Page 79 of A Treacherous Trade
I looked around the pretty chaos of the room. “Why not pay someone to do this? One of your maids or a porter?”
She gave a shrug that only served to elucidate how deep her shoulders had sagged from a massive weight. “It didn’t seem right that Alys’s things were pawed through by strangers. I haven’t found kin yet, but at least they can be looked through with care. With remembrance.”
“That’s lovely of you.”
The sound of a door downstairs alerted us both.
“I thought you were here alone,” I said.
“As did I.”
“I’ll go investigate,” I offered. “If it’s nothing, I’ll see myself out.”
“If it’s something?”
“Then I’ll call for you to go find a constable.”
She nodded, smothering a few more coughs into her handkerchief.
Creeping out to the landing, I listened for more suspicious noises. Rain pelted the roof, gathering in gutters to noisily splatter onto the cobbles. The cacophony of the storm had all but been forgotten until the entire place seemed to hold its breath and listen.
A door opened and shut, and I went to the window to see Indira and…Sophia,of all people, scurry into the afternoon.
They were dressed well and properly, their coats long and fine as they shared a blue umbrella.
What the devil was Sophia doing here? With Indira? And in the middle of the morning when they might assume The Orchard was empty?
I couldn’t tell if they were carrying anything, and my curiosity drew me to dash down the stairs, fetch my own umbrella from the stand, and follow them out into the rain.
They walked arm in arm for two blocks until, with a kiss on air next to Indira’s cheek, Sophia pulled her shawl over her hair and ducked from beneath the umbrella, crossing Fleet Street to Blighting Circle.
I watched her go long enough to note the street, and when I glanced back to where Indira had been, I was hardly surprised to find that her umbrella was swallowed up into Fleet Street’s ever-present traffic.
Decision made, I scurried across the road, only just avoiding collisions with hackneys, paper wagons, and a trotting horse or two. Ignoring some colorful curses, I turned down the tight alley, hoping it wasn’t too late.
I almost collided with the back of a fine coach, and I ducked behind it to catch my bearings and my breath.
Peeking around a wheel rim, I could find no sign of Sophia in the nearly abandoned lane. I whispered a foul Irish word and stamped my foot in frustration.
“Fiona?”
I’d recognize that smooth voice anywhere.
From inside the coach, two pairs of eyes blinked down at me through the sheets of rain.
One belonging to Sophia. The other to the Hammer.
The door opened, and Sophia stepped down from the coach, having procured another umbrella from her solicitous employer.
“The Hammer will conduct you home.” Sophia pulled the door wider, uncovering an interior in which only Jorah’s long, dark-clad legs could be seen.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I called.
“It wasn’t an offer, nor was it a request,” he said from the shadows. “Get in.”
ChapterEighteen
Ialmost never saw the Hammer in the daylight.
