Page 20 of A Scot Is Not Enough
Fletcher’s House of Corsets and Stays
Mermaid Brewery
Swan Lane (four windows)
Miss Cecelia MacDonald. What taxes has she paid?
He rolled the quill between thumb and forefinger. Taxes were unsentimental; nevertheless, a keen eye could read a tale in them. Not unlike a name carved on a pistol. He hesitated, pinching the quill.
Last night, her haunted eyes...
He’d stumbled on a wound, a chink in the lady’s armor. Fielding would be the proverbial dog with a bone if he learned of it—unless Alexander discovered it first. Thus, he addedA. MacDonaldwith a solemn flourish as the door swung open.
“Sloane, what brings you to Westminster at this ungodly hour?” Mr. Burton sauntered in with a jolly, “The duke’s work, is it?”
“Bow Street. My latest assignment.”
“Tracking the crown’s funds. I heard.” Burton yanked a chair from the table. “Sounds as thrilling as watching grass grow.”
The coded Jacobite ledger came to mind which listed the mysterious Lady Pink, something his friend would never know about. Smiling blandly, Alexander dropped the quill.
“Some of us have to make sure the cogs of government run smoothly.”
To which Burton hummed a bored noise. A rangy man, he sprawled in his seat, legs crossed at the ankles, hands linked at the back of his head. This time of day, Burton could, but in an hour, he’d be as somber as any senior clerk, and casual appellations like “Sloane” would become “Mr. Sloane.”
“We missed you at the Five Bells last night,” Burton said. “Quite a lively time, it was.”
“I can hear it in your voice.”
Burton laughed, a husky sound. “It’s the cheroots, man. They’ll be the death of me.”
“If not them, your late nights and early hours certainly will.”
“Not all of us can be as single-minded as you.” Burton grinned. “There are women who need the pleasure of my company. They’d welcome yours should you come round.”
As to that, only one woman interested him—and she’d pointed a pistol at him and shown him her door.
“At the moment, I prefer this.” He touched a finger to the foolscap and dragged it across the polished table.
Burton picked it up and scanned the list.
“I want treasury records on these places of business and names,” Alexander said. “Everything you can find. Taxes, custom records, places of residence... their grandmother’s favorite color if you have it.”
Burton rubbed his chin. “The hack, the shop, the brewery should be easy, but tracking individual names... That will take time.”
“I don’t have time,” he said tersely. He had six days and counting.
Burton sat up, his black robe tenting over knobby knees. “You are quite serious about this.”
The blessedness of friendship was how quickly one man understood another.
“I am. I need the information by noon.”
“Noon?” Burton’s baritone pitched incredulously. “I have three depositions this morning.”
“You, of all men, can find a way.”
Burton set down the paper. “Since this is the duke’s business, I could schedule something tomorrow afternoon—”
