked at her vicious-ness.
"Well. . ." Stimp tapped his foot. "I'm sure I know one or two who might be willing to open the man's throat, but it'll cost more than—"
"No! Good God, what kind of child are you? I don't want the man murdered! I just need him run off. For good this time."
Hart felt muscles he'd never recognized relax at her words. The woman was wily and deceptive, but she'd never struck him as violent.
"What if I were to catch 'im for you," Stimp went on, seemingly unfazed by the exchange. "For, say, a half crown? Would that suit yer—"
"Enough," Hart said, and crossed the half-dozen feet to her stairway.
Emma yelped when she spied him, though she clapped a hand over her mouth to try to stop it. But she couldn't hide the fear that blazed to life in those hazel eyes. Stark alarm was followed quickly by bright, scrambling thoughts.
"What are you doing here?" she asked from behind her fingers, but then she lowered her hand and stepped out from the doorway. "I am not receiving visitors, Your Grace. Please send a note next time."
