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The shopfront of Bentick and Black, Gentlemen’s Outfitters was plain, yet boasted an elegant sign, recently redone with gilded letters. The street it was found on was respectable, if not in the first stare of fashion, as far as a location to shop.
Thorne rode along the street towards it, slowly, looking about for an urchin to hold his horse – surely, here, where there were shops, there would also be urchins looking to earn a coin. That assumption proved correct, and a boy slipped out of a narrow lane, and called to him.
“ ’old yer ‘orse, milord?”
“Yes. I’ll be going into Bentick and Black.” Thorne swung down, and pulled out a coin, handing it to the boy. “There’s another of those for you, when I come out, so long as all is well with my horse.”
The boy took the coin, and examined it, eyes glowing – a shilling was far more than the service warranted, but Thorne saw no reason not to be charitable.
“Yes, milord!”
He passed the boy the reins, and turned his attention to the shop. As he did, the door opened, and a woman stepped out, a cloak wrapped around her. She pulled the door closed behind her, and that movement opened the cloak for a short while – long enough for Thorne to see her tuck a package into her pockets, before she set off away from him, down the street, at some speed.
Most curious. What was a woman doing coming out of a Gentlemen’s Outfitters? And why was she swaddled in a large cloak, when the day was warm, even for May? And, most curious of all, what was in the package that she had so swiftly tucked away?
He shook his head. It was none of his business, and he should forget about it entirely, but, still….
Thorne strode to the door and opened it, causing a tinkle of small bells.
He stopped for a moment, blinking in the relative dimness after the bright sun outside.
“Can I help you, my Lord?”
Thorne went to where a man stood behind the counter. His uncanny resemblance to Blackwater still shook Thorne, even though he had now seen him a number of times.
“Mr Black, I have come to commission a sword cane from you. I believe that it is time I learnt to use one. I am told that they are quite different to a fencing rapier.”
The man looked at him, now seeing him clearly in the beam of sunlight which shone through the large front window.
“Ah, my Lord… Wildenhall, isn’t it?”
“Yes – I did not expect you to recognise me.”
Mr Black laughed.
“I regard it as a matter of importance to memorise the names and appearance of all those in my half-brother’s wife’s family. I would not wish to embarrass Blackwater by getting such things wrong.”
“I see. Well – what must we do, for you to make me a suitable sword cane?”
Mr Black came out from behind the counter, and led Thorne to the back of the shop area, where a rack of canes filled one wall.
“We will see which of these feels best to you, for your arm length, and the balance of it, then I will be able to define the exact specifications of what I must craft for you.”
An hour passed, in which Thorne learnt more of swords and canes than he had ever expected to, and found it surprisingly interesting.
Then, they spoke of the price, and the time required for it to be made, and came to an agreement. Thorne, always conscious of how many of the ton did not pay tradesmen well, wrote a bank draft for half of the sum agreed immediately, and passed it to Mr Black.
“Thank you, my Lord. I do appreciate those who pay without being chased for it.”
“I quite consciously choose not to be like many of my peers, on matters such as this.”
Mr Black bowed, then tucked the bank draft away.
“Will there be anything else, my Lord?”
Thorne went to say no, to leave, but then the image of the woman leaving the shop rose in his mind, and curiosity drove him.
