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“Perkins.”
“Miss Perkins, do come in.” He bowed unsteadily, and for one panicked moment Mari thought she might have to catch him and help him regain his feet. But he righted himself and ushered her inside, hastily swiping away stacks of papers from a chair.
His desk was covered in drifts of papers and books lined every surface of the room.
She couldn’t help noticing the unwashed stoneware and the heavy smell of rat droppings and cheap gin.
Mr. Shadwell was perhaps not the most respectable of lawyers. Didn’t he have a clerk or a maid to assist him?
When she was settled, he took a seat across the desk from her. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you tea,” he said. “My maid chose a very inconvenient time to run off with my clerk.”
Well that answered her question. “Never mind,” she said, “I don’t want tea. I need information.”
“What sort of information? An investigation? I specialize in matters of the heart.” He leaned forward and the strong smell of gin intensified. “Is your sweetheart cuckolding you, Miss Perkins? I’ll catch him out, never fear.”
Mari blinked. “That’s not it at all. This is about a past investigation. One you conducted on behalf of a client I should very much like to know more about.”
“A past investigation. I see.” He steepled his fingers and attempted to place his chin upon them, but missed, catching his nose instead. His head jolted back upright.
That’s when Mari realized that Mr. Arthur Shadwell, Esquire, was completely and utterly foxed.
“Do you perhaps need a glass of water, Mr. Shadwell?”Dashed in your face, perhaps?
“Could use a little liquid refreshment, at that.” He opened his desk drawer and extracted a flask. Taking several long gulps, he held it out to her. “Care for a nip?”
“Humph,” she sniffed. This interview was not going according to plan. Could she trust anything the man said? He was drinking in front of a woman wearing the clothing of a lady, and sitting slumped over as if his head might slam into the desk at any moment.
As much as it pained her, she may have to come back later. When the man was sober. “Should I come back later, Mr. Shadwell? You seem rather indisposed at the moment.”
“Indishposed,” he slurred. “Not a bit of it. Feeling fit as a fiddle and right as rain. Now tell me about the gentleman in question. Did he take your virtue and you want revenge? You can be frank with me.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Shadwell. I’m not here because of some love affair gone wrong. I’m here because you, or I believe it was you, visited the Underwood Orphanage and Charity School near the village of Hathersage, in Derbyshire, less than two years ago. You were inquiring about the whereabouts of a girl who had been left there as a babe, with a wooden toy rabbit and a prayer book.”
“Toy rabbit?” he scratched his head. “Can’t say as I ever investigated a toy rabbit.”
“Not the rabbit, the girl. The girl who was left at the orphanage.”
“Never been to an orphanage,” he said. “Horrible places, lousy with bedbugs and crying babes.”
“How long have you been a lawyer, sir?” Mari asked sternly.
“Long enough,” he said belligerently. “Long enough to know that I charge by the minute. And you’ve been here...” He lifted his pocket watch from his waistcoat with unsteady fingers. “Ten minutes, Miss Perkins. Ten minutes of my time. That’s—”
“Are you certain you never visited an orphanage in Derbyshire?” she persisted.
“Why would I?” He took another slug from his flask. “Not much action in Derbyshire. No, the love scandals are all in London, Miss Perkins. Your cheating husbands, crimes of passion, courtesans on the side, illegitimate children... that’s my bread and butter.”
“You’re the only Arthur Shadwell listed inJohnstone’s London Commercial Guide.”
“Am I? Sometimes I do see double when I look in the glass.” He laughed. Then hiccupped.
The man was impossible. Mari had had enough.
“Well this has been extremely disappointing.” She rose. “You do know it’s only half ten of the morning. Shameful,” she said. “Most shameful.”
“Half ten?” He leapt from his desk. “Half ten? Why didn’t you say so? I’m late for court. Where’s my wig?” He searched the room.
She pointed to the ceiling. There was a white wig dangling from the light fixture.
