Enticing the Earl (21 page)

So, although he scanned both sides of the street, left and right, he saw nothing else that raised his hackles as did that one fleeting suspicion. He pressed his heels into his horse's sides and ignored the street vendor who called up to him, “Hot pies, gov'nor, savory meat pies, pipin' hot, they are, just two shillings!”

The smell of hot meat and grease might have tempted him if he had been a hungry young apprentice, but Marcus shook his head and hurried on.

Past the coal wagon he hurried, past two more shops, one with a window full of fat geese and hens, hanging by their feet and waiting to be plucked and roasted, another with barrels of root vegetables for goodwives to search through at their leisure. But still he could not seem to catch up with the man with the out-of-place appearance. Had he doubled back and outsmarted his pursuer? Was there somewhere he could have lost him?

But Marcus had been following very rapidly on horseback; how could the fugitive have gotten far enough ahead to have had the chance to evade him? He told himself he would search two more blocks before turning back to double-check the route he had already covered.

The next stores again showed no sign of anything unusual. From his stance on horseback, Marcus could look over the heads of most of the crowd and look through the shop windows, and he could see most of the people who thronged into the stores and small shops.

He kept his horse to a slow walk, and tried to make out a face amid the crowds that filled the sidewalks and the stores. The townspeople seemed to be a mostly law-abiding bunch. He thought he made out a pickpocket or two amid the shoppers, but he saw no evidence of any major criminal activity. Of course, just because he saw no indication of a crime in plain daylight did not mean that it was not stirring somewhere else, he reminded himself, remembering what he was seeking.

And speaking of that—now he passed a shop window with a few bits of china merchandise shown off behind the glass panes. Something was written in oriental characters alongside the words
Shop, Elegant Gifts
. Behind the glass, he saw a roundish hat turned down to hide the face of the person wearing it.

Curious, he thought, and very handy, if one did not wish his face to be seen. And perhaps it would be a good idea to check out how much these elegant gifts would cost.

He pulled up his horse and dismounted. Several street urchins ran up, yelling for the privilege of holding his steed.

“Me, me, gov'ner, I can do h'it!”

Marcus looked them over and selected the one who looked the strongest and most steady. “What's your name?”

“Tom, sir.”

“Very well, Tom. A shilling if when I return, my horse is calm and unbothered. If anyone has mucked about with him, however, you'll be very very sorry.”

“Don't worry, gov,” Tom said, grinning. “He'll still be in prime shape.”

Marcus opened the door and walked in. A few shelves of china bowls and plates could be seen in the front of the shop, and he could smell unfamiliar spices in the air. Wondering if he should rap on the counter, he waited for a moment, then someone emerged from the dimness beyond the curtain that separated the front from the rear of the building.

It was an older woman with graying dark hair, wearing a curious getup of a long-sleeved tuniclike top and long skirt. She had strangely small feet and walked with shuffling steps. She had almond-shaped dark eyes and skin of a different hue than the average Englishwoman, and her accent bespoke her Asian birth.

“'Allo, sir. You like to buy?”

“Perhaps I will, another day,” Marcus said politely. “I am just looking at your handsome china. Is this a family-owned shop? I thought a gentleman was here the other day?”

“Ah, yes, I have large and honorable family. And velly handsome china.” She bobbed her head, and he bowed back, not sure what was the custom of her people.

“Then I am sure I will return,” he told her. It was unlikely he would get anyone else to come out of the back to speak to him and allow themselves to be seen, though he much wanted to check out the men who worked here, to be sure this was where his missing man had gone to earth. How could he do that?

As he walked back outside, he tried to think of a stratagem.

Sure enough, he found his gelding waiting, shaking his mane at a large fly buzzing about his ears but otherwise quite untroubled. Marcus paid young Tom as promised, adding another shilling. The boy grinned widely at this largess, and the coins disappeared at once into an inside pocket.

“Would you like to earn more?” Marcus asked the urchin.

The youngster eyed him warily. “Doing wacher?”

“Walk a little with me,” he said, keeping his tone low. Holding the reins of the horse, he strode ahead down the street, the boy beside him. When they were several shops down from the store he had walked out of, he paused.

“I'd like to see the men who work in the back of the shop I was in. I want them to come out, so that I don't have to go in, because I imagine they outnumber me, and I don't want to get into a row with them. I'd like to cause some kind of commotion, a small one, not a real disaster—I don't want to burn down the building or anything totally rash—just enough to make them come outside for a minute or two. Got any ideas?”

“Cor, what ye up to, gov?” the street lad asked, eyeing him with interest.

“That's my business,” Marcus told him firmly.

The urchin screwed up his mouth and gave the question some thought. “I could shinny up to the roof and stop up one of them chimneys. That'd bring 'em out fast enough.”

“What will they think did it?” Fascinated, Marcus considered him.

Tom shrugged. “Ah, they'll bet a bunch of swallows' nests spilt into the flues. 'Appens all the time.”

“It won't burn down the house?”

“Naw.” He shook his head, long dirty hair flying about his face.

Mentally crossing his fingers, Marcus agreed to the scheme. This time Tom demanded his pay in advance. Not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, Marcus handed over a half crown, and watched the lad buy a few handfuls of straw from a nearby stable. Tom sat down on the side of the street and wove the straw together loosely to form something that looked like the bottom of a basket except not as solid or as strong.

“They won't realize this was made by human hands?”

“Naw, after it's blacked in the smoke and 'alf burned by sparks from the fire,” his partner in crime said. “After it's knocked about, they'll think it's part of them bird nests, like I said.”

“Ah, done this before, have you?” Marcus noted, politely.

Tom grinned.

“All right. Go to it. I'll meet you at the inn down the street when you are finished.”

Tucking his creation under his shirt, the stripling headed for the alley behind the shops and almost at once disappeared from view.

This time Marcus paid the stable to house his horse for a brief spell, then walked back to find a vantage point where he could observe the shop and not be seen himself. The street made a bend just below the building he was observing, and there was a pub with a bow window. He paid for an ale and found a seat by the window, where he should have a good view, and he could nurse the drink for awhile. He wasn't sure how long it would take the stopped up chimney to take effect.

As it turned out, he was wrong to doubt his young colleague. Before he'd had more than half a dozen swigs of the ale, he could see smoke billow out of the small windows of the gift shop, and several people, all of Asian descent, also poured out into the side yard, which he could see from his vantage point.

There were three men, one was too old, one too short. The last one might be the man from the alley, the one who seemed to be keeping watch over the warehouse.

“Turn around,” Marcus muttered to himself. “Turn so that I can see your face!”

Then he almost rose from his seat.

The urchin, young Tom, walked calmly into the side court. Had he been caught at his tampering with the chimney? No, surely not, he seemed perfectly self-possessed. He spoke to the older man, bowed with ostensibly perfect manners, and then went toward the back of the house. Someone got him a ladder—oh, that was rich, they were helping him up to the roof, which the imp had already been up to on his own power—had he managed to get them to pay him to knock down the obstruction he had just put up? It appeared so.

At last, the third man turned to face the inn and Marcus got a better look at him. Yes, he was reasonably certain this was the same man.

He wondered if there was any way he could bring Lauryn to see him. If they sat here in the inn, she should not be in any danger, he thought. Although that would mean finding a way to get the man out of the building again. He doubted he could use the same scheme a second time—they would grow suspicious of blocked chimneys if it happened yet again!

Now they were returning to the building, so the smoke must be clearing, Marcus decided. Sure enough, presently Tom appeared in the doorway of the tavern, smelling a bit strongly of smoke, but grinning broadly.

He saw the earl and sauntered over.

“And how much did you make this time?” Marcus asked, his tone polite.

Tom smirked. “Not saying, gov. But it was thirsty work, knocking them birds' nests down out of all that smoke. You could buy me a drink to wet me throat.”

“I think you could buy me a drink, you've earned so much today.”

The lad opened his mouth to protest, and Marcus waved his remonstrances aside. “Only a small jest. I will get you a half pint, and I predict you will end up as mayor, my boy.”

Tom looked surprised but gratified at this vision of his future.

Marcus finished his own ale and paid the barman for them both, then took his leave. He reclaimed his horse and made his way back to the warehouse, hoping that Lauryn and the colonel had not grown too anxious about his long absence.

And in fact, when he reached the warehouse again, he found only the guards still there. Perhaps, he told himself, Lauryn and the colonel had repaired for some tea and light refreshment. There was no need for them to stand around and wait so long for him here, after all. But he felt a flicker of anxiety, nonetheless.

When he rode closer to the guards, the leader recognized him, and, straightening his shoulders smartly, saluted.

“My lord!”

“As you were,” he said. “Where are Colonel Swift and the lady who was with me earlier?”

“Ah, the lady had a turn, my lord. The colonel called a hackney and took her back to his house so he could call a physician, if need be.”

“What?” Marcus felt a cold wave of alarm run over him. Lauryn was ill? Had she done too much? Why had he allowed her to come back? It was his fault, dammit!

He turned his horse without another word and pressed his heels into the animal's flanks. The gelding sprang forward into the street. He made as good time as possible given the traffic and as he pushed his horse to edge past a slow-moving wagon filled with lumber and then avoid a large pothole in the street that no one had filled, Marcus felt the keenest anxiety pull at his nerves and tighten his throat. Surely it would be nothing serious, surely, surely…

But he would only feel better when he saw her sitting up, smiling, speaking to him as usual.

It seemed to take hours until he reached Colonel Swift's house, but at last the modest residence came into view. Marcus slipped down from the saddle, tied his reins to the post in front of the house, and hurried up to rap on the door.

He seethed with impatience, as it seemed another eternity until a footman pulled open the door.

“Lord Sutton,” Marcus said, his tone brusque. “I am here to see the colonel.”

Before the footman could speak, Marcus heard the colonel himself call, “Come in, my lord, I have been waiting for you to return. We are up on the next floor.”

Brushing past the startled servant, Marcus took the stairs almost at a run, so anxious was he to find out Lauryn's condition. Colonel Swift stood on the landing of the stairs; he looked alert but not like a man with dire news to tell, so Marcus could try to calm his increased pulse.

“What has occurred?” he demanded. “The guard said—”

“Yes, after you left to follow the stranger, Mrs. Smith suddenly became ill. It seemed best to bring her back to my home so that we could call a physician.”

“Of course, thank you for looking out for her. How is she?”

“You may see; she is considerably improved. The doctor says he thinks it is nothing serious, and she will soon be recovered.”

The colonel turned to lead the way up. “She does not like to hear it,” he said, lowering his voice. “But females are the more sensitive of the sexes, you know. Perhaps the excitement and the exertion have simply been too much.”

He led the way to the next landing and on to what appeared to be a guest chamber. Lauryn lay atop the bedclothes, still in her riding habit, but with a blanket over her legs. She looked very pale but composed, and her eyes were open, her expression a bit wary.