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Half an hour later, Trenton pulled the curricle over to the side of the road. He handed Ursula down and held his elbow out for her in a gentlemanly fashion that was more fitting for an afternoon stroll rather than the quest they were on. Nevertheless, Ursula smiled her thanks as she took his elbow.
They followed the delivery man toward the Covent Garden area. Determined to stop him before he went any further, Trenton quickened his pace.
“Please, sir. Might I have a word with you?” Trenton said as he hurried past, and planted himself squarely in the man’s path.
“Who are you?” the man asked warily, eyeing both Trenton and Ursula’s clothing suspiciously.
Trenton ignored the question and got straight to the heart of the matter. “My friend here has been receiving small arrangements of posies from you recently. One a day for the last three weeks in fact,” Trenton explained. He knew from the gleam in his eye the man knew exactly what he was talking about. “You just delivered one.”
“And?” The man asked cautiously. “Ain’t no crime, is it?”
“No, it is no crime,” Trenton agreed. “It is just that there have been some rather startling developments at that house recently. We need to know why you are sending the flowers.”
“It ain’t me, guvnor,” the man protested quickly. “I was paid to do it.”
“Who paid you?” Trenton sighed at the wariness on the man’s face. He suspected the truth would be hard to come by, but continued anyway. “I should be obliged if you could give me their direction. I need to speak with them.”
The man hesitated for a moment. “Well, I don’t rightly
know who they are.”
“Do they come to pay you daily or weekly?” Trenton persisted.
The man frowned. “What kind of startling developments have there been?”
“There has been a break in at the house you just delivered to.”
The man jerked and looked at him in alarm. “Well, it weren’t me.”
Trenton nodded. “I know. I am not suggesting for a moment that it was. However, we think it might be the sender of the flowers; the man who paid you. It is a little unusual for arrangements to be sent each day for three whole weeks, yet the sender hasn’t seen fit to give her his name,” Trenton argued. “Given the break-in last night, I am sure you can understand our concerns that the sender may not have honourable intentions.”
The man considered that for a moment and appeared to come to the same conclusion. After several moments of quiet contemplation he shrugged unconcernedly.
“He comes to see me every other day. He gives me the cards and pays me extra to deliver the posies to her door.” He eyed Ursula curiously.
“Has he paid you for tomorrow?”
The man nodded, and drew a small card out of his jacket pocket. He handed it to Trenton and then stood back to resume his perusal of Ursula. She tried not to squirm beneath that penetrating gaze and turned her attention to the card Trenton held. It was penned in exactly the same script as the cards in the study at Adelaide’s house. She looked at Trenton who nodded thoughtfully at her.
“Do you have his direction?” Trenton asked hopefully.
Unsurprisingly, the man shook his head.
“He came to find you at Covent Garden?”
“My daughters sell them there. He approached my eldest one day and asked her to deliver a posy to your house.” He nodded to Ursula. “I did it ‘cos it ain’t something I want her doing.”
“Can you remember what he looked like?” Trenton asked. “I take it that a man arranged for them to be delivered?”
The man jerked. “Did you expect it to be a lady?” he asked in astonishment.
Ursula winced. “No.”
“What did he look like? Can you remember?” Trenton was positive the man must know something.
“Well, he was fairly nondescript I suppose. He was about your height, ma’am, and had dark hair.”
“Was his voice cultured?” Trenton was still reluctant to relinquish the idea that it could be someone from Yorkshire.
