Page 24 of Lady Edith and the Registry Office
* * * * *
Nathaniel marveledat Lady Edith’s restraint. It was obvious she wanted to know more about their errand, but she’d refrained from asking more questions. He also thought he’d seen a flash of irritation cross her face when Cecil brushed her off.
The carriage ride to Sebastian Street was nearly five miles. Although the streets were congested, they arrived at the former seaman’s residence within an hour. Nathaniel was relieved they rode in Cecil’s nondescript carriage as a flashy town carriage in a modest area might draw too much attention to their activities. Without a crest on the outside of the coach, it was anyone’s guess who was inside.
The carriage halted in front of a dilapidated boarding house.
“My coachman will make inquiries,” Cecil informed them.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the carriage door.
“Come!”
The coachman in black livery opened the door to the carriage. “My lord, the landlord hasn’t seen Mr. Fleet since he left the house on Wednesday morning. Mr. Fleet informed the man he was off to take up his new position.”
“And the landlord saw no suspicious activity at the time?”
“None, my lord. Nothing to cause any concern.”
Cecil inclined his head. “That will be all, Henry.”
The coachman shut the carriage door.
“Perhapsweshould speak with the landlord.” Ashford frowned.
“I don’t think we would get any further information from him.” He asked Cecil, “Do you have any contacts in the area?”
“There is an ale house nearby that young blades are known to frequent. I’m seen there often enough for my presence to go unremarked.”
The viscount tapped the roof of the coach with his walking stick. “To Bernard’s!”
Bernard’s was a dimly lit establishment sandwiched between another boarding house and a laundry. A few day drinkers glanced up warily but merely nodded at Cecil in what Nathaniel thought looked like grudging admiration.
“How did you come to be a well-known patron here?” Ashford inquired with a raised brow.
“I helped the publican in a legal dispute,” Cecil explained, yet didn’t explain in his usual mysterious way.
The three men were seated at a wobbly round oak table darkened with age. A large, florid-faced man rushed over with three tankards of ale. “Good afternoon, Lord Wycliffe.”
Cecil pushed a guinea across the table toward the man. “Bernard, if you know anything about the disappearance of Able Seaman James Fleet recently of his Majesties’ navy, I would be obliged.”
“Haven’t heard the name before.” The man scratched his bald head with the fingers of one meaty hand.
“He lived in a boarding house at the other end of Sebastian Street and disappeared en route to a new position. His employer was to be Sir Henry Doyle.”
“I’ll make some inquiries, my lord.”
After the publican moved away, Nathaniel took a sip of his ale and grimaced. “It is drinkable. Just.”
“You’re comfortable here, my friend.” There was a question in Ashford’s tone of voice.
“I have a small investment in the business,” Cecil replied blandly.
“Never say you’re a tradesman, now?” He nearly choked on his drink.
The viscount shrugged. “The publican has proven to be a valuable ally in this area of Town and has provided useful intelligence many times.”
“I thought you were penniless?” Ashford asked, one brow raised.
