Page 54 of Miss Dauntless
She saluted with her glass. “Pays better, and you know it, milord. Some housekeepers is even married.” Her gaze had narrowed on MacIvey, who had shifted into a lilting ballad. He caught Mrs. Winklebleck’s eye and winked.
“Indeed, they are,” Tremont said. “The sketch is a matter of some urgency.”
“And you don’t want Missus to know you asked for it?” She rose and went to the desk, taking out pencil and paper.
Tremont followed. “I do not want to alarm her, but neither do I believe in coincidences. House-stealing is an audacious, dangerous crime. To pull it off takes nerve and cunning and isn’t the province of the average street thief.”
Mrs. Winklebleck’s sturdy hand moved over the paper in swift, graceful strokes. She created an attractively masculine face, all lean angles, tousled dark hair, a sweet smile, and eyes that conveyed humor and trustworthiness.
“Told you he were handsome, but…” She bent closer and added a few lines around the eyes. “He’d be older now. I knew him in my misspent youth. Mostly.”
“Your misspent youth was all of several years ago, Nanny.” The face on the page changed subtly, the trustworthy eyes taking on a hint of calculation. “When was the last time you saw this fellow?”
She considered her handiwork, then passed it over. “Just before I give up the game and turned respectable. I was enjoying a pint at the Drunken Goose, and in he walks, looking quite the dandy. The Goose was always too humble for old Harry, not one of his regular haunts. I calls a greeting to him, and he turns right around and walks out. Never seen him since that day, but goodriddance, I says. Harry had a temper—angry at life, he was—and he fancied himself cleverer than anybody else.”
“You are quite the artist, Nanny.”
“Couldn’t make me living at it,” she said, finishing her drink, “but it’s a fine thing to be able to take a likeness. Helps keep a memory alive, if nothing else.”
Sadness lay in that observation.
“Sketch MacIvey playing his fiddle. That’s a happy memory for all of us.”
Nanny smiled and took out another sheet of paper. “Believe I will, sir. And maybe MacIvey and I will take the first patrol around the neighborhood tonight.”
That had certainly not been the plan twenty minutes ago. “Nanny, be careful. You are every bit as much a retired soldier as these fellows are, and we can lose our edge when we leave the battlefield behind.”
She snorted as MacIvey’s craggy, serious features came to life on the page, softened by a hint of sentiment in the eyes.
“You be careful, sir. If the Harry Merryfield I know has taken a notion to steal Mrs. Merridew’s house, you be very, very careful.”
“When did you say you last saw him?”
“Maybe two years ago. Certainly not more than that.”
“Thank you.” Tremont offered the company a polite farewell and made the frigid journey to his own quarters without much noticing the bitter cold. He was lost in thought, and dreadful thoughts they were too.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Shall we postpone our outing?” Tremont, looking handsome and windblown, stood in the doorway to Matilda’s parlor. She hadn’t seen him since he’d kissed her good night two days ago, though he’d sent her a note yesterday afternoon:
Solicitors drawing up settlements. Special license applied for. Te tam desidero. Donec cras. Tremont
No parson’s daughter was daunted by a little Latin—I miss you so much. Until tomorrow—but the sentiments were secondary to the simple consideration of the communication.
“Harry would disappear for days without a word,” she said. “I was expected to carry on in his absence and celebrate the prodigal’s return when he reappeared. Your note was much appreciated.”
And usually when Harry had done a bunk, there’d been no food in the house.
No coin to be had.
Creditors circling.
Tommie fretful over a new tooth.
Then Harry would show up, all smiles at some success he’d allude to mysteriously, or morose and the worse for drink.
“I wanted to send flowers and romantic effusions by the hour,” Tremont replied, advancing into the room and closing the door. “That note was a work of monumental self-restraint. What are you reading?”
