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“Ah. Hewasfond of his rich foods. I remember him saying that his housekeeper swore they’d be the end of him.” He makes a face. “That sounds very flippant. I do not mean that. She was always after him to repair his diet, but he said that if the food did not kill him, the gout would, and he would rather it was the food.”
“Personally, I would agree.”
He smiles at me. “As would I.” He shuffles his papers. “Might I have something to affix these together?”
He motions toward a length of string on the opposite side of the desk. I wave for him to go ahead. Isla has returned to searching the room for more client pouches. As Morris takes the string, his elbow hits a stack of papers I’d been sorting. They cascade to the floor. He dives to pick them up.
“I have it,” I say, as I bend to collect the fallen papers while he blurts apologies. Then I pause. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Ware, sir?”
“Three days ago.”
I try not to sag in disappointment. Then he adds, “Oh, and I dropped off these papers yesterday.”
Bingo.
“You didn’t happen to see whether Mr. Ware was eating anything at the time?”
Morris smiles. “He was always eating something. Yesterday, there was a tray of lunch from his housekeeper, which he was ignoring in favor of a pastry.”
That has Isla stopping her work. “What sort of pastry?”
“A jam tart. I do not blame him. It looked quite delicious, with cherry jam and a bit of clotted cream on top.”
“Did he say where it came from?” I ask.
The young man shakes his head. “He was not in the mood for conversation when I arrived, having just dealt with a most unpleasant woman.”
“A woman?”
Morris backs against the desk, half sitting against the edge. “A client, presumably. They were arguing when I came in. Something about an investment her husband was making through Mr. Ware. It does not signify, I suppose, except that you may also need to deal with her.” He shudders. “I would be prepared.”
I ask what they’d been arguing about—so we can “be prepared”—but Morris had retreated quickly when he heard the raised voices. Nor can he provide any information about the woman herself, who stormed past him.
“Nearly knocked me flying, she did. Strode straight to her carriage, waiting in the mews. Oh, I can tell you that the carriage had a crest on the door. A lion under a mountain peak.” He straightens. “I hope you do not encounter her. She is quite the virago.” He taps his pages. “Thank you again for this. I shall return in a few days to see about obtaining the rest of my papers.”
He leaves, and I wait until the door shuts behind him.
“Please tell me the Leslie family crest does not have a lion under a mountain peak.”
“It has a lion under two chevrons,” she says grimly. “Which could look like a mountain peak.”
“Shit.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
After that, we reboot our search with a new goal: get through the client pouches as fast as we can—looking for any mention of Lord Leslie or Annis—and separate out all the ones related to the funerary business. We’re finishing up that when the clock strikes ten… and I remember that Jack had promised to give us the broadsheet writer’s response by ten.
I leave Isla to search the last bunch of pouches as I fly down the stairs and take off as quickly as I can without attracting undue attention. At least in the modern day, I can always quicken my walk to a jog and no one thinks much of it, even if I’m not wearing jogging attire. Here, walking fast nearly gets me stopped by two gentlemen who clearly suspect I’m absconding with my employer’s silver.
I make it to the town house slightly out of breath. In a world where women rarely exceed a brisk walk, Catriona’s lungs aren’t made for sprints. The corset doesn’t help. I’ve been getting better at learning to breath Victorian-style, which is actually the proper way—from my diaphragm—but in my hurry, I forgot and returned to my more modern breathing.
Gray hasn’t returned yet, and I don’t see Alice, so I swing into the kitchen with, “Did anyone come calling?”
Mrs. Wallace doesn’t look up from her bread kneading. “No.”
I hesitate.
“Yes, I am certain,” she says. “The front doorbell rings in the kitchen, and I have been here since you left.”
