“When was this?”
“Perhaps two weeks ago. He had a young woman on his arm. Blond. Rather stupid, but attractive and well dressed. Colonel Hibbert obviously would rather make his address the Mercury for a wealthy piece such as her.”
Simon couldn’t react fact enough to stop Kate. She stepped forward and unleashed a thunderbolt right cross to the Archdruid’s jowl. He spun helplessly and collapsed to the tiled floor.
Hogarth hadn’t shifted an inch, but there was a strange, slight smile on his lips. Simon blinked and glanced down calmly at the drooling, semiconscious Lord Argyle, tangled in his druidic robes.
Kate rubbed the fingers of her right hand while staring at the man on the tiles. “If I find out my sister was here, and anyone touched her, I will return and rip you into pieces.”
Simon extended his arm toward the door. “Miss Anstruther, it appears this interview is concluded.”
Hogarth held the door. As Simon passed the manservant, he said, “Quite a punch your mistress has.”
“Miss Kate is quite an effective puncher with either fist.” Hogarth dispassionately regarded the fat man on the floor. “She didn’t seem to require her left hand for this one, however.”
“No, she didn’t.” Simon laughed loudly. He pressed another gold sovereign into the doorman’s glove. “Thank you for everything. A very satisfying visit.”
Simon joined the woman as she climbed into the carriage.
The post chaise made its way west on the Strand, fought through a snarl at Charing Cross, and inched along Whitehall toward Westminster. Soon the towers of Westminster Abbey rose through the gloom on their left and the sprawling Halls of Parliament grew visible in the distance. The dim, medieval warrens north of the grand Abbey created a gloom inside the carriage.
Simon tugged on his cuffs. “We’re heading for a rather sketchy area. It’s known as the Devil’s Acre, for good reason. I suggest you stay in the coach.”
“No,” Kate stated plainly.
He didn’t think such a ploy would work but as a gentleman he had to make the attempt. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee. “You say Colonel Hibbert had some interest in magic, but did he ever exhibit any signs of being a practitioner?”
Kate drew in a deep, calming breath. “I never saw Colonel Hibbert evidence any skills of any sort, short of a loathsome ability to enchant Imogen. She often claimed he meddled in the dark arts, but she is a silly-hearted romantic.”
“He’s a poseur in all likelihood. Though the fact that he interacted with Lord Oakham, however briefly, makes me wary.” Simon tapped his walking stick idly on the floor. “Mind though, our singular goal is to remove your sister from the situation. Hibbert can be dealt with, if needed, in the future, at a time and place more to our advantage.” He peered out the carriage window. The cobblestone lanes were narrowing.
The coach rocked to a halt and the door flew open. Hogarth stood outside, a large shadow in the dark. The buildings beyond him were dilapidated and miserable. The Boulware Club, which was a club in name only on the edge of one of Westminster’s most notorious tenements centered on Old Pye Street.
Simon swung out and helped Kate from the coach. “Miss Anstruther, bloody knuckles to a minimum, please.” He strode forward into the gloom.
The front door squeaked when they entered. A few bored fellows who sat reading newspapers or playing cards or smoking away their lives turned to look at the passing visitors. However, none of them were interested enough to speak.
Simon whispered, “Hogarth, take a position in the rear yard in case our quarry manages to slip us.”
The manservant checked with Kate for approval, and she nodded. Hogarth padded out.
Simon led the way upstairs, each step creaking under their feet, his hand grasping his walking stick. The banister was loose and felt oily from generations of unwashed hands. The ceiling had once been artistic plaster tiling, but it was water-stained and crumbling now. The stink of humanity was barely masked by the cloying haze of coal smoke.
Simon said quietly, “He brought a woman of breeding here? What power does he have over her?”
“His only power is that he isn’t me,” Kate replied bitterly. “He offers Imogen the freedom that apparently I don’t.”
They moved along the hall and the wood-slat floor squealed with each step. He stopped at a flaking door where there was a number. He pointed at it and put a finger to his lips. There was a metallic undertone to the stench in the building and his boots felt tacky as he moved them. He looked down to see he was standing in a dark stain that had seeped a few inches from under the door.
Blood.
He lifted one foot and it parted from the floor with a sticky pull. It was relatively fresh.