“Drive on. I’ll point it out.”
The hackney turned right onto Crown Road. Simon could hear the cabbie muttering about there being no Gaunt Lane, and he’d wager his rig on it. After a few minutes, Simon tapped the edge of the roof and pointed with his cane. The driver swore.
On their right was a narrow gated lane and an aged bronze plate reading gaunt lane.
“I never,” the driver breathed, shaking his head. He accepted Simon’s generous tip. “Thankee, sir. I’d have sworn there was no such street. Ever. You and the lady have a pleasant evening, sir.”
“My cousin,” Simon said. “Up from Surrey.”
“You have a lovely family, then, sir.”
Simon waved pleasantly as the cab rolled away, and Kate said, “I’m surprised he had never seen this lane.”
“He’s already forgotten it. The street plate is runed.” Simon ushered her past lamps that glowed strangely toward a home on the short dead-end lane. It was a most unremarkable residence, almost bleak. He noticed Kate staring at one of the odd gaslights. “Don’t get too close. Lit by brownies; they’re quite vicious.”
“Brownies? Please, Mr. Archer. I appreciate your attempts at levity, but there is no need.”
Simon shrugged. “Still, don’t get too close to them if you value your fingers.”
Kate scoffed again, but then squinted close at the flickering lights. Little figures moved behind the pebbled glass.
“You realize,” Simon said at the door, “that it may not be completely respectable for a lady to be staying the night with a gentleman.”
“I want to stay in London to be near the search. I’ll risk the blow to my reputation.” Kate glanced at Simon. “I’m not inconveniencing you, am I?”
“My house is yours for as long as you wish,” Simon announced graciously. There was no door handle, but when Simon brushed a brass plate, the door opened. Once inside the narrow foyer, he took her wrap. “Would you care for a bite to eat? Or a cup of tea?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble your servants at this late hour.”
“You won’t. I have none.” He tapped the opaque glass of a lamp and clicked his tongue as if summoning a pet. The light rose obediently. “No need for a cook, as Nick and I dine out. But I’d like to think I’m a skilled chef, at least skilled enough if you’re hungry.”
Kate watched as he tossed her topcoat casually onto a chair. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. I don’t think I can sleep just yet.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Might I freshen up first?”
“Take the room at the top of the stair, second on the left. There are suitable nightclothes in the closet, and you should be able to find a change that will serve for tomorrow. Or I can arrange to have your clothes laundered. If it’s too dark in your room, simply tell the lamp to burn. If it balks, tell it you’re speaking for me.”
Kate gave him a curious glance and went up. Simon stuck his head into the sitting room; it was empty. He padded upstairs and knocked on Nick’s door. There was no answer; his friend was likely drinking at the Devil’s Loom. He returned to the ground floor and made his way to the back, removing his coat before shuffling around the kitchen to gather things for tea.
A sound at the door alerted him to the arrival of Kate with her eyes half-closed and distant. She had shed her jacket and wore an embroidered plain-weave cotton dress with gigot sleeves. The long skirt brushed the floor.
He said, “If you’d care to settle in the sitting room, I’ll be right in.”
Kate studied the frosted glass of a lamp. “Would you mind if we just sat in the kitchen? Some comfortable domesticity would be calming.”
“Excellent idea. It’s a terrible disaster in there. My housemate is quite a slob. Gather around the table. Did you find everything you needed?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And did the lamps cooperate?”
“Eventually although I had to play a simple game of Simon Says,” Kate remarked wryly. “And your closetful of ladies’ nightclothes and outfits of varying sizes shows remarkable taste. They are for …?”
Simon set the kettle on the cold stove, trying to appear nonchalant. “Guests.”
Kate shifted the sugar and cream from the counter to the simple oak table, regarding him with a side glance. “Should I inquire further?”
He gave a slight smile. “Only if you wish to know more.”
She remained silent on the matter and continued to set the table. Finally, after moments of quiet punctuated by only the clatter of dishes, she said, “What do you think happened to my sister, Mr. Archer?”
“I don’t know.” Simon watched her. The reserve of power she dredged up so she could attend tasks even in the face of such emotional burdens was extraordinary. “The fact that Imogen did not share Hibbert’s fate at the Boulware is heartening.”