Page 21 of West End Earl
“Your messenger is overdue, isn’ he?” Ethan guessed.
Instead of answering, Cal strode to the doorway. “Higgins? Has Charles sent a message?”
Higgins shook his head. “Not yet, milord. I will bring it straightaway when it arrives.”
Worry niggled at his brain, which was coming up with worst-case scenarios. Cal closed the library door again but couldn’t let go of the doorknob.
“You’re goin’ tae fret all morning until you get word. Why don’ we pay the lad a visit? I’ll join you. Although t’would be a shame tae miss Eastly’s call.” When Ethan shifted to rise with a conspiratorial grin, the chair protested with a creak.
The show of support made Cal chuckle. “I’d appreciate the company, thank you.” He had yet to shave or change clothes, but Ethan was right. The worry wouldn’t let up, and the last place Cal should be was lingering in this library, waiting for news. If it meant delaying dealing with the reality of his father for a few more hours, then he’d be grateful for the momentary distraction.
“We’ll take my carriage,” Ethan said as the front door closed behind them. Higgins had sniffed disapprovingly at their insistence that they’d walk to the stable and wait there, rather than in the comfort of the library.
“They’re housed in the same mews. It will be just as fast to call mine.”
“But yours has that shiny crest on the side, you pretentious knob-head. Mine won’ draw as much attention.” Ethan shot him a look that spoke volumes.
Cal hadn’t thought of that. It shouldn’t surprise him that Ethan had.
As they made their way through the tighter streets toward Puppy’s neighborhood, even Ethan’s understated equipage drew stares, and Cal was grateful he’d listened to the Scotsman.
“Isn’t that your livery?” Ethan pointed his driving whip toward a footman dressed in immaculate pale blue and silver, standing outside a shop.
“What the hell is Charles doing there? Puppy shouldn’t be out and about. I gave strict orders to stay in bed.”
Ethan’s side-eyed glance matched his smirk as he parked the rig near the shop. “Perhaps the lad decided you weren’ his ma, and got out of bed. Charles might be doin’ his best tae keep up with ’im.”
That didn’t deserve an answer, because damn his eyes, Ethan was right and they both knew it.
When Cal approached the shop—a butcher shop, according to the signage—Charles stiffened, his posture poker straight.
“He’s a stubborn cuss and wouldn’t listen when you insisted he stay in bed, right, Charles?” Cal guessed.
Pink bloomed over the footman’s cheeks. “I relayed your orders, milord. I also sent a messenger to Hill Street when we left to come here.”
Ethan clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder, gently pushing him past the servant. As they continued toward the door, Ethan called to the footman, “Not tae worry, Charles. You did your best, I’m sure.”
Puppy and a man one could assume to be the butcher by the bloody apron stood close together near a wood-slab counter. They paused their conversation when a bell announced Cal’s entry to the shop.
“What are you doing here?” Puppy asked. Except it wasn’t just Puppy now, was it? She wasn’t Adam any longer. Not to him. Searching her face, he tried to find some indication that things were different now that he was in on the secret, but she acted as if nothing had happened. Nothing to see here, just another day of interrogating the butcher after being beaten and robbed. Lord, how did she do it?
“You look like hell—rather like someone who’s been attacked and left for dead in the street mere hours ago.” The words came out with a casual air, when he really wanted to ring a peal over his friend’s broken head. “One would expect you to still be in bed recovering from your recenthead injury.”
The sarcasm was met with an eye roll exactly like the ones Emma gave him, ending in a wince. If Cal hadn’t been so concerned and irritated with her, it would have been comical. As it was, the wince merely served to make his point.
“Surely getting a rasher of bacon or a link of sausage isn’t more important than healing.” The overwhelming smell of blood and raw meat turned Cal’s stomach. How did someone with a head injury hold down their breakfast when that smell coated the air?
Unless she hadn’t eaten breakfast. There’d been nothing but an apple and a hunk of cheese in the room. A room which had been devoid of any personal touches and had very few belongings. There’d been a tidy stack of clothes and a narrow table against the wall for accessories like handkerchiefs and gloves. Now that he thought of it, the hat stand had been empty.
“Where is your hat?” he asked.
“On the head of a thief, I imagine.” She turned to the butcher. Clearly, further discussion could wait, and Cal had interrupted her conversation. Cal caught himself before he rolled his eyes as Puppy had just moments before.
“As I was saying, I need to talk to you about your son.”
“Nelson? Aw, he’s a good lad.”
“I agree. You raised him well, Shaw. But are you aware of the crowd he’s running with these days?”
