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Isla returns the smile. “On occasion, yes.”
Discomfort crosses Gray’s face. I understand that look better now. It’s partly because Sarah reminds him of an awkward secret he holds, but it’s also the discomfort of having an old family friend reminisce about your childhood antics when you are well past being a child.
Sarah is only being kind, and I personally appreciate the insight into a young Duncan Gray, but it’s like having an elderly aunt pull out your baby pictures.
“Duncan is not here for dessert,” Annis says as she cuts into a coconut cake. “He is here to ask something, as is that girl of his.”
Isla makes a noise in her throat.
“Fine,” Annis says. “Thatassistantof his.”
“Her name is Miss Mitchell. Or Mallory, if you prefer.”
Annis only shakes her head and says, “Speak, Duncan. Before you burst.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he pulls out a chair, motioning for me to do the same.
“Oh, now he is being contrary,” Annis says. “I have accused him of something as insulting as enthusiasm, and so he will prove me mistaken. Cutting off his nose to spite his face.”
“Do you know a Lord Primrose?” I say, as I pass a slice of cake to Gray. “Lord Neil Primrose of Rosehip House.”
“Unfortunately.”
“We need to speak to him. This afternoon if possible.”
“Well, unless you can fly, that will prove difficult. He is on safari in Africa.”
“How about Mr. Bailey?” I say, naming the client whose file had missing pages. “Do you know him?”
Annis takes another bite of cake and then says, “I believe he is aconfederate of Lord Primrose. A banker perhaps? Or a factory owner? Someone in trade, but rather well off.”
I turn to Gray, who is already eating his cake. “How would we find him?”
Annis sighs. “You would ask me to help. My brother is going to be quite useless in such social matters unless Mr. Bailey is a man of science or a comely widow.”
Gray’s gaze shoots to Annis, but she only takes another bite of her cake. “I will find what you need, Miss Mallory.” She glances at Isla. “Is that better?”
A knock at the door sounds before Isla can comment—if she planned to. I push back my chair. “I’ll get that.”
“Of course you will,” Annis murmurs. “You conveniently remember your role when it behooves you to do so.” When I hesitate, she waves toward the door. “Go on, girl. Satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure my brother will follow once he has finished his cake.”
THIRTY-THREE
I throw open the front door, hoping to see Jack. Instead, my gaze drops to the head of a girl younger than Alice.
Her face tilts up to mine. “Miss Mallory?”
“Yes?”
“My mother sent me to pass along a message to you.”
“Oh.” I see the resemblance between the girl and the woman I spoke to only hours ago. “You must be Clara Burns’s daughter.”
She nods. “Edwina, ma’am.”
“Come in then. Come in.”
She hesitates, but I usher her inside, saying, “I have something for your mother, in return for the message.”
