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Corbyn perused the length of him and gave him a disapproving look. “You look terrible,” he commented. “You need to bathe.”
“That is generally what happens when I’m forced to chase a suspect through the rookeries.”
“Meet me at the office tomorrow and we will discuss the particulars of the case,” Corbyn ordered.
“Will do.”
Corbyn took a step back, then said, “You’d better not disappoint me, Stewart.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
After he wasdressed in a brown jacket with buff trousers, Guy descended the stairs of his rented house and smelled food wafting out of the kitchen. He turned the corner and saw his sister stirring something in a pot hanging over the hearth.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
Esther smiled over at him. “Good morning,” she replied. “If you take a seat, I will get your breakfast for you.”
“I would appreciate that.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Esther wiped her hands on the white apron tied around her waist before she picked up a bowl from the counter. “You got home rather late last night,” she remarked as she placed the bowl in front of him.
“I did.”
“May I ask what kept you out late?”
“Nothing that would concern you.”
A smirk came to her lips as she retrieved a spoon for him. “I assume you were doing important Runner business.”
“I believe I already explained why Bow Street Runners do not like to be referred to as ‘Runners’.” Guy knew he shouldn’t feel bad for intentionally deceiving his sister about how he occupied his time, but it was for her own safety that she didn’t know he was an agent of the Crown.
She extended him the spoon, then said, “You did, but it is fun to goad you early in the morning.”
He shook his head. “If you are not careful, I will take you to the market and sell you off.”
Esther laughed, as he’d intended. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “After all, who would make you hot rolls for your breakfast?”
“I suppose I would have to learn to cook.”
“You would starve, and you know it.”
Guy put his hands up in surrender. “You are right,” he replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t be able to do the cooking and cleaning as well as you do.”
“Thank you.”
Glancing towards the door along the back wall, he grew serious. “How is Mother?”
All humor was stripped off her face. “She is not doing well, I’m afraid.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“The doctor is a quack,” Esther said. “He keeps blood-letting her, even though she is getting weaker and weaker with each pass.”
“Blood-letting is a perfectly acceptable treatment,” Guy defended.
“It just doesn’t seem to help her.” Esther picked up a bowl and joined him at the table. “We need to speak to another doctor about her condition.”
“We have spoken to two doctors already.”
