“I'm not sure if he is in occupation of his room at the present. Is he expecting you?”
“No. As I said. He was dealing with my senior partner, who is regrettably indisposed. But I have received an important communication from England and he may not wish to wait until Monday …”
That did the trick. “Very well, miss. I'll have one of our bell hops escort you up to his room. Frederick.” He snapped his fingers and a young boy with hair as red as mine and a face so freckled that he looked like an orange sprung into action.
“Lord Edgemont?” He gave me a saucy grin as soon as we were out of the elevator and walking down the plushly carpeted hallway. “You don't seem his type.”
“And you don't seem smart enough to hold a job for long if you make remarks like that to the customers,” I replied, but with a smile.
“Go on,” he said, “you're not a swell.”
Obviously the two-dollar suit was not as expensivelooking as I had thought. I would have to observe and practice getting inside other characters, as Paddy had said. It was no use dressing like another person if you didn't feel like that other person inside. One little wrong gesture and the cover was blown. I still had a lot of learning to do. Too bad Paddy wouldn't be around to teach me.
The cheeky bellhop tapped on the polished wood door at the far end of the hallway. The man who opened it was not what I had been expecting. He was old, with a bald pate and wisps of white hair around it. He had the serene, innocent face of an elderly monk, not in any way that of a famous seducer.
“A young lady to discuss business with his lordship,” the boy said jauntily.
The elderly man looked me up and down.
“His lordship is currently breakfasting,” he said. “Does the young lady have an appointment?”
“No, but the matter is of the highest importance.” This time I tried to think snooty thoughts as I spoke. I saw those apparently gende old eyes sizing up that my costume was not of the finest Irish linen but of the thirtynine-cent-a-yard variety of locally made broadcloth.
“Please wait here and I will inform his lordship.” The elderly man bowed and disappeared, leaving us standing in the hallway. I heard a loud, hearty voice demand, “Who did you say it was, Carstairs?”
“A young woman, m'lord.”
“Of our acquaintance?”
“I think not, m'lord.”
“Pretty?”
“I would say so, although not your lordship's type.”
I saw the boy beside me smirk. I gave him my newly acquired haughty stare. “I think you may go now,” I said to him. “You'll be needed downstairs and I can find my own way down.”
The boy looked at me doubtfully but went under the intensity of my gaze.
“Oh, bring her in, Carstairs,” the hearty voice boomed. “A nice glimpse of ankle should liven up what has been a gloomy morning until now.”
The door was opened. “His lordship will see you, Miss—”
“Murphy,” I said.
He led me through an ornate sitting room with a large red plush sofa and two leather armchairs. The room beyond was a bedroom, thus a completely unsuitable place to receive a young lady, but it seemed his lordship didn't abide by the rules. He was sitting at a small table by the window with a silver salver before him, on which a single boiled egg sat in solitary splendor. His lordship was engrossed in dipping thin slices of bread and butter into a soft-boiled egg. He was instantly identifiable as an English gentleman—long, lanky, with a thin, lugubrious face, hooked nose and nondescript-color hair. He looked up when he saw me, appraised me for a second and nodded with approval.
“Miss Murphy, m'lord,” Carstairs said.
“Ah, Miss Murphy, do take a seat. I'd offer you coffee, but they've only sent up one cup. But do feel free to join in the egg-dipping, should hunger strike.” Carstairs pulled out the chair opposite for me and I perched at the edge of it.
“I always start the day with my boiled egg and fingers. Nanny thought I had a delicate stomach, y'know. She used to call them soldiers.” He waved one of the thin strips of bread at me before dunking it in the yolk and popping it into his mouth. “To what do I owe this delightful visit?”
“A small matter of business, m'lord. And I'm sorry to trouble you on a Saturday morning, but I wanted you to be apprised of a delicate situation.”
“Oh, weally?” I noticed he didn't pronounce his i?’s correctly. “Of what delicate situation are we speaking?” He dipped another finger of bread and butter into his egg.
“I have just taken over the running of a small business, m'lord—”
“If it's money that's owed you, then you'll have to wait like everybody else.” He looked up defiantly.
“I assure you it's nothing to do with money, m'lord. As I said, I have just taken over this small business, owing to the sad demise of the senior partner. On going through our books, I find that one of our clients is your wife, the Lady Clarissa.”
“Good lord. Clarissa? What on earth does she want?”