Page 67 of My Gentleman Spy
Edgar had a new family now, he did not need his oldone.
Brutus leapt down from Mrs. Little's lap and came purring to Hattie's side. A scratch under the chin had the cat rumbling withcontentment.
Hattie wiped away the last of the tears and smiled. Crying would not solve any of herproblems.
Brutus’ swishing tail brushed against Hattie’s leg. She strolled from the kitchen, and headed for the doorway. Hattie watched her go. Mesmerized by the cat’s swinging hips and tail, she felt her moodlighten.
She was safe by the warmth of the fireside and she still hadoptions.
“It's a good thing the new master likes cats,” remarked Mrs.Little.
She looked to the grey-haired family housekeeper. In all her self-pity she had quite forgotten that a stranger now livedupstairs.
“So, what is the gentleman like, have you met him?” sheasked.
In her mind, she had an image of a silver bearded old man, retired to a quiet, solitary existence of reading books and going to bedearly.
Mrs. Little smiled a secret smile. “We were introduced this afternoon. Well bred, polite and heis...”.
Her gaze drifted to the fireplace and Hattie heard her whisper “lovely.”
“Pardon?” sheasked.
Mrs. Little stirred from her privatethoughts.
“He is handsome,” shesaid.
Handsome? In all the many years she had known Mrs. Little she could not recall her ever referring to a gentleman as being handsome. Something about the new tenant had obviously struck a nerve withher.
“You would say he was handsome would you not Mr. Little?” she asked herhusband.
Mr. Little who appeared to be taking very little notice of the conversation mumbled an incoherent response. From where Hattie sat, she could see he was attempting to add several layers of pickles and meat to the top of a thick slice of that morning's bakedbread.
“He looks a little like our middle lad. Doesn't he?” shepressed.
Mr. Little frowned and turned to his wife. “Who?”
Mrs. Little sucked air in through her teeth infrustration.
“The young gentleman who has taken the house. Mr. Smith,” shereplied.
Hattie's fingers stopped in the middle of cracking her knuckles. A chill she had never felt before in her life slid down her spine. She forced herself to remain calm. There were plenty of people in London called Smith, but something had her nerves suddenly onedge.
“Is that the name of the gentleman who has taken the lease on the house?” askedHattie.
Giving up on the notion of being allowed to eat his supper in peace, Mr. Little sat his sandwich down on the plate and turned toher.
“Yes, Mr. William Smith. Lately of Paris, France. He is in the business of export and import whatever that is. And if you don't mind me saying so Miss Hattie, I would say he has more than two pennies in his pocket. His furniture arrived late this afternoon and he has some very nicepieces.”
Hattie’s father had spent months trying to get someone to take a lease on the house, yet here was this Mr. Smith taking up a full five-year lease only a matter of days after she had returned to London. The chances of this occurring by sheer coincidence seemed too slim tobelieve.
Which left her with one very large question to ponder. Who was Mr.Smith?
While her mind grappled with a thousand possibilities, her senses were screaming onlyone.
* * *
Upstairsin the Wright family’s formal drawing room Will stood and considered the arrangement of his beloved French furniture. It had cost him a small fortune to transport it from its place in storage in Paris all the way to London. He had tried to cull his collection of personal belongings before making the trip home, but he couldn't bring himself to part with a single piece. Every man had his soft spot, Will's was fine artisanfurniture.
