Page 16 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
She inhaled sharply. She’d guessed as much. She’d promised Tommy and his little band of ruffians new coats and shoes if they kept a watch of several residences. Everywhere Lord Lysander frequented, including his sister’s townhouse, and one of his brother’s rented rooms. She’d also asked them to watch after the dowager’s townhouse. But this was the first she’d heard back from any of the boys about any activities since she’d set them to this business a little over a fortnight ago.
“Thank you, Tom,” she said carefully. “And where did you discover him?”
“Arrivin’ at his brother’s rooms. And then leavin’ again. Fella looks like death on legs. A strong wind might knock ’im over. Do you mind if I have a look in his pockets if he falls, Miss Fee?”
“You will do no such thing. What do you mean he was leaving? Do you know where he went?”
Tommy nodded, his wide grin revealing a missing tooth. “Followed ’im, didn’t I? All the way to the old lady’s place. It will just be a quick look. Won’t take nothin’. Pockets are small, after all.”
“The size of his pockets is not the point, Tom. The point is you will too do more than look. Why else look at all? Do you mean the dowager?”
“That’s the one. The one who’s not there. The one wot’s missin’. And looking only can be fun, Miss Fee. Swells like ’im don’t miss a few pence from their pockets now and then.”
Swells like him needed pence as much as she did. “No.”
He kicked a rock.
“Kicking rocks will not change my mind.”
He kicked another. “Good thanks I get for standin’ out in the cold all day looking after your gentleman.”
“Go ask Posey for something warm to eat. Is that thanks enough, you pickpocket?”
He did a jig and rubbed his belly.
Fiona crossed an arm under her breasts and rested the other elbow atop her hand to chew on her nails as she thought. She’d need coats now. And shoes. But the duke would help her if she asked, and the emerald brooch she’d just been fixing would pay well. In truth, they’d not been so pinched in the pockets for a year or so now. Things were better.
She paced.
“What do you want me ta do, Miss Fee?” Tommy asked. “Or can I go see Miss Posey now?”
She stopped and patted his shoulder. “Only stay warm in the new coats I’ll secure you. Thank you.”
He tipped his hat to her and ran, his feet slapping against the pavement of the wet alley.
“No picking pockets, either, Tom!” A hollow reminder. A boy, or woman, had to do what they must in order to eat.
He raised a hand in salute. Hardly a reassurance. Kindred souls, they were. She turned and leaned her forehead on the cool wood of the door. What to do? Only one thing to do.
She cracked the door and cried out, “Posey!”
“Yes?” her sister responded, equally loud.
“I’m going… to find something to eat.”
“Wait. Pardon? Fiona, what—”
Fiona closed the door and ran. Posey would likely not believe her, might give chase, which was only one reason to make haste. The other—Fiona could not know how long Lord Lysander would be at the dowager’s house. She must catch him. If he’d discovered anything in the interval between their last encounter and today, she needed to know.
So she flew, her arms pumping, her lungs screaming, and her mind racing as fast as her feet. Finding out information on her own had proved deuced difficult. She had access to many of the dowager’s friends, but she could not ask them outright about the woman because that would create a connection between them that might prove dangerous later. If—when?—her activities had been discovered by someone other than the curious circumspect Bromleys. Curiously circumspect? Perhaps not. They had a stake in the risks as well as she. Lord Lysander may deny it, they were chained to the same fiasco, and that meant they should help one another.
The row of terrace houses the dowager resided in appeared around the corner, and Fiona slowed her stride, tried to catch her breath. She’d need to be quiet. No great gasps or choking on air allowed because… because what?
She cringed even as she doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees. Because she meant to break into the home, and that required stealth.
“Horrid… idea.” She panted between words, taking in great gulps of air, then she straightened with a “Whew!” and set her steps to a much more placid pace toward her goal. Going round the back would be best, slipping in under cover of the mews. And then what? Where would he be? In the alley as well? Skulking about the mews, too? She stepped into the shadows behind the row of terraces. No one. Not even the jingle of a horse’s harness broke the dark silence. She pressed on toward the door she knew would belong to the dowager and tried the handle. Vain to hope it was—
“Open?” she whispered. Had Lord Lysander picked the lock? He seemed just the sort to be able to do so. “Humph.” What was he doing inside, though?
