Page 32 of A Devil in Silk
“Then I suggest we make the most of every opportunity and cross another adventure off your list. Wearea stone’s throw from Westminster Abbey.”
She gasped in surprise. “Climb the steps to the tower at midnight? But it’s only ten o’clock. And how will we gain entrance?”
He smiled, gratified by her eagerness. “Leave that to me. And we can spend time at the top. As long as we’re there when the bells toll twelve, that should suffice.”
Her lips parted as though to refuse, her fading smile hinting at an inner battle. “We should go straight home.”
“You don’t want to go home.”
“No. I want to gaze upon the city at night. To hear the quiet hum, see the glow of candlelight in the darkness. To know that one can find beauty in anything, if one knows where to look.”
They stopped at Mrs Morven’s front door, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Clara. He wanted to see that spark of wonder light her face, to hear her panting with elation and laughing loudly, because he’d heard her crying too many times to count.
The parrots, attuned to their audience, squawked, “Steal a kiss! Take a bow!”
And the moment was gone.
Bentley glanced back just as Mrs Morven clapped her hands and scolded, “That’s quite enough from the gallery. Honestly, I don’t know who’s teaching them to be so impolite.”
The comment reminded Bentley that someone else had come looking for Silas Scarth. “You mentioned you caught a man snooping,” he said as Mrs Morven opened the door to see them out. “Can you describe him?”
She hummed as she thought. “Tallish. Thick whiskers. Said he was a friend of Silas’ though I’d never seen him before. Walked like he was used to marching, and asked too many questions.”
“Did he give a name?”
Mrs Morven snorted. “Mr Smith. Which is as good as saying he was the King of Siam.”
“You have my card,” Bentley said. “If Scarth returns, contact us at the office of The Order. I fear his life may depend on it.”
Mrs Morven sobered at that, her painted features tightening just a touch. She gave a single, deliberate nod. Then, as if brushing off a chill, she closed the door with a quiet click and called, “Back to work, my beauties!” before breaking into a full-throated aria.
Noticing their approach, Gibbs straightened atop his box and gathered up the reins. Would Daventry’s man have something to say when Bentley told him they weren’t ready to depart?
“We’ll take a hackney cab home, Gibbs,” Bentley said, hoping the man needed no further details for his nightly report. “You may retire for the evening.”
Gibbs stared from beneath his heavy brow. “I’ve orders to see you both home, my lord. I won’t be leaving Westminster without you.”
Clara stepped forward. “Good evening, Mr Gibbs.”
“Just Gibbs will suffice.”
Through a watery smile, she said, “I suppose you prefer straight talking to charm and persuasion.”
“Charm is just a polished lie, Miss Dalton. Still, no amount of straight talking will convince me to abandon you in Westminster.”
“Then you won’t take pity on a woman wearing an eye patch?”
Gibbs grunted. “Pity’s a wasted breath. I’ve seen enough injuries to know it’s no mark of weakness.”
“Excellent. We’re visiting the Abbey. You may wait for us there.”
“Climb inside and I’ll take you.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” she countered.
“Because Daventry doesn’t hire fools or villains, ma’am.”
“Then, as we share the same employer, we understand each other perfectly.”
