Page 56 of A Little Bit Dangerous
The mask of a cold, arrogant man who would never trust anyone with his heart. The mask of a lonely man seeking security. One willing to give everything of himself, hoping someone might love him enough not to leave.
Gibbs suddenly appeared, his nostrils flaring. “Men die when they don’t follow Mr Daventry’s orders. I can’t protect you if you’re going to disappear to canoodle in the alley.”
“Canoodle?” Isabella’s cheeks flamed. “We were discussing the case, Mr Gibbs. Deciding how best to proceed.”
“And I’m heir to the throne of Persia. I’m paid to see you safely to the Servants’ Registry. You’ll thank me for my rudeness if it means you live to see another day.” He glared at Christian. “I credityouwith more sense, Mr Chance.”
Christian laughed. If he wanted to canoodle with Isabella, the King of Persia couldn’t stop him. Aaron was the only one who could sentence him to die a lonely death.
“Next time, we’ll make a plan of action before leaving the safety of the carriage.” He turned to Isabella. “We’ll use the Home Secretary’s letter to force Winthrop to show us his records.”
She nodded. “I shall follow your lead.”
While a disgruntled Gibbs climbed atop his box, they entered the Servants’ Registry, though the place was more like Leadenhall Market than somewhere one hired help.
Desperate women of all ages stood against the far wall. Some stern with robust figures. Some meek and gaunt and in desperate need of a decent meal. A fellow sat on a stool behind a lectern, waving a cane and urging prospective buyers to survey the goods.
A lady carrying a small pug examined three men through her eye glass before calling, “I’ll take the dark-haired one, Mr Pike. He looks sturdier than the rest, and I’ve had a run of rotten luck of late.”
“Excellent choice, Mrs Coombs. Excellent choice.” He scribbled in his ledger and summoned an attendant to complete the transaction. “As God is my witness, this one won’t give you any trouble.”
Christian marched over to the lectern but before he could speak, Pike pointed his cane at the far wall. “You’ll have to wait your turn, sir. It’s always busy the first week of the month.”
“We’re here to see Mr Winthrop.”
Pike glanced up from his ledger and stared down his beak-like nose. “Mr Winthrop is busy interviewing new candidates.” He happened to gesture to the door behind him. “If you’ve come to hire servants, you’ll have to join the queue like the rest.”
Ordinarily, Christian would have dragged the clerk over the lectern by his flimsy cravat, but he was on official business. “We’re here on behalf of the Home Secretary and demand to see Winthrop immediately.”
“The H-Home Secretary?” Pike nearly fell off his stool. “Still, you can’t interrupt Mr Winthrop halfway through an interview. Wait here. I’ll direct you to the office as soon as he’s finished with the current candidate.”
Christian gripped the edge of the lectern and leant forward. “Don’t trouble yourself. We shall find our own way.”
Pike jumped off his stool as if he’d singed his backside. He charged at Christian and tugged his coat sleeve. “Wait. You can’t go in there.”
The room fell silent.
All eyes were upon them.
“Remove your hand at once, sir,” Isabella said, echoing Christian’s thoughts. She was the only person who could touch him. “Else I shall call a constable and have you arrested for hindering a murder investigation.”
“Murder!” someone cried behind them.
“What sort of place is this?” said another.
Prospective servants and employers alike gathered their belongings and hurried out through the front door, escaping onto Stanhope Street.
“No! Wait!” Pike charged after them, begging them to return. “I assure you, no one has been murdered. There’s been a dreadful mistake.”
Christian took it as his cue to find Winthrop. Alerted by a woman’s squeal, he knocked on the door at the end of the corridor before barging inside.
If the fellow with a paunch the size of a barrel was Winthrop, he had an odd way of interviewing maids. The poor girl on his lap struggled and squirmed. She took one look at them, her frantic eyes pleading for help.
“Who the devil are you? This is my private office.”
“Agents acting on behalf of the Home Secretary,” Christian said, relishing the sudden flash of panic in the buffoon’s eye. He decided to toy with the lecherous oaf. “Questions have been raised about your business practices, and I see our timing couldn’t be better.”
He shoved the woman off his lap as if she had the pox and waved her away. “Tell Mr Pike to share your details with our clients. He’ll help you secure a permanent position.”
