Page 5 of Hold Me Fast
Bran had an answer for that, too. “All the better if he is asleep. Or still out at some party. We can ask after your Tamsyn.”
Jowan told himself to stop prevaricating. He had agreed to this trip, after all. Either Tamsyn needed him, or she didn’t. And if she didn’t, he had to deal with it. Bran was right. Better to know.
“You’re right,” he told Bran.
On their way out after freshening up in their room, they asked the doorman how to get to Brackington Street, where Coombe had his townhouse. It was a short walk, but into a different world than the parts of London they had seen so far. Wider streets, more elegant buildings, fewer carts, and less bustle altogether.
At each crossing, a child with a broom hurried to clear their path and said “Thankee” while catching the coppers Bran tossed in reward. Two streets across and five along, the doorman had said, and here they were.
It hadn’t changed since the last time they came. In their first year at Oxford, they had taken a leave of absence for a weekend and hitched a ride with a carter to come to London. But when they found the townhouse belonging to the Earl of Coombe, the knocker was off the door. Someone was within, though. Smells of cooking had drifted up the area steps from the kitchen.
They had knocked on the kitchen door and charmed the cook into telling them that Coombe and all his entourage had gone to Europe. “A tour for the Devon Songbird,” the cook had explained. “Such a nice girl. I hope she does well.”
In five years, Tamsyn had toured the whole of Europe twice, spending months in each of the major capitals. She’d also performed in Russia, Alexandria, and Constantinople. Jowan had followed her through the reports in the newspaper, several times hearing about a lightning trip to England after she had already been and gone.
This time, five years later, the knocker was on the door, but the place was otherwise the same, and delicious smells still wafted up from the basement kitchen.
“Up? Or down?” Bran asked.
“Up,” Jowan decided. “We’re not dressed for down.” Or, rather, they were dressed for up—in the gentlemen’s attire they wore to church, or on the rare occasions they accepted an invitation for an afternoon with the neighboring nobility.
Twelve steps took them to the red-painted door. Bran plied the knocker. After a short wait, the door opened. “Lord Coombe is not receiving,” the footman who answered the door declared.
“Sir Jowan Trethewey and Mr. Branoc Hughes. I will leave a card,” Jowan declared, stepping forward. The footman responded to the note of command and fell back.
Jowan appropriated a corner of a hall table to write a brief note on the back of his card and handed it to the footman. “Please see that Miss Roskilly—Miss Lind, I suppose I should say—receives this. She and I were childhood friends.” He handed the footman a second card, “And do let the Earl of Coombe know that Mr. Hughes and I called.”
“I will, Sir Jowan,” the footman assured him. “When Lord Coombe is awake.” He hesitated, with an anxious frown, and added, “Lord Coombe sees all of Miss Lind’s mail, of course. To keep her from being bothered by her public. Men, you know, who do not have proper respect. But I am sure he will be happy to pass on a card from an old childhood friend.”
“I would be grateful,” Jowan replied.
“Sir Jowan and I are in London for a short time,” Bran added. “Visiting from Cornwall.”
“Ah, yes,” said the footman, his anxious expression clearing. “Miss Lind is from Cornwall. I am sure a visit from an old friend would cheer her up.”
“We heard she had been ill,” Jowan commented.
“Ill. Yes,” the footman repeated. “She is better now, but still very low.” He bit his lip, frowning. “A childhood friend, you say?”
“Indeed. We met when we were five,” Jowan told him. “We used to play together as children—we took our lessons together, in fact. Her mother was my father’s housekeeper.”And my father’s mistress, he did not add.
“Sir,” said the footman. He looked over his shoulder before he continued, “I shall try to slip her your card.” His brow and mouth shifted, and he shuffled his feet before he added, “His lordship is very protective, sir.”
“It is to his credit, no doubt,” Bran said.
The footman looked uncertain. “Yes. Of course.”
“Thank you,” Jowan said. “I would be grateful if you make sure she gets the card on which I wrote a note.”
“Would you be on door duty at this time the day after tomorrow?” Bran asked. “We could return to see if the lady has an answer for us.”
That fetched a smile from the footman. “Yes, sir. I am always on at this time. The butler serves at my lord’s parties, you see. He is not awake before ten o’clock.” He glanced at the large clock that graced the hall. “In fact, he shall be here soon, I expect, if you wish to talk to him. His lordship and his guests, they sleep until the afternoon. The ladies, too. Miss Lind and the others.”
“In that case, we will be on our way,” Jowan said. “If either Miss Lind or Lord Coombe wishes us to call, a message at Fladongs Hotel will reach us.” He passed the footman a crown. “Thank you. You have been very helpful.”
Out on the street again, Bran commented, “A half-crown might have done well enough.”
“A crown makes him feel he owes us something and may be enough to ensure that Tamsyn gets the note I wrote on my card,” Jowan replied. “It sounds as if he didn’t think Coombe would pass on the message.”
